Prologue

St. Giles Kirk, Edinburgh, 1386

"N o."

The young bride's single decisive word silenced the rustling of the noble wedding guests' movements and whispers.

The priest, having just asked the stout, elegantly dressed groom if he would take fourteen-year-old Lady Sibylla Cavers as his wife, now shifted his gaze to her.

"My daughter," he said sternly, "I was asking his lordship if he would take you as his wife. Prithee, keep silent until I address you."

The wedding guests saw only her slender back and thus could not read her expression. But her very posture expressed her indignation.

Her hip-long, wavy auburn hair glinted golden in the glow of the cressets on the arcade separating the new south aisle from the nave. That aisle, as most of Edinburgh knew, owed its existence to the generosity of the bride's father, Sir Malcolm Cavers, Lord of Akermoor.

The groom—nearer Sir Malcolm's age than Sibylla's— turned to gape at her. His jowls were aquiver. His thick lower lip protruded.

Ignoring him, she faced the priest. "It cannot matter how Lord Galston answers you, Father," she said as firmly and clearly as before. "I do have the right to refuse him, do I not? My godfather said I do."

"A good daughter obeys the commands of her father ," the priest declared.

"I am a good daughter, but I don't want Lord Galston for my husband. The Douglas, my godfather, said I need not have him. Was he wrong?"

The priest stared at her, his heavy frown making most of the spectators glad he had not directed it at them.

They held their communal breath, fearful of missing a word.

Heads turned toward Sir Malcolm. He stood at the foot of the chancel steps, his grim profile visible to nearly everyone save the bridal couple.

His face flamed red and his jaw jutted forward.

The priest looked at him. The bride did not.

"My lord," the priest said. "You know the answer to her ladyship's question. What would you have me do?"

Grimacing, Sir Malcolm shook his head. " Ye can do nowt," he muttered.

The lady Sibylla turned, gathered her skirts in a graceful, swooping gesture, and descended the chancel steps. Head high, acknowledging no one, she turned toward the south aisle.

As the congregation watched in stunned silence, she walked with dignity far beyond her tender years outside into Edinburgh's High Street.

Selkirk, Allhallows' Day, 1387

As fifteen-year-old Sibylla Cavers walked beside her father toward the altar of the wee kirk, she saw that he had invited few guests. But she could scarcely blame him after what had happened the first time he'd arranged for her to marry.

With the banns mysteriously omitted this time, just two lay brothers and a few curious citizens were in the kirk that drizzly November day to view the sacred rite and help alleviate the damp chill. Shivering, Sibylla studied the handsome young man who awaited her with the priest at the altar.

She had never met the bridegroom before. But, as her father had promised, this one did seem a better choice for her than the aged Lord Galston. For one thing, this man was only six years older than she was, surely a better match for her than any rotund graybeard.

The dark-tawny hair beneath his plumed blue velvet cap was neatly trimmed. His expensively clad figure boasted broad shoulders, slim hips, and legs both powerful- looking and shapely in their dark hose. His eyes seemed a bit fierce under jutting eyebrows darker than his hair, but fierce eyes did not scare Sibylla. At first glance, she thought him intriguing.

She had enjoyed a few mild flirtations, and was growing used to men of every age—including her brother Hugh's friends—making clear their approval of her beauty. So she waited for that familiar look to appear on the face of her intended.

He continued to regard her without any change of expression other than what seemed to be a touch of chilly impatience.

Aware that she had inherited her mother's generous wedding portion on that lady's unfortunate demise ten years before, Sibylla eyed the young man more intently as she offered him a warm smile.

He remained coldly somber.

At the chancel steps, her father moved away after declaring himself willing to give her in marriage. With easy grace, she went up the steps, stopped nearer her bridegroom than the priest had indicated, and said confidingly, "You might at least smile, sir. You look as if you are attending a funeral."

Instead, he glanced irritably at the priest. That worthy said, "My lady, you should look at me and not speak except to repeat your vows."

Ignoring him, Sibylla smiled again at her intended. "My father told me you were all eagerness, sir," she said. "But you never came to visit me, and now you do not return my smile. In troth, I begin to doubt his word."

"This discourse is unseemly, Father," the groom said. "Pray, proceed."

"Nay, then, do not, Father," Sibylla said. "I will have none of him."

As she turned away, her erstwhile bridegroom said testily, "Where do you think you're going?"

"Home," she said. "You do not want me, and I do not want you."

"By heaven, no one humiliates me like this!" he exclaimed.

Without word or pause, Sibylla picked up her skirts and left the kirk.

The words he shouted at her then rang in her ears for days afterward:

"I'll never forgive you, you impudent snip! You will rue this day!"

Akermoor Castle, Lothian, April 1388

After each of her two aborted weddings, Sibylla had faced her furious father and endured his rebukes. She knew she deserved them, if only for disappointing him, and had felt profound relief that his reaction had not been more violent.

On both occasions, after he had roared at her, she had tried to explain her reasons. But Lord Galston's having been too old for her and his successor too coldly arrogant had not impressed Sir Malcolm.

The third time, she recognized her error sooner. The ceremony was to take place at Akermoor, so she simply sent a message downstairs to the priest and did not show herself. Accordingly, she expected Sir Malcolm's wrath to engulf her.

"What manner of complaint can ye have this time?" he demanded. "In sooth, ye said Thomas Colville suited ye fine."

"I had seen him only at court with companies of people," Sibylla replied. "Thomas seemed charming then and kind. But since he has been here at Akermoor, I have found not one thing about which we can talk."

"Ye'll talk enough after ye're married!"

"He leers at the maidservants, sir, and cares only for his own wishes," she said. Fearing that Sir Malcolm would see nothing amiss in that either, she added, "He also complained unceasingly that Hugh was not here to bear him company."

"Any man prefers the company of other men," her father retorted. "His wife is meant to look after his home and his bairns, no to demand his constant attention. Moreover, if ye meant to refuse him, ye should have said as much before now."

"I did, sir. You did not listen. Apparently, that, too, is the nature of men."

"I'll stand nae more of your sauce!" he roared. "Your sister Alice will soon need a husband, and although I'd a mind to see ye wedded afore her, ye've had your chance, Sibylla—three of them! I'll do nae more for ye. Ye'll always have your home here, but ye'll look after Alice till she weds and then ye'll look after yourself and me. So look now at your future, ye foolish lass, and weep for it!"

But Sibylla did not weep.

Instead, as usual, she took matters into her own capable hands.