Chapter One

Oswestry, England– November 1284

G aliena Mercer had been in the depths of despair for long enough. It was time to start living again.

But the guilt of moving on was like a knife in her belly.

She would never forget what had happened or fill the hole that would forever mar her heart. But neither would her heart stop beating, nor her lungs stop breathing—which is what she had fervently hoped for each day of the last three years.

The numbness that had protected her in the years since she'd lost everything had dissipated months ago. In its wake had been an uncontrollable grief and the fervent wish she would just die. But, as in so many things, God had refused her that solace, too, leaving her no choice but to continue her dismal existence.

She wanted more than to just exist, though; she wanted to actually live . That was the longing keeping her awake at night of late, and that had forced her to venture beyond her widow's cottage on the edge of the churchyard and into the village.

To live she must be among the living.

If she were honest with herself, it wasn't just the realization that she may well continue to live and breathe for decades to come that forced her to leave her cottage. Anora, her only friend in this world, deserved her due credit.

It was because of Anora that she'd started venturing beyond the threshold of her tiny home, and eventually agreed to help the innkeeper with cleaning the tavern, the rooms above stairs, and other odd jobs in return for meals and a few extra coins each month. The innkeeper was a stern man who grunted orders and wasn't afraid to throw patrons out of his establishment if he didn't like the look of them. He hardly acknowledged Galiena, but he was a fair employer and left her alone as long as she kept up with her duties.

As much as she did not want to be alone any longer, experience had taught her to avoid most people, because most people didn't seem to approve of her unusual upbringing or her uncommon opinions. Their disapproving looks and cutting remarks had taught her it was best to keep to herself.

Besides, she hadn't needed a lot of people in her life up to this point; she had been quite contented if she had just one person with whom she could be completely herself. At one time, that had been her father. Then she had had her husband, Adam, and Nahara, her daughter, both accepting her and loving her just as she was.

And now, she had Anora.

But lately, she started to wonder if she had mistaken numbness for contentedness. She'd withdrawn into herself to avoid the pain, but now being withdrawn felt lonely instead of safe. Her routines which had been a comfort in the past had begun to feel mundane. In truth, she was bored and restless and longed for a change.

She sighed and wrapped her arms around herself to ward off the cold and looked up at the patch of blue sky breaking through the late afternoon clouds—an unusual occurrence for early winter when the rain could go on for weeks without ceasing. After adding an empty barrel from the tavern to the pile in the alley behind the inn, she stopped to appreciate the break in the cold drizzle and bask in the small piece of clear sky in the waning of the day. She was learning to stop and appreciate the small things that brought her joy—including a hopeful patch of blue struggling to break through the endless clouds.

This was why she was standing in the narrow alley that came to a dead-end behind the inn, leaning against the damp stones next to a stack of empty barrels, enjoying the brief reprieve from the rain, when she heard the men.

She knew they hadn't seen her standing behind the column of wooden crates in the dimness of the cramped alleyway, because if they had seen her, they wouldn't have been having the conversation they were having now. At the sound of the voices, she'd pressed herself completely flat against the wall, anticipating they would soon be gone. She considered taking the two steps required to cross to the back door of the inn, but that would have caused an awkward situation, and it was easier to just stay hidden. Not wishing to draw attention to herself, she quieted her breathing and waited.

She'd expected them to conclude their business—whatever that may be—quickly and be on their way. What she didn't expect was for them to start discussing the king and queen of England and some lord whose name she didn't recognize. Conversations about the ruling monarch and lords of the realm weren't unusual and typically were nothing to be concerned about.

Unless they were taking place in dark alleys with hushed voices….

"You're late."

"I had other matters to attend to."

The men spoke in low tones, but Galiena was hardly more than an arm's length from them and could hear every word clearly.

"Next time you arrive late will be the last time you do anything for me."

"Give me the missive," the other man grumbled. "And the gold you owe me for delivering it."

Galiena heard the distinctive sound of coins in a pouch changing hands and then the metallic jingle of them pouring out, presumably onto a man's palm. She wanted to peek but shrank back against the wall. This was getting even more dangerous.

"This isn't what we agreed upon."

"You get half now, and the other half once I have proof the missive has been delivered."

"I want it all right now."

"You get half now or you get nothing."

"And how will you get the missives to the lords you need for your plan? You refuse to speak to Lord Dacey yourself, or any of the other lords. Your anonymity depends on me and the few other men in your employ."

"Quiet."

"There's no one around to hear us," the man snapped, then continued his argument. "I've proven myself. I've even delivered messages right under the king's nose at times. I've kept my eyes and ears open, and I know things, things that are worth more gold than you're paying me."

"Is that so?"

"Aye. There are more lords who resent the king and queen as much as you and your little network of rebels. I can give you names for the right price and negotiate meetings for you."

"You think you know better than me who can be trusted and what needs to be done?"

The men's growing irritation was evident in their harsh whispers, and she feared it could erupt into bloodshed at any moment. Galiena wracked her brain for a way out of this situation but came up with nothing other than praying the men didn't find her.

"I know of your plan, and I can help you."

"What plan?" Even without seeing the man's face, Galiena could hear the ominous warning in the flat tone of the words.

"I know you are planning to have the queen's babe murdered."

At the mention of the queen and the royal heir, Galiena's gasp caught in her throat and her neck prickled with dread. It was silent for a long moment, but she knew the men were still there. She held her breath, not daring to move for fear they would discover her.

"And I know you are planning to make it appear as though the Welsh rebel Rhys was responsible," the man continued. "My mother was Welsh. I have blood relations who could be of use to you. Think about what I have said and do not waste my talents or my resources."

There was a scuffle, and then a noise like someone gasping for breath. Galiena could see the edge of a cloak against the outer wall of the inn. She shifted slightly to peer through a gap in the crates to see a man pressed up against the wall with another man's hand clutching his neck. His eyes bulged, trained on the man choking him. His hood had slipped back, and she could see his face turning purple, the veins popping on his forehead and temples. His hair, cropped close to his skull, revealed a scar that stretched over his ear, leaving a bald patch on his scalp.

"Do not question me or think to give me orders again," the other man said. His hood was pulled forward, draping over his forehead, and hiding his features. "Take this message to Lord Dacey. And if you are ever so fucking dim-witted as to speak of what you think you know about me to anyone, I will kill you. Do you understand?"

Galiena was very much regretting her decision not to go back into the inn when the men entered the alley. They would have seen her, but it would have been before they started speaking of things that were not meant to be overheard. If they discovered her now, she questioned if she would live to see the morrow.

And just when she had decided it was time to start living again!

"Aye," the man against the wall gasped.

"Do not fail me on this mission."

"I will not," came the choked reply.

Galiena heard a sharply indrawn gasp for breath as the man was released, then the scraping of footsteps as he stumbled out of the alley. What seemed like an eternity later, she heard the measured, steady footsteps of the other man. She stood completely still, hardly daring to breathe, until she was sure the men were gone.

After a long while, she carefully peered around the stack of crates to be certain the alley was empty. Seeing no sign of either man, she was about to step out from her hiding space when little Tommy Cutpurse came barreling into the alley at a full run. He shoved his ill-gotten gains into a crevice between two stones on the back wall of the inn, then squeezed through an impossibly small gap between the inn and the bakery. The buildings were so close to each other that no one other than an underfed child could ever fit between them.

She heard the pounding of more footsteps entering the narrow alley and quickly flattened herself against the wall behind the crates again.

"Wait, you rotten scoundrel," a voice called. Galiena recognized it from the clandestine encounter she'd overheard just moments before. It was the man who had been shoved against the wall.

After letting out an oath of frustration, he ran back out of the alley, presumably to look for the boy, unaware that what he really wanted was within his grasp, hidden in a hole in the wall.

Galiena stared at the opening between the two stones for a long moment. The light was too dim to see what was in there, but all of her nerves were buzzing with the certainty that it was the pouch that she'd heard the men exchange.

Carefully, quietly, still afraid for her life, she stepped cautiously forward to stick her hand into the opening in the wall. Reaching in, she felt smooth leather, and her pulse pounded as she extracted what she'd found to reveal a small, lightweight pouch. Squeezing it with her hands, she determined that it contained a few coins and something more pliable. Like the rolled parchment of a missive.

She took a deep breath, her heart beating rapidly in her chest as she weighed her options. She could put the pouch back and pretend she knew nothing about it, that she didn't overhear the men in the alley, and that she had no knowledge of a threat to the king's infant son, the only surviving heir to the throne.

Or she could take the pouch and do something about it.

She thought of her own child, how she'd felt snuggled in her arms warm against her chest, so helpless and beautiful with bowed lips and full cheeks. Losing her daughter had broken Galiena, and it sickened her to think of the queen losing her child. She knew that pain and knew that it didn't matter that the queen had lost other children before. Each loss had to be just as painful as the first for any mother.

As curious as she was about the contents of the missive, she dared not open the pouch in the alley. Instead, she tied it next to her own on the thin leather belt she wore beneath her kirtle, determined to make her way to her little cottage by the church as inconspicuously as possible. There she would pour out the contents of the pouch and determine what to do next.

As she opened the back door to the inn, a soft scuff of a boot against stone caught her attention. She turned her head to see a tall, hooded figure with a long cloak billowing out behind him round the corner into the narrow passageway.

She slipped through the back door to the inn, pulling it shut behind her, then ran through the tavern toward the front door. She said a quick prayer that the man in the alley hadn't seen her clearly in the dim light and that the lane in front of the tavern would be full of people enough for her to escape into the crowd before he could find her.

As she burst through the door and out into the lane, her heart sank.

There was only one person in the lane, and he looked like something terrifying, like a barbarian from the tales told to children to scare them into behaving.

Or worse, he looked like a berserker.

But when he turned to look at her, a smile transformed his face. There were crinkles at the corners of his eyes and mouth as if laughing and grinning was something he did often. As intimidating as he looked, she decided to trust her gut as an idea started to form in her head.