“Lenore, dear, I need just a few moments of your time. I need to rest. Please take the basket of herbs to the vicar for me.” The voice was soft and lifeless. Fatigue dripped from every word.

“How can you ask me to do that?” The younger woman’s face took on a reddish tinge. “They’re sick. I might get sick, too. I won’t do it. I don’t want to do it.”

“Sweetheart, they are sick because they don’t get the good food we do, nor the proper greens. They don’t have the same chances that we have. We can’t turn our backs on them and then go to church and call ourselves Christians. We must do our best. Please take the basket.”

Lenore turned from her mother, tears streaming from her eyes. “You don’t love me. If you did, you wouldn’t ask me to do this. Send someone else.”

“Who do I send Lenore? The servants are looking to us to set an example. Your sister just got well herself.”

Lenore flipped her gown back and forth in an angry gesture that reminded Sondra of a cat twitching its tail in annoyance. “I’m not going.” The tears vanished to be replaced by a stubborn tilt of the chin. “I’m not getting sick.”

Lady Marilyn stared at her youngest daughter and sadly shook her head. “Your father has spoiled you to the point that I can teach you nothing.” She sighed deeply. “I will go back myself. They must have the herbs.” She set the basket on the ground. “First I will speak with the cook about this evening’s meal, and then I will walk back to the village.” She turned and slowly made her way up the steps and into the kitchen.

Lenore stared in disgust at the basket of herbs that had been left sitting on the ground in front of her. With a swift kick she sent them spilling, then ran across the courtyard.

Sondra stepped from her hiding place near the stables and knelt to gather them and carefully place them in the basket. She draped her shawl across her head to hide her features, then picked up the aromatic load. Sondra sped across the courtyard and slipped out the gate.

Within minutes, she was regretting her impulsive action. The stones of the road cut cruelly into her slippers that had never been intended for long walks. Smaller pieces slipped down inside to bruise her feet, and she was soon limping. Mother’s going to be quite angry, she thought. Then the image of her mother, tired and bedraggled, walking the same road to the village, strengthened her resolve and she continued. The beauty of the woods was lost to her as the need to take the next step became her only thought. The recent illness was also telling on her and she found herself coughing gently, even though the air was warm. She pulled the shawl tighter across her mouth to still the cough, and held the basket closer to her body.

It was almost in a daze that she entered the village and sat down to rest beside the community well. It had been some time since she had been here and she found that she had no idea which house was the vicar’s. As she sat trying to resolve her problem, a man rode up on a black horse and dismounted before her. He was covered in dust and had a scraggly growth of beard that gave him the appearance of a highwayman. Frightened, Sondra pulled the basket in front of her and tried to look small.

He stumbled forward and grabbed for the bucket, knocking it into the well in his haste. She stared at him as he tried to pull up the bucket of water using the crank, but his hands weren’t working properly and it kept releasing before he could reach it. Cursing, he hit his numb hands against the sides of the well and then slid down to sit against it.

Sondra watched him guardedly before standing and limping over to the crank. Slowly, she turned it, bringing up water. She could feel the water’s coolness as she pulled the bucket towards her. She felt the man’s eyes on her as she picked up the ladle that had been left hanging nearby. After dipping the ladle in the water, she offered it to the man who drank greedily. Water spilled down his chin and saturated the front of his shirt.

“More?” Sondra dipped the ladle again.

He grabbed it and drank, this time slowly and without spilling. “Thank you, my lady.” He smiled wearily at her. “Who do I thank for this kindness?”

Sondra opened her mouth to speak, then realized she had a problem—she wasn’t supposed to be there. “I am Lenore.” She turned away before her eyes could reveal the lie.

“Thank you, Lenore.” The man closed his eyes and leaned against the well. “You are kind and a fine woman.”

Sondra didn’t reply, but picked up her basket of herbs and hastened toward the church in hopes that the vicar would be there instead of in his home. She threw open the heavy wooden door and ran down through the pews to throw herself in front of the altar. She found herself praying in stutters as she thanked God for helping her in her fear. Shaking, she laid on the stone floor in a crumpled heap until the vicar found her.

“Lenore?” The vicar’s gentle voice echoed in the empty church. “Are you all right, child?”

Sondra raised her head in surprise, then realized that the kindly old man had poor eyesight and was assuming that her sister had come as promised. “I am fine, vicar. I was startled by the man at the well.” She sniffed softly and wiped the tears from her eyes. “I’ve brought you the herbs Mother promised.”

The old man grinned and sat on the front pew. “Ah, a blessed woman, your mother. I would have been at quite a loss these last days.”

Sondra smiled warmly at him. “She is wonderful.”

The vicar reached over and patted her arm. “She has been concerned for you, Lenore. I’m glad that you have come to see the right path. I have spoken to the blacksmith, and he has agreed to take you home when he goes to work at the castle this evening. If you hurry, you won’t have that long walk back.” He picked up the basket that sat on the floor beside her. “Tell your mother that she is a saintly woman, and I will be sure to see these are put to good use.”

Sondra struggled to her feet, relieved that she would not have to walk home, nor have to deal with the highwayman again. Her limp practically disappeared as she sped from the church to catch the blacksmith on his way to her home. She spared a quick glance at the well, but the man was gone. He and his horse had disappeared as if by magic.

The blacksmith was a sullen man with large muscles and a mane of dark hair that refused to stay tied back in a club. For years, Sondra had seen him make his weekly trips to the castle, perform the work that was kept for him, and then leave without fanfare. His dour mood and the large arm muscles that dwarfed the rest of his body had always kept him extremely unapproachable. Today, she ran for the comfort of his familiar company.

She tightly pulled the shawl across her face and found a spot near his shop to wait for him. When the wagon pulled up, the blacksmith gave barely a look in her direction. He loaded his equipment and tools, then picked her up and placed her in the wagon, almost as an afterthought. Thankful for his lack of perusal, she huddled in a corner of the wagon, thankful for the full skirts she wore since the wagon had no bedding. Half-way home, she began thinking of walking on her poor bruised feet to save her poorly treated bottom. Without carriage shocks, every rut and stone jarred her bones, and threw her against the sides of the wooden cart. It was with great relief that she saw the familiar castle walls looming before them.

The cart stopped to answer the hail from the sentry. She slipped down and ran past the gates, into the courtyard. Her mind whirled with thoughts of slipping into the castle unseen so she almost missed the large animal standing quietly by the stable door. The black horse shook its head, taking her attention, and her steps slowed. The fear from the well gripped her again as she recognized the animal.

Sondra entered the castle by way of the garden door and used the back stairs to go to her room. After stripping off the soiled clothes, she doused her body with the cold water from the washstand and then dressed without calling her maid. She sat upon the bed and coughed quietly from the exertion. To her amazement, her hands were shaking uncontrollably. Forcing them deeply into the folds of her gown, she stood and walked out of the room, appearing the proper young lady she had been brought up to be.

“Milady.” The maid dropped her a curtsey. “I am so glad to have found you. Your mother fell asleep upon her return from the village and your father is sore put to extend hospitality to our visitor. He bids you come.” The girl’s face was flushed and her eyes were sparkling.

“You seem excited, Gabrielle.” Sondra found a strength in her voice.

“He’s a fine man, our visitor.” The girl giggled. “He gives a girl thoughts.”

Sondra colored. “Does he indeed?” She thought of the bedraggled man with the beard she had met in town and had difficulty with the girl’s description. “Does he have anyone with him?”

“No, milady.” Gabrielle smiled warmly. “It’s just the man, himself.”

Sondra nodded and walked toward the reception hall, making every effort to keep an even pace. She soon heard Lenore’s voice rising in a flirtatious laugh. “You warm me with your kind words, sir.”

Entering the room, Sondra took in the tableau that her sister presented. Lenore was sitting next to the harp near the fireplace, even though she was a terrible harpist. She had never taken the time to practice properly but insisted the harp be kept there. It was clear that she was aware of the backdrop that it made. Her skirts were spread petallike around her, and her slender form rose from them like a venus from the sea. The well-groomed visitor was standing next to her, engaging her in conversation; his nonchalant manner bespoke years of courtly practice. Her father stood in the background, holding a glass of wine, seemingly content to leave the entertaining of his guest to his daughter.

In an effort to mimic her mother’s flawless grace, Sondra lifted her chin and moved into the room. The room that had always seemed large now grew to gigantic proportions as she cautiously sought the refuge of a settee. Keeping her back straight, she sat and placed her still-trembling hands onto her lap.

“Sir Bryce.” Her father stepped forward from the shadows. “I would introduce my eldest daughter, Sondra.”

The visitor turned a cool gaze towards Sondra and toasted her with his glass. “I am honored, milady.” Frowning slightly, he moved closer to appraise her. “Have we met before, milady?”

Sondra said nothing, but shook her head, praying he would return to his flirtation with Lenore. He smiled knowingly, and she fought the urge to slap him.

To regain his attention, Lenore stroked the chords of the harp, and he dutifully returned to her.

He graced the younger girl with a charming smile and then spoke to the father. “I met a most remarkable girl in town. I had traveled far at great speed to bring you the news from His Majesty, and my hands were numb from holding the reins for two days. I was in great need of water but couldn’t make the silly bucket work for me. This girl drew water from the well and gave it to me to drink.”

“That was most fortunate, Sir Bryce. It’s rare that a young woman would help a man that looked as you did coming into the courtyard.” The Lord smiled at Lenore. “As I recall, my youngest daughter seemed a bit put out by your appearance.”

The visitor laughed loudly. “I took notice of that when she ordered the sentries to have me thrown out.”

Lenore blushed, and became indignant. “How was I to know you were a knight? You looked like a vagabond. Then, you asked to see me. I’m not in the habit of accepting calls from vagabonds.”

“I am sorry for my appearance, milady. I would note that the girl at the well this afternoon didn’t have the same reaction.” Sir Bryce turned and smiled warmly at Sondra. “I am interested in making that girl my wife.”

Sondra’s eyes widened, but she held her tongue.

“How are you going to find some woman that gave you water at a well?” Lenore demanded, stomping her small feet. “Don’t you care for culture and breeding?”

“Indeed I do, fair lady.” The knight set his wine upon the table. “Sondra, will you give me leave to court you?”

Lenore released an unladylike curse before fleeing from the room.

Sondra stared dumfounded into the warm brown eyes of this strange man and nodded in agreement.

Her father took a long draught from his glass. “I had a feeling you were asking for the wrong girl.”

Sondra smiled at him. “Can we speak tomorrow, sir? I would talk with my mother and rest for a bit. I’ve had a long day.” She stood and placed a hand against the back of her skirts. “A long, hard day.”

The men laughed as Sondra left the room and entered a new segment of her life.