Medieval 01 - Untamed

never return, abandoning her daughter to John’s harsh hand. Meg would rather not have known, for it was like seeing into her own future.
    Perhaps the legends are right. Perhaps there is another, more gentle world just beneath ours, and its entrance lies somewhere within the ancient burial mound. Perhaps Mother is there, whistling to the falcon on her wrist while her great striped cat sleeps in her lap and sunlight pours around her ….
    A woman’s laughter spiraled upward, interrupting Meg’s thoughts. She frowned. The laugh was new. Rich and sultry, like a summer wind. It must belong to the Norman woman Meg had spied from her room. Even at a distance, the woman’s black hair and red lips had been enough to turn any man’s head.
    What do I care that Lord Dominic’s leman is a beauty? Meg told herself impatiently. More important that I get free of the keep before Eadith comes trotting to me with the latest tale of Norman brutality. Whether true or not—and I often wonder!—Eadith’s tales are unnerving .
    With flying fingers Meg stripped away the embroidered ribbon that was twisted through her long braids. Impatiently she braided her long hair again and tied the ends with leather strings. A simpleheadcloth with a twisted leather circlet completed her costume.
    Meg hurried from the room and down the winding interior stone stairs to the second floor of the keep. By the time she reached the bottom, one of her braids was half undone. Like a fall of fire, her bright, red-gold hair spilled down the neutral gray wool of her short coat.
    Servants bowed quickly as Meg passed through to the attached forebuilding that guarded the keep’s entrance. No one thought her common clothing odd, for she had been running free at the keep since she was thirteen and her marriage to Duncan of Maxwell had been refused by the king. At nineteen, an age when most women of her station had a husband and a handful of babes, Meg was an old maid whose father despaired of heirs.
    Nodding to the servant who opened the door, Meg stepped out of the forebuilding onto the steep stone stairs that stretched down to the cobblestone-covered ground of the bailey. Her soft leather slippers made no noise while she descended the mist-slicked steps. As surefooted as a cat, she glided down the stairs to the open bailey where the wind searched through granary and kitchen alike, ruffling the feathers of fowl trussed and waiting for the hatchet.
    Overhead the gray sky was streaked with tendrils of light blue. The incandescent circle of the sun burned palely through veils of mist. The fragile, silver light of spring fell around Meg like a benediction, lifting her spirits. To her left came the liquid call of birds within the dovecotes. To her right came the high, keening cry of a gyrfalcon being taken from the mews to be weathered on a block of wood in the yard.
    Before Meg had taken two steps toward the gatehouse, a black cat with three white feet and startlinggreen eyes trotted toward her, yeowing happily, fluffy tail held high. Meg bent down and held out her arms just as the animal leaped lightly, confident that he would be caught and held.
    â€œGood morning to you, too, Black Tom,” Meg said, smiling.
    The cat purred and rubbed its head against her shoulder and chin. His long white eyebrows and whiskers made a startling contrast to his black face.
    â€œAh, you have such soft fur. Better than the white weasels on the king’s cloak, I allow.”
    Black Tom purred his agreement and watched his mistress with unblinking, green eyes. Talking to him quietly, Meg carried the cat to the gatehouse.
    â€œFair morning to you, m’lady,” said the gateman, touching his forehead in respect.
    â€œAnd to you, Harry. Is your son better?”
    â€œAye, thanks be to God and your medicine. He’s lively as a pup and curious as a kitten again.”
    Meg smiled. “That’s wonderful.”
    â€œWill you be going to see the priest’s falcon after you’ve seen to your herbs?”
    Emerald eyes searched Harry’s face as she asked, “Is the small huntress still refusing food?”
    â€œAye.”
    â€œI will see her.”
    Harry limped toward the huge double doors that opened onto the keep’s outer yard when the bridge was lowered over the moat. A smaller portal was set within the massive timber of one door. He threw open the portal, allowing a rectangle of misty daylight into the