Page 1 of How to Be a Scottish Mistress

Chapter 1

Northern England, June 1306

“We’ll have rain by nightfall, I fear,” Lord Henry Libourg, Baron of Arundel, declared solemnly as he slowed his horse’s canter, drawing closer to his wife so as to be heard above the pounding hooves. “ ’Tis bound to make a mud pit in the middle of the bailey, but the newly sowed crops will benef it.”

“Rain? Are you daft, my lord?” Lady Fiona matched her mare’s pace to that of her husband’s war steed, then eyed him with healthy skepticism. “There is nary a cloud in the sky to mar the perfection of sunshine.”

“Rain it will be, my lady,” Henry insisted with authority. “I feel it in my bones.”

He slapped his gloved hand deliberately against his thigh, then grimaced. Fiona turned her face upward toward the bright sunshine, shaking her head. It was moments such as this when the nearly twenty-five-year age difference between her and her spouse became glaringly apparent. Only an old man spoke of his joints aching when rain or snow approached.

The unkind thought had no sooner entered her head when Fiona silenced it. Henry was a good husband—dear to her in many ways. She had been sent to his manor as a young girl of twelve, to serve his wife and learn the duties of a proper lady. When that good woman had died in childbirth five years later, Henry had surprised Fiona by asking her to be his wife and mother to his infant son.

Born to a family of minor nobility that took little stock in the welfare of its female members, Fiona had been relieved when her father agreed to the match. Relieved and grateful, for it allowed her to stay at the first place she had truly considered home.

She knew others could not understand why she would eagerly wed a man of modest means and position so much older than herself, but as the Baroness of Arundel, Fiona had found a purpose that filled her with confidence and self-worth. She had come to accept that her marriage, though affectionate, was not, nor would it ever be, a marriage of passion. Yet Fiona loved Henry truly, in a way that stretched far beyond a sense of duty.

All in all, it was a good life.

Fiona turned her eyes away from the sunlight twinkling through the leaves and gazed out at the trees surrounding them. Summer had finally arrived, but a thick layer of dead brown leaves carpeted much of the forest floor, mingling with the green of the smaller bushes and ferns.

“Oh, look, Henry, ’tis a cluster of blooming feverfew,” Fiona exclaimed. “Please, may we stop so I can gather some? Two of the kitchen lads have broken out in a fierce rash. They are suffering mightily, and treating them with my usual ointments has proven useless. I am certain the addition of feverfew will make all the difference.”

Filled with excitement, Fiona tugged on her reins with a short, sharp motion. Her horse protested, rearing in response.

“Careful now, you don’t want to take a tumble on this hard ground,” Henry admonished. With impressive skill, the baron reached out a strong arm to ensure his wife kept her seat.

Fiona cast him a grateful smile, tightening her thighs around her mount instinctively. She was a competent, though not especially skilled, horsewoman. Fortunately, Henry was near to keep her safe.

Once her horse was calm, the baron peered over at the soft white flowers she pointed toward, his expression perplexed. “Feverfew? Are you certain? They look like ordinary daisies to me.”

Fiona smiled. Henry was a man of solid intelligence as well as experience, but medicinal herbs and flowers were completely foreign to him. “With their yellow centers and white petals, I’ll allow there is a strong resemblance, but you must trust me, sir, when I tell you those are not daisies.”

“I trust you, Fiona. I’m just not certain ’tis wise to delay our return home. We have been gone for most of the afternoon and there are duties that await us both. If I can spare the men, you may return tomorrow to collect your flowers.”

“They are not merely flowers, Henry, they are medicine. And truly, the need is so great that I fear tomorrow might be too long to wait. The sooner I try a new treatment, the sooner the lads will be healed.”

Henry made a soft sound of resignation beneath his breath. “God’s bones, Fiona, I think you are the only woman in all of England who would make such a fuss over kitchen lads.”

Graceful in victory, Fiona smiled sweetly. “You are the one who taught me to care so diligently for our people, good sir. Now come, there looks to be enough to fill my saddle pouch as well as yours.”

The baron slid off his horse, then caught his wife around the waist when she began to dismount from hers. Their eyes met briefly as he set her gently on the ground. Impulsively, Fiona leaned forward and playfully kissed the tip of Henry’s nose.

“Impudent baggage,” Henry bristled in mock annoyance.

A deep chuckle bubbled through Fiona and she laughed merrily. The sound echoed through the forest, startling a flock of blackbirds from the branches of a nearby tree.

“Wait here,” Henry commanded, handing her the leads of both horses.

Fiona nodded in understanding, waiting patiently. Even though they rode on their own land, it was wise to be cautious, especially in these uncertain times.

She watched the baron make slow progress toward the clusters of feverfew, his shrewd gaze darting back and forth. Bored at being stopped on the journey, the horses ambled a few steps and lowered their heads to drink from a large puddle at the edge of the forest. Fiona allowed it, securing their leather leads to a tree trunk. She then turned back to Henry, anxious to begin her harvest.

At last, he gave the signal and she scampered forward, glad she was dressed in her new pair of leather boots. The ground was moist and springy, her feet sinking nearly to the ankles in some spots.

“I don’t suppose I can ask you to hurry,” Henry muttered, as she strode past him to reach the first large bunch.

“I shall try my best,” Fiona replied. “But doing a proper job of harvesting takes time.”

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