Page 1 of Peregrine's Call
Chapter 1
Late Fall 1146
Take heart and be strong, Robin thought to herself. She straightened her back and took a deep breath. Through the window, she looked out over the gold-touched autumn landscape. Beyond the walls of the manor of Cleobury, the remaining leaves had turned amber and red, but most of the trees displayed bare branches. Winter would creep into the forest soon, and Cleobury would provide shelter not just to the de Vere family, but a whole host of servants and residents who called the place home.
Robin was one of those people. Rainald de Vere had taken her in years ago when she was a homeless orphan and he was a homeless lord in exile. So when de Vere was able to return to his estate of Cleobury, Robin accompanied him, and became his ward.
His daughter, Cecily, along with her husband, Alric, raised Robin…or at least they tried.
Robin feared she wasn’t ever meant to be a lady. She’d been born too poor, and lived too hard and wild a life as a child, to ever be a retiring and gentle creature who was happy to sew by the fireplace. But that was the role of a lady, and the de Veres wanted Robin to become a lady. So she did her best to fulfill the wishes of the people she loved.
Now she’s shaking with nerves, wondering if she could look like a lady even when she didn’t feel like one.
You can endure this. You can endure anything.
She raised her chin, picked up the hem of her gown, and descended the massive stone staircase to the hall below, where her judges awaited.
There they stood, silent and watchful, like the carved statues of saints in the church. But these were flesh and blood women.
Agnes, a longtime servant and occasional tyrant, spoke first. “Faster, girl, or do you think you’ll trip on that gown? If you didn’t run about dressed as a lad for so many years, you’d know how to walk in a lady’s clothing.”
“Oh, hush, Agnes. She’s doing her best,” said Pavia, who stood nearby. Pavia was well-born, and the maid fell silent at the command. “Keep on, my dear. We need to see you in the light.”
Robin hurried the rest of the way, stopping when she reached the long, angled patch of sunlight coming in through the narrow windows. “My ladies,” she said, curtseying as she’d been taught.
The third woman’s eyes lit up, and she clapped her hands together once. “Lady Robin!” Cecily proclaimed. “What a picture you make!”
“Are you certain?” Robin let out a breath. The dress she wore was the result of many painful hours of measuring, cutting, and stitching…and much assistance from the other three women. The green silk was the finest fabric Robin had ever worn, and she’d chosen it because the color reminded her of the forest in summer. But oh, the challenge of making a bolt of fabric into a gown! Robin nearly despaired. But at last it was done. And perhaps, to judge by the women’s delighted faces, it was worth it.
The women circled her, their hands out to inspect the lines of the gown, Robin’s silk headdress and the unbound hair cascading below it, and even the tips of her new leather shoes.
Pavia, an older woman who nevertheless radiated youthful vigor, reached out to straighten the pendant at Robin’s throat. It was a tiny cross of gold with a single, round-topped crystal in the center. Robin treasured it above all her other possessions.
“Now you look every inch the lady,” Pavia said. “I am so proud of your efforts, Robin.”
“Praise all the saints for such a miracle,” said Agnes, and in a lower tone, “To think that such a tatterdemalion could ever bloom into a rose.”
“She’s not a flower,” Cecily interjected, “she’s a bird. And she just needed a bit of a boost to spread her wings.”
The blonde woman took Robin’s hands in her own. Cecily’s smile was as warm as the summer sun. “Alas that tonight can’t be a feast—a gown like this deserves to be seen by all.”
“Seen by men,” Pavia translated. “And in specific, by Geoffrey Ballard.”
The son of a neighboring baron, Geoffrey Ballard was good-looking, tall, and well built with thick, sandy hair that usually caught women’s eyes. When he was in a good humor, which was often, he had a ready smile and a jesting, teasing way about him that Robin did enjoy. If his mouth was a little thin, and tended to press into a line when something displeased him…well, why should everything about him make Robin swoon?
To be honest, nothing about Ballard made herswoon. She liked him well enough. He shared some interests with her—hunting and hawking, and to a lesser extent, the countryside they both knew well. But she was terribly conscious of the need to please him, to pretend to be a lady, and to forgo any actions that might make her seem too willful to be a good bride.
Robin said, “Geoffrey has seen me before. A new gown won’t change his opinion of me.”
“Oh, it may,” said Pavia. “Nineteen is an age to secure a husband, and if another man sees you before Lord Geoffrey makes his formal declaration, he may be too late. Has he asked you to join him for his next hunt?”
“He has.” Robin bit her lip, not entirely pleased at the reminder. She loved hunting. Lord Geoffrey owned superb hounds and hawks, and Robin had enjoyed going on hunts organized by him previously. But she shook her head. “I’m not sure it means anything. A hunt is not a marriage proposal. An orphan girl with no name and no dowry is not a prize.”
Though Geoffrey certainly expressed interest in her, Robin couldn’t imagine a noble family approving of her for a bride. A part of her was always aware of her lacks.
“He’s all but spoken the words,” Cecily told her. “If Geoffrey’s mother had not been so ill, the marriage would have taken place already.”
Robin frowned. She was not looking forward to a wedding.
