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“And you belong to us….”

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T he trunks that stored Lady Precious de Llion’s clothing had been difficult to find.

Havilland thought they had been stored in her parents’ former bedchamber, which now belonged to Madeline and Amaline, but she found out quickly that her sisters had moved the trunks out when they took possession of the chamber.

Therefore, Havilland and her sisters had been forced to retreat to the stables where there was a storage area in the loft that kept many things not needed, or not wanted, around the castle.

Precious’ trunks were shoved up against the wall where the roof pitched steeply, trunks that the woman had brought with her from her wealthy family when she married Roald, so they were lined with precious aromatic woods that kept out the vermin and bugs.

When Havilland and Madeline finally tossed up the lids, their coughs were due to the dust that had settled on the trunks and not the state of the clothing inside.

Like a treasure trove revealed, silks and brocades glimmered in the weak light.

There were surcoats, shifts, and belts. Another trunk held shawls and cloaks and shoes.

Although Amaline didn’t remember her mother very well, Havilland and Madeline did.

Havilland even remembered the dress folded up neatly on the top of the stack, a dark blue silk with yellow embroidery.

There was some emotion attached to the clothing as Havilland remembered her mother with bittersweet fondness.

Wishing she was still here.

The fashions were old but still quite serviceable.

Very carefully, Havilland began taking out the rolled dresses, handing them to Madeline, who would unroll them, shake them out, and turn them over to Amaline.

Amaline had the thrill of draping them over her shoulders and arms so they wouldn’t touch the straw and dirt of the loft, feeling the soft material against her skin.

It was as close to her mother as she had, perhaps, ever been.

Having been informed by Madeline of the invitation, Amaline was more than eager to go, for she was a shy girl by nature and had never truly attended any type of party in her life.

The garments that were being pulled forth out of their mother’s trunks were beautiful and soft, far different from the breeches and tunics she wore.

But, being the younger sister of two older and stronger-personality sisters, she simply did as she was told.

They said wear breeches and she did. She’d never really liked fighting as a man, but rather than fight against it, she simply went with the will of the majority.

Therefore, the reality of fine dresses thrilled her to death.

Long ago, these garments had been lined with fur at the collars or sleeves, and even embellished with precious jewels and gold to show off the wealth of the House of de Llion, but those adornments had been stripped after Lady Precious died, taken back by Roald for his coffers.

As Havilland pulled the garments forth, she could see where the fur had once been or a gold belt; there were remnants of silk stitching left.

“Do you remember Mother, Madeline?” she asked as she lovingly inspected a blue-dyed canvas dress, but a very fine weave and surprisingly soft. “Do you remember her wearing this dress?”

Madeline had a green brocade garment in her hands. She glanced over at the surcoat Havilland was looking at. “Nay,” she said. “I do not remember. What I do remember is that she had dark hair, like us. I remember she used to hug us all of the time.”

Havilland smiled faintly. “I remember that, too,” she said. “I suppose I remember more of her than you would. I was eight when he passed away. You were six years of age and Amaline was only three. Ammie, what do you remember of Mother?”

Amaline had a dress in her hands, the color of yellow roses. “I do not remember much,” Amaline said. “I think I remember feelings more than anything. How she made me feel, comforted and safe.”

Havilland sighed, leaning back against the trunk. “I always wondered if she would be proud of us,” she said. “I still talk to her sometimes, you know. I ask her about things. I ask her even more now that Papa is ill.”

Madeline snorted. “Mother is about as apt to answer you as father is these days.”

Havilland lifted her eyebrows, a reluctant agreement.

“True,” she said, returning her attention to the garment in her hand.

“I do not know if Mother would have been happy that we were never sent to foster, that Papa kept us here and let us fight as men. He always wanted sons, you know. Mayhap in some way, in the way he raised us, boys are what he ultimately received.”

Madeline set the dress in her hand aside and dug into the trunk for something else.

“I do not intend to be like this forever,” she said.

“I want to marry someday and have children, and I will not fight alongside my husband. I will wear dresses all of the time and burn these breeches that we wear; that Papa forced us to wear.”

Havilland looked at her sister, thinking on the conversation she’d had with Jamison the night before about Madeline and her Welsh lover. Her prideful sister was trying to kill them all and the more she looked at her, the more her anger and hurt and confusion returned.

Something in Madeline’s comment made her think of Madeline’s motives for giving information to the Welsh.

On the surface, Madeline was cocky and brash, but beneath, she was sensitive and resentful and afraid.

Havilland knew her sister well enough to know that all on the surface was not the truth.

She found it interesting that Madeline commented on the fact that their father forced them to fight as men.

Perhaps that’s where all of this arrogance and resentment started in the first place.

“You feel that Papa forced us to be what we are?” Havilland finally asked.

Madeline nodded firmly. “He always wanted us to fight,” she said.

“You know that as well as I do, Havi– he gave us swords and taught us to fight. Whenever we spoke of wanting to do the things that women do, because we are women, he would tell us how much he wanted us to live in his image. He would tell us how proud he was of us and make us feel as if we would terribly disappoint him if we did not do as he wished.”

Havilland knew that. Her feelings were much the same, feelings she had expressed to Jamison. I am not a fine lady . It had been a horribly embarrassing admission for her.

“So you are angry at Papa,” she said quietly. “You are angry at us all. You show me that every day. Not that I blame you, Madeline. We were never given a choice with Papa. But this is the life we live and we must make the best of it.”

Madeline had a dress in her hands and she let it go, letting it fall back onto the stack in the trunk. “I will live my own life,” she said defiantly. “Papa is mad. He can no longer tell me how to live. I will do as I wish now.”

With a Welsh lover? Havilland bit her tongue. It was so very difficult for her not to fight back but she didn’t want to give Madeline any hint that she knew of her treacherous activities. Sweet Jesú, Madeline! Do you know what you are doing? Do you think to kill us all with your selfishness?

But no, Havilland couldn’t, and wouldn’t, say a word.

Too many people’s lives were dependent upon it.

If she thought Madeline’s folly had been an innocent mistake, that would have been one thing.

She would have said something to her in that case.

But she knew Madeline well enough to know that what she was doing was calculated.

Selfish, but calculated. Havilland couldn’t even pretend to guess what was going through Madeline’s mind as she sought to betray her own family.

Perhaps she was finally getting revenge on the father who forced her to dress as a man.

“You have nowhere to go and no one to go to,” Havilland said after a moment, not looking at her sister, wondering how she would react to such a statement. “You must remain here with Amaline and me. This is our home and we must protect it.”

Madeline’s jaw tensed as it so often did when displeased. “I hate this place,” she hissed. “It does not belong to me.”

“But you belong to it . Remember that, Madeline. And you belong to us.”

Madeline shook her head, looking at the dresses her sister had dug out.

She was feeling sadness and angst and frustration, everything she could possibly feel.

“I was born here but that is all,” she said.

Then, she moved away from her sisters, heading for the ladder that led out of the loft. Havilland watched her go.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

Madeline was already on the ladder. “To the kitchen,” she said. “It… it is close to the nooning meal and I am hungry.”

“Don’t you want to look through more dresses?”

“Nay.”

“But we must leave for the party soon!”

Havilland received no answer. She found herself looking at Amaline as Amaline looked rather sadly at the dress in her hands. She knew Amaline wasn’t thinking about the dress. The youngest de Llion sister was the sensitive one and Madeline’s moods tended to affect her deeply.

“And you, little chick?” Havilland asked softly. “Are you angry at Papa, too?”

Amaline shrugged. “Nay,” she said. “He is Papa and we do as he says. But I wish Madeline would not be angry so much. She is very mean sometimes.”

Havilland nodded. “She is,” she said. “Madeline is… unhappy.”

Amaline looked at her sister. “What would make her happy?”