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Prologue
Tynsdale Castle, England
Late spring, 1355
The Earl of Tynsdale hovered near death, and not a soul wished him to linger. Simon lounged in a chair by the bedside of his dying father, his long legs stretched out before him. The old man moaned and gasped for breath. Simon was hopeful for a moment, but the earl continued his rattled breathing. Hellfire but this was dull.
Simon had been waiting for his father's death for weeks now. He'd helped himself to his father's wine, his father's wenches; he was running out of things to do. He was not a man who enjoyed being idle.
Lord Tynsdale's eyes were sunk deep into bony sockets, his dried, sallow flesh hung loose from his face. Simon turned away with disgust. His father couldn't do anything right. He had been a hard man in life, greedy and capricious with his affections. Simon was his bastard son, and his father never let him forget it. The earl would acknowledge Simon when it suited him, deny him when it didn't. The earl wanted to sire a legitimate son, but Simon made sure that never happened. It was just a game they played. The earl denied much to Simon, and Simon returned the favor.
Simon shifted in his chair and took another long draft of ale. Five years ago his father, always the optimist, had taken another young wife with the hopes of yet siring an heir. Simon was forced to take measures into his own hands before his father could get the wench breeding. As a result, the young Lady Tynsdale had fled back to her home at Alnsworth, and his father had been at war with Alnsworth ever since.
But now the lady's uncle had died, leaving Alnsworth Castle to her, and thus to her husband. Since Tynsdale would soon be departing this earth, Alnsworth would revert to Lady Tynsdale. If she were to learn of Tynsdale's death and marry another, Alnsworth Castle and its surrounding lands would be given to some other lucky bastard.
Simon stood and took another deep swig. No, he would not allow that to happen. His father's lands and holdings, including Alnsworth, would be his. Whatever his father had denied Simon in life, Simon would steal from him in death.
"Page!"
A young lad burst into the room and stood at lock-kneed attention.
"Send a messenger to Alnsworth Castle to summon the Lady Tynsdale to present herself. Her lord demands her presence at once."
The lad bowed and scurried from the room. Simon fell back into his chair, the wood squeaking under his weight. He would take care of the problem of Lady Tynsdale.
The earl moaned and gasped again. Simon rolled his eyes. How long could it possibly take for this bag of bones to die? Simon fingered a pillow by his father's side. Perhaps it was time to hasten things along...
