The Kadin - Bertrice Small [0]
SMALL
THE
KADIN
To my dearest husband, George, who, having lived all these years with Cyra, Firousi, Zuleika, Sarina, and me, can tell you that having a harem isn’t what it’s cracked up to be.
CONTENTS
Prologue
PART I
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
PART II
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
PART III
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
PART IV
35
36
37
38
39
PART V
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
Epilogue
Other Avon Books by Bertrice Small
Copyright
About the Publisher
Prologue April, 1484
GLENKIRK CASTLB stood dark against the gray sky, its drawbridge down. Along the walls, men-at-arms paced slowly, always on guard. There was peace in the land, but yesterday’s friend could easily became today’s foe.
From within the castle courtyard came the sudden sound of hooves. A large black horse ridden by a man wearing a cape clattered across the drawbridge and onto the road. The rider, his cape fluttering wildly in the wind, pushed the animal into a gallop.
Behind him, Patrick Leslie, lord of Glenkirk, left a group of wailing women, his newborn son, and his dead wife, Agnes.
As he rode on, his mind slipped back to the weeks and months just past
He had waited eagerly for the birth of his heir. Agnes had had an easy confinement, managing to keep her sunny disposition even in the beginning when she had been so sick in the mornings. Patrick Leslie was twenty-four and, having been orphaned at ten, had grown up guided by an old uncle and the men-at-arms who inhabited his home. He had married late, and in a time when most men his age had sired several sons, he had sired none. Then his eye had lit upon the petite, golden-haired daughter of the Cummings clan. He had married her quickly, and with what some said was almost indecent haste.
The day they both awaited had finally come. Anxiously he had paced the anteroom outside his wife’s bedchamber, his cousin, Ian, keeping him company. There had come a loud and lusty wail; and a few moments later his wife’s lady-in-waiting appeared in the doorway, a small bundle in her arms.
“Your son, my lord. The lady Agnes wishes to know what ye would name him.”
Patrick grinned broadly and stared down at the tiny, wrinkled creature. “Adam. Tell her he is to be called Adam, for he is but the first.”
The lady-in-waiting curtsied and returned through the door with the infant Ian Leslie cocked his head.
“The first, cousin? What of little Janet?”
“Adam is my first son, my legitimate heir, you clod!”
Ian chuckled and ducked the friendly blow aimed at him.
“You’d best send a messenger to Agnes’s family, or Lady Cummings will be on your neck, and what’s worse, she’ll be moving in for a long stay unless you reassure her quickly.”
Patrick nodded. As they turned to leave the room, the door to Agnes’s bedroom opened, and a little maid flew out “The lady Agnes … the lady Agnes …”
Patrick grabbed her and shook her sharply. “In God’s name, girl, what is wrong?”
“Blood,” wailed the servant “blood! Oh, Holy Mother have mercy on her!” Sobbing, she rushed from the room,
Patrick Leslie crossed the room in two strides, but the open door to his wife’s bedchamber was barred by the midwife. “She is dying, my lord. There is nothing I can do.”
“What” he asked, “in God’s name has happened?”
“She is bleeding, and we canna stop it my lord. Ye hae best go in now. She dinna hae much time.” The midwife’s face registered her genuine distress. She liked the lord of Glenkirk and thought that his lady was a brave and bonnie lass.
Pushing past her, he strode quickly to his wife’s bedside. Agnes Leslie lay quietly on the large bed, her blond hair spread about her pillow. Her fair skin was drained of all its color, her closed eyelids translucent and blue-veined. He bent and kissed her brow.
“You have given me a magnificent son, madam.”
Her gray eyes opened, and she smiled weakly at him. “You must ask Mary MacKay to come and look after the bairn. She is not too old.”
“You’ll ask her yourself, sweetheart”
“Patrick, I am dying.”
He groaned and turned