"Jolenta is far too young to be married," stormed Sybil.
"She has fourteen years. Emily's mother was a year younger when I married her."
Sybil, Emily knew, hated any mention of her husband's first wife, and she responded with acid. "And a baby can be betrothed in the cradle. Many girls are wed when they are a mere twelve years, but almost as many die in childbirth. You could not wish such a fate for our delicate flower surely?"
Her father made a noncommittal sound.
"You might as well suggest we send little Margery as send my dear Jolenta."
In her hiding place, Emily had to smile. Margery was a mete six years. Even the Church refused to recognize marriages contracted between parties under the age of twelve.
"If Jolenta is of an age to marry, then surely Abigail at fifteen is also. This will doubtless be her only opportunity," Sybil said callously.
Bile rose in Emily's throat. She'd always known the other woman was cold, but such a suggestion was monstrous and her father had to know it.
"The girl is deaf."
Emily nodded in agreement and inched out of her hiding place so she could see her parents. They were sitting at the head table almost directly under where she stood and were too intent on one another to look up and see her.
Sybil said, "No one knows except the family and a few servants who would not dare to reveal our secret."
But Abigail could not hope to hide such an affliction from a husband, which was exactly what her father said.
"By the time he realizes she is so flawed, he will have consummated the marriage. Then he will have no recourse," Sybil said dismissively. "He's a Scotsman after all. Everyone knows they are barbarians, especially the Highland clans."
"And you are not concerned about what he will do to her when he realizes?" Sir Reuben asked.
Emily had to bite her lip to stop from screaming at the selfish woman when Sybil simply shrugged delicately.
"I have no desire to end up at war with one of the Highland clans over this."
"Don't be foolish. The laird is hardly going to travel this distance to take his anger out on you."
"So, I am foolish?" Sir Reuben asked in a dangerous tone.
"Only if you let old-womanish fears guide you in this decision," Sybil replied, showing how little her lord intimidated her.
"Aren't you the one who recommended I send the bare contingent of knights to assist my overlord in his last request for warriors?"
"We could hardly leave our own estates inadequately guarded."
"But his anger over my stinginess has led to this request."
"I was right though, wasn't I? He did not sanction you."
"You do not consider the loss of a daughter a sanction?"
"They must marry sometime and it is not as if we do not have a gaggle of them."
"But only one of whom you consider utterly dispensable."
"The others could still make advantageous matches."
"Even Emily?"
Her stepmother's scoffing laughter was all the answer her father got to that small taunt.
"I will send word to the king that he can expect my daughter to travel north to Laird Sinclair's holding within the month along with her dowry."
"Not Jolenta?" Sybil asked, her voice quavering.
Sir Reuben sighed with disgust. "Not Jolenta."
He meant to send Abigail. Horrified, Emily shouted, "No!"
Both Sir Reuben and Sybil started and turned their heads toward her like two buzzards caught picking over a carcass.
She flew down the stairs. "You mustn't send Abigail to such a cursed fate!"
Sybil's mouth pursed with distaste. "Were you eavesdropping again?"
"Yes. And I'm glad I was." She turned to her father, her heart in her throat. "You can't think to send Abigail so far away to a husband who might believe her affliction is a sign from God that she is unclean."
"Perhaps it is such a sign," Sybil inserted, but Emily ignored her.
"Please, Father. Do not do this."
"Your stepmother has pointed out that it may well be Abigail's only chance at marriage. Would you deny it to her?"
"Yes, if it means sending her to a barbaric Scotsman who will be furious when he realizes how you have tricked him." As her father's face hardened, Emily forced herself to reign in her temper. She did not wish to lose the battle before she'd begun because her demeanor offended her father.
She lowered her eyes, though it was hard to do. "Please, Father. Do not be offended, but I believe Sybil is wrong. I do not think a proud leader of a Scottish clan would take such deception in stride and be content to spend his fury on his hapless wife."
The fact that either of her parents thought that an acceptable alternative was more than she could bear.
"You believe the clan leader would declare war?"
"Yes."
"What does she know?" Sybil scoffed. "She knows nothing of the world."
"I have heard the tales of these fierce people, Father."
"Tales told to frighten foolish children," Sybil said.
"So my daughter is foolish as well?" Sir Reuben asked, proving he had not forgotten his wife's earlier insult.
Sybil's hands fisted at her sides as if she realized she'd made an error in speaking so plainly now that they both knew the conversation had been overheard. Her father's pride might accept such intransigence from his wife in private, but he would not tolerate others—even a lowly daughter—seeing him in a light that could make him appear weak.
Emily was determined to use that to her advantage. "Father, you are one of the wisest of the king's barons. Everyone knows that."
"Too wise to risk war with a barbaric people simply to placate an overmanaging wife?"
Emily knew better than to answer, so she remained silent while Sybil gasped in outrage.
"Who would you have me send in her place?"
"Jolenta?" she asked.
"No!" Sybil cried and then she grasped her husband's sleeve. "Consider, my dearest lord, the betrothed of Baron de Coucy's heir died of a fever not a month past. The baron will be looking for a new bride to contract very soon. His mother has already made it clear she finds Jolenta pleasing."
The younger girl had spent the last two years at Court, an honor Emily had never been extended.
"I thought you said she was too young to wed."
"A barbaric Scotsman, but not the son of a powerful baron."
"Then who would you have me send in accord with the king's order?"
"Abigail…"
"No, please, Father…"
"I do not fancy a war over the disposal of one of my daughters."
Emily winced at her father's comment. Silence had fallen between her parents and she feared its outcome if she said nothing. Yet terror at her own thoughts and what they would mean for the sister she would leave behind as well as for herself filled her.
She took a deep breath and then forced herself to say, "Send me."
"You? You think, my lord, that the Scotsman will not go to war over you sending such an undisciplined girl? She's sure to offend him her first week as his wife."
"You said it yourself, they are barbarians. He would hardly appreciate a true English lady."
Old pain seared Emily's heart. Her father had no higher opinion of her than her stepmother. She had known that particular truth since her own mother's death, when he had berated a small girl crying over her mother's grave with the knowledge that she was not the son he had craved. If she had been, her mother would not have died trying to give birth to another.
Emily knew the cruel words for the lie they were… now. But until she had seen Sybil grow large with child twice more after giving her father the heir he sought, she had believed them. And felt unworthy because of them.
But she no longer believed that to be born female made her unworthy. Six years of correspondence with a powerful abbess had healed her of that affliction. She reminded herself of that fact as she raised her gaze to meet her father's.