December 1st, 1154. Tintagel Castle, Cornwall.
If Sarah was to say anything at all about the state of affairs in Cornwall, it was that she would much rather get a good day out in the sun with her sisters than be cooped up in the study, buried under a mountain of Latin and dance lessons. Not that they couldn’t be incredibly fun- Sarah would never give up the opportunity to dance circles around her father- but truly she missed the carefree days of having servants run down with them to the coastline to dip their feet into the vast blue sea.
Sarah had always dared to go the deepest into the waters, sometimes stripping down to linens to swim to where her feet could no longer touch sand and stone, far beyond where both of her sisters would go. Of course, she would also be the first to lie about it, knowing all too well that her father would disapprove.
Father, or Reginald as his men knew him, could never find it in his heart to truly punish his daughter for such actions- she came by it honestly. The man had been known for his fierce courage in the apex of his life, fitting of a King’s son the people had said, even if he was a bastard. And though the patriarch of House de Dunstanville no longer rode into battle he still carried the want of adventure. His wife, however, did not share that same bravery.
No one would ever call Beatrice FitzAlan weak, for it simply wasn’t true. Where the woman might have been afraid of battle, fearful of her daughter being swept out by the tide, or nervous of assassins sent by the Plantagenets or the Capetians coming to claim the life of her beloved husband, she was strong of will when it came to the defense of her loved ones. Her mother had never told her family much of her life before she had met Sarah’s father- only the briefest of hints that she had come from nobility herself- a child of a Duke’s bastard.
Sarah’s father had never cared much, and he worked as a man consumed by love and passion to treat his wife to every luxury they could afford, and the proof of their mutual devotion was their three daughters.
Sarah was not the eldest child, far from it in fact.
Denisa was seven years Sarah’s elder, but sometimes Deni seemed decades older in terms of maturity. Her elder sister had been raised to be a charming wife, but perhaps her brazen gregariousness and bravery had looped back around to make Denisa more disconcerting than anything else. She had left the county of Cornwall some two years back to live with her husband, Richard de Reviers, and rumors had floated back to the castle that Denisa treated servants with a harshness that she had never shown at her childhood home, and that she often engaged in lies over nothing at all, lowering her reputation at the court.
Maud, on the other hand, already had a great understanding of the matters of court and knew her recitations better than Sarah herself. Her little sister didn’t much like to show off though, as she had a shyness around visitors and strangers. But when she did want to show off her rhymes or her newly learned court dances she would turn to either Sarah or the wooden cross in her bedroom. Maud was nothing if not devoutly religious, and despite her little love for reading she enjoyed nothing more than to attend mass and sing hymns. “It makes me feel as though I am at peace,” Maud would often try to explain. “Like He is always smiling down upon me.”
Try as she might, Sarah had never achieved the same sense of peace that Maud spoke of, much to the chagrin of Bishop Jordan.
The priest had always disliked Sarah a bit (or so she felt), for no good reason as the girl did her best to be as pious as her sister. Whatever Maud knew that made the Lord smile upon her, Sarah felt she would never learn.
The council liked her well enough, with the obvious exception of Bishop Jordan. Nicholas had been a son of one of Sarah’s father’s friends, and was the only man on the council of no rank besides his appointment. Still, he was kind enough to her when he was at court, but for now he was with Denisa at the Isle of Wight at the court of Earl Baldwin.
William de Windsor was the son of a famed castellan, or that had been what Sarah had been told. He had always seemed a bit aloof, but like Nicholas the man had ties to his father. Sarah could faintly remember having seen William and Denisa kissing in her bedroom before supper when Sarah had gone to change her chemise, and then Mayor Walter had said that William had wanted Denisa for a wife before she was married off.
Mayor Walter, out of all the council, liked Sarah the best and thus she liked him the best as well. She didn’t quite grasp how he went about building spy rings and collecting rumors like they were shiny baubles and polished rocks along the coastline, but he did it well. He had been at his job the longest- recommended to the position by the Lady Beatrice herself, who had saw a kindred spirit in the man. Denisa had said that the Mayor was a man of no rank, and thus was less than a sir, but Sarah knew that she could always get into the man’s good graces by sweetly calling him Lord Walter.
Finally, Matthew of St Germans was the castle’s steward. He was one of the Bishop’s men, and had been elevated to the council on the man’s request. Sarah knew the least of him, but he was kinder than Bishop Jordan, so he was at least pleasant to be around.
Yet one thing put the House de Dunstanville apart besides the loving relationship between spouses and sisters and the highly competent council- the blood of kings that coursed through the family’s veins.
Sarah and her sisters were the great-granddaughters of William the Conquerer himself. Though she was now far from royalty herself, her ancestry commanded great respect across the continent, and put her as a relative to some of the most prominent families in the Christendom.
Sarah sighed, tapping her quill hard against the paper in front of her, tiny dots of ink littering the page from where she had been daydreaming. Yes, a chance to swim in the deep waters once more would be immensely pleasing.
The girl would be pulled from her fantasies by a sudden knock at her door. Sarah stood up abruptly, swiftly striding to greet her visitor.
When she opened it, it was Nicholas, professionally serious as per usual. The Chancellor dropped into a courtly bow, before rising to give the small girl a short nod. “Countess Sarah, I have put together a list of potential marriage options, as your Lord Father asked of me.”
Sarah couldn’t help but roll her eyes. It seemed that her swim would have to wait.
