Prologue Hunstanton, England  October,1499     Willow made her way down the garden path between overhanging lilac bushes and late-blooming roses, glancing over her shoulder to be sure no one had seen her.  She need not have worried—she was a master at slipping away without anyone noticing.  Pursing her lips, she wondered again at the fairness of it all.  She grew weary of meeting in secret, always at night in the camouflage of the dark.  But, she told herself, anything was worth seeing her beloved again.  Soon they would be married, and all the sneaking would be behind them.  A wayward lock of reddish-brown hair flopped over her forehead, and she coaxed it back up, praying it would stay in place just a while longer.  Her beloved, Rutherford Sedgeworth III, waited for her just beyond the gate.  It was at his insistence they meet this way, as he didn’t want to enrage his father by being in a relationship with a member of the Bluthe family. The gate loomed before her, and Willow quickened her steps.  She tightened her shawl around her bare shoulders.  The nights grew chilly and she certainly couldn’t continue meeting him throughout the winter this way.  No matter.  With the news she had to share, their marriage would be forthcoming faster than anticipated. She reached the gate, and it opened with a slight creak.  A voice from the darkness called her name.  “Ford?” she answered in a whisper. “Over here.”   She saw his form step out from behind the shrubbery, illuminated by the light from a small lantern.  He put the lantern on the ground and held out his arms to her. She ran and threw herself into his embrace.  They hugged, then kissed with a passion only forbidden lovers could feel.  She loved the way he smelled—like the exotic French soaps his family imported; an exotic mixture of spices.  Her fingers ran through his thick, blonde hair, mussing it the way he always chastised her for, but she didn’t care.  They were together again. He took her hand and motioned to the bench.  “Let us sit.  I have something to tell you.” “So do I.”  She followed him to the bench, smoothed her gown, and sat down while he remained standing.  Bursting to relay her information, she blurted out talking at the same time he did.  They both paused, gave a nervous laugh, and he motioned to her. “Go ahead—ladies first.” “Well,” she started, “I know your father wanted you to obtain a bride with a large dowry.” “That is sort of what I wish to talk with you about,” he interrupted. “Nay, let me finish!”  She swallowed hard, hoping her voice wouldn’t fail from the excitement.  “I have been keeping something from you.” “Indeed?”  He sat down and took one of her hands.  “Pray tell, what?” She was so thrilled she practically bounced.  “I have been saving money; a great deal of it.  I believe I have enough for . . .” “Money?” he again interrupted.  “You are only sixteen.  Where did you get any money?”  He furled his eyebrows together in suspicion. She paused in uncertainty.  “Does it matter?” He stood back up, expressing distrust, and paced in front of her.  “Well, aye, it matters!  I mean, forgive me, Willow, but ‘tis common knowledge that your family is . . .” She jumped to her feet in righteous anger.  “My family is what?” “You know as well as I.  Your family is poor, living off the good graces of others.  Hell, my own father has loaned your father money.” “Which my father paid back.” “Well, aye, but the point is . . .” “Aye, what is the point?” He lowered his voice in capitulation.  “Willow, let us not fight.  We have had this conversation before.  You know how my father is." She again smiled widely.  “That is what I have been trying to tell you!  I have enough money for a dowry—a large one that even your father shall approve of.” He folded his arms.  “And again I ask where you got it.  You haven’t resorted to stealing, have you?” His insult made her face flare with indignation.  “Nay!  How dare you imply that!  I have been . . .selling things.” “Selling things?  You mean, your family heirlooms?  I would think anything of worth would be gone by now.” “Nay.  I have been, er, making things that people want to buy.” An amused smile consumed his face.  “Willow, I rather think that selling needlepoint and quilts would not amass a great sum of money.” “But . . .” “Besides, ‘tis a moot point.  My father has arranged a bride for me, a wealthy one with a dowry I am sure you could not match with your silly little nest egg.” She felt her heart drop into desperation.  “What?  Are you telling me you plan to marry another?” “‘Tis simply a business deal.  You know I love only you; my marriage shall not stop that.” Stinging tears began to form as fury choked her, making it impossible to swallow.  “Ford, what are you saying?” “Willow, we both knew this moment was coming.  ‘Tis . . . cute that you tried to save some money for a dowry, it really is.  I am flattered.  But, we both must face reality.  My father shall ne’er accept you as my wife.  Hence, that leaves only one alternative.” As his meaning sunk in, her emotions went from despair to outrage.  “Are you asking me to be your mistress?” He put a hand on each of her shoulders, looking at her like a father would a disobedient child.  “Now, Willow, do not be so indignant.  Many women of your standing have . . .” “My standing!  No Bluthe woman has ever been made a mistress!” “I am sure that was before your father lost all his money.  Face it, Willow.  You are not going to be getting many offers, not with your family’s financial status.  You love me, and I love you.  After I marry this woman, my father cannot control my actions.  Who I take as my mistress is not his concern.” She shook off his hands and stood up tall.  “And ‘twill not be me”.  Large tears began falling down her cheeks, and she sniffed in an attempt to control them. “Now, Willow, you do not mean that.  You are just upset.  I promise I shall not love this woman.” “Just who is this unfortunate soul, anyway?” He drew up in surprise, as if he didn’t expect her to ask that.  “Um, a lady Christine Bollings of Cambridgeshire.  Ne’er heard of her.  Anyway, I promise I shall be loyal only to . . .” “Bollings?  Of Cambridgeshire?”  Willow narrowed her eyes in thought.  “My father has spoken of her.  She was rumored to have her sights set on one of the Cameron sons.  My father is acquainted with Baron Cameron.” “Cameron?”  He snorted in disbelief.  “I do not think even she could nab a Cameron.  My Lord, they are one of the richest and most influential families in England.  And see, there is my point.  Willow, I love you, but you simply do not have the social standing I need for a wife.” Her tears gone, her face set, Willow stepped back in determination.  “And yet you would invite me to your bed.  I think not. You are a slimy pig, Ford.  I cannot believe I ever thought I loved you.”  She turned and began to walk away without looking back. Ford grabbed her and twirled her around.  “You are not just walking away from me like this!  Who do you think you are?” “I thought I was the girl you loved, the girl you promised to marry as soon as you could convince your father of your true love for me.  How hard did you try, Ford?” He just lowered his gaze and fell silent. “I thought as much.  Could not speak up to your domineering father, could you?  Of course not, seeing how you are the biggest coward that was ever born.” He raised his head in anger.  “Do not speak to me so!  I am a Sedgeworth!” She shook her head.  “Wrong.  You are a lowly worm, not worthy of any woman’s love, certainly not mine.”  She turned and briskly strutted away. It took him a second to realize she had just rejected him.  “You will be sorry,” he yelled after her, his voice shaking with rage.  “You shall come crawling back, begging me to take you in!  Just wait!”  His words fell unheard, as she was already gone from his sight and his life.