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home for… a long time, if these Normans had anything to do with it. The castle rose high over the village that nestled in front of it.
    “Not long now, mistress,” the man accompanying her, who had a name that Catheryn could not pronounce, said. He cast a smile at her. “Soon you will be cared for in a manner better suited to your station, my lady.”
    Catheryn returned the smile wearily. “I’m not entirely sure what my station is, at present,” she admitted. “In England, I am a lady; in Normandy, I am a prisoner.”
    “No reason that you cannot be both,” said the man stiffly. “The FitzOsberns are a noble family. They will treat you well.”
    Catheryn opened her mouth, but merely closed it again. There was no point in her trying to explain – trying to convince a man that there was a great deal of difference between commanding an entire household and being alone in a room for half the year.
    By this point, they had reached the edge of the village. Many of the locals lifted their heads, but saw just another two travellers, and thought no more of it. A gaggle of young girls looked up at her shyly, before a woman shouted at them and they scattered, giggling and shrieking with laughter.
    Catheryn looked around, and bitterness crept into her heart. These people were very like the villagers she had left behind – but these people knew nothing of real pain and loss. They had lived in relative safety all of their lives. Not for them the coming drums, the fires, and the screams of their children…
    “…my lady?”
    The man had obviously been talking to her, and Catheryn blushed at her rudeness.
    “My apologies,” she said awkwardly, “I am tired.”
    “It is nothing,” he replied. “I just wanted to welcome you to your new home.”
    Catheryn realised that they had arrived at the castle gate. The place where she would be a prisoner once more. Now the journey was over, she already missed it. The change from room to wilderness had been a welcome one, and for a few days she had managed to convince herself that she was truly free.
    The man knocked solemnly on the great door, and within moments it was opened by a man in dark navy blue.
    “Who knocks?”
    “The lady Catheryn, sent by the Queen.”
    The answer was formal, and Catheryn was glad that she was not required to contribute anything. Despite the fact that it was only midday, she thought longingly of bed; of a real bed, with a coverlet, and no rats to crawl in with her.
    The man who had answered the door nodded, and pulled the door wide open so that the two horses could pass through.
    As her horse walked on, Catheryn’s eyes widened. What she had taken to be the outside of the castle was in fact a wall that surrounded it. Between the two was a grassy area with several tents, and people bustling between them, shouting out for more arrows, or a mug of mead.
    Geffrei’s home had seemed monstrously huge to Catheryn, and yet this castle was larger still. Catheryn’s heart sank: this place, surely, would have a dungeon of some sort, not just a room in which to abandon her. She had been a fool to trust the words of Matilda.
    Sinking lower on her horse, she meekly followed the man who had brought her so far. He walked his horse slowly to what Catheryn now saw was the actual entrance to the castle.
    “And the name here is FitzOsbern?” she said quietly.
    The man nodded. “A noble house, much beloved by the royal family. The lord here is in fact the cousin of our king.”
    Catheryn caught the reverence in his voice, and tried desperately not to roll her eyes. Another man easily impressed by birth. Her husband had been of low birth, but had earned his position. This FitzOsbern was undoubtedly some sort of idiot, but his family had given him this place.
    “The FitzOsberns,” she repeated. She had never heard of them in England, and had no idea whether it was just the lord or if he was married.
    But that question was readily answered by the entrance of a woman,