The Castilians: A Story of the Siege of St Andrews Castle

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Bethia rests the book on her lap, its weight heavy across her knee. Head bent, she follows each line with her finger, lips moving, stumbling occasionally over a word as she translates. A thick lock of hair falls forward and she tucks it back into the ribbon, then tilts the book to catch the brief shaft of early spring sunshine seeping through the thick glass. A door slams, echoing through the house and her hand jerks, tearing the paper. She stares at the small rip, face flushing and then smooths it with shaking fingers. Perhaps Father won’t notice.

Standing on the settle she opens the window and leans out in time to catch a glimpse of her brother disappearing around the corner. John’s supposed to be studying his Latin, not allowing her the indulgence of reading alone, and Father ordered them to stay indoors. She’s the eldest and he’ll be angry with her – but it’s John who’ll get the thrashing.

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