The Innocent

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“I want my mama!" The little girl struggled within the firm clasp of the young nun’s arms. "Mama! I want my mama!"

"Hush, Elf," her elder brother said gently. He was already having his doubts about this course of action, but the de Warennes were right. He could not raise his five-year-old sister alone, and it was unfair to Isleen to saddle her with Eleanore, although God knew other brides took on greater responsibilities.

"Dickon," the child sobbed piteously, "I want to go home! I want Mama and Ida!" Her small heart-shaped face was woebegone. Her fine gray-blue eyes brimmed over with tears that rolled down her rosy cheeks.

Richard de Montfort felt his heart twist within his chest once again, but swallowing back his own emotions he said sternly to his younger sibling, "Now, Elf, you know Mama is dead. There is war all around us, and I cannot raise you myself. We spoke on this, you and I. You will be safe here at St. Frideswide's. This is your home now."

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