In the prestigious guest wing of Lothian Manor, the sound of rain gently falling against glass blended with the crackle of the hearth and the clink of silverware to create a soft, ordinary symphony of background sounds to a gathering that was anything but ordinary.
"Is the food sitting well with you, cousin Eleanor?" Jocelynn asked gently as she watched the severe looking woman slowly working her way through a thin soup of oats and crushed nuts while the other guests at the heavy oak table in her private dining room feasted on thick cut bacon, hearty beans and crusty, freshly baked bread.
"Even though we're prisoners," she said bitterly. "No one has stooped so low as to forget our stations. If you need something else from the kitchens…"
