Battle cries are heard
"Come, men! The Lady of Lachlan shall surely pay for the crimes
of her treacherous family! She shall die this night!"
Uh-oh. If indeed you're the Lady of Lachlan, this can't be good. Your
rescuers, fortunately, know it too, and hustle you into the building,
where you're handed over to the care of a maid.
"Get her upstairs," your rescuer says. "Clean her up,
make sure she gets something to eat, and make sure she gets a decent
night's sleep."
"But what about the..."
"I'll take care of it." Just as you and the maid are
leaving, you hear your rescuer tell the war party that,
"The Lady of Lachlan claims sanctuary in the name of
Eljeshanai."
Who? you wonder, but the next hour or so is such a blur of activity
that you can't ask. The last thing you remember is a gentle voice
saying,
"Don't fret, milady; just rest," before the hands attached
to the voice tucked you into a warm bed.
A long time later, you awaken. Your rags have been replaced with an
impossibly comfortable nightgown. You can no longer feel grit, grime,
or blood on your body; someone must have washed you. But your headache
is still raging, and you're hungry. You notice a bell pull near your
bed, and you wonder if pulling it will summon someone who can get you
some medicine and food. But before you can pull it, you notice an
envelope with MAEY MARGARET on the front.
Do you open it or take care of what you need
first?
A warlike shout, followed by several others, rents the air. Most of
the words you hear next are a jumble of foreign phrases, but you
distinctly hear one man say, in a very British accent,
