One Five years later, June 1294
Last Fells, England
So it had come to this, after all.
Sophia Darnly had known it would, eventually. It was as inevitable as spring flooding and salted meat in winter. She was tipping over into corruption and vice like a pitcher off the table.
It had only been a matter of time.
There was no shame in making a mistake. There was not even shame in committing the same manner of error a second time, by virtue of being “precipitous” or more inaccurately, “foolish”—they never named it “bold” or “ambitious,” for...