My name is Megan Campbell, and I am originally from Scotland. I was born in the year of your Lord Henry in 1545. I was born to a poor peasant family and found out early that life would be better in the pubs. My father being the fine Scot that he was knew the local pub owner and sold me off to him at the ripe age of 12. I worked in this pub for a little over a year. 'Til the day that Sir Edward Featherstone came to the Pub. I served for the fortnight that he was in our town, Sir Featherstone had became enamoured with me, and would not leave me to work in this lowly Scottish Pub. Rescuing me my arse, he took me from one hovel to another, which he was, the owner of. One that was far far from my home in the Scottish Highlands to the dankness of England's Northumberland County. It became my job to service Lord Featherstone who was far older than I, but my loyal service beguiled my Lord Featherstone. Lord Edward began to take me from his pub to his Manor House for additional services to be performed privately for him. I was very rarely in the pub any longer and more and more becoming the Lady of the Manor. Lord Featherstone offered to make me an honest woman, and to take my hand in a fasting ceremony. To be made an honest woman was a fine thing, Lord Featherstone had always been kind to me, even though he was some 20 years older than I. However, I was very fond of him, for he took me from the wench I was to a Lady of a fine manor. For that I promised my Lord to never let him down, until that fateful night.... But I jump ahead of myself, let me return back to the Manor

Lord Featherstone has a fine Manor, surrounded by the Featherstone Woods, it became a peaceful existence for me. The Manor was a beautiful place with trees and land lots and lots of land. We had an indoor privy and bath, which was normally only for the Nobles but, Lord Featherstone was becoming more and more wealthy because of the pubs. We had horses and other large farm beasts. We had a staff of washerwomen and stable hands. Ohhhh, how I loved those stable hands. With their leather doublets and well worn hands, oh again I drift off. Must I tell you that once a Wench always a wench. I continued to work in the Tavern. I prided myself on having the finest wenches, the most talented and most beautiful women from around the Highlands, England, Ireland, and France. We have beauty and talent in the lovely wenches that have been found The Featherstone Tavern became the favored pub for many a man. I tended to my husbands business until the birth of my little Irish rose Cordelia. Irish you might ask, of a Scottish Mother and English Father. Must I say it again, once a wench always a wench. I child fathered by the Foundry Master, who considered a trade for services. Well, needless to say after several indiscretions darling little Cordelia. From said day forward to Lord Featherstone's death he never knew that Cordelia was never his child. Lord Edward showered her with love and gifts like any good father would.

We lived our lives to the fullest, with days filled with laughter and song. We lived our lives in happiness. Lord Edward was aging and unable to attend to his Taverns, which left he to care for Cordelia in the evening and his loyal wife to attend his business in the pubs. Until the 10^th year of our lives together. On the 10^th night of our celebration of our Handfast, Lord Edward passed on to the Gods, in a way that the fine Lord would care to go. Mounted upon his wenchly wife. 'Tis a wish of my Lord to go to the Gods in this way. I was pleased I could fulfill his last wish.

Life continued on for a year, Cordelia was turning 11, near to the time my Father took me to the pubs. I had made the decision that since my daughter had been birthed under different circumstances than I, she would not be sent to any Tavern to serve the blokes and rogues. Life for her would contain some privilege. Our lives seemed Blissful, days spent at the manor and nights at the Tavern counting pence and serving blokes their Ale. It became my duty to teach her Highland Customs, like weaving, gardening and horseback riding. Ahhhh, the freedom of horses, strength, and kindness behind large eyes. I wish that I had known the freedom of those creatures as Cordelia does.

One afternoon Cordelia and I had left the manor to tour the countryside of Northumberland County. It had become quite dangerous, many gypsies or rogues had been attacking men and killing them for a few pence. I had felt comfort in knowing many of the King's guard from the Tavern, and felt secure in my passage in the Countryside. Cordelia and I had spent two nights away from the Tavern, and had made it to the coast. We were looking toward my homeland and my heart ached for the sound of the Bagpipes. We had spent our final night at the coast and started our return to the Featherstone Manor.

The afternoon sun was hot, and the ride seemed long in the return to the Manor. We were riding and saw billows of black smoke hovering in the afternoon sky. Knowing the danger but somehow not thinking of it we headed for the village. As we entered the village the smoke was thick and stinging our eyes, we could smell the death of the village inhabitants. We rode through the village towards the sounds of crying. A young child's crying. I dismounted my horse and walked toward the sound and upon thy eyes I saw the most beautiful eyes, blue like the sea, but filled with sadness and tears. A beautiful little lassie, crying for her lost family. Her age must be near to young womanhood. A few years more than Cordelia, but not many. My little Cordelia begged for me to take this Lassie back to the Featherstone Manor. As this lovely lassie gathered the few tiny items of her past we discovered her name was Morgana.