Daughter of Fire Read Online Free PDF Page B

vowed, “or all of Amesbury will pay the price.” He glanced about the chapel, his gaze sweeping over Poladouras and Meg, then returning to hers.
    “The choice is yours.”
    That brilliant blue gaze burned with all the hatred he knew she must feel at that moment. She was trapped without any choice, for the lives of the monk and the old woman as well as those of the villagers hung in the balance.
    The truth of it was visible in the expression that shimmered in eyes like the heart of a flame as she glanced first at the monk then the old woman, her decision already made. But that fiery spirit would never allow her to acknowledge his power over her. Instead, she whirled around and slowly walked to the stone steps that led to the tower he had seen as he and his men approached the abbey. At a nod, he sent the robbed warrior to follow her and make certain she did as he commanded.
    “Does he send you to guard me and make certain I do not escape?” she asked, certain this golden-skinned barbarian could not possibly understand the Saxon tongue. But he understood very well.
    He smiled at her and politely introduced himself. “I am Tarek al Sharif,” he replied in faintly accented English, then again in French, sympathy in those unusual blue eyes. She realized that her earlier sense of him was correct. He was from the place called Persia in Byzantine Empire that Poladouras had told her of. How, she wondered, did such a man come to fight at the side of William of Normandy?
    “Allow me to assist you, mistress,” he said, again in accented English. No weapon filled his hand. Instead, he reached out to gently guide her up the steps though she hardly needed his help. And in his touch she sensed compassion.
    “So that nothing may be forgotten,” he explained as they reached the herbal.
    Though he said nothing more, Vivian felt his silent contemplation as she quickly gathered everything that she would take with her, leaving a portion of each powder and herb in the clay pots and vials.
    “The villagers will have need of these while I am gone,” she explained.
    She was surprised when he did not object; nor did he order her to include them with the medicine she prepared to take with her, but instead nodded as he helped her carefully put the packets of precious powders and herbs into a large leather pouch.
    ~ ~ ~
    Rorke FitzWarren and his men waited astride their horses in the yard outside the abbey, the breaths of their mounts pluming in the frosty morning air like the breath of ancient dragons. Vachel and his men waited apart from the other knights and soldiers. She felt his contemptuous gaze on her and again wondered if what Rorke FitzWarren had said was true. Had Vachel come to kill her? 
    Farewells were hastily made as Poladouras gently laid his hand against her cheek. “God goes with you, my child. He will return you to our care.” He dared say no more as Rorke FitzWarren glanced impatiently at them. But old Meg had no such fear of the Norman warriors.
    “You have the crystal?” she asked urgently.
    “Aye,” Vivian assured her as her hand instinctively pressed against the crystal where it hung from her neck and lay nestled at her breasts. She felt the calming reassurance of the power of the flame that burned within.
    “Be strong, my child,” Meg told her, speaking in the ancient Celt language they shared. “Remember, they cannot harm you,” she whispered. “And you must escape at the first opportunity.”
    “Nay,” Vivian said vehemently with a glance to Rorke FitzWarren, remembering his promise to her.
    “I will not risk the lives of others.” Then she hugged Meg, and stoked the wrinkled cheek with a gentle touch.
    “Take care of Poladouras. Make certain he does not drink overmuch.”
    She pulled a thick shawl over her hair and knotting it about her shoulders to cover the gaping bodice of her gown for there had been no time to don another. The pouch of medicines was tucked under her arm. She stepped out into the