Fragments of Grace (Prequel to the Dragonblade Trilogy) Read Online Free PDF

had
ever seen, set like granite.  When he smiled, which had only been once, she’d
caught a glimpse of a handsome smile only dreamt of in fantasies of foolish
girls with too many thoughts of men on their minds.  His lips peeled away in a
smile to reveal straight white teeth and big dimples in each cheek.  His nose
was straight enough, unmarred, and his pale blue eyes were both icy and
smoldering at the same time.  It was a devastating and captivating combination
for the feminine appetite.
    As Chloë sat in a large tent with
her mother and sister, she could see outside to where her father, the fat
graying figure of Lord Coverdale, and several knights, including St. Hèver,
were gathered.   The women had been given as much comfort as possible in a dry
place with a scorching stove that burned smoky peat, and big cups of warmed
wine.  As Chloë sat with her sister and sipped wine, her mother resumed her
sewing as if nothing in the world was amiss.
    Chloë had been watching the
activity outside when St. Hèver had removed his helm and peeled back his
hauberk, scratching his close-cropped blond hair that was wet with perspiration
and rain.  She could see the kinky texture, even at a distance.  He was a tall
man, taller than Coverdale and her father but not as tall as either of his two
companions, the other knights that had escorted her mother and sister.
    Still, the sheer size of the man
was something to behold.   The size of his arms, chest and hands were like
nothing she had ever seen before and when he had carried her to the encampment,
she had felt his power. The sensation had captured her curiosity and her
interest.
    So she sipped her wine and
watched St. Hèver as he engaged in deep and sometimes animated discussion with
Coverdale and her father.  The Coverdale encampment was filling up with
soldiers returning from the cleanup of the castle and occasionally, groups of
men and prisoners would block her view as she watched St. Hèver in the
distance. Eventually, her father broke away from the group of men and made his
way to the tent where his wife and daughters were. 
    Anton de Geld was the son of a
noble family, having achieved wealth through the breeding and sale of sheep. 
He wasn’t a healthy man but he was bright. He had moments of weakness and
foolery. As he entered the tent, Chloë rose from the small three legged stool
she had been sitting on and offered it to her father.  He took it gratefully.
    “What will we do now, Father?”
she asked, glancing out into the encampment again and noting that St. Hèver was
still standing there, his head bare to the falling rain as he listened to
whatever Coverdale had to say.  Her eyes were riveted to the man. “It seems
that you had much to discuss with Lord Coverdale.”
    Anton ran a hand across his
thinning gray hair. “Much indeed,” he said. “This was Ingilby’s work, Chloë. He
came for you.”
    She could hear anger in her
father’s tone. “I know,” she replied softly.
    “This was a bold move, even for
him.”
    “What will we do?”
    Anton shrugged as he accepted a
cup of warmed wine from Cassandra. “I will remain here to oversee the rebuild,”
he told her. “But I will send you and your sister and your mother with
Coverdale.  He has offered to house you and protect you until we can adequately
repair Exelby, which may take some time.”
    Chloë wasn’t entirely sure she
wanted to leave her home but she understood her father’s concerns.  Looking at
all of the wounded men, traversing across the muddy encampment, fed her sense
of guilt. Everything had happened because of her, injury and death alike.  She
glanced up at the gray skies, feeling as sad and remorseful as the gloomy
above.
    “Perhaps I should simply marry
him and be done with it,” she muttered. “I cannot stomach the men who have been
put in harm’s way because of me.”
    “It was not because of you,”
Anton could hear the self-pity in her voice. “What Ingilby wants is