Juliana Garnett Read Online Free PDF Page A

feet. This time the boy left without a backward glance, small back held stiff and straight, the carved wooden horse tightly clutched in one hand.
    Looking up, Rolf saw tears in the feminine blue eyes glancing back at him and wondered again who she was. Whoever she was, her heart was compassionate. It was not a common trait in the women he had known.
    He walked to the door when they had departed, and the armed soldier standing guard gave him a wary glance. Rolf looked at him. “My lady of Seabrook’s companion is her sister, is she not?” he asked casually, and the soldier shook his head.
    “Nay, she is the lady’s cousin.”
    Her cousin. There was a certain similarity, he supposed, though Lady Alais seemed more petulant than reserved like her cousin. And there had been no compassion in the cold brown eyes regarding them with suspicion. But he should not be surprised by the dissimilar natures of family members. Hadn’t he served under King Richard? Didn’t he know well the contradictions between that warrior king and the craven man who now ruled England? Aye, well he knew and regretted those differences. Richard might not have been the most politic ruler, but neither had he been as devious as John.
    And neither would he have resented rendering unto his loyal vassal that which he had earned, as John did. Yea, one day John would rue his harsh tax laws and the autocratic seizures of lawfully owned property.
    As would one day Thurston of Seabrook regret keeping his son away from him. Rolf’s hands closed into empty fists at his sides.
    “Come with me, my lord,” the guard was saying, andRolf swung his attention back to the moment at hand. He lifted up his gauntlets from the floor where he had dropped them and followed the guard.
    “I thought to make the moment more comfortable is all,” Annice said in response to her cousin’s query. “The boy should not be made afraid of his father.”
    “God’s grace, but what do you care?” Alais opened her brown eyes wider. “He’s only a hostage here, held against the Dragon’s good behavior. It matters not if the child or the father is content. To allow them communication is dangerous.”
    Annice frowned. “You begin to sound like your husband.”
    “And so? Thurston may not be the most equitable of men at times, but he is often right about such matters. Think on’t—near all of Lincolnshire is said to be in rebellion. Richmond Castle is under attack in Yorkshire, barely held by rebels. If le Draca is allowed even the smallest concession, he will soon be at our gates with an army. Is that what you desire?”
    “I think,” Annice said slowly, “that the Lord of Dragonwyck wants only his son. He did not strike me as a man who would break an oath, if one could force him to give it.” She toyed with the end of her hair, brushing the loose tips against her palm. The scene she had witnessed earlier had left a vivid impression upon her. Though she conceded that her tender heart could misconstrue words, there had been no doubt of the father’s love and devotion. It had been plain enough in the small carved horse. How many hours it must have taken him to detail so painstakingly the family crest, the mane and tail, the flared nostrils and wild eyes of his own destrier. There was more intent than just a plaything in his gift; he had included a sense of family in the carving of the horse, the legacy from father to son. Each time young Justin played with the horse, he would grow more familiar with his familial heritage. And he would remember that ’twas his father who had given him the toy.
    Alais snorted. “I think you’ve read more into the Dragon’s actions than there truly is. Once he has his son back, he would feel free to make war again. Haven’t you heard of his past exploits?”
    Impatiently, Annice said, “Aye, ’twould be hard not to have heard of them. But I recall my own father saying that all war is brutal, and men ofttimes grow ruthless.”
    “That does