Juliana Garnett Read Online Free PDF Page A

the satisfaction of looking away, of yielding to the demand for a submission she knew he required. She would not be as the others, cowering under Norman rule. As he had said,
It is expected.
    But it was more difficult than she had imagined not to look away, to hold his gaze while he willed her to yield ground. Silent struggle was freighted with determination and something else, some small spark deep inside that ignited a mute appreciation of masculine symmetry: wide-spaced eyes, a straight nose, well-formed lips, and clean-shaven angle of jaw that projected stubborn determination. Ancient Northern forebears of his race had left him the legacy of height and muscle.
    Daunting, daunting man—fearsome in his pride, more dangerous in his silence
.…
    Still holding her gaze, he said, “By Sunday next, the king has commanded that all English ships return to their homeports. I am bade summon all who have done homage and fealty to the king to meet with horses and arms at Dover by the close of Easter. It is my duty to ensure that those within this sheriffdom join the king or suffer reprisal.”
    Her brow rose. “Indeed, it should pain you greatly to visit new woes upon the land, my lord high sheriff—though I think it does not.”
    After a short, sizzling silence, Devaux said, “You intrigue me, Lady Neville.”
    Her hands clenched in rose velvet.
    “Why? Because I say what I think? Or is it because I spoke up when others would not?”
    “Both. You should be at home weaving cloth or governing servants, not meddling in the affairs of men.”
    His ridicule stung and she stiffened. “The few servants I have left to me after the conscriptions into royal service can weave without my supervision, but you are right, my lord—I should be at home. It is evident I have wasted my time and yours by coming here to plead for succor.”
    “Not necessarily.” There was an intensity to his gaze that took her breath away. “I will weigh your pleas most carefully, milady. But do not mistake contemplation for weakness. I tell you plainly that I am the king’s man, here to mete out justice in his name and restore order to the shire.”
    “That is all any man or woman could require—justice. I pray that you are what you claim to be, my lord sheriff.”
    “I claim to be nothing.” His tone was flat and rough again; his eyes narrowed slightly. “I was appointed sheriff. I will do my duty as bade to by King John. It would behoove these barons to believe that the king wishes them to be content. Should you have occasion to relay that information to the unhappy barons with you, it would be better for all.”
    “I am not a messenger, my lord.” Anger overrode caution as the first brief flare of hope was quickly extinguished.
Does he think me so naive as to believe that he has only the best interests of Saxons in mind?
Tartly: “I do not presume to tell others what to think, but expect them to make their own judgments, just as I have done.”
    Tense silence lay between them, while in the hall, musicrose from lute and harp; men laughed and hounds barked. A log popped in the fire, sparks like tiny shooting stars forming a glowing arc. She was aware of it all, as she was aware of her thudding heart and slowly warming feet; paramount was the man before her, who held in his hands the power of life, death, and freedom.
    He rose to his feet. A faint, ironic smile pressed at the corners of his mouth. “No, milady, I see that you are not a messenger. A pity. It would save so much time and trouble.”
    “Perhaps, but I doubt it would be to my advantage.”
    This time his smile was genuine. “You are as sharp-tongued as you are sharp-willed, Lady Neville. I commend you for your spirit, if not your civility.”
    She would have answered sharply again, but took a deep breath instead. Prudence now seemed the wisest course.
    “My lord sheriff.” The steward appeared, his cough a polite interruption. “Sir Gervaise grows most anxious to meet with you as