Juliana Garnett Read Online Free PDF

soon as possible.”
    “No doubt. Lady Neville will wait here for my return, Giles. See to her needs.” With that unceremonious farewell, he was gone, stalking across the great hall with his long, loose stride while she stared after him.
    Another polite cough snared her attention, and she heard Giles ask if she needed a cup of wine.
    “No. Bring my mantle.”
    A pause, then, smoothly: “It will be brought to you upon my lord’s request. Shall I bring the wine?”
    “Yes. Bring the wine.”
    Uncertain, angry, Jane sat with her feet still to the fire’s heat, torn between flight and compliance. Any other time, she would have abandoned the hall despite his order. Yet now she hesitated.
    Conversation ebbed and flowed in the crowded hall like sea tides, washing over her in anonymous waves. Occasional laughter sounded sharp and strained. Only Normans were at ease here in this hall barren of English pride.
    Rich scents of roasted meat teased the air and empty bellies; Jane gazed resentfully at long tables set with lavish foodand silver nefs. They thrived at Ravenshed because she husbanded their food supply carefully; a meager harvest could be ruinous. She always had enough food, and coin to buy more, yet the freedmen who owed her rents would suffer grievously if she forced them to pay. Taxes were too high, too frequent, on everything from bread to water to wood. Her coffers were slowly draining of coin.
    Across the hall, Saxon barons stood uneasily in a loose group. Lords Oxton and Creighton looked tense; there was no sign of her cousin, who had undoubtedly been sensible enough to go home to Gedling. The sheriff’s men milled about with casual deliberation. There was no overt threat, yet the air reeked of intimidation, evidenced by mailed guards bearing heavy weapons, discreetly stationed by the doors.
    It was suddenly overwhelming. Giles was gone to fetch her wine; no one seemed to notice her now that the sheriff was absent. Jane rose from her seat before the fire with unhurried grace. Her shoes were almost dry; her cloak could be forsaken. Rushes crackled beneath her feet as she crossed the hall and left through iron-fortified double doors.
    Icy rain had turned to snow, frosting stones and walls in white lace caps. The middle bailey was filled with the sheriff’s men, black and gold livery stark against the paler sandstone and snowy curtain. Intent upon warmth, food, and rest, none gave her more than a second glance as she moved from the middle bailey through the gatehouse, then across the expanse of outer bailey and high barbican that guarded the outer moat and portcullis gate. She was free.
    Nottingham closed around her when she quit the castle. Vendors had begun to close their stalls in Market Square. Her feet slid a bit on the steep grade leading from castle rock. Dark alleys staggered between the half-timbered buildings that hunched over streets softened by falling snow. The cold masked the strong stench of offal, human and animal, that usually clogged the air. She heard the Watch marching, boots crunching on icy mud as they patrolled the streets.
    Shivering, she waited in the shadows behind a leaning alehouse until they passed, then made her way toward GooseGate. In resonant tones, the bells in St. Mary’s tower tolled, marking Nones. Winter light was sparse and weak, disappearing rapidly in the waning of day.
    She blew on her hands to warm them, regretting the loss of her mantle. Gedling was less than a mile past the town walls, but it would be a frigid walk once night fell. Her darkening mood suffered as much from bitter realization as from the cold.
    Nothing had changed. Only drastic measures would save England from the king’s rapacious demands … and from the new sheriff.

3
 
    Gervaise Gaudet was waiting in the antechamber with barely concealed hostility when Tré entered. Light flickered over a fair man of medium height, richly garbed. The window was shuttered but the room was well lit, with several