Mary Gillgannon Read Online Free PDF Page A

forgiveness.”
    Marguerite rolled her eyes and quickly dismissed the man, then flopped down on one of the pallets with a sigh. “I am so tired, I think I could sleep anywhere, even on this wretched rock of a bed.”
    Astra sighed. She was exhausted as well. The day had begun very early and been filled with more excitement than she had experienced in months. She removed her wimple and bliaut and stretched out on one of the lumpy pallets, then pulled up the thin, rough blanket.
    Long minutes passed. Next to her, Marguerite’s breathing slowed and deepened. Astra twisted restlessly and tried to find a comfortable position. A sense of anxiety crept over her as she recalled the danger she and Marguerite had faced in the forest. They could have been raped or even murdered!
    Astra’s heart pounded and her tense muscles tightened even further as she contemplated what might have happened. Perhaps she should never have left the priory. She was obviously too naive and foolish to avoid the evils of a country fair. What would happen to her when she faced the dangers and depravities of a king’s court? It might be best if she returned to Stafford before something truly awful occurred.
    Astra clutched her chest and felt her heart thundering beneath her fingertips. Jesu, what a coward she was! One little scare and she was ready to go fleeing back to Stafford. If she did, it would be the end of her dreams of a husband and family. The rest of her life would be spent in the narrow, numbing world of the cloisters. No, she thought resolutely, she would not be so spineless.
    As she had many times before, Astra thought of her father. She could not remember him, but she knew he had been a brave man, not only a courageous soldier, but also a man of strong convictions. Many years ago, Brian de Mortain had defied evil King John and refused his request to murder a man who had offended the king. His defiance had eventually ruined him, but de Mortain had never expressed regret over his choice. Recalling her father’s life—he had drowned crossing the channel in 1233, only months after Astra’s mother had perished of childbed fever—Astra could not help but be inspired. Her father had stood up for what he believed, despite the cost. She, too, must follow her convictions.
    A sense of determination replaced her panic. To return to Stafford would be to choose the easy path, the safe one. For the sake of her father’s memory she could not do that. She must continue to search for the destiny she was meant to pursue.
    She sighed and willed herself to relax. As the tension left her body, she thought again of the knight in the forest. She recalled his hand upon her arm, his dangerous dark eyes staring at her. The memory made a warm tingle rush down her body. The sensation surprised her. What did it mean? Was she afraid of the fierce-looking knight, or was it something else? She considered asking Marguerite about it in the morning, and then decided she would not. Her friend would only tease her mercilessly.
    * * *
    Will de Lacy felt a vague apprehension as he gazed around the dingy, sweltering alehouse. The tournament had attracted knights from the nearby shires, along with a less savory element of ruffians, gamblers and petty criminals. The very air of the Boarshead Tavern seethed with menace. He felt for the dagger at his belt and wondered if he would have need of it.
    Across the greasy plank that served as a table, Richard conversed animatedly with another knight, arguing various fighting techniques and their relative merits on the tournament field. Will scarcely listened. To his mind tournaments were dangerous and foolish, and he had tried without success to dissuade Richard from entering this one.
    He took another swig of bitter ale and surveyed the room gloomily. His eyes met those of Guy Faucomberg, a hard-eyed young man who was said to be one of the richest men in England. For a moment their gazes locked, and Will’s uneasiness increased. His body