Midnight Magic Read Online Free PDF

grief must be muddling Emma’s thoughts beyond sense.
    Into the silence, Nicole’s voice rang clear and somber.
    “They come.”
    Father Paul led the procession into Camelen’s crowded great hall, his steps in rhythm to a harp’s soulful song.
    Alberic took his place, positioned directly behind the litter bearers and in front of the six guards chosen to stand first watch during the overnight vigil.
    Sir Hugh and William were garbed in the armor in which they’d fallen, with their swords in their scabbards and their helmets placed between their feet. Their battered shields rested on their chests.
    Alberic’s first impression of Camelen’s great hall was that someone had been overly enamored of weaponry. While he tried to concentrate on the small ceremony beginning the funeral rituals, he couldn’t help glance up and outward at the weapons hanging on the walls, on the six pillars supporting the roof’s arches, and from the roof’s support beams high above.
    Groupings of swords, daggers, axes, lances, shields, crossbows, and claymores, most of them gleaming, all vied for his attention. Most spectacular were the swords, arranged in a stunning circle up high on the far wall.
    Such a collection must have taken years to assemble, and the resulting effect of far-reaching and formidable power threatened to overwhelm the viewer. Likely each piece had its own tale to tell of victory or defeat, honor or shame, glory or disgrace. Someday he would have to ask Garrett, who walked stoic and somber at Alberic’s side, if he knew the tales attached to some of the weapons.
    ’Twould also be fascinating to learn why the lord of a wooden keep, surrounded by a thick, stone wall and a deep moat, located a mere few leagues south of Shrewsbury, had thrown his lot in with the rebellion when most of the shire supported the king. And if Hugh owned all these weapons, why hadn’t he armed a larger force of men to take with him to Wallingford?
    Nagging questions that wouldn’t be answered today.
    Gently, the litter bearers lowered the deceased lords of Camelen onto two trestle tables placed side by side in front of the dais. Beside the tables stood three females. He recognized the one in the center as Gwendolyn, who’d removed her chain mail. A startling sight, that, but the armor hadn’t detracted from her doe-eyed beauty one whit.
    The other two must be her sisters, one a mere child.
    From these three females he must choose a wife, but he had no time for more than a brief glance at them before the bearers bowed, then slipped away from the tables now become funeral biers.
    The vigil guards took their positions. All done efficiently and quietly, with respect.
    Along with Garrett, Alberic bowed his head and silently wished both father and son a speedy and safe journey to the hereafter.
    Beg pardon, William. I did not mean . . .
    Alberic squelched the guilt-induced apology. The two of them had met on the field of battle and crossed swords. In defending his own life he’d taken William’s. ’Twas not the first time he’d killed a man, and he could think of no other reason why he should be sorry other than this was the first time he’d observed funeral rites for his victim. And William’s death might continue to haunt his footsteps if the people of Camelen didn’t consider their new lord blameless in the old lord’s demise.
    Unfortunately, there wasn’t any way to keep his part in William’s death a secret. The soldiers would talk among themselves. A servant would overhear. The tale would spread through the entire castle as fast as fire through dry brush.
    Alberic wanted to avoid a revolt while establishing his lordship, but doubted the conversion would be completely peaceful, which was why he hadn’t removed his sword. And why he’d ordered all of Camelen’s soldiers disarmed until such time he no longer worried over being murdered in his bed. And why one of the king’s soldiers walked at his back.
    Necessary precautions he hoped