Reign: The Haunting Read Online Free PDF

muttered, thrusting his brother away. “I’ll tell Mary and my mother I’m going on a goodwill mission and when I’ve conquered whatever demon torments me, I’ll come home. A horse is waiting for me, I leave this morning.”
    â€œAnd when will that be? There’s nothing mad about you, brother, other than this plan.”
    â€œOur father’s madness nearly brought the country to its knees,” Francis said. “I won’t remain at court while everyone watches me lose my sanity. It isn’t safe.”
    â€œAnd what if there is no solution to your problems?” Bash shouted as Francis walked toward the door. “What happens to us all then?”
    With one last look at his father’s sarcophagus, Francis shook his head and turned his back. “Pray that doesn’t happen, brother.”
    *  *  *
    Striding through the bowels of the castle, Francis felt better than he had in weeks. The decision made, his mind felt clear. He would write notes to Mary and his mother and ride out, find a cure or an answer or whatever solution it would take to make these dreams, this haunting, this madness leave him be. Mary and the baby would be safe. Relieved, he turned a corner into the dungeons, looking to take a secret passageway back to his chambers.
    â€œExcuse me, Your Grace.”
    Francis gave the man a curt nod, recognizing him as one of his mother’s guards.
    â€œThe prisoner is in her cell,” he said, his voice gruff and bold. “I was on my way to fetch the Queen Mother to aid in the questioning.”
    â€œThe prisoner?” Francis asked.
    â€œYes, Your Grace.” The guard’s eyes darted over to the door on his left. “The nurse? We collected her from the village at dawn, as instructed.”
    The nurse. His son’s nanny. Francis closed his eyes, a bitter taste in his mouth. Why had he said anything to his mother? This was her answer to everything, throw someone in the dungeon and wring whatever answer she wanted out of them, whether it was true or not.
    â€œMy mother is indisposed,” he said quickly.
    The guard’s eyebrows knitted, the conflict between his orders from Catherine and a command from the king confusing him.
    â€œWomen’s problems,” Francis added. The guard winced and straightened his spine. “She sent me to question the girl.”
    â€œOf course, Your Grace.” He opened the door to the cell. “I’ll be outside.”
    â€œNo need to wait,” Francis replied. “In fact, I need you to go and fetch me some irons. And dry bread. And three candles.”
    The guard frowned. “Your Grace?”
    â€œAnd three candles,” Francis repeated, raising his voice. “Was there some confusion?”
    â€œNot at all.” The guard backed away quickly, practically running down the passageway. “Not at all, Your Grace. Irons, dry bread, and three candles.”
    â€œAnd be quick about it,” Francis called after the man. His heart thundering in his chest, he opened the cell door to find the young nursemaid cowering in a corner under her cloak. “It’s all right,” he whispered, crouching down. “Do you remember me? Do you know who I am?”
    â€œYou’re the king.” She pulled the cloak away from her face to reveal a swollen cheek and bloody lip. His mother’s guards had never been known for their careful handling of prisoners. “What have I done?”
    Her fear of the royal family had been replaced by fear for her life.
    â€œNothing,” he said, helping her to her feet. “There was a mistake. Let’s get you out of here.” She rose painfully, leaning against his arm.
    â€œBring your shawl, leave nothing behind,” he instructed, taking her slight weight in his arms as she began to cry. “You were never here,” he said softly, carrying her toward one of the secret passageways before the guard could