Shana Abe Read Online Free PDF

None of the servants would come to relight it, since they were all busy downstairs helping with the feast.
    Not that she wanted them there anyway. Her primary concern, the thought that kept her chilled feet moving, was getting to Damon.
    Solange stripped off her confining clothes as quickly as she could, tossing the belt and garments in a tangle on the covers and furs of her feather bed. From the bottom of a huge leather clothing trunk she pulled a pair of thick woolen stockings and a large tunic, followed by a pair of soft-soled leather boots. All were dyed to muted, dark colors.
    These were her prowling clothes. Damon knew her penchant for stargazing from odd locations, and had presented them to her the previous spring when he discovered she was tying her skirts up past her knees for ease of movement whenever she sneaked out.
    He told her he had been haunted by visions of herbeing discovered that way by a guardsman, or worse, the cumbersome skirts making her lose her footing on any of the narrow ledges or trees she liked to crawl about. He had given her the clothes one night as she came to visit, cautioning her to always wear them instead of her usual feminine garments when she wanted to venture out unnoticed.
    Solange had been completely delighted. The men’s clothing had freed her in a way she had never imagined. Her entire life she had worn only the finest of garments, but they were still the heavy skirts, the tight oversleeves, the multiple layers of cloth on cloth common to noblewomen. Her gowns were designed for fashion and modesty, not comfort.
    Now she shivered into the men’s clothing as quickly as she could. The tunic settled over her shoulders in a cloud of soft cotton. She added a dark brown woolen vest from the trunk for warmth. A cape might be too noticeable, and certainly too much material to worry about. The boots came on last, hugging her legs up past her knees.
    The window by the bower had been left open, and now a chilled breeze circled her, wafting through the silver wedge of moonlight slanting across a patterned Turkish rug on the floor.
    It was a clear night. But the weather could shift in a heartbeat. The following day could bring rain or snow, or perhaps the last of the fair days of early winter. But of all things, it absolutely could not be her wedding day.
    She didn’t bother to stuff a pillow under the covers of her bed to substitute for her sleeping form as sheusually did. Haste made her impatient, and so she was almost discovered by the grumbling guard outside her room before she discovered him.
    She backed away from the entrance as quickly as she could, holding her breath. Lord, she hadn’t even been careful in opening the heavy wooden door. The sheer weight of it necessitated her inching it open, which is what saved her.
    Solange pushed the oak door shut again, praying the hinges would not choose just then to let out a squeak for oiling. The door swung closed with an almost silent click.
    She pressed her ear to the crack but heard nothing unusual from the guard. Her breath came out in a silent rush; she leaned against the door for strength until her knees quit shaking.
    A guard, indeed! One of her father’s men, looking none too pleased to be pulled away from his supper. A serious strategic move on the part of Henry, but she wasn’t beaten yet. He obviously expected her to try to bolt, but in honesty Solange hadn’t considered anything that drastic. Damon held the key to right this problem. But how to get to him?
    Solange went over to the bed and sat down, reconsidering her options. She drew her legs up to her chin and wrapped her arms about them, trying to warm herself in the cold air. Another breeze drifted past the leaded glass window.
    Her lips pursed thoughtfully, but she had already made her decision. It was her only choice, really. She hadn’t climbed out there since one moonless night afew years before, when she had almost fallen to the cobblestone courtyard below. She had