Sword of Justice (White Knight Series) Read Online Free PDF

propped uncomfortably against a damp wall.
    Moments later, leather boots tramped across the floorboards above and hastily climbed the wheel staircase. A clamorous search in the upper chambers followed, while in the kitchen directly overhead, Nelda spoke to a man whose words were swallowed by the disorder coming from the rest of the building.
    Nelda answered, “Aye, with the Lord’s grace, she’ll pull through.”
    The intruder spoke again.
    “Dead, by God!” With that, Nelda collapsed onto a bench, the legs thudding with her weight. “Rufus fitzHugh!” She invoked the Lord’s name before saying, “But how?”
    A bench scraped as the man took a seat at Nelda’s trestle table. “In the same perverted fashion as Maynard. I take it you heard. I needn’t dwell on the details.”
    The unseen walls of Drake’s pitch-black prison closed in.
    “Who in Winchester has not heard? Oh, aye, spare me the details, do.” She poured liquid and set a noggin on the table.
    “That and his throat slashed from ear to ear,” said the visitor.
    “My, my.”
    “As for Seward Twyford, a cracked skull has brought on a fit. He hangs on by a thread at Twyford Castle. His kinfolk daren’t venture from his bedside for fear he will breathe his last at any moment.”
    Sweat was soaking through the Drake’s chainse.
    “And if he lives?”
    “He will never be a man again.”
    “By the God that sits above.” A quiet interval followed. “They were only just found?”
    “Aye, just a few hours afore. Hidden beneath bramble and bush near Fisher’s Pond. Search parties have been out since early yesterday.” He drank from the noggin and set down the vessel. “So you see, Drake fitzAlan has a lot to answer for.”
    Something crawled near his hand and slithered away, but Drake daren’t move so much as a finger.
    “I should say so,” said Nelda, her voice unsteady.
    “As Drake is William fitzAlan’s eldest son, the sheriff might have left the matter to him. Or if he chose to flee the country, outlawed him from the company of righteous men. But seeing his first victim was my brother, I cannot in good conscience … well … I’m sure you can appreciate my position.”
    Fog crept into Drake’s dark oubliette.
    “Of course,” said Nelda. “My sincerest condolences to you, Sheriff. Maynard did not deserve such a cruel fate. When is he to be laid to rest?”
    “As soon as our mother arrives from Alresford where she’s been staying with kin. I heard she took the news bad.”
    “As any mother ought.”
    The acting sheriff of Hampshire took another drink before asking, “You wouldn’t happen to know where Drake fitzAlan is?”
    “Dear me, no.” Her ire came up. “And I know what you’re thinking, Rand Clarendon, so don’t give me any of your lip. There’s no love lost twixt Drake fitzAlan and me. He’d sooner cut his own off at the wrist than take a helping hand from his father’s mistress.”
    “Hmm,” was all he said, and after a while added, “Then I’ll take up no more of your time, Mistress Goldsmith.” He called out to his men. The house cleared out in a jangle of shuffling feet and complaining voices.
    Nelda harrumphed and said, “Insolent pup.”
    Realizing he had been marked as mutilator, murderer, and condemned outlaw, Drake became smothered by an enveloping fog, one so suffocating and overpowering that he sank into a dark pit of senselessness. Like the edge of a sword, a shower of cold water brought him back to wakefulness. He was lying on the scrubbed floorboards of Nelda’s pristine kitchen. When his eyes fluttered open, he beheld her and her brood looming above him like four vengeful gods and one sympathetic angel.
    Nelda said to Enyd, “He’s afeard the sheriff will dispense justice in God’s way.”
    “A cock for a cock,” said one of the brothers.
    “That,” said Enyd, “plus he’s mortally afraid of dark underground chambers.”
    Her mother grunted agreement, but after ruminating on her