Temptress Read Online Free PDF Page B

anticipation.
    “I think not, as he’s unconscious and barely breathing.” Ignoring her younger sister, Morwenna turned to Sir Alexander. “Let us be off to the place where the huntsman found our guest. Mayhap we will be able to determine what happened.”
    Alexander snorted. “Guest,” he said under his breath.
    “I’ll come, too,” Bryanna said, and she flew toward the stairs, nearly bumping into the priest in her haste. “Excuse me, Father,” she managed and then called back to Morwenna, “Just give me a minute to get my things.”
    Father Daniel’s eyes met Morwenna’s, and she saw there the unspoken recriminations and something more, something murky and dark—even forbidden—lingering in their blue depths only to rapidly disappear. As if he, too, was aware of what passed between them, the priest glanced quickly away and hurried toward the eastern corridor and the chapel beyond.
    “I don’t know what good this will do,” Alexander grumbled as Morwenna gazed after the priest.
    What were Father Daniel’s secrets? For that matter, what were everyone within this keep’s most private thoughts? A chill settled deep in her bones. Not for the first time she felt estranged from everyone else in the keep, a shepherd who knew not her flock. She’d been here less than one year. She was the outsider.
    “M’lady,” Alexander said, clearing his throat.
    “What? Oh!” She remembered his statement. “I, too, know not of what we’ll find in the forest, Sir Alexander, but let’s take a look, shall we?”
    Morwenna nodded to the guard and waited as he pushed open the heavy door to the outside. Mort, who had been snoozing before the fire, stood and stretched. As she stepped into the inner bailey, a rush of winter wind screamed bitterly over the winter grass to burrow deep through Morwenna’s mantle and slap at her face. Ignoring the icy blast, she bent her head and made her way along the well-worn path to the stables with Mort tagging at her heels. The grass was yellow and trodden, crisp with frost, puddles along the pathway showing bits of ice.
    Two boys, noses red, wool caps pulled low over their ears, hauled firewood toward the great hall while another carried pails of water. A girl, not quite in her teens, was throwing seed and oyster shell for the chickens, which clucked and pecked at one another. Feathers scattered as the hens hurried out of the way. The smell of smoke, fermenting beer, animal dung, and rendering fat tinged the cold air. In the pens, pigs grunted noisily and goats bleated as they were milked.
    The castle was at work, everyone at a task; the momentary disturbance of the wounded man was seemingly forgotten. She glanced up at the wall walk and saw sentries posted, as always. Merchants and farmers were flogging their beasts as huge carts were pulled through the crusted ruts of the main road leading into the keep.
    Morwenna ducked along a path leading past the alewives’ hut, where the women were talking loudly, discussing the discovery of the wounded man.
    “. . . beaten so badly his own mother would not recognize him,” one woman—Anne, a true gossip—whispered.
    “A robber, no doubt, who deserved his fate,” another responded.
    “Or else some husband caught him raising the skirts of his wife,” Anne confided.
    Chuckles erupted and Alexander let out a disgusted breath. “Women,” he muttered as Morwenna lengthened her stride and maneuvered away from the nattering crones.
    She walked swiftly alongside the armorer’s hut. The steady ping of a hammer molding chain mail could be heard over the nasty hiss of a goose as it chased a small, interloping rooster out of Morwenna’s path.
    As she passed through a final gate, Morwenna glanced at the heavens. The clouds were ominously gray and thick with the promise of more rain.
    “I know not what you expect to find today,” Alexander said gruffly as they reached the stables and Mort found a favorite post, where he lifted his leg.
    “Nor do