The Guardian Duke: A Forgotten Castles Novel Read Online Free PDF Page B

there countless hours, among the eerie tombstones, some tall Celtic crosses, imagining the monks going about their business.
    Then there were the Lindisfarne Gospels, the famed manuscript she longed to see one day. An illustrated book of the first four Gospels of the New Testament and one of England's most treasured antiquities, it was said that the manuscript had been created right here at the monastery. Her parents had even seen it once, in the British Museum in London.
    Scant centuries later the tale told that the Vikings raided one day. There had been signs, omens of evil tidings where the winds grew dark and swirling over the island, but none had been prepared for the heathens as they called them then. Wild men who raided up and down the coasts of England and here, where they murdered the monks who weren't fast or able enough to escape, where they burned down the old wooden parts of the priory and destroyed what they could of the stone.
    Alex paused as the path skirted what had once been the monastery gardens, her gaze lingering on the broken-down walls to the gravestones beyond. She took a deep inhale and looked up at the piercing blue sky, thinking of God and heaven, shivering and wrapping her cloak more closely around her. When would her life begin so she could do something great for God? One thing she knew for certain—she would never accomplish what God had created her for if she lived in London as a married woman of the nobility. She belonged here on this wild and windswept isle. She could not let some duke change her life.
    Hurrying now, Alex came into the island village. She was headed toward Thomas's house to check on the lad when a horse came pounding up the road. Mr. Winbleton! He would have the mail if there was any. Their village only received mail once a week and usually, in her haste to see if her parents had written, Alex would travel across the causeway, a path that was revealed only twice a day when the tide let out, to Beal, the closest mainland village of any size, to check for mail more often. What with Mr. Meade, the duke's secretary, only gone from them a little above two weeks, she had little hope there was a reply to her letter, but if Mr. Winbleton was here three days early! It just might be due to an important letter from London.
    Alex picked up her dark green skirts and hurried across the street toward the town market. There were only two taverns that doubled as inns if the need arose, the church, an apothecary-doctor-dentist-undertaker's office, and the village shop, which sold everything from cloth to dry goods to fresh produce when the farmers supplied it. It was also the place to get news of life on and off the island. There was even a weekly newspaper brought in from London that made its rounds around the island. As lady of the castle, Alex was always offered the first chance to read it, an offer she usually resisted, waiting until it was well worn and the ink a little smeared, but when her parents had gone missing, everyone, including Alex, had gladly insisted she have the first news of any kind. "What would become of the little mistress without her parents?" she'd overheard them wonder more than once. Well, they'd not find out because she was going after them.
    With that thought and a nod of her head, she entered the shop to the familiar sound of tinkling bells.
    "What's to do, then?" someone was saying as she stepped inside, taking in the homey smells of fresh-baked bread and various spices for sale. It was Mrs. Peale, the shopkeeper's wife.
    They all looked up and clamped their mouths together upon seeing her.
    "Lady Alex! We were just wondering what to do with this letter for you. It's straight from London and a duke!"
    Alex's heart sped up a notch and seemed to catch in her throat. Her steps rang too loud against the hollow wooden floor in her hurry. She reached out her hand and smiled at Mrs. Peale. "How fortuitous! I suppose you should give it to me, don't you think?"
    Mrs. Peale