Throne of Llewyllan (Book 2) Read Online Free PDF

reflecting the light of the rising moon. “Our time grows short, Serentha. I would have formally asked your father already, but I wanted to talk to you first.” He smiled apologetically. “I was going to ask you when you came back from Merewith. Obviously that didn’t turn out quite as any of us planned.”
    Serentha tried to speak, but suddenly found her voice gone. She tried to swallow, her mouth dry.
    Whitmore’s face grew worried. “This cannot be a surprise,” he said. “You must have known…I mean—”
    She looked away quickly, finding her voice. “I’m sorry, Lord Whitmore. No, of course this isn’t a surprise. I’m just—” she paused, feeling an aching feeling inside her chest.
    “I understand,” said Whitworth. “And I apologize. It was foolish of me to put this kind of stress on you. I can only imagine what ordeals you have been through in the last few days.” He took his hat in his hands. “We will not be back in Balneth until tomorrow night. Please think this over as long as you wish. I won’t speak to your father again before then.”
    She closed her eyes, feeling the wind on her face and the rustle of grass against her dress. “I will, Lord Whitmore. Thank you.”
    The nobleman turned the hat awkwardly in his hands. “Think carefully, Serentha,” he said softly. “If your father dies without an heir apparent, there may be several people who might…” he paused uncertainly, “might push claims to the throne. It could lead to a civil war.”
    Serentha didn’t open her eyes. “I know.”
    Whitmore put his hat back on. “I’m sorry, Serentha. I truly am. All I ask is that you consider my suggestion.”
    He waited for a moment or two, then turned, walking back across the grass to the tents.
    Serentha remained standing on the dark field, her eyes closed and her hair wafting in the wind.
     
    The guards snapped to attention as Sir Reginald rode up, his eyes on the prisoners between the wagons. The bandits were seated on the ground on the outskirts of the camp, watched over carefully by at least half a dozen soldiers. The guards had eaten first, then had warily untied the prisoners, allowing them some stale bread and cheese for dinner. The thieves were still eating as Reginald looked over them.
    “Sir?” said the nearest soldier with a salute.
    The nobleman gestured to the bandits with a flick of his horse’s reigns. “This is all of them?”
    “Yes, sir.” The soldier gave a smug grin. “We killed the rest.”
    Reginald looked over the faces of each of the men very carefully, then visibly relaxed. “Very good, very good.”
    His eyes fell on Kara, who was staring up at him defiantly.
    The soldier followed Reginald’s gaze. “She’s a handful, she is,” he said in a low voice.
    “Is she, now?” Sir Reginald chuckled. “Imagine finding such a beautiful rose amongst such rank weeds. This certainly bears looking into. Bring her here, sergeant.”
    The soldier started. “Beg pardon, sir?”
    The nobleman gave an impatient wave of his hand. “Bring her here . I would have a closer look at so lovely a thief.”
    The guard gave Sir Reginald a doubtful look, but nevertheless moved over to Kara, then hauled the young woman to her feet and pushed her forward.
    Torin straightened himself in the grass and watched with glowering eyes.
    Kara stumbled before Sir Reginald, who was still seated on his horse. The guard stood behind her, one hand on the hilt of his sword.
    The nobleman looked her up and down. “What is your name, lass?”
    She glared up at him, but said nothing.
    “Come now,” chuckled the nobleman, “you aren’t mute, are you?”
    Kara looked down. “Kara.”
    “There,” said Sir Reginald lightly, “that’s better. Are you hungry?”
    “The prisoners have already been fed, sir,” the sergeant voiced.
    Reginald gave a dismissive wave of his hand. “Stale bread and moldy cheese? Please, sergeant, such fare is hardly appropriate for such a beautiful woman.” He