Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 95326 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 477(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95326 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 477(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
“Stay on your knees,” Cavell warned when his father attempted to stand, “so you may properly apologize to my wife for your rudeness.”
Lord Philip rubbed at his throat and coughed, a cloud of anger in his eyes as he glared at his son.
Cavell’s hand shot to the hilt of his dagger at his waist. “Look at my wife and apologize, Father, or so help me the first strike of my blade will land across your lips.”
“This is outrageous. You disrespect our father,” Harcus accused.
“Hold your tongue, Harcus, or I will see that you lose it,” Cavell threatened.
Fear suddenly captured Lord Philip and he hurried to look at Elsie. “Forgive my foolish tongue, my dear. You have lovely features.”
Elsie did not hold her tongue this time. “I appreciate the apology even if it wasn’t heartfelt and I am grateful that you offered your son in marriage to me. He is a good man, a good husband, and I care deeply for him.”
She struck Lord Philip and Harcus silent, though she saw Melvin grin.
“Have some ale, Father,” Cavell said, pointing to the table where Alda had left it. “It will help your throat.”
Lord Philip, with the help of Harcus, went to the table eager to ease the sting in his throat.
“Melvin,” Cavell called out, keeping his eyes on his wife. “See that my father and his men take their leave after they drink their fill. And, Father, you will hear from me when I am ready to speak with you.” He reached out and took firm hold of his wife’s arm. “You will come with me.”
He was about to escort his wife out of the room, eager to find out if her words to his father were true. Did she actually believe him a good man, a good husband, but most of all was it true that she cared deeply for him?
He took only a few steps when the young lad Rory rushed into the Great Hall out of breath. He struggled to say, “You are needed, sir, right away.”
Elsie stuck close to her husband’s side as he hurried to the lad.
“May says you are to come immediately to her cottage,” Rory said.
Cavell turned to order his wife to remain there not knowing what awaited him only to find her shaking her head, already aware of what he would say and refusing to obey the order he had yet to give to her.
“I am going with you,” Elsie said and rushed to the door leading the way.
The gray skies appeared as ominous as the look on her husband’s face as they hurried through the village. He was more than annoyed, and she hoped her refusal to remain behind had not added to his frustration. However, this was her clan, and she would not be pushed aside and left uninformed now that he was chieftain.
Cavell entered May’s cottage without announcing his arrival. “What is so important, May, that you demand my presence?”
May stood from where she was bent over the bed tending to someone. “You must not waste time speaking with him.”
Cavell went to the bed, May moving aside to stand near Elsie, who had also approached to wait near her husband.
Cavell turned a questioning look on May when he recognized the man in the bed. He was one of the monks from the abbey and she confirmed what he saw for himself.
“He does not have long,” May whispered.
A weak hand landed on Cavell’s arm, and he turned back to the monk, his eyes open.
The monk struggled to speak. “We barely left the smoldering ruins of the monastery when we were viciously attacked.” He turned his head away and coughed, his breathing growing labored.
“Who? Who attacked you?” Cavell asked.
The monk continued to struggle for breath and his hand squeezed, with little strength, at Cavell’s arm. “Gallowglass.”
CHAPTER 12
The one word struck fear in Elsie. Had Slayer returned to finish what he had started and if he had been that cruel to do so, what must her sister be suffering at his hands?
The monk coughed, returning her attention to him and she listened anxiously, wanting to hear more yet hoping she did not hear her sister’s name.
It took great effort for the monk to speak, keeping his words brief. “Wounded. Thought me dead. Brother Emanual begged. Mercy. Laughed at him.” A tear dribbled down his cheek. “Heartless. No souls.” Another tear followed as he was barely able to ask, “Why?”
Cavell had more questions than answers for him, but it didn’t matter. Why, was the last word the monk would ever speak.
Cavell stood and turned to May. “Did he say how he made it here when so badly wounded?”
“Wadely, the merchant who visits here regularly came upon him and this being the closest place to get help, he brought him here. He shelters with the horses for the night, the clouds too heavy with rain for him to continue his journey,” May said. “With your permission, sir, I will see the monk prepared for burial.”