Read Online Danger's Kiss by Glynnis Campbell - Free Book Online
Authors: Glynnis Campbell
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watching the distant spires of Canterbury Cathedral disappear in the waning daylight. Ignoring the pathetic whimpering of the servant groveling behind her, she thumped her fingers casually atop the ledge. Her father-in-law might be a useless dullard, but at least he’d had the wisdom to choose a perfect location for the family demesne. It was sufficiently distant from the town to avoid rubbing elbows with the rabble, yet close enough to wield a powerful influence over the local government.
The constable, the justices, even the priests of Canterbury knew very well it was Lord William Torteval who so generously endowed their coffers. And very soon that responsibility would pass to Philomena.
Closing the shutters against spying eyes and prying ears, she wished she could just once get Lord William’s dimwitted servants to do her bidding without mucking things up.
She examined the throbbing knuckles of her right hand, resting upon the shutter. Beside her ruby ring, there was a tiny streak of blood. She licked her thumb and rubbed gently at it. Thank God, it wasn’t hers.
It was the blood of that simpering pig of a man who held the title of steward of Torteval Hall, the fool who’d once again dared to disappoint her.
She felt no remorse. He deserved her wrath. This was the second time Godfry had disappointed her in two days. Yesterday, he’d failed to ensure that Hubert Kabayn suffered on the gallows, squirming in agonizing death throes. He’d allowed the shire-reeve to show mercy to the murderer.
And today...
“I pray you, my lady,” he sobbed obsequiously, cradling his injured nose, “don’t send me away.”
She curled her lip. If he continued to cower in the corner, blubbering over his bloody nose like a wee lass, she’d show him what a real beating was.
Instead, exercising great self-control, she addressed him in a deceptively magnanimous voice. “Don’t be silly, Godfry. You’re Lord William’s oldest, most loyal servant.”
She crossed the solar at a leisurely pace, tapping her fingers along the immaculately polished Spanish oak table, plucking the strings of the small gilt harp perched there, pushing the silver chalice half-filled with claret back from the edge, finally stopping to stand over him like a hungry wolf over a wounded lamb.
Despite her best efforts to appear sweet, innocent, and charitable, Godfry trembled as she neared, his red face sweaty with strain.
She crouched so she could look him in his piggish eyes and spoke slowly, as if to a child. “As long as you do as you’re told, you’ll have a place in my house-, the Torteval household.”
He swallowed visibly.
“And what I’ve told you to do, dear Godfry, is find that key.”
“But my lady, I’ve looked high and low, and — “
She raised her fist again, and he cringed, covering his head with his arms.
Philomena clamped her teeth together hard enough to shatter them, willing her rage to subside. As much as she enjoyed the thrill of power that beating her father-in-law’s servants afforded her, it would serve little purpose.
Besides, she might break a nail.
When her calm was restored, she rose and turned away from him. “Go. Out of my sight.” He scrambled to comply with all haste. “And keep looking.”
When he was gone, when there was no more need to keep up appearances, dread overwhelmed her again and she half swooned, catching herself on the table’s edge.
Lord, what if she couldn’t find the key?
She’d been working on this plan for months. If something went awry now, when she was so close to her goal...
Blessed Mary, she needed a drink. She eyed the chalice of wine on the table and almost made the mistake of reaching for it. Withdrawing her hand, she erupted into giggles. That would have been a grave mistake indeed, she thought, and her laughter became near hysterical.
That chalice was for her father-in-law. She took him claret every night, to help him
The constable, the justices, even the priests of Canterbury knew very well it was Lord William Torteval who so generously endowed their coffers. And very soon that responsibility would pass to Philomena.
Closing the shutters against spying eyes and prying ears, she wished she could just once get Lord William’s dimwitted servants to do her bidding without mucking things up.
She examined the throbbing knuckles of her right hand, resting upon the shutter. Beside her ruby ring, there was a tiny streak of blood. She licked her thumb and rubbed gently at it. Thank God, it wasn’t hers.
It was the blood of that simpering pig of a man who held the title of steward of Torteval Hall, the fool who’d once again dared to disappoint her.
She felt no remorse. He deserved her wrath. This was the second time Godfry had disappointed her in two days. Yesterday, he’d failed to ensure that Hubert Kabayn suffered on the gallows, squirming in agonizing death throes. He’d allowed the shire-reeve to show mercy to the murderer.
And today...
“I pray you, my lady,” he sobbed obsequiously, cradling his injured nose, “don’t send me away.”
She curled her lip. If he continued to cower in the corner, blubbering over his bloody nose like a wee lass, she’d show him what a real beating was.
Instead, exercising great self-control, she addressed him in a deceptively magnanimous voice. “Don’t be silly, Godfry. You’re Lord William’s oldest, most loyal servant.”
She crossed the solar at a leisurely pace, tapping her fingers along the immaculately polished Spanish oak table, plucking the strings of the small gilt harp perched there, pushing the silver chalice half-filled with claret back from the edge, finally stopping to stand over him like a hungry wolf over a wounded lamb.
Despite her best efforts to appear sweet, innocent, and charitable, Godfry trembled as she neared, his red face sweaty with strain.
She crouched so she could look him in his piggish eyes and spoke slowly, as if to a child. “As long as you do as you’re told, you’ll have a place in my house-, the Torteval household.”
He swallowed visibly.
“And what I’ve told you to do, dear Godfry, is find that key.”
“But my lady, I’ve looked high and low, and — “
She raised her fist again, and he cringed, covering his head with his arms.
Philomena clamped her teeth together hard enough to shatter them, willing her rage to subside. As much as she enjoyed the thrill of power that beating her father-in-law’s servants afforded her, it would serve little purpose.
Besides, she might break a nail.
When her calm was restored, she rose and turned away from him. “Go. Out of my sight.” He scrambled to comply with all haste. “And keep looking.”
When he was gone, when there was no more need to keep up appearances, dread overwhelmed her again and she half swooned, catching herself on the table’s edge.
Lord, what if she couldn’t find the key?
She’d been working on this plan for months. If something went awry now, when she was so close to her goal...
Blessed Mary, she needed a drink. She eyed the chalice of wine on the table and almost made the mistake of reaching for it. Withdrawing her hand, she erupted into giggles. That would have been a grave mistake indeed, she thought, and her laughter became near hysterical.
That chalice was for her father-in-law. She took him claret every night, to help him
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