Read Online Flight From Blithmore by Jacob Gowans - Free Book Online Page B

back down on weak legs, but all she saw was the image in her mind
of her father running Henry through with a sword.
    “Do
you love him or not?” She stood back up, grunting through the pain and fatigue.
“Then get up!”
    Lord
Oslan’s footsteps boomed across the den. A clattering of metal on stone reverberated
through the house as he dropped the poker to the floor. Then Isabelle heard the
sounds of her father removing his sword from where he kept it mounted, followed
by his steps marching to the back door. Isabelle had barely made it halfway
down the stairs when her father left the manor. She jumped over the railing of
the stairs and pain shot up her legs, nearly causing her to fall over. Ignoring
it all, she grabbed the abandoned poker and chased after her father outside.
    Henry
and Lord Oslan circled each other on the grass, swords held at the ready.
Henry’s lips were pursed, his face pink, and his eyes wide as they darted
between Lord Oslan’s face, sword, and feet. What scared Isabelle the most was
that he wasn’t holding the sword properly, and his footwork was poor, too. Her
brother, James, hadn’t taught her much about swordplay, but she’d learned
enough to know that Henry stood no chance.
    Her
father attacked as he yelled, “I warned you!”
    Isabelle
shouted a warning. Henry ducked as he tried to parry Lord Oslan’s attack,
barely saving his own life.
    “Your
gold is in my home!” Henry’s words came in a stammering rush. “Kill me, and you
won’t get it.”
    “Oh
you think so?” He swung his sword again, this time downward at Henry’s head.
Henry leapt back and slipped on the grass. Lord Oslan saw his opportunity and
took it. Isabelle rushed forward and hit her father in the back of the knees,
sending him crumbling to the ground in a yelp of pain. He rolled and looked up
at Isabelle. Henry scrambled to his feet while Isabelle stepped on her father’s
wrist.
    Her
father had no chance with his sword pinned to the ground and Henry’s own blade
pointed at his neck. Isabelle knew it hadn’t been a fair fight, and didn’t
care. She watched the madness leave his eyes, and noted the rage still
simmering below the surface. He glared at both of them in disgust.
    “I
yield! I yield!” He released his grip on the sword, allowing Henry to pick it
up. The two swords in Henry’s hands were very similar. Isabelle took her foot
off her father’s wrist and allowed him to pick himself up very slowly. Lord
Oslan refused to look them in the eye as he brushed himself off and limped past
them. All he said was, “We can discuss this inside.”
    Henry
surveyed Isabelle’s disheveled, filthy state and, with only a look, asked her
if she was alright. She answered him with a nervous smile, and his expression
of relief touched her. They followed Lord Oslan into the den, where he picked
up a pipe from the mantle and lit it. Then he sat in his favorite chair and waited
for them to take their own seats. Henry, wet and half-covered in mud, took one
seat. Isabelle, even filthier, sat opposite him. Lord Oslan watched them,
daring one of them to speak first. Norbin entered the room from the hall,
looked in briefly, then muttered an excuse to leave them to their business.
    “My
condolences about your wife, Lord Oslan,” Henry offered with real sincerity.
“She was a good—”
    “Spare
me the nonsense and tell me where my gold is.”
    “I
returned home only minutes ago from a delivery, during my absence the money
passed into my possession—”
     “It
can’t be ‘in your possession,’ boy.” Lord Oslan tightened his grip on his pipe.
“Don’t you get that? It is legally mine! I can take it from you.”
    “I
forbid you from entering my home.”
    Isabelle
tried to speak, but her father cut her off. “I have a receipt from my wife of a
thousand crowns. I have an empty coffer buried at the junction of our
properties. Any magistrate looking into the matter will draw the appropriate
conclusions.”
    “But
I have