Read Online Snow in July by Kim Iverson Headlee - Free Book Online

agony.
    Relief washed over her when he broke eye contact and strode to the packhorse. Broad shoulders and sinewy arms rippled as he wrestled something from a saddle pack. For one wanton moment, she imagined being encircled by those arms, protected, cherished. Loved…happy…
    She shook her head. One of his countrymen had murdered her brother. She must despise this man.
    And yet that task was proving to be a major chore.
    The squire turned and approached, bearing a small gilt box across both upturned palms. His smile, slow in dawning, nearly stopped her heart. He knelt upon one knee at her feet.
    “My lady Kendra,” he said in a rich, refined voice, “Sir Robert regrets the circumstances preventing him from being with you this day. I pray you will not be vexed by his absence. It shall be short, I assure you.” His French-accented English was as flawless as his face. He rendered another heart-stopping smile, holding the box aloft. “Please accept this gift, bearing the de Bellencombre arms, as but the smallest token of Sir Robert’s esteem.”
    He flipped back the lid. A gold brooch nestled in black velvet, its face enameled with a flower encircled by interlacing greenery, a white rose.
    White for Del’s soul, or white for my promise to seek happiness?
    Her hand trembled as she reached for the brooch. Embarrassed, she snatched it back.
    White for the snow that shrouded the ground as he lay dying in my arms? Her vision blurred with tears as the scene returned in all its agonizing detail: the biting cold, the onion poultice’s stench, the blood bubbling from Del’s lips, the death rattle, the profound powerlessness and loss…
    “Nay!”
    She gasped, hand to mouth. Everyone gaped at her, except the squire. Disappointment and sorrow dominated his face as he averted his gaze. She hadn’t meant for the exclamation to slip out, and certainly not to be misconstrued as a refusal of the gift rather than a plea for deliverance from those dreadful memories, but she couldn’t explain without ripping open the wounds of her soul.
    “P-please forgive me,” she forced past her quivering lips. She was unsure to whom she directed the plea: God, her father, Sir Ruaud, the absent Sir Robert, who would hear of her ill-mannered behavior and be wroth with her…or the last person on earth who deserved such treatment, the squire. The pain clouding his eyes wrenched her heart.
    She spun, gathered her skirts in both fists, and fled for the stairs, sobs wracking her body for Del, for herself, and for the Norman stranger she had never intended to hurt.

Chapter 4

     
    A LAIN FLIPPED THE lid closed with a sharp click, struggling for composure. This brooch had been a gift from his father to his mother on their wedding day. Comtesse Margaret had bequeathed it to Alain, and upon earning his spurs, he’d adopted its design for his arms to honor her memory.
    A memory Lady Kendra had tarnished.
    He rose, watching her retreat up the stairs and disappear through the door leading to the upper rooms.
    Forgive her? Despite his staunch Christian upbringing, he wasn’t sure he knew how.
    Thane Waldron laid a hand on his shoulder. “Please excuse my daughter, squire. I’m sure she meant no offense. She—” He glanced in the direction she had gone, withdrew his hand, and sighed. “Kendra has much on her mind.”
    “She has no wish to marry Sir Robert,” Ulfric said with a smirk.
    Alain had guessed as much. What he didn’t anticipate was the disappointment lancing his heart.
    “She has no choice. She will not bring the king’s wrath upon us.” Waldron glared at the Saxon warrior. “Neither will you.”
    Ulfric bowed stiffly. “If you will excuse me.” He jerked a nod toward Ruaud and Alain. “My men and I have a long ride on the morrow.” He stalked toward the manor house’s lower entrance.
    “A long ride—to where, if I may ask, my lord?” Alain said to Waldron after he was certain Ulfric was beyond earshot.
    “Thane Ulfric owns a