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

Bellencombre was but one of her secrets. A flash of insight showed him how to conquer those secrets, not as a knight of the Conqueror, but as himself.
    He balanced his kite-shaped shield in a corner and faced Ruaud. “Sir Robert arrives to claim Lady Kendra’s hand after Squire Alain has claimed her heart.”

    KENDRA SPENT a fitful night and woke with the disturbing realization that the tall Norman squire had dominated her dreams. Why, she had no idea, but she couldn’t stop thinking about his courtly grace and perfect English, his muscular body and handsome face, his expressive eyes and smile…and the pain she had caused, which, in spite of her hatred of Normans, prompted a twinge of guilt. She sat up and pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes. The images intensified.
    Weary of thrashing beneath the coverlet, she parted the bedcurtains, stood, and approached the window. Beyond the chapel’s roof, the pearly gray of dawn was staining the dark blue sky. The chapel reminded her of a task she’d left undone because her emotions had been rendered undone first by Sir Robert’s gift, then its giver. She had forgotten to change the roses on Del’s sarcophagus.
    An appraisal of the light convinced her there would be enough time to select a rose before prime if she hurried. Del would have to forgive her for being late this once. She’d have remembered had she attended vespers, but she had remained in her chamber, imprisoned by her tumultuous emotions. The tide had receded with the dawn, though an undercurrent of grief and regret remained. She doubted those feelings would ever ebb.
    She strode to the chest containing her clothes, opened it, and pulled out a plain dress and veil. Not a black veil, however. She had no desire to explain mourning attire to strangers, though the squire might understand.
    Where had that thought come from? She doubted he’d wish to speak to her in the wake of her unintentional rudeness.
    As she settled the veil over her forehead and trapped it with the silver circlet, she tried to tell herself that she shouldn’t care one iota for what he might think about her behavior.
    She propped a foot against her bed to tie her shoe. She had no business swooning over one face when she was promised to another—one that might not be half as handsome but wielded fourfold power. She had no business swooning over a Norman, period. She gave the knot a final tug before repeating the process with the opposite foot.
    Then there was her other vow, she mused as she fastened her cloak, the vow to find happiness. Sighing, she rubbed her temple.
    An image of the squire surfaced, kneeling, offering a gift. The gift hadn’t drawn her attention first. His expression had: expectant, kind, hopeful.
    Hopeful? Hopeful of what?
    She grabbed her dagger from the table near her bed, fastened the sheath to her belt, and strode for the door.
    Hopeful that Sir Robert’s gift would please her? She had to admit that it had, for it reminded her of Del. Even though the brooch had evoked painful memories, she was grateful for them.
    She left her quarters, pulled the door shut, and crept past Sir Ruaud’s chamber toward the stairway door. Anything else his squire might have been hopeful of she didn’t dare contemplate.

    ALAIN STOOD at a window in the hall, hands clasped behind his back, listening to the ragged chorus of snores emanating from Ulfric’s men and watching the sky lighten around Edgarburh’s chapel. Waldron’s retainers had long since left for their duties. Between the Saxons’ veiled hostility, Alain’s wariness, the hall’s chill, and the straw pallet’s thinness, what little sleep he’d snatched had been fraught with dreams of this place and of its elusive lady, of wooing her and of her reaction to the truth.
    One was a good dream, the other a nightmare.
    He laid a hand to his shoulder to massage the stiffness, hoping, no, praying to bring the former to pass and avert the latter, God willing.
    Movement in the