Read Online The Blessed by Lisa T. Bergren - Free Book Online

sighed.
    â€œWhat is it?” Gianni asked, reaching across to lift her chin. “Daria, what troubles you?”
    â€œAmidei,” she lied. “He cannot be far behind.”
    And Gianni, ever vigilant and on guard, believed her, immediately sinking into their shared concern.
    Â 
THEY made it to Lord Devenue’s crumbling manor as the early-winter sun made its way over the far hills, casting meager light upon their path. The building sat on a road that hugged one hillside, the sprawling, blue-sparkling Gardon river meandering its way down below. On the far side, a dense forest covered the land. Farther upriver, Count Armand said, were the ancient remains of the Pont du Gard, the massive Roman aqueduct that had once carried water to the city of Nimes.
    Armand and Anette shared a long look, pausing at the front gates of Lord Devenue’s dilapidated home. It was apparently as bad as they had heard or imagined. The entrance was unguarded. The towers and walls were in fearsome disrepair. Now Piero knew why they had two wagons of stones and mortar, and four masons, trailing them. The nobles of Les Baux knew well of the disintegrating state of Lord Devenue’s estate. If Daria was to heal the lord, the count and countess would do their part in helping to aid the lowly country manor.
    Generous, their count. For the hundredth time, Piero thanked the Lord that he had granted them a benefactor and guard. Who among the nobility would have dared to support a group of pilgrims who pledged to take on the Church itself? The Church and nobles wrangled far too often; one did not wish to invite oneself to a new battleground. To say nothing of facing Amidei and his men, who undoubtedly watched them even now. Only God could have orchestrated such a meeting, such an alliance.
    But what was this they were about to discover? They marched into the courtyard, paved with the same limestone that seemed to dominate every structure in this part of Provence and beyond. They were more than forty in number, and still not one person had hailed them. Had the lord abandoned his property? Gone elsewhere? Mayhap left to seek out his own cure? Or worse . . . died?
    â€œStay where you are,” growled a man from the top of a parapet walkway above them. He pulled back the string of his bow, aiming at the count. Ten of Armand’s men, along with Basilio and Rune, immediately nocked an arrow and drew their own bows.
    â€œLord Devenue,” Countess Anette said, pulling back her hood. “It is us. Be at peace.”
    The man on the parapet above them audibly drew in a breath, which seemed to reverberate around the stone courtyard. He lowered his bow a bit, his mouth slack. “Anette?”
    â€œIt is I, m’lord. Please. Come down and greet us.”
    The man lowered his bow and arrow but slowly shook his head. Even in the dim light of winter’s dusk, Piero could see the massive tumor that distorted the man’s head. It was as if he had sprouted yet another skull atop his own, the size of a child’s head. “Nay. I am here alone. I have nothing for you or your people. Go on your way. You may not stay here.”
    Anette leapt down from her horse and straightened her skirts, at once every inch a noble lady. “Nay, Lord Devenue. We shall stay here. We have brought a healer. She says you are to be well.”
    The man laughed, softly at first, edging into a guttural guffaw. “Nonsense. I am to die. Here. Alone. We said our farewells more than two years past. Be on your way.”
    Count Armand dismounted and stood beside his sister. Immediately the rest of them did the same. All looked up to the man on the wall. “We are here until you see our healer,” Armand said. “Only a fool would turn away God’s own path out of hell.”
    â€œCall me a fool, then.”
    â€œNay,” Anette said. “I once called you my own. My beloved,” she said softly, so softly that Piero wondered if