Adrienne Basso Read Online Free

never leave.” She tried smiling, but her lips refused to cooperate, doubt and fear keeping them frozen.
    Sir George’s dark eyes softened. Though only of average height, he appeared larger, due to his thick, muscular build. The scars on his face and arms were a testament to his years on the battlefield, and Fiona knew she was lucky to have a loyal, honorable knight with his skills on her side. It brought a small measure of comfort to her heavily burdened heart, though in truth there was little that could be done to appease the bitterness she felt.
    That some called the death of her husband and the loss of their lands a cruelty of fate was viewed by Fiona as an insult. How could an event of such anguishing loss be given such a trite explanation? No, it was not fate that brought such devastation into their lives—it was betrayal.
    Fiona was convinced that somehow the alliance Henry had forged with the Scottish Earl of Kirkland had reached the ears of King Edward. Lacking any substantial proof, the king had decided not to outright accuse Henry of any wrongdoing. Instead, he had allowed Sir Roland DuPree, one of his brutish minions, to petition a blatantly false claim to their lands. And when Henry refused to yield the property, Sir Roland and his army, with the king’s silent sanction, had stormed the castle and taken it by force.
    It had hardly been a fair fight. Fiona closed her eyes and once again relived the nightmare of the fateful event that had destroyed the only happiness she had ever known, forever changing her life.
    It had been quiet that night—too quiet. The soldiers who stood guard in the watchtowers had died swiftly, their throats slashed to prevent a warning of the impending invasion, to delay a call to arms. Roused from their beds, Henry and his knights had fought bravely to defend the keep and protect the inhabitants, but they were no match for the men who had devised the ruthless attack.
    Outnumbered and unprepared, Henry and his soldiers fell one by one. With the tide turned against them, many of the surviving guardsmen laid down their arms and pledged their allegiance to the conquering Sir Roland.
    But not Sir George. He had been the first to pledge his sword to Henry’s son and heir, ten-year-old Spencer. And it was Sir George who had managed to safely spirit her and Spencer away after Henry had been fatally struck.
    Sobbing and in shock, Fiona, her maid, and Father Niall had followed Sir George through the dank, musty, secret escape tunnels that ended outside the bailey walls. Together, Fiona and Father Niall carried a badly injured Spencer on a makeshift stretcher, each moan uttered from the child’s pale lips a fresh pain in Fiona’s bruised heart.
    The fear had been almost paralyzing. Even now Fiona could still smell the dampness, hear the skittering sounds of the rats in the tunnel and the clash of swords from above as a few brave men fought on.
    The tunnel ended in a cave, and they hid there for what felt like hours, while Sir George scouted ahead. Finally, he returned, stolen horses in hand. Just as dawn was starting to break, the weary group rode away, ears attuned to the sounds of pursuit.
    Thankfully, no one followed. In her greatest time of need, Fiona had no choice but to turn to her eldest brother, Harold. They arrived at his keep six days later, exhausted and in shock. He had hardly been gracious in receiving them, but at least he had not denied them sanctuary.
    “Sir George! You’re here!”
    The boyish voice rang out with pure delight. Fiona turned and watched Spencer make his way across the crowded bailey. Her heart jumped with worry as it became necessary for the boy to move with speed and agility to avoid the carts, animals, and people hustling through the courtyard.
    Even from this distance she could see how badly Spencer limped. The broken bones of his right leg, an injury suffered during the attack, had fused together at an odd angle, leaving it shorter than the left leg. It