Shadow Over Avalon Read Online Free Page B

tabards bearing a sable dragon device emerged to join the group. Each clean-shaven man also had his hair neatly trimmed to his shoulders, showing a disciplined fighting unit. They led five laden pack animals and two unburdened beasts. Every newcomer’s face reflected disbelief, anger, and a trace of fear. Not one man dared look at the black rider behind Ashira.
    When wild moorlands replaced meadows, the pace settled to a steady trot until the trail dropped down to wetlands showing signs of habitation. A small community of peat cutters had set up summer camp, plying their trade by carving into the brown, water-filled trenches. Marsh marigolds raised defiant heads, bright yellow sunbursts near the banks, and farther back, mounds of dark, rolled slabs dried in the sun, a source of sweet-smelling winter fuel much preferred by forts. Far above, a peregrine falcon spiraled up on a thermal, screaming his lonely challenge.
    A peregrine for a prince, the order of falconry dictated. Hope flew with that bird for a second until she recognized it was a wild one without dangling jesses. Kieran wasn’t looking for his despised half-sister.
    The company took the trail into high moors visible beyond acres of coppiced willow trees. She craned round to see more, trying to guess their destination.
    “Those are harvested for cane work,” the rider said, his voice deep as he tightened his grip on her. “See that smoke over there? Craftsmen are boiling shoots for darker contrast shades. They’ll be cutting withies all this month. We’ll trade here. Know that I couldn’t care less if you make a scene, but these simple folk will be embarrassed.”
    A few minutes later, the company reached a crude collection of daub and wattle huts thriving with industry. The man dismounted, giving his reins to a soldier. He stalked off without a backward glance.
    Craftsmen brought finished cane-work out, and soldiers unloaded copper cooking pots from one packhorse before a rapid bargaining began. At the finish, two pots changed places for a wide variety of baskets and one screen. When the company set off, she tried to push aside thoughts of her fate, but it became more difficult with each passing league.
    She no longer had a place at Menhill, her father having traded her in a bride price. This man, duped into the union, would lose face with fellow rulers if he kept her. If he looked weak, his fort would come under attack – that was a given. These wild lands they crossed held many places for losing bodies. Still they rode at a steady pace.
    Sunset cast long shadows in a musty valley with ruins from ancient times. Most resembled mounds of rubble, but one large stone structure remained intact, except for the roof and half a wall. The horses trotted into one huge hall with symmetrical, smaller rooms against the two longer sides. At one end, a small opening gave access to a square chamber with higher walls than the rest. The tension radiated from the iron circle of her captor’s arm around her.
    Soldiers picketed their mounts at one end of the central portion and started to unload packs, all under the black rider’s curt direction. When sentries began patrol, he dismounted, hauling Ashira down beside him. Grabbing a bottle from his saddlebag, he pushed her to that enclosed square room. Inside the roofless structure, the ground was studded with fallen stone blocks. One area by a corner remained clear, and here he threw her down. She lay still, sending a prayer to the Harvesters for this warrior to make a quick kill and not take time to pleasure himself first. During their journey, the hard muscles of a fighting lord had pressed against her; he would use a blade, not his hands, to finish her.
    He took a long pull from his bottle, as if seeking an excuse to delay. Light shone on black hair, like a raven’s wing at rest the way it hung down in folded waves. A straight nose jutted over firm lips, a strong square jaw beneath them. He towered over her, watching. His