The Winter Promise Read Online Free Page A

want to be alone after that experience,’ so she asked Tilly — Matilda, that is, she’s the widow of Elizabeth’s son — and she was happy to have you even though you be Welsh and it was a Welsh sword that took him. Erik, that is, two Octobers ago. Well, it would be three now, wouldn’t it? But Elizabeth says, ‘We ladyfolk must bear all together.’” Bertha, the chamber-thane, stopped chattering long enough to follow Imma into the room.
    The chamber was small but well appointed. Woven tapestries glowing with color hung from the walls and a warm wool rug covered the stone floor between the beds — two of them. Clearly, the second bed had been hastily added to the room, leaving it cramped. A few pieces of clothing had been thrown across the counterpane on the second bed — a dress, a shift, and a robe.
    “There, now, Tilly must have realized you have nothing of your own.” Bertha advanced on the bed, lifting the dress, a simple style made of light blue wool. “This will look lovely with your eyes, mistress.”
    Imma did not correct Bertha. Mistress, lady, what did it matter? She was stranded in Athelney until — until when? The lord came back and disposed of her in whatever fashion suited him? Her best friend was dead and she was alone at Athelney. She felt curiously empty, unable to plan, a plaything of fate. Someone else would decide what happened to her. Someone else always had.
    She removed her cloak and hung it on the hook. Bertha exclaimed, “Oh, my! You cannot wear that!” Imma glanced down at her dress, her eyes widening in horror at the sight of the stains. Bloodstains. Her stomach clenched. She had to have it off. She tore her belt free and tossed it on the bed, then clawed the dress from her body and flung it away from her. The shift she wore beneath it was also stained where the blood had soaked through. Stifling a ragged cry, she raked the shift over her head, dropping it from her fingers as though it burned. She grabbed the loaned clothing that Bertha handed her and pulled it on. Only when she buckled her belt on did her agitated breathing calm, though her hands still shook. Helen’s blood, Helen’s blood everywhere — she thrust the image of torn flesh from her mind and backed away from the dress on the floor, as if to touch it would soil her.
    Bertha said, “Shall I see what the laundress can do about your dress?”
    “Burn it,” Imma said fiercely. “I do not want it. I can never wear it again.”
    “I’ll leave you to get sorted out, then,” Bertha said calmly, picking up the discarded garments. “Evening meal will be ready soon. I’ll send the boy up to fetch you.” She left the room, shutting the door quietly behind her.
    Imma fumbled in the pouch on her belt for the stone she’d brought with her from Wales. Her talisman. She cupped it in her palm and took a deep breath. Snow quartz from the north of Wales, helpful for calming overwrought nerves. Wear it and be hopeful and wise, her king, her uncle, her dearest kinsman had said.
    Just holding it renewed her strength as she remembered the affection in her uncle’s eyes when he had given her the jewel. She wished she were home again. How had she come to be exiled in this hostile land? Because her king had asked it of her, and she loved her king.
    Safe from thieves, she lifted the chain that held the stone and put it over her head.

Chapter Two
    Robert the Steward had barely returned home from his battle-season when he found himself buried in bookwork, his least favorite pastime. He could be out hunting the wild boar that infested these marshes, or drinking mead with his retainers and listening to them boast about their military prowess, or reacquainting himself with his falcon and his dogs. Even sharing a meal with his aged aunt would be preferable.
    But he must go over the plan for rebuilding fortifications with his estate steward before he lost track of what he’d seen. Robert had been absent a month and there was much to be