A Love For All Seasons Read Online Free Page A

assist the elderly monk up the steps, Rob glanced down at himself and freed a soft sound of annoyance. While he stood at the window pining after the unattainable, the wind had pried open his thick, marten-lined mantle, allowing the sleet to spot his carefully crafted blue tunic. Although the moisture dribbling from the ledge had missed the soft leather belt with its golden studs and his tunic's ankle-length and heavily embroidered hem, his footwear had not been so fortunate. Never meant to see the out-of-doors, these fine leather shoes were ruined. Lifting a foot, Rob wiped one shoe's worth of spots on a leg of his more mundane and concealed chausses. The rough wool of this garment that covered him hip to toe grew damp along his calf.
    A new, deep rumbling rose from those hungry folk awaiting the opening of the abbey's gate for their daily bite of bread. Startled, Rob half turned to listen. In the next instant, the sound sorted itself into the syllables of Johanna's name. Fear for her shot through him, and he turned all the way round, willing his gaze to penetrate solid stone. The chant intensified until it reached a threatening tenor.
    "Brother, we'd be honored if you used the chair," Will invited as he reentered the room with the monk. "Here, let me move it nearer to the heat."
    Wood scraped across the floor as the lad heaved the hospitium's only chair toward the room's center and their brazier. The monks heated this chamber with a brass pan filled with glowing coals, held up off the floor on a tall tripod. It was a poor substitute for a hearth. The brazier required an open window for ventilation, which meant the majority of its warmth was lost to the chill air entering the room.
    "Master Robert, Brother Herbalist is here," the lad called, making the formal announcement required of him.
Rob ignored him, his entire being yet focused on the sound of Johanna's name pulsing from the crowd. Only three days ago a tradesman had been assaulted in his home, he and his wife beaten nigh unto death and what grain they had in store, plundered. He could not bear the thought of Johanna so injured.
    "Will they do her any harm?" Rob called over his shoulder to their visitor.
    "I doubt they'd try," the monk replied calmly, "not as long as she rides with her husband's men as her escort."
    This assurance did nothing to ease Rob's fear. This past autumn had taught him just what sort of man Katel employed. He glanced at his apprentice. "Lad, run you your fastest to the gate and watch that the goodwife's party passes unharmed. If the crowd should set upon her escort, send the porter to warn me while you rouse our men to aid her." His agent and his household guard had retreated to the abbey's stable to dice out of sight and earshot of the holy brothers.
    Excitement washed all other emotion from Will's gaze, and his hand dropped in eager anticipation to the hilt of the dagger he'd been allowed to wear on this trip. The thrill of danger was another facet of character he had from his dam, for it was nothing his father had ever owned. "Aye, Master Robert," he replied, already racing toward the room's exit.
    As Will blew out on the gust of wind that surged through the window when he threw open the door, Rob waited, taut and tense. Behind him, the monk rose and closed the door. As swiftly as it had begun, the muttering from the field died back into the low moan of hunger. Rob breathed in relief then turned to welcome the man who'd nurtured the love for trade in his heart, only to catch his breath in a wholly new fear.
    Death was closing its fist around Colin the Apothecary. The black habit of the Benedictines swallowed the former tradesman, while naught but onionskin stretched over his bones, his skull nigh on visible along his jutting cheekbones and outthrust brows. Deep hollows encircled eyes as black as his hair had once been; the stuff now wreathing the monk's face and head was that pure white given only to those whose hair had once been a true