LadyOfConquest:SaxonBride by Tamara Leigh Read Free Book Online Page B

believe the ramblings of one who is of the devil, rather than He whom I spoke of this eve? There is no place in Heaven for those who follow the beast. Are you, then, content with Hell?”
    Rhiannyn was as awed by his words and austere countenance as the others, for in this moment, there was something terribly holy about him—something that might make one believe had they not before.
    The silence grew oppressive, then the hands holding her opened, and she fell to the ground. Pained by the ribs injured when Aethel had knocked her from her horse, she bit back a cry.
    “Do not listen to him!” Dora screamed. “He has not seen what I have seen, does not know what I know! Take her now!”
    When none moved to do her bidding, she darted to Rhiannyn’s side, grasped her arm, and began dragging her upright. “She must die!”
    Brother Justus strode forward and pried her fingers from Rhiannyn’s arm. “Away with you, witch!”
    Dora sucked air, but before she could spit in his face, he thrust her back. She stumbled around to face Edwin. “See what the outsider does! I warn you, kill the betrayer and send this man away, else your battle is done!”
    Edwin momentarily closed his eyes. “He is right, Dora. We are Christians.”
    “Death upon us!” she cried and dropped to her knees. “Death to the proud Saxon race!”
    Edwin walked wide around her and halted alongside Brother Justus. “You are without injury, Rhiannyn?”
    She touched a dirt-scuffed palm to her clawed neck, held it away, and considered the crimson lines. “I am,” she whispered.
    He reached down and cupped her chin. “Betray me, lie with another, and your fate is decided. Understood?”
    She nodded.
    He released her and strode to where the old woman writhed on the ground. “Come, Dora, you need sleep.”
      She hissed, rolled up onto her feet, and ran toward the cave where she spent most of her days and few of her nights. Where she went after dark, no one knew.
    When Edwin followed her, Rhiannyn dropped her head and squeezed her eyes closed, remaining thus until Brother Justus said, “Give me your hand.”
    She looked from his broad palm to an unreadable face that might have shone with condemnation for all the compassion she saw there. The holiness he had exuded a short while ago seemed to have fled, his eyes sparkling with something she could not name, though it disturbed her.
    She shifted her gaze to those who had remained following Dora’s fit. Furtive glances revealing their misgivings, they slowly withdrew.
    “Your hand,” Brother Justus repeated when they were alone.
    She placed it in his, and he raised her without effort. Doubtless, beneath his robes he was as solid as she had supposed from his appearance.
    “Know I believe you,” he said, his fingers remaining closed around hers.
    Once more, strange sensation coursed through her. Once more, she wondered if they had met before.
    She pulled her hand free and rubbed her sore ribs. “Why do you believe me?” she asked.
    His blue gaze dark in the night, he said, “As I would not forsake our people, neither do I believe you would.”
    “But Dora—”
    “Are you not Christian enough to put your faith in God, rather than a crone who speaks heretical madness?”
    A crone who knew things others did not, Rhiannyn considered, a crone who had brought Edwin back from the dead.
    “I fear her,” she murmured.
    “Then mayhap you are not well with God. Would you care to speak of it?” At her hesitation, he added, “’Twill do your soul good.”
    Her soul. Memories of Thomas and her role in his death assailing her, she stared into the face upon which firelight danced. “Think you I yet have one, Brother Justus?”
    A slight smile moved his lips. “Why would you not?”
    Could she speak to him of God? Might it ease her burden?
    Taking a chance that surprised her, she said, “There is much that weighs upon my conscience.”
    “Let us speak of it.” He motioned her to precede him, and Rhiannyn