Land of the Silver Dragon by Alys Clare Read Free Book Online Page B

was after some treasure, some object of value, that he believed we had hidden away in our house, he had been wrongly informed. And now she’s dead.’
    We fell silent. In Edild’s warm, fragrant little house, the heart-rending sound of a grown man’s weeping was the only thing to break the silence.
    My poor father was quite clearly torn between staying with Edild and me while we tended Morcar – well, it was Edild who patiently went on trying to calm and comfort him, while I set about making a remedy to dull the agony of his shock and grief – and returning to protect his family home. In the end, perhaps frustrated by his indecision, Edild said firmly, ‘Go home to your wife and your sons, Wymond. You should send word to Ordic and Alwyn, who must be informed of our sister’s death.’
    My father looked at her uncertainly for a moment. Then, his face working, he said, ‘Goda wounded, old Utta dead, Elfritha’s dormitory searched and two nuns hurt, my family’s home – where Lassair is temporarily living – ransacked, and now this – poor Alvela. It’s the
women
,’ he added in a low, furious voice. ‘My daughters, and now my sister.’ He took a deep breath. ‘What sort of a man attacks women? What is worth finding, for which he’ll kill so casually and thoughtlessly?’ His eyes, normally warm with affection and humour, were suddenly cold as ice. There was, I realized, another side to my father; one that an enemy would do well to fear.
    I think it was Edild’s remark about informing Ordic and Alwyn that finally persuaded my father to leave. Although the third-born son, he is the acknowledged head of the siblings, probably because he’s both the wisest and the biggest of the brothers. He got up to go, leaning over Edild and muttering something I did not catch. She looked up at him with a smile, made a soft reply and nodded towards the door. She murmured something that sounded like a reassurance. Whatever she said seemed to convince him.
    As he stood in the doorway, he turned back to me and beckoned. ‘A word, Lassair.’
    I wondered what he wanted to say. I got up and followed him outside.
    My father turned to face me. ‘You should go back to Cambridge,’ he said. ‘You’re due back with your teacher round about now, aren’t you?’
    â€˜Yes,’ I agreed. My father’s suggestion was making me feel very guilty over my thoughts of that morning, when I’d been longingly imagining being back with Gurdyman. ‘But what about poor Morcar?’ my conscience made me ask. ‘He’s grieving, and there’ll be the funeral to endure, and—’
    â€˜Edild and I will look after Morcar,’ my father said, quietly but with the sort of tone that informed me it was not my place to take the discussion further. ‘You will return to your studies in Cambridge tomorrow. We’ll go to Lord Gilbert first thing in the morning, and I’ll ask his permission to take you.’ He fixed me with a stare. ‘I will not let you go unprotected, Lassair.’
    Part of me sang with joy, despite the dreadful circumstances. The prospect of a day alone with my beloved father was a rare treat. But then I wondered why he was suddenly so eager for me to return to Gurdyman.
    Anticipating the question, my father looked down at me, his eyes full of love and concern. ‘My daughters and my sisters,’ he said, repeating his earlier words. ‘Of them all, the most precious is you, child.’ It was, I well knew, an admission he had never made before and would never make again; torn from him, I’m sure, by the emotion of the moment. ‘How can I keep you safe here?’ he demanded, his voice raw and angry. ‘I work all the hours the good Lord sends, and so do you, and I am not close enough to protect you if he ... if danger comes. Yet in Cambridge, according to Hrype, you live