Sword of Hemlock (Lords of Syon Saga Book 1) by Jordan MacLean Read Free Book Online

home.  All the well-wishers stood clumped in a tight
wad just inside the gates behind Lord Daerwin and Lady Glynnis, bobbing their
heads round one another to be the first to see the lanterns through the
darkness.
    Both of the lanterns the women had taken with them had
nearly burned out, so the horses were over the bridge and at the castle wall
before anyone could see them clearly.  At first, those of the house saw only a
single riderless horse, which the grooms recognized presently as Alandro, with
a peculiar burden strapped across the saddle.  Renda walked beside her horse,
holding his rein more for her own comfort than to lead him back to the castle,
and as she drew him into the torchlight, the household’s cheer became a gasp of
shock.
    To Renda’s utter sorrow, she and Gikka had been unable to
create any illusion of peaceful repose for Pegrine’s body.  They had reached
her far too late to be able to bend her limbs into a restful pose; her
stiffened arms and legs were obscenely splayed and bent out from her body as if
she still lay upon the hideous altar.  As further insult to her dignity, they
had had to tie her over the saddle on her back, with her head held over
Alandro’s flank and her feet stiffly poised above each of his shoulders.  Renda
had covered the body with her mantle before she tied it down with Gikka’s rope,
and now, coming into the light, she saw that the brilliant Brannagh coat of
arms had sunk down into the open hollow of the child’s body and was clotted
black and red with blood.
    Behind Renda, Gikka dismounted behind Alandro, emerging
seemingly from the shadows themselves, and began untying Pegrine’s body from
the saddle.  As the women worked, the knights and servants who had gathered
slowly retreated from their helplessness at the horrible scene, leaving only
those oldest and best trusted to attend the family’s sorrow.
    Renda lay the tiny cloak-covered body at her father’s feet
and watched the last light of hope drain from his gray eyes.  He only stared
down at the horribly twisted bundle that had once been his granddaughter, the
sole child of his dead son.
    “Pegrine,” whispered Lady Glynnis, kneeling beside the tiny
body and touching her fingertips to the little girl’s shrouded face.  Renda
knelt beside her mother and gently drew her hand away, but not soon enough. 
The flesh beneath the cloak was hard and cold and contorted into a cry of
agony, and at the touch of it, Renda watched her mother’s eyes widen with
horror.  “She knew such pain and fear.  Ah, my poor darling,” the woman
breathed.  Her hand fell away from the cloak.
    “Aye,” answered Renda simply.
    But Lady Glynnis seemed not to hear.  She stood, and Renda
watched her mother look out over the fields, not toward the place where Pegrine
died, but south, toward that battleground where the sheriff and his knights had
held off an attack four years ago.  To the place where her son, Roquandor, had
fallen.  Now the last of him was gone, as well.  She collapsed against her
daughter in painful, graceless sobs.
    At a wave of Renda’s hand, two serving women wiped away
their tears to lead Her Ladyship back into the castle.  In hushed tones, Renda
suggested that they lead her into the new chapel in the east wing where she
might take comfort from prayer, but Lady Glynnis said she would rather go to
her own chambers to rest.  Her tone was strangely calm, and Renda saw a worried
glance pass between the two maidservants. They would not leave Her Ladyship
alone tonight. 
    From just inside the castle door where her mother passed
with the servants, Renda thought she could see the pale light of Nara’s habit. 
The nun had stayed back, unsure whether she would be welcome at Pegrine’s
homecoming.  Now she came forward trembling, wringing her hands, looking from
one knight’s face to another as she passed, looking for some hope in any of
their eyes, until at last she stood beside the sheriff and his