The Bonemender by Holly Bennett Read Free Book Online

proposal, from a widowed Barilles nobleman, and though he tried to hide it she knew he had been relieved by her polite refusal. There was something in Gabrielle too, despite her gentle manner, that men found forbidding.
    She had been surprised, and grateful, that her parents had not pushed her to marry, though Solange had given at least one speech about how married couples “grow into love.” They might have been less accepting, Gabrielle thought wryly, if her older brother, Dominic, had not already produced an heir.
    Since there were no men Gabrielle wanted, it had been easy enough to give up on marriage. Much, much harder was giving up the hope of children. Running like a secret rising tide of panicthrough her youth had been the growing fear that she was barren. As it turned out, the problem was nothing more than a dramatically late puberty. But who would ever have believed it could be so late? On the night of her eighteenth birthday Gabrielle had wept until dawn, sure that if she had not started her moon cycles by now she never would. She carried the sorrow alone, unable to bring herself to confide even in Solange. Almost a year later, her cycles had started. Not that they had been much use, after all.
    And now here she was, trying on jewelry and worrying about her hair. Wanting, why not admit it, Féolan to find her pretty.
    She couldn’t decide if she liked the feeling or not. It doesn’t matter anyway, she chided herself. It’s just a dinner, and he’ll be gone in a few days. Fastening the silver clasp at her waist, she strode out of the room.
    F ÉOLAN AND D ANAÏS HAD also dressed with care, if less indecision. Their choice was simple: the travelworn clothes they had been living in for weeks, or the one good outfit each had stuffed at the bottom of his pack. As guests at an occasion of some importance, they knew they should look the part. With the help of a young maid, who had steamed the wrinkles out of tunics and cloaks, they were presentable enough.
    Féolan knocked on Danaïs’ door. “Ready to go?”
    “In a minute,” came the muffled reply. “I just have to get this miserable boot on.”
    Féolan knew better than to offer his help. Just last night, Danaïs had been declared no longer a patient and moved into a proper guest room. Féolan suspected Gabrielle had done it to enforce a new exercise regime: now Danaïs would have to labor up and down the curving oak stairway several times a day. Danaïs,however, had been extremely pleased, and with his private quarters had come a determined return to independence.
    Soon Danaïs emerged, and Féolan did help him with the stairs. They walked down the corridor, opened the double doors to the Great Hall and entered a scene of genial pandemonium. The massive room had been transformed; rows of tables and benches filled the formerly empty space while a dozen overhead chandeliers flickered with candlelight and reflected off the glass goblets set at each table.
    Nobody was seated, though most of the guests had arrived. The Great Hall was congested with people, clumped along the edges of the room or threading their way between tables to shake hands and slap backs. The hubbub of conversation was punctuated with frequent shrills of laughter; Féolan thought it likely that a good number of the guests had kicked off the feast, at least the drinking part of it, before leaving their homes. He caught site of Tristan’s blond hair by the far entrance; Tristan appeared to know everybody there and was making a brave attempt at greeting them all. Féolan scanned the room and picked out Jerome and Solange in another corner, smiling and welcoming the guests. There was method underlying this apparent madness, then. And—
    Féolan’s breath caught in his throat as he found Gabrielle’s slender form. The candlelight flickered over her dark hair, making it flash red and gold when she turned her head. Her eyes looked deeply green, nearly as dark as her dress. Gabrielle was on duty