The Night Angel by T. Davis Bunn Read Free Book Online Page A

others had remained behind for the evening meal, but Falconer had carried back portions of bread and cheese and fruit, which now sat untouched beside his Bible. The Good Book remained untouched as well.
    The sky was gunmetal gray, the air so cold he could see frost forming in the corners of the glass. Though the evening was just waning, he was very tired, and not merely from the day’s work. Falconer was not sleeping well. His bed had become a narrow prison of regret and recrimination, mostly at himself.
    He picked up an apple and used his knife to carve off a slice. But he held it, untasted, in his hand. He lifted his gaze and stared at the shutters over Serafina’s window.
    The only task he had ever been good for was facing danger. Guarding this family was child’s play compared to previous responsibilities. He yearned for action—anything to temper the aching hunger. Something to still his hopeless pain.
    Falconer bit the apple but tasted only dust. So many of his actions over the past weeks had been wrong. And his attitude had been worse. He had bulled through situations that required silence and stealth. He was circled by people who cared for him and wished him only well. Yet all he could give in return was a severe remoteness.
    He would prefer facing the enemy and holding fast. Taking aim at the goal and giving it his all. Anything but more days of staring at what would never be his.
    He rose from his little table and walked out behind the cottage. The rainwater cistern was covered with a thin skim of ice. He cracked it with a knuckle, drank deep, then washed his face and hands. Gasping, he returned to his chamber. The light was dimming. He fumbled for the tinderbox, then set it back down. He would merely light the candle and watch it flicker, his gaze slipping over the Good Book, the words unread.
    Falconer lowered himself to his knees. He bowed his head and crouched upon the floor in pain, all muscle and drive and blindness. And mute. All he could say was, “Father . . .”
    He could not have said how long he knelt thus when a change came into his small chamber.
    Falconer heaved himself to his feet and stood in the center of his darkened room, his chest pumping in and out. He strained to detect what was now gone.
    For once his disappointment was vanquished. A fresh wind had blown through. One strong enough to clear away the smoke and the charred ashes from his heart.
    Falconer tasted the air with all his senses on full alert. The air remained as highly charged as if a lightning bolt had blasted into the room.
    He had heard a voice.
    He was in no doubt whatsoever of this. A few words, spoken so clearly they might as well have been whispered into his physical ear.
    Wait upon the Lord .

Chapter 5
    Serafina woke to a March dawn, the room dark and beyond her shuttered window only night. Still, she rose and washed her face, shivering as she dressed. Ever since her time in service at Harrow Hall, she found herself unable to sleep beyond the first hour before morning, which was very odd for a young lady who two years earlier could lie abed until almost noon.
    She lit a candle and trod carefully along the upstairs hallway and down the home’s only staircase. Everything was of course very new. The windows did not have proper drapes yet, just the closed shutters. All the rooms had a rather unfinished look. The furniture seemed as artificial in their station as plants just settled into the garden. Serafina walked down the hallway separating the living and dining rooms from her father’s office. She entered the kitchen and gasped at the sight of a figure shrouded in shadows.
    The form shifted and turned from the window. “It’s only me, lass.”
    “F-Falconer?”
    “I’m sorry to have startled you.”
    She held up her candle, her heart slowing its pounding. “Why are you standing in the dark?”
    “I was praying. Here. Let me make some more light.” He moved to the corner where a modern galvanized stove was