The Penwyth Curse by Catherine Coulter Read Free Book Online Page B

sunset. Actually, red as sin, a wicked red, just as the curse said. He couldn’t tell the color of her eyes just yet.
    He said, “I am thirsty, as are my men. We have ridden from St. Erth.”
    â€œThat is but twenty-five miles away,” she said. “If you barely had the endurance to cross that paltry distance, then as a wizard why did you not simply wave your hand above your head and present yourself to us in a puff of smoke?”
    He ignored her. It was that or leap off his horse and strangle her on the spot. It was a pleasing idea. Bishop sighed. “Will you allow us to enter the great hall, Lord Vellan? I have the king’s writ for you so you can see that I am only stating his wishes and his commands.”
    â€œOh, aye, come in, come in,” Lord Vellan said. “Merryn, speak to the servants, have food and drink brought for the false churchman here and his men.”
    â€œI am not a false churchman,” Bishop said. “Bishop is my name, given to me by my father. One should not mock a man’s father or the name the father heaped upon his son’s head. He had hoped that I would seek out the Church ranks, but that was not to be. Now I have a ‘Sir’ in front of my name so that no one need be confused.” He paused a moment, looked directly at Merryn, and said, “Unless one happens to be a blockhead.”
    â€œSir Bishop,” Merryn said, seemingly savoring each sound as she looked him up and down. “That sounds ridiculous.”
    â€œNo wonder you are a widow four times over, madam. Your viper’s tongue would make any man eager to totter to his grave.”
    â€œNot you, apparently, sir,” she said.
    He gave her a fat smile. “Ah, but I am not here to wed with you, my lady.” He crossed himself, and heard her hiss.
    He was still grinning when she turned on her heel and walked up the remaining stairs, through the wide-open wooden door and into the great hall. Ah, now that he was paying attention, he realized that he admired the worn depth of those stone steps, each of them just wide enough for a single man, each too narrow to fight well, so the man above always had the advantage. Aye, it was a splendid dozen stone steps. He wondered how many men had trod them over the past hundred years?
    He prayed he would be setting his own feet on those stairs many times before he became dust and bone. From the low, nervous voices behind him, he didn’t think his men believed he would grow as old as Lord Vellan.

5
    P ENWYTH ’ S GREAT HALL was a huge rectangle with a high, beamed ceiling, going up a good forty feet, smoke-blackened from years of roaring fires in the immense fireplace that stood in the center of the east wall. It was a strange thing, but Bishop immediately felt as if he’d come home.
    Home?
    It was true. It felt comforting. He felt as though it was his great hall already. He breathed in the lingering smell of old smoke, the smell of the wolfhounds, six of them, all at attention in a straight line behind Lord Vellan. He also smelled the air, stale and dry. It made his mouth dry, parched his throat. Lord Vellan was right. The drought was devastating Penwyth.
    â€œWe are fortunate,” Lord Vellan was saying to him as he eased himself down onto his magnificent chair, its arms beautifully carved with two lions’ heads, their mouths open on silent roars, “that we have a very deep well. There is no shortage of water for all our people and animals. The land, however—if it doesn’t soon rain, our crops will die and I shall fear for all our lives.”
    â€œHow long has there been a drought?”
    â€œOff and on since the first man came to wed Merryn and fell over dead, his face in his trencher. Maybe it began before. I’m not certain.”
    â€œMayhap if you rid us of the curse it will rain again,” Merryn said, and brightened. “It would at least be one good thing to come out of