The Wolf of Harrow Hall (Tales of the Latter Kingdoms Book 7) by Christine Pope Read Free Book Online

his eyebrows, quite made me want to melt into the floor. But since I had come here on this errand, I must see it through to its conclusion, no matter what Lord Greymount might say…and no matter how he might say it.
    “I am sorry for that, my lord. But I do believe that when you hear why I have come here, you will understand why I did not wish to confide in Master Merryk.”
    “Indeed? That sounds rather dire.” Lord Greymount gestured toward a table a few feet away from him, one on which several costly goblets of cut glass and a matching decanter sat. “Perhaps you should have a drink with me first, to give you courage.”
    I had never drunk spirits — or wine — in my life. Cider, of course, and a small mug of ale at the village’s Midwinter celebration, but nothing more than that. Still, I did not want his estimation of me to go any lower than it already had…if that was even possible. “Thank you, my lord. That sounds lovely.”
    A knowing smirk played around the edges of his mobile lips, but he said nothing, only went over to the table and poured a measure of deep, ruby-colored liquid into each of the goblets. He then handed one to me, and I took it, praying that I wouldn’t drop the precious glass. Surely it had to be worth more than everything my grandmother and I owned.
    “To communication,” he said, raising his goblet.
    I raised mine as well, then allowed myself a very small sip. What passed over my tongue was unlike anything I had tasted before — redolent of raisins, but somehow sweeter, richer. My eyes widened, but I somehow kept myself from taking another, larger swallow. I needed to keep my wits about me, and I could tell that the liquor, whatever it might be, was far stronger than anything I’d ever drunk before.
    From the slight narrowing of Lord Greymount’s eyes, I could tell that he had noticed my reaction. But he forbore from commenting, and said only, “Will you not sit, Mistress Sendris?” With his free hand, he indicated one of two chairs upholstered in cut velvet that flanked the small table where the decanter sat.
    “Oh, I couldn’t possibly — ”
    “I fear I must insist.”
    The steel in his tone propelled me forward, and I seated myself with some reluctance. Certainly I had never thought to find myself sitting in his lordship’s presence, but his invitation had not left any room for protest.
    A moment later, he sat as well, then poured himself some more of the ruby liquid. This close, he really was quite overwhelming. I couldn’t help but breathe in the warm, spicy scent that seemed to emanate from the doublet of dark wool he wore, or notice the breadth of his shoulders and the strength of his legs as he stretched them out before him. Truly, I had never seen a man like him before. He made even Vianna Willar’s handsome betrothed look like a pale, weak thing.
    But I could not allow myself to become distracted. I had no idea if his lordship could detect his effect on me, and I resolved not to let that matter, one way or another. At the moment, he seemed more amused than annoyed, and while I did not particularly enjoy being seen as a source of amusement, better that than to have him angry with me.
    I did take another very small sip of the wine — or whatever it was — before speaking. “Again, my lord, I must thank you for your patience with me. I never intended to trespass on your hospitality in such a way.”
    “No, probably not,” he agreed, gaze shifting to the ever-blowing snow outside the window before returning to me. “That, I suppose, is in the hands of the gods, and they don’t generally do very well at explaining themselves.”
    Better to overlook that casual blasphemy. I had never heard anyone criticize the gods before, but then, I had never before been in the presence of a nobleman. Perhaps they were allowed license not given to commoners.
    Because he was watching me with some expectation, I knew I could not waste more time with pleasantries, or apologies