While Angels Slept by Kathryn Le Veque Read Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Kathryn Le Veque
been
the perfect diversion for him and a chance for Cantia to collect her thoughts.
But instead of bringing comfort, her thoughts turned dark and miserable. Life
was an ugly thing now. If only for Hunt, she would have to do her best to
struggle through it.
It was still
dark outside when she watched the army drain from the bailey. There were a few
soldiers left behind to man the gates and the watch-towers, but for the most
part, the castle was empty. It was less than ten miles to the Dartford
Crossing, an area once controlled by her father before his passing two years
prior. Now the fiefdoms of Dartford and Gravesham had passed to baronetcy of
Gillingham and, consequently, Charles Penden. Someday they would belong to
Hunt. She hoped he would be as fine a baron as his father would have been.
She remained in
her chamber as the day progressed. Hunt ran in and out with George on his
heels, hurting with his father’s passing but displaying the resilience only
children are capable of. Brac’s death would not set in for a long time yet,
when the days and months passed and Hunt realized his father was never coming
home. That was the finality of death. Right now, it was a concept and nothing
more.
Time seemed to
have little meaning as the sun moved across the sky. Cantia gaze was fixed
outside of the lancet window, her thoughts lingering on the past where Brac was
the center of her world. She was not yet ready to accept that her world was
forever changed. Perhaps it was still too soon. Perhaps she was not a good,
sensible wife in not accepting that change immediately. She didn’t know. All
she knew was that she was living in limbo, dulled by grief and uninterested in
what went on around her.
Hunt’s chamber
was across the hall. The doors to both bowers were open, allowing the child to
flow between the two. He was hungry at some point and Cantia left her chair to
take him down to the hall to request food. The servants moved around her
quietly, whispering in the shadows of their sorrowful lady. She knew that they
were speaking of her in hushed tones and it inflamed her, but there was naught
she could do about it. Most of the servants had been at Rochester since before
she had arrived and they had watched her and Brac’s life together. They knew
how badly this was affecting her.
One of the older
serving women finally took pity on her and took Hunt outside in the yard to
play. Between Hunt’s shouts and the dog barking, the hall was abruptly silent
as soon as the child left the keep. It was, in fact, dissonantly quiet. Cantia
sat at the table she had shared with Brac so many times, feeling his ghost all
around her. Instead of comforting her, it brought anxiety. She fled the hall
for the safety of her bower.
She had sought
peace. Instead, she found even greater ghosts. In the large chamber she had
once shared with her husband, the sensations were heady and cloying. The room
smelled of him and she couldn’t shake the sensation of desolation. She had
tried so hard to keep the agony at bay, but it was stronger than she was. It
began to overtake her. Small sobs turned into body wracking sobs, which
transformed into physical pain. Eventually there was so much pain that she couldn’t
stand it. Gasping for air, she caught sight of the small, lady-like dagger that
Brac had purchased for her when he had visited York. It sat with some of her
other valuables on her dressing table. She stumbled over to it, picking it up
to examine the delicately bejeweled handle, remembering how Brac had taught her
how to wield it.
Sobbing, she
dragged the razor-sharp tip across her wrist lightly. It was enough to create a
small red line across her flesh. She had hardly felt it. She wondered if a deeper
cut would hurt more. She wondered if Brac would be angry with her for being so
weak.
She pointed the
tip at her wrist again. At the precise moment she planned to thrust it deep, a
herald sounded from the parapet of Rochester’s walls and the small
the perfect diversion for him and a chance for Cantia to collect her thoughts.
But instead of bringing comfort, her thoughts turned dark and miserable. Life
was an ugly thing now. If only for Hunt, she would have to do her best to
struggle through it.
It was still
dark outside when she watched the army drain from the bailey. There were a few
soldiers left behind to man the gates and the watch-towers, but for the most
part, the castle was empty. It was less than ten miles to the Dartford
Crossing, an area once controlled by her father before his passing two years
prior. Now the fiefdoms of Dartford and Gravesham had passed to baronetcy of
Gillingham and, consequently, Charles Penden. Someday they would belong to
Hunt. She hoped he would be as fine a baron as his father would have been.
She remained in
her chamber as the day progressed. Hunt ran in and out with George on his
heels, hurting with his father’s passing but displaying the resilience only
children are capable of. Brac’s death would not set in for a long time yet,
when the days and months passed and Hunt realized his father was never coming
home. That was the finality of death. Right now, it was a concept and nothing
more.
Time seemed to
have little meaning as the sun moved across the sky. Cantia gaze was fixed
outside of the lancet window, her thoughts lingering on the past where Brac was
the center of her world. She was not yet ready to accept that her world was
forever changed. Perhaps it was still too soon. Perhaps she was not a good,
sensible wife in not accepting that change immediately. She didn’t know. All
she knew was that she was living in limbo, dulled by grief and uninterested in
what went on around her.
Hunt’s chamber
was across the hall. The doors to both bowers were open, allowing the child to
flow between the two. He was hungry at some point and Cantia left her chair to
take him down to the hall to request food. The servants moved around her
quietly, whispering in the shadows of their sorrowful lady. She knew that they
were speaking of her in hushed tones and it inflamed her, but there was naught
she could do about it. Most of the servants had been at Rochester since before
she had arrived and they had watched her and Brac’s life together. They knew
how badly this was affecting her.
One of the older
serving women finally took pity on her and took Hunt outside in the yard to
play. Between Hunt’s shouts and the dog barking, the hall was abruptly silent
as soon as the child left the keep. It was, in fact, dissonantly quiet. Cantia
sat at the table she had shared with Brac so many times, feeling his ghost all
around her. Instead of comforting her, it brought anxiety. She fled the hall
for the safety of her bower.
She had sought
peace. Instead, she found even greater ghosts. In the large chamber she had
once shared with her husband, the sensations were heady and cloying. The room
smelled of him and she couldn’t shake the sensation of desolation. She had
tried so hard to keep the agony at bay, but it was stronger than she was. It
began to overtake her. Small sobs turned into body wracking sobs, which
transformed into physical pain. Eventually there was so much pain that she couldn’t
stand it. Gasping for air, she caught sight of the small, lady-like dagger that
Brac had purchased for her when he had visited York. It sat with some of her
other valuables on her dressing table. She stumbled over to it, picking it up
to examine the delicately bejeweled handle, remembering how Brac had taught her
how to wield it.
Sobbing, she
dragged the razor-sharp tip across her wrist lightly. It was enough to create a
small red line across her flesh. She had hardly felt it. She wondered if a deeper
cut would hurt more. She wondered if Brac would be angry with her for being so
weak.
She pointed the
tip at her wrist again. At the precise moment she planned to thrust it deep, a
herald sounded from the parapet of Rochester’s walls and the small