Master of the Scrolls by Ford Benjamin

Author:Ford, Benjamin [Ford, Benjamin]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Published: 2014-02-15T05:00:00+00:00

Late Spring 1537

After the disappearance of Lady Ria Snowfield, a scant one day after she came into his life, James Trevayne realised it was folly to think she might return. Samuel Wylams was still at large, most likely hungry for revenge, but biding his time. If there was one thing that James was certain about when it came to the subject of Samuel Wylams, it was that the Warlock possessed patience above even the endurance of any Saint.

He secreted the main parchment inside the cover of Isabella’s incomplete manuscript, hiding the small parch-ment in a place he knew Samuel would never find it, and then when the manuscript was back in its original hiding place, he felt not a lot safer. It was only a matter of time before the Warlock came looking for his secrets.

It was three days since Ria had departed, and he felt more bereft even than he had after his beloved Isabella’s murder. It was only now, as he sat silently looking at the locket in his hand, that he realised the true nature of his pain. He was in love with her; hopelessly, desperately, inexorably lost without her. Heart and soul, his spirit belonged to her, just as Isabella’s spirit had been bound to him.

Two nights of insomnia drained him, weakened his resolve, and yet now, as he looked upon the locket, he knew his love would not diminish; it would be one day rekindled, though he knew not when. He knew where he might find the answers he sought, but dare he return to seek the counsel of Thaumaturgia Anathemas once more?

Yesterday morning, Sir Henry Fitzwilliam had descended upon him unexpectedly. Since James was last in the village, two weeks before the appearance of Ria, many of the villagers had apparently grown concerned about James’s self-imposed confinement to Neville Manor, and so they had sent word to Sir Henry in London. Sir Henry was James’s oldest family friend, and if anyone could bring James out of his torpor, it would be him.

Sir Henry rode into Ashfield on horseback like he had the very Devil himself on his coattails, and a small group of villagers watched from the other side of the moat as he dismounted, striding purposefully into Neville Manor. Two hours stretched into three, three into four, and with each passing minute the villagers grew more anxious.

Inside the Manor, James poured out his heart to Sir Henry, disclosing many secret thoughts and beliefs he would not normally have said to anyone, not even his oldest friend.

Sir Henry Fitzwilliam, a sometimes cruel and callous man, was cold and feeble when it came to love, for he had never cared about anyone enough during his lifetime to be particularly affected by their demise, and had certainly never felt the warm embrace of a loving woman. He detested his siblings and his father. Too young when his mother died to remember anything much about her, as the oldest of the children, Henry blamed his brother for

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