Shana Abe by The Secret Swan

Author:The Secret Swan [Swan, The Secret]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 2012-07-10T11:46:44+00:00

Chapter Nine

THE GATEHOUSE WAS MASSIVE, TRULY THE LARGEST Amiranth had ever seen, nearly as big as all of the manor house of Safere. It was the only part of the castle she could see that had any sort of decoration on it: the stones around the portal had been arranged according to color, from dark to light to dark again. At the top of the tall archway a carved stone tablet revealed a chained unicorn standing with its head high, the spiraled horn pointing straight to heaven. One hoof was raised, as if in warning, or in flight.

The gate was raised, inviting entry, but the portcullis was firmly lowered. She glimpsed the buildings now past the grid of it—a chapel, a granary, stables, gardens. Over there, in the corner, a gentle motte that led up to the keep—

“Halt!” A guard, posted high at the top of the gatehouse.

Tristan stopped, turning to hand her the reins. Amiranth took them, searching his face, finding naught of his emotions there. She hoped he was not as nervous as she.

“Who comes?” called out the guard.

“The master of this place,” called back Tristan, his voice deep and ringing. “I am Tristan, Earl of Haverlocke. Raise the portcullis!”

From behind them came a hushed fury of sound, as if all the peasants had gasped at once, followed by excited whispers. Tristan did not turn, so neither did Amiranth.

“Your name again, sir?” questioned the guard, incredulous.

“Tristan! Earl—of—Haverlocke! Now open this portcullis!”

The guard disappeared from view. The voices behind them rose again, a babble of sound, disbelief, thrill, agitation. Amiranth focused on the man before her, standing relaxed by the mare, looking around, perfectly composed. She dug her nails into the center of her palms, trying to appear serene.

Half a dozen men came back into view at the top of the gatehouse. One leaned down from the

battlement, peering at them.

“My man tells me a brash story,” he said in a loud drawl. “He tells me a stranger has come calling with the name of a dead man. Since I know this cannot be true, tell me your true name and purpose here.”

“Who are you?” Tristan demanded. “I do not know your face!”

“Nor I yours! Get you gone from here, villain, and do not waste my time.”

The man began to withdraw.

“By all that’s holy,” Tristan began, a rumbling shout, “I will not stand for such insolence in my own demesne! You are not Charles Bingham, my castellan! Send forth that man, and my brother Liam, at once!”

All the men paused, then turned to one another. Amiranth heard them begin to confer in quick, worried tones, too low to make out. The lead man broke apart from the group and spoke again.

“Charles Bingham, you say? That is the name of another dead man. And I would like to know how you know of it.”

“I am the master of this place. I do not know you, but there are a good many men I do know, and who will know me! Send forth my brother, and let us settle this.

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