Hers To Desire by Margaret Moore

Author:Margaret Moore
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Medieval
Publisher: 0
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

AS BEATRICE MARCHED out of Celeste’s bedchamber, Ranulf watched the last of the fishermen leave Hedyn’s house, taking the smell of the morning’s catch with him.

“Is that all of them?” he asked Myghal, who had been with him during the questioning of the villagers.

“Aye, my lord.”

Standing at the open window, Ranulf gazed up at the sky. It had been three days since Hedyn and Gwenbritha’s murder—three days he’d spent questioning every adult in Penterwell, except for the time he’d spent at Hedyn’s funeral mass, or sleeping, or grabbing a bite to eat in the hall. He’d barely seen Bea in all that time. Either he was asking questions trying to get answers, or she was nursing Celeste, who finally—thank God—seemed to be getting better. Even more thankfully, neither Bea nor anyone else had fallen ill.

He’d chosen to do his questioning here, in the house where Hedyn and his lover had died, because he hoped that would inspire those he queried to give him answers. He wanted them to think about the dead man and the poor woman who’d been his lover before they’d been so brutally murdered.

Unfortunately, not one of the people he’d questioned had told him anything useful. Nobody had any idea who could have killed Hedyn, Gwenbritha or Gawan, or who would want to. Nobody knew what had happened to the two others who’d gone missing earlier, or if there was anyone who had wanted Sir Frioc dead. To hear the villagers’ responses, it was as if evil spirits had flown into Penterwell to do the dastardly deeds.

“Very well, Myghal,” Ranulf said with a sigh, wondering what he’d do next to try to find the culprits. Perhaps he should lead the patrols of the coast himself, as he’d done before. Maybe his soldiers had missed something, or were protecting their relatives. He hated to think it, but it was possible.

“I beg your pardon, my lord,” Myghal said quietly, as if wary of interrupting Ranulf’s frustrated thoughts.

“Yes?”

Myghal shifted his feet. “The folks have been asking me when we’re going to get a new sheriff and who it might be.”

Ranulf had been thinking about that, too, and one candidate seemed obvious. “I see no reason why you should not be the sheriff.”

Myghal stared at him as if he was thunderstruck. “M-me, my lord?”

“Why not?” Ranulf asked. “You were Hedyn’s undersheriff for two years and he found you capable, as do I.”

Myghal’s cheeks turned scarlet. “I’m honored, my lord, but surely I’m not…there’s got to be…”

“Would you really rather I named another?” Ranulf asked, sensing there was more than modesty to Myghal’s protestations.

That wasn’t surprising, given that his predecessor had been brutally murdered. “After what happened to Hedyn, I can understand if you’re reluctant, although I’ll be disappointed.”

“It’s not that,” Myghal said. “But, um, you may have noticed, my lord, there’s some that don’t like me in Penterwell.”

“I have noticed,” Ranulf replied, recalling some of the looks he’d noticed Myghal receiving from the villagers. “But I have yet to meet anyone universally admired.

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