Taste of Treason by April Taylor

Author:April Taylor [Taylor, April]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2014-04-21T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty

Luke dropped back onto the settle, his mind filled with panic. Would he ever get used to living a finger-snap away from death, or was his fear more readily accessible because of his talent? Not until Joss growled did he recognize a trance was imminent. That she would protect him was not in doubt. He could only pray that Byram would think Luke’s collapse a response to the news of the King’s fury. Then blackness overtook him.

He walked through a large chamber. Mullioned windows with ornate stone embrasures looked out over a small knot garden. He watched richly dressed ladies stroll along gravel paths. Prickling unease at the back of his neck made him swing back to the open door.

A column of black mist hovered there and he knew that to walk out and confront it would mean certain death. Heat blasted his back. Turning to the window, he saw the brickwork in flames. He was trapped. There was no escape. His mind screamed at him to move his feet, but both means of flight were blocked.

A cold, clear part of his brain accepted that his only chance was to engage the darkness still floating outside the door. Waiting for him. Praying for strength, he moved towards it.

“Luke, Luke. Wake up, man.”

He jolted and saw Byram trying to reach him. Joss blocked the captain’s path, snarling. Quickly, Luke laid a hand on her head and she subsided.

“I pray pardon, Byram. Today is full of ill tidings.”

“You are not one of those milk-livered scuts who swoon, Master Ballard.” Byram’s face showed confusion but no fear. “Are you ailing?”

Luke rose to his feet and managed a shaky laugh.

“Tired, my friend. Just tired.”

“You will need all your wits about you shortly. I suggest you take one of your own remedies.”

“A fine idea, and one with which I concur.” Luke was not soothed by the sight of his hands shaking as he poured out the last of the restorative Rob had made.

* * *

Rob tried the Ship Inn first. Most of its patrons were river traders, so having walked through the throng and heard nothing save tales of cargoes going across to Antwerp, he eased himself out of the door.

The other tavern was the Black Boy. He hoped for more luck here. A minstrel sang about the sweet and merry month of May, but his takings were small and he soon departed. Rob purchased a jug of ale and sat unnoticed in a corner, close to a large group around a table. The funeral seemed to be the main topic of conversation, although Rob could hear little until a sour-faced woman raised her voice.

“It do be a shameful thing he has done,” she declared, shaking off her companion’s warning nudge. “Nay, I’ll not be quieted. We all knew Edith and a more God-fearing, beautiful child never walked this earth.”

“They say he was forced into it by the Outer Green apothecary,” said another.

“We all saw how much he didn’t want to have

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