The Slayer's Redemption by Marliss Melton

Author:Marliss Melton
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: romance, england, warrior, historical, passion, knight, medieval, york
Publisher: Marliss Melton

Three days later, Clarisse surveyed her handiwork from the landing on the stairs and pondered Christian’s reaction when he beheld the changes. A damp messenger had stamped his way into the great hall at midday with the announcement that the overlord would be home by nightfall. Clarisse’s heart had leapt up her throat. Her respite was at an end. That night, she would know if her efforts had been a waste of time, or if they would inspire mercy.

“Should we light a fire in the brazier?” she called down to the housekeeper.

Dame Maeve, who was busy setting a bouquet on the high table, cast her a sharp look. While Sir Roger had acted commendably in making it appear as though he had stumbled on the household goods in the storeroom, Clarisse knew Dame Maeve suspected her of initiating the changes in the castle.

Ever solicitous to Lady du Bouvais in the knight’s presence, the dour housekeeper nonetheless thwarted her at every turn. Servants had been threatened more chores if they were found answering to Lady Clare. Poor Harold’s ears were red from his wife boxing them repeatedly. Yet he had been her staunchest ally, dragging the goods up one by one with the help of Edgar, guardian of the dungeons.

Clarisse had thrown herself into the transformation. With Simon in his sling to keep her hands free, she had directed Harold and Edgar in hanging a tapestry on the gallery wall—just one for the job was taxing. The tapestry of a hunt attended by lords and ladies, complete with comical hounds and red-tailed foxes, now warmed the great hall. She then had them hang trays across from the open windows so that they reflected the sun by day and torches by night. This day, the shutters had been drawn to keep out the gusty rain, but with all the new torches ablaze, the hall was nonetheless welcoming in contrast to the dreary outdoors.

Bed-curtains, pillows, and more tapestries had been returned to the chambers upstairs. Moreover, in the chapel, embroidered cushions now lay beneath the benches, encouraging visitors to worship before the reinstated crucifix.

All stood in readiness for the lord's return. The room lacked only the crowning touch—a fire crackling in the fire pit.

“Nay,” Dame Maeve retorted with a thinning of her lips. “’Tis far too warm for a fire.”

Studying the combined effects of her labor, Clarisse considered that it was, perhaps, a trifle warm. Only she—with more reason to fear the Slayer’s return than anyone—remained chilled to bone. The messenger had made it known that Ferguson had set fire to Glenmyre two days past. The outer wall and central keep had held, but the rest had been gutted by flame. If Sir Christian had discovered her identity, his need to avenge the Scot might well overshadow his reason.

Clarisse caught herself gnawing on a fingernail. Whatever the Slayer’s response, she had done everything in her power to help him. She had saved Simon from starvation, loved the baby with her whole heart, and turned his barren castle into a home worthy of a nobleman.

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