BURY ME DEEP an utterly gripping crime thriller with an epic twist (Detective Rozlyn Priest Book 1) JANE ADAMS (fox in socks read aloud TXT) 📖

“Oh?”

Kendryk shrugged, a tiny lifting of one shoulder, though Treven noted also the fractional irritation that flitted across his death’s-head features.

“They were not here to greet you?” Treven guessed.

“They left instructions for our comfort with their serving men.”

“And Cate. She was absent also?”

Kendryk turned his head to look at Treven. He registered faint surprise, as though the woman’s nonattendance had not registered with him before. “Yes,” he said. “She too was gone.” He frowned. “Let us hope that her disappearance is a temporary one. One woman missing from the Scrivener household is misfortune enough.”

“You heard of that?” Treven was not surprised. “They say she fled with her lover?” He made a question of the comment and Kendryk thought before replying.

“Some say that.”

“And what do you say?”

Kendryk held Treven’s gaze for a moment more, then he turned his head slowly away and scanned the scene before him as though considering. “I say that it was Allis Scrivener’s skill that kept this land intact and this vill from suffering.” He registered Treven’s surprise without turning back to him. “You don’t think those two oafs have the slightest notion, do you? Or the father, for that matter. He’s been sick with grief since his wife was taken from him.”

“So Allis ran the estate?”

“Allis and her sister. Their mother before that. The land came down from the female line and the women had sense to keep it that way.”

“You knew the mother?”

“I have been here for many seasons, King’s Thegn. Oh yes,” he replied to Treven’s unspoken question. “Aelfred sent a copy of your deeds to lodge in the Abbey library. For safekeeping, so he told me, but also, I am sure, to emphasise his reckoning of your territories. But to return to our discussion. I knew the mother while she was still a child and watched the girls grow into women. Had Edmund sense, he would have clung and cloven to his woman like a limpet to a rock. She was the wealth of this land, the knowledge, the healer and the wise woman after her mother went. The man was a fool not to take note of another’s interest or to give Allis reason enough to remain.”

“It’s rumoured she was barren.” It was the first contribution Hugh had made to the conversation.

“It is rumoured, also, that she chose not to encumber herself with an infant until she was certain that the peace would be lasting.”

“She chose?” Treven was confused. “How can a woman choose?”

Hugh laughed aloud. “I’m told there are ways,” he said. “Certain herbs. A sponge soaked in oil or honey. I’ve never encountered such,” he added quickly, his face and mood growing solemn as though suddenly recalling that he was discussing such matters with an Abbot.

Treven looked to Kendryk for confirmation.

“Allis once told me that she’d seen too many babes die of lack of milk when their mothers starved and too many infants perish with the cold,” he said. “She told me she would choose a time to bear Edmund’s children, when she could be certain there was a future for them in which to grow.”

“And you condoned this?” Treven was not sure what to think. “Surely, the gods . . .” He broke off and began again. “Surely,” he repeated. “God grants the right to have a child.”

Kendryk’s lips tightened, though whether in disapproval at his slip or in amusement Treven could not quite decide. He suspected the latter and was irritated with himself that the beliefs of his pagan mother could still insinuate when he least expected.

“Perhaps another time might be better in pursuit of this,” Kendryk said. “Since the brothers have not returned, we should proceed without them and hear the disputes we came here to judge.”

Treven nodded. Kendryk was right, the morning was well advanced and the string of petitioners reached now back almost to the forest fence. Kendryk spoke to one of his entourage and the monk went down into the crowd and brought a man forward to speak.

* * *

It was almost noon when a shout from somewhere in the crowd distracted them. Treven rose to his feet and laid a hand on the pommel of his sword, looking towards the cause of the disturbance.

Along the path from the wood came a bullock cart, the animals urged forward by a frantic Edmund. Eldred could be seen, bending over something or someone in the pit of the cart and following on behind a straggled knot of villagers.

Treven ran down the steps and went swiftly to meet them on the path.

Hugh, on his feet now, remained beside Kendryk atop the steps. The abbot himself did not move but gestured to two of his monks to follow Treven.

“What is it?” Treven demanded.

Edmund turned to him, his face stricken and pale. “It’s Cate,” he said. “She’s badly hurt.” He lowered his voice. “I don’t give much for her chances, but Eldred will hear none of that. Gwan!” he urged the cattle forward, the hazel rod across their flanks prompting greater speed, though Treven could see that the animals were at full pace. He came around the back of the cart and looked down on the flat bed to see what Eldred was tending. Cate Scrivener, pretty, neat little Cate, lay like a bundle of blooded rags across her husband’s legs. He clasped her close to him and Treven could see from his face that he had been weeping. Now, though, that grief had transmuted into slow burning and dangerous rage.

“Where did you find her?”

“Ranuf found her beside the trackway this dawn.” He jerked his chin towards those following the cart. “She’d been all night in the open. Her clothes were wet with dew and the ground soaked in blood. Ranuf carried her home and send the boy to fetch me.”

“At dawn?” It was