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) 📖

down the steps with Kendryk at his side and stood by Cate. She had been laid out on the trestle table brought from the hall. Her limbs had begun to stiffen and Treven knew that he would have to be swift so that the women could do their work before her body became too rigid to move. Her long dark hair was loose and Edmund stood at her head, his fingers straying through the long strands, his face empty of all thought. Treven observed him for a moment, thinking it strange that it should be the older brother and not the husband who stood like this, stroking the woman’s hair. He recalled the rumours concerning Allis and wondered if there might be another reason Edmund was glad to be rid of her. Did he love his brother’s wife?

Glancing at Eldred he saw that his gaze too was fixed upon his brother’s hands, but there was no question in his eyes, just a deep and utter sadness.

Gently, Treven tilted Cate’s chin and turned her head. Beside him, he heard Kendryk draw sharp breath. To confirm what he saw he moved her head again, this time exposing the neck on the other side, then he looked sideways to where Hugh and Eldred stood watching. On Eldred’s face was a look of anger, incomprehension. But Hugh . . . as Hugh met his eyes, Treven realised that his friend knew exactly what he saw.

Treven snapped his gaze away and moved his hands onto Cate’s arms. Her clothes were grimed with blood and earth but untorn. He lifted her hands, examining the nails. They were trimmed short. Ragged nails caught on the spindle thread and snagged the yarn, so she had kept them well. But beneath the middle and first fingers of her right hand was a rime of dirt.

Treven drew his knife and with the tip, scraped beneath Cate’s fingernails, then wiped the stuff he found there on his palm. He spat, watching the red brown seep from the grime. Lifting his palm to his lips, he tasted it, his gaze fixed now on the two men he judged.

Eldred registered puzzlement and disgust. Hugh jerked his head, then returned Treven’s gaze with a steadiness forced by sheer will.

Treven spat upon the ground.

“Blood?” Kendryk asked, curiosity fighting mild distaste.

“Is it blood, Hugh? Did she do more than slap your hands away?”

The crowd moved restlessly and Hugh took an instinctive step towards Treven and where Cate’s body lay.

“I did not kill her.” He spoke slowly as though trying to convince a child. “And look, no marks on my hands or my face and, should you find marks on my back, they come not from Cate but from the other one.”

“The other one that you have yet to name.”

“You’d have me do that here? In the face of her neighbours, kinsmen. Weaponmann?”

“So, another married woman,” Treven said. Kendryk laid a hand upon his arm.

“I think,” he said, “that in this Hugh has the right. The woman should not be publicly named. Hugh may name her privately and we will call each woman in this community to the hall and speak with them, so she not be singled out.”

Treven scowled. “A priest that condones adultery!”

“A priest that puts the health of a community before need for vengeance,” Kendryk told him sharply. “As well you should.”

Treven made some small gesture of disgust, but he nodded assent. “If that is your guidance,” he said. “I will accept it. Tell the women they can prepare the body.” He made as though to go inside, then turned again and strode over to where Hugh stood. He laid hold of Hugh’s hair and tugged his head forward, turning it left and right so that he could see his neck then pulled the tunic aside to expose his shoulders.

“I told you,” Hugh was panicked now and the crowd about him moved restlessly. “It was the other one.”

“She marked him!” Eldred sounded triumphant. He lunged forward. Treven wheeled, blocked him, knocking him off his feet.

“Stay down!” He let his gaze rove across the crowd. He could both see and feel their anger. This stranger had killed one of their own and they wanted nothing more or less than vengeance. Osric had drawn his seax and came to stand beside Treven, the long knife raised in his hand. Treven closed his fist over his servant’s hand. “Put it away,” he said softly. “I’ll see justice and law served here, not the rule of the mob. Now, go to your homes. Hugh, go inside and Osric, keep him close confined.”

“Confined! Treven, I swear, I did not kill her!”

“It will take more than your oath to prove innocence,” Eldred growled.

Hugh swung about. “You had more reason to see her dead than I ever could or did,” he whispered furiously. He faced the crowd, his face white with panic and distress. “I did not take her life. You seek a murderer? Look no further than a man deceived by his wife. I accuse you, Eldred. Accuse you before all witnessed here present. I accuse you of Cate’s murder and that of her unborn child.”

Treven looked from one to the other, a small doubt creeping back into his mind. “Go inside,” he said softly. “Your accusation has been made and both will be answered.” He gestured once again towards the crowd. “Now get you gone. You’ve work to do and families to care for. Go now!”

He waited until they had dispersed — all but the small knot of hovering women waiting to prepare their dead one. He looked one last time at Cate, remembering her as she had been on that first day. Bright, hopeful, nervous as a new-born deer. Treven stared at her until the image of Cate, living and breathing, shyly smiling and beautiful, replaced that of the corpse with smashed face and gaping