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) 📖

the very least mad. Her clothes were strange. She wore a long dark coat just a shade or so darker than her skin. The fabric — no, leather so soft it draped like cloth — fell almost to her ankles and her head was bare, the black waves of her hair tied back in a bright red band.

Strangest and most fearful of all, the snow fell all about her but not a single flake fell upon her clothes or skin. Treven stared harder and his throat closed on the cry of alarm that rose when he saw the way the snow refused to touch this woman. As if his realisation brought the same fact home to the stranger, she held out her hands as though to catch the flakes.

“Well, will you look at that,” she commented. She laughed. “Will you look at that?”

Treven watched as she wandered over to the largest of the trees and sat down with her back to the smooth trunk. She seemed untroubled by the frozen ground.

Slowly, Treven followed her and seated himself on a large root, sweeping away the gathered snow. “You must be a spirit,” he informed the stranger. “The snow falls all about you and yet . . .”

The woman shrugged. “Maybe I’m just dreaming,” she said.

“You dream?” Treven shook his head. “I am not sleeping. This is not my dream.”

“No, I’m the one dreaming.” She frowned, puzzled. “Who knows? I’m not sure it really matters anyway.” She extended a hand towards Treven. “I’m Rozlyn, by the way. Rozlyn Priest.”

“A priest?” Treven stared at the hand, unsure of what to do. If he reached to clasp it, would it be there or would he, like the snow, be cast aside?

“No, I’m not a priest, it’s my surname.”

“Your father was a priest?” Treven had to know. He reached out and touched the other’s hand. “You’re warm!”

“Um, yes. So are you.”

“You are a woman, then. Or a spirit taken woman’s form.”

“Or a dream. Who knows? Look, like I said, I’m not sure it matters anyway. What’s your name?”

Treven frowned. To tell a name was to give another power over it. True, this woman had told her name, but Treven had no means of knowing if it was real. He took a deep breath. “I am Treven,” he said. “King’s Thegn.”

“Oh. Pleased to meet you, Treven. Which king?”

“I serve Aelfred.” A new suspicion arose in Treven’s mind. “You are Guthrum’s man?”

“Who? I’m sorry, I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Why are you here? What brought you?”

The stranger shrugged. “I don’t know,” she said. “I fell asleep. I woke up here. I think, before that, I was looking for someone, but . . .” she turned deep dark eyes on Treven, so deep and dark that Treven felt like drowning when he gazed into their depths. He tore his gaze away.

“When I got here,” Rozlyn Priest said. “You looked upset, kind of lost. I must be here for a reason, so I may as well be useful. Is there anything I can do?”

Treven had come here to ask for help but that the help should be offered in such a strange and mysterious way was beyond his expectation. “What can you know of justice,” he asked. “I came here looking for answers. I asked the gods to help me; the old gods and the Christ and any powers that rule the Wyrd.” He laughed shortly. “I did not look for such as you to come to my aid.”

“And I didn’t ask to come here, but as my grandfather used to say, if you’re truly lost, maybe it doesn’t matter who you follow. Everyone’s going somewhere.” She laughed at Treven’s expression. “No, it probably never made a lot of sense, but I guess what I mean is, it’s often easier to tell your problems to a stranger and, like I said, I must be here for a reason?”

When Treven still did not reply she added, “and as for what I know about justice, well, I guess I spend my life dealing with what I hope is justice.”

“You are a law giver?”

“Um, no. I don’t make laws. I just try to see that people keep them.”

Treven nodded. So there was, after all, a kindred spirit here. “I too seek to keep the king’s law,” he said. He sighed heavily. “I’ve come to realise that I am ill equipped for the task he gave me.”

“We all feel like that sometimes. Look, I don’t know how long I’m going to be here. I have this feeling that it’s time limited some way or another, so tell me and we’ll see if two heads are better than one.”

Treven nodded. Suddenly, it seemed correct and right that he should do so. “I came here as King’s Thegn,” he said

“Thegn? No, never mind, I can ask Ethan. Go on.”

“Ethan?”

“A friend.”

“Oh.” Treven frowned, puzzled. “I came here and brought with me a man called Hugh de Vries who the king had promised would be Shire Reeve in this place. I . . . blame myself. I knew what Hugh was, that he liked women and had little concern for discretion, and I should have spoken when he first took Cate Scrivener to his bed. But I did not and when she was found dead and Hugh was blamed . . .”

“Why would Hugh want to kill his lover?”

“She told him she would see him no more. He was angry, he confessed to having laid hands on her, to strangling her until she feared for her life. Then, he says he realised what he did and let her go. She ran from him and, so he claims, another came and felled her with a blow and then a second.”

“He witnessed this?”

Treven nodded. “It was dark, he says he thought her dead, but she did not die then. She