BURY ME DEEP an utterly gripping crime thriller with an epic twist (Detective Rozlyn Priest Book 1) by JANE ADAMS (best book reader .txt) 📗

his guess had hit the mark. One of these brothers could justifiably have remained to assist an ageing father and lead a community, but not both. Had they served the king’s demands then one at least would have led men from their lands to join the king’s foot. They would not, Treven knew, be the first vill who had ignored the king’s command to send at least a tithe of men. He knew how dreadfully painful this could be for a small community then left, perhaps, without sufficient defence. Treven himself had been away from his own home fighting for Aelfred’s elder brother when his family had been killed. In his more clear-sighted moments, Treven would not have wished such pain on any, but there was a part of his soul that had hardened against what he saw as such cowardice and asked what gave other men the right to shirk their duty when his own sense of honour had brought such terrible consequences.

He had no idea if Hild, his wife, and their son Hlisa would have lived had he been there, but his heart always wondered, teased and worried at the thought and gave him little peace.

He was about to challenge them when the noise of shouting from outside drew his attention back towards the door. He saw Cate raise her hands to her face as though in shock or fear and cast an anxious glance back towards the brothers. She then fled towards the door and Treven could hear her remonstrating with someone outside. Edmund and Eldred exchanged looks that Treven could not fully interpret, but Eldred’s face was dark with fury and Treven sensed that much of his anger was directed towards his wife.

Treven rose to his feet and strode towards the door giving the brothers little option but to follow.

Outside an old man, dishevelled and only partly clothed, capered about with a leather flask clasped tightly in one hand and a child’s wooden sword in the other. Two men, serfs, from their dress and demeanour stood back, clearly apologising to their young mistress for something while Cate herself sought to catch the old man’s arms and calm him. He was laughing like an idiot, waving his arms and spilling his drink over himself and the girl.

“Father,” Cate pleaded with him, “please be calm. Please.”

Beside him, Treven heard Edmund curse.

“Father?” Treven questioned. “Your father was unwell, you said . . .”

Eldred stormed down the steps and grabbed his young wife. He shook her angrily. “You were told to see that he was kept away,” he shouted. “Now look what you have done. The man is shamed before his lord and a laughingstock among his servants.”

“The woman cannot be blamed for the actions of a grown man,” Treven remonstrated. He turned sharply on Edmund. ”And how long has he been like this? Is the steward of my lands nothing more than a drunken sot? It is not yet midday and the man can barely stand.”

“Our father is a troubled man,” Edmund told him, his teeth gritted against the words that he would like to say, for Treven’s criticisms had stung the worse because of the truth in them. “And as for how long? Until a month since, he was as able a man as any you could find among the King’s counsellors. Grief has done this to him, the loss of his child . . .”

Treven turned on him, eyes narrowed. “Many have lost children,” he said softly, “and I know that grief can drive a man to strong drink. But did none of you seek to mend this? Put him aside, you say, hide him away, nothing more than that?” He looked back at the old man and shook his head. “And I do not see only drunkenness here, Edmund. I see in those eyes a madness of more than a single month or even a single season. What goes on here?”

Edmund sighed and looked away, the muscles in his jaw working to keep the emotions in check and the words where they were. Eldred had no such reserve.

“So you’ll blame our father for the run-down lands and the house about to fall. Had he been the strongest, the fittest of men with all of his faculties as sharp as when his mind was young we could have done no more.” He turned once more on his wife. She shied away from him as he gestured toward her.

“Get him inside,” he told her, “give him something to calm his mood. Poppy or white bryony, whatever you have.”

Cate looked at Treven with apology in her eyes and tried hard to avoid Hugh’s gaze, though the man was obvious in his attempts to make her look his way.

“Might I help you?” he asked her as she passed him to reach out once more for the old man’s arm. He had grown quiet now, standing with a foolish look upon his face and humming softly to himself.

“There is nothing you can do,” she whispered and Treven felt a jolt go through him, knowing she did not speak only of the old man and that Hugh’s interest attracted her far more than she dared show. She loosened her father’s hold on the bottle and this time he gave it up easily. Then, without a backward look, her shoulders squared against Hugh’s gaze, she led him inside.

CHAPTER 5

Treven had been deep in thought since they had left Theading. Hugh had not seemed to notice his silence and had, in any case talked enough for both of them, in turn berating the insolent attitude of the two men and singing the praises of the young woman.

Surprised, eventually, by Treven’s silence, his thoughts concerning Cate had become more and more elaborate until at the last they verged on the obscene. Only then did Treven quiet him.

“Leave her be, Hugh. She’s a countrywoman with nowhere to go and nowhere