BURY ME DEEP an utterly gripping crime thriller with an epic twist (Detective Rozlyn Priest Book 1) by JANE ADAMS (best romantic books to read TXT) 📕

but the black woman stood there, staring up in wonder at the hanging figure and as her hand reached out to touch, Treven felt as though the woman reached into his very heart and soul and tore them from him. The pain in his gut ripped through his consciousness and for a time he could hear only his own screams as the fire in his bowels threatened to rip him apart.

Then, as the pain subsided, he heard a hammer striking wood. He was lying on the ground now, at the foot of the cross, gazing up at that scarred, carved face with its wise and missing eye.

Painfully, Treven turned his head towards the rhythm of the hammer blows, seeing, as he did, the bird with its spread wings pegged fast to the ground. Its cries of pain pierced him, as the hammer fell, metal on wood, as a man — Treven could not make out his features– drove the wooden spikes deep into the earth. The crow pecked and tore at the hand that held it down and, as the man stepped away, Treven saw his shadow, hammer still gripped in its fist, raise the blooded knuckles to his lips and lick them clean.

Treven woke with a stone in his stomach, cold as ice that chilled him through and did not thaw even when he broke his fast with meat and warm bread. Gratefully, but none the less impatient, he drank the herb concoction that Osric had brewed for him these past five mornings. Since that day he had first dreamed of the white-haired, one-eyed man the sickness in his stomach had begun to disturb almost his every meal. Osric’s potion worked, but it was hard pressed. Treven, unused to sickness of any kind, bore the whole thing grudgingly and allowed his temper to fray at both ends. His servants kept their distance from his outbursts and even Hugh made himself scarce, though Treven knew that his moods were simply an additional excuse for his Shire Reeve to absent himself.

Knowing that Hugh sought the company of Cate Scrivener did nothing to soothe him. Treven had grown tired of the arguments between them. Treven’s urging that Hugh should leave the girl alone and his empty threats to send Hugh away should he not comply. Empty, because Hugh had been appointed at the king’s command and not Treven’s own and, though Hugh never pressed the point, that knowledge lay heavy between them. For the first time, their friendship was strained. Friendship forged in battle was struggling for life in times of peace as Treven slowly realised just how little they now shared in common.

Trying hard to be hopeful, Treven acknowledged that in the past month, something at least had been achieved. The hall had been re-roofed and the walls shored up sound enough to last out the winter. The earth floor had been cleared and re-packed and strewn with hay and sweet herbs and a trestle table and benches crafted of green wood by the local carpenter, there being no seasoned timber available sufficient to the task. He’d cut the planks and laid then alternately face up and face down to minimise the warp and braced the underside with four straight bands, pegged solidly to the top. It would still twist a little as it dried, he reckoned, but there was little could be done to help that. The carpenter and his son had braced the walls, again with green timber, which would tighten about the pegs as it dried and strengthen the whole and reinforced them with new wattle hurdles, daubed well with river clay and dung mixed in with crushed reed and straw. The hall now windproof and, lit with tallow and rush lights, was a pleasing enough dwelling to spend the winter — though Hugh, used to better lodging in time of peace, had not yet ceased to complain.

The carpenter had made also two box beds, with close slats that lifted the sleeper clear of the floor. Bracken, dried and spread with a coarse blanket, gave some degree of comfort and Treven was not displeased with the arrangement. For a man who had spent more years than he cared to count sleeping where he fell, this was close to luxury, which was not to say he did not have plans for an increase of comfort given a little time.

“You were late last night,” Treven said as Hugh joined him by the fire.

Hugh shrugged. “You were snoring when I returned. How would you know?”

“I woke when you near fell on top of me. I could smell the ale on your breath and when I went outside to piss, the moon had almost set. You were late enough almost to be early.”

Hugh laughed. “What of it?” he asked lightly.

“Were you with Cate?”

Hugh sighed, impatient with this ongoing refrain. “For some time I was with Cate,” he acknowledged. “We argued about that husband of hers. She said she must return home before he missed her, so I found someone more willing.”

“Hugh, this will not do. Leave the lass alone, for the love of Christ.”

Hugh cut himself another chunk of mutton and folded it inside his bread. “Ay, well, on that score, you’ll be getting your wish. She told me last night, she’d not see me again.”

“She’s said that before.”

“She has, but last night she meant it and I must respect her word, though it grieves me to think of her in Eldred’s bed. The man is an oaf and an ingrate. If you’d any sense, my friend, you’d be rid of him.”

“And what good would that do any of us? Eldred is coming to see I have the best interest of the community at heart. You can’t expect change overnight, Hugh. The man and his brother have been effective lords here these past years. To them, I am a usurper.” And you even more so,