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) 📕

“Burned? Why?”

Treven sighed. “I followed my mother’s teaching,” he confessed.

“The Christian or Heathen side of her?”

“The Heathen, I suppose. My mother was a woman of great wisdom and learning. She could read the Latin text and the Runic and Frisian script of her ancestors. She had us all, her children, taught to do the same. I knew what she would have done in this instance, a creature of the air should be set free into the air and the swiftest way to do this was with fire.”

“So that its spirit could rise with the smoke towards the gods,” Kendryk nodded. “I have heard of such customs. Treven, I will not blame you for this. The sight upset you and you sought remedy. But you spoke of two omens; what was the second?”

Treven hesitated, he still failed to understand his dream and it troubled him more than he liked to think. He was shamed by it. He’d woken in panic. Treven, a warrior, battle hardened and blooded more times than he could count with the gore of his enemies. “I had a dream,” he said softly. “In my dream I saw the All Father.”

“You saw Odin?”

“Wotan, yes. He walked in the guise of an old man with flowing silver hair. But I knew him by his blind eye and . . . and the power within him. Kendryk, I could sense his strength. I saw him walking from the woodland beside my hall and walking with him was a stranger from the far south. Her skin almost black and her hair loose and curling all about her head. Her clothes were strange and she looked bewildered as though finding herself in an unfamiliar place. I knew the Lord Wotan had brought her here and I knew the reason must be a warning.”

“You dreamed of this only once?”

Treven shook his head. “The first time was a brief matter. I had fallen asleep beside the fire. Hugh was talking to me but his words failed to hold my interest and I dozed. In my dream I saw them walking. Then the second time was the night before Cate was found. I saw them again and this time I saw other things. Faces of dead comrades, and worse, their hands reached out to me as thought to pull me down. Kendryk, if I had not woken . . .”

“Men have died of dreams,” Kendryk confirmed thoughtfully. He fell silent for so long that Treven wondered if he slept, with his eyes still open.

“So, Priest,” he said, feeling uncomfortable with the silence. “How do you interpret my dreams and what should I do to set this straight?”

“I interpret your visions as you do yourself. Images of ill omen. Treven, build a chapel on your land, build it close beside that wooden cross, sanctify it to the Christ and I will send a monk to reside there.”

“A spy on my land, Priest?”

Kendryk smiled. “We could negotiate an exchange of hostages if you so wished. My man to live on your land and . . . say . . . Osric to be spy in my Abbey.”

“I’d sooner send you Hugh!”

“Osric or nothing.”

“Then nothing.”

Kendryk laughed softly. “You are wise not to part with him,” he said softly, “But, heed my advice, Treven. This is an ancient land and it does not forget. The forests and groves saw sacrifice to other gods long before the Christ was brought here, perhaps even before the All Father was worshipped in the ash grove close beside the place the wooden cross was carved.” He noted Treven’s surprise. “Go and look for yourself. Left to my wishes, the trees would be felled and the ground burned, but it does not lie on my land.”

Treven shuddered. “I would not feel easy with your committing such an act,” he confessed. He reached down to where his pack lay beside his chair and drew from it an object wrapped in bright red cloth. Kendryk leaned forward to see as he unwrapped it and laid between them on the table a spear head, the length of a man’s hand, but slender and graceful. Beautifully wrought, the intricate serpents of its pattern welded surface writhing in the light from the fire.

“Wondrous,” Kendryk murmured, “You carry this and yet you do not use it?”

Treven shook his head. “I brought it with me from my home and it has remained with me since. It is an heirloom of my house for many generations. When my grandsire of my father’s kin, two, three sires ago, I do not know, when he converted to the Christian way, his priest took the spear and threw it into the sanctuary. The old gods fled, they say, but their power remained in this piece. While it hung in my hall, it kept the land safe and my kin protected.”

“That is close to blasphemy, Treven,” Kendryk said gently.

“Many things have been said this night that are close to blasphemy,” Treven returned. “I speak as I find, Kendryk. Would you have me spout falsehoods just to satisfy you?”

“If it were expedient, then I would wish it.” Kendryk told him. “And you believe that in taking this heirloom for your own protection, you deprived those left behind?”

Treven nodded. “I do believe that.”

“What a weight of guilt you carry. And now there is Hugh. How simple life must have been when you needed only to survive each day. Kill or die. A simple enough choice.”

“You mock me again, Priest?”

“Of course. What else would I do?” He pushed himself to his feet and Treven was relieved to see he swayed slightly and rested one hand on the back of the chair.

“You’ve drunk too much.”

“As have you. The more have you. I’ll see you try to stand before you insult my capacity to do so. Treven, it grows late and