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) 📕

brothers have gone to Storton with the girls’ father. You were not here to consult. I thought it best to have him moved before more damage could be done.”

“Consult? What damage?”

“You think a mad man will stop with two deaths?” Kendryk questioned. “Treven, we can debate when he might have lost his reason but simple observation will tell you that however it was lost it is most definitely gone. I have seen men sick like this. They devise in their minds a sly cunning that those of us who still, God willing, retain our faculties are hard pressed to read. Two women came to me and reported attacks upon them and their children. Both times their husbands were at hand, but as time passes, we can only expect the old man to become more unthinking in his actions. At Storton, we have a hospice. He can be confined and cared for and watched closely. It seemed to me a solution you could only approve.”

Treven was forced to admit that he was right. He nodded. “Thank you for your wisdom,” he said. “I will send alms to care for his needs.”

“And if you did, I would soon be returning them to you. Treven, when your land can support such pledges, then I will accept them. I shall expect your tithing, with the rest, but beyond that I will not ask until you have riches to spare. Only then will I be more demanding. Hugh,” he added, “waits for you in the place he was confined. I made it plain he was not welcome in my presence, though I’ve ensured he has food and fire. He’ll neither starve nor freeze. Oh, and tell Osric, from me, that I should like to know what herbs and oils he used in his potion. I could make use of them in the infirmary.”

* * *

Hugh lay on his back, a blanket thrown across his legs. The hut was warm. A brazier set up in the middle of the room burned with a smoky light. When Treven opened the door, the sudden draft caused the wood to roar and the smoke to billow. Treven waited for the blaze to die down and watched the vapours rise again and drift up towards the roof. When he cast his eyes down again, Hugh was looking at him.

“Do you still damn me, Treven?”

“I do.” Treven paused, crossed the room and stood over the prone figure of his one-time comrade. Hugh sat, he cradled the wounded hand across his body, though his face was no longer creased with the agony it had caused him and his speech, slightly slurred, told Treven that wine laced with poppy had taken most of his pain. Treven pulled a wooden stool close to the pallet bed and sat down, studying Hugh carefully

“When you have healed sufficiently, I will have you escorted home,” Treven told him.

“And I have said I will not go.”

“The King will command it.”

“Will he? Treven, I come from a family of powerful men and well-connected women. They have wealth and land and the king’s ear. He needs his allies and they have been his and his brothers before him. You think he will offend them by sending me home under the cloud of an imagined disgrace? Treven, you have nothing to offer him but your honour and your courage. Ask yourself. In this time of peace, when playing politics is more valued than that game of spear and sword, who will our lord most cherish?”

“Aelfred gave me land.”

“Aelfred gave you a border territory to defend. You have a ruined hall and fields that will need clearing before they are again put beneath the plough. It will take many years and many men giving their tithing before you make any profit from your precious earth. Many more before it becomes a place where men of quality could feast or Scops sing their tales of glory.” He sat forward, leaning close to Treven. “I have wealth, I have influence. Put this matter aside and look to the future. Think of all the hopes and dreams we had when first we came here. You have need of me. Would you throw all away because of some scrap of a girl?”

For a long moment Treven considered his words. He could see the truth of them. He thought of all the times he and Hugh had fought, slept, eaten side by side, shared all manner of hardships, grumbled and scolded and celebrated victory. They had shared a closeness that he had not even known with Hild and it hurt all the more to know that someone he had known so well should now have changed beyond all recognition.

“I have no need of your wealth,” he said softly. “I will wait for the profit from my fields.”

“And when your people go hungry and look to you for bread?” Hugh demanded. “Will you tell them they must wait? Or would you use my wealth to trade for what they need?”

“And I have no regard for influence,” Treven continued, ignoring Hugh’s question. “I believe, and you know I believe that a man should be judged by his own deeds and not those of his brothers or his forebears. The poet tells us that all men must die. All things die and pass away. All that remains is the memory of our deeds and that memory should be glorious and honourable. Hugh, if the only legacy I have is that I am remembered as an honourable man, then I call that riches enough.”

“Tell me that when you go hungry and watch as others starve.”

“The people now in my demesne have managed their own lands and filled their own bellies in the years before I came. My being here will not diminish their skill, neither will it add to their burdens.”

“They will look to you for leadership.”

“And I will