Shadow Rider. Kathrynn Dennis

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      Smoke curled from the short chimney on the crofter’s dwelling. The place was an oblong cottage with a snow-piled roof, a structure large enough for a family and their livestock. But no one came into the yard as they approached.

      Guy lowered Regalo to the ground. The colt was so weak, he promptly lay down and rested his head in the snow. Sybilla dismounted and knelt beside Regalo, stroking his neck, brushing away the icicles hanging from his short mane.

      “We’ll have you by a fire, in just a moment longer, and get you milk,” she whispered.

      He closed his eyes, and her heart sank while she watched his breathing slow.

      Simon and Etienne slid from Addy’s back. “Looks safe, Guy.” Simon stamped his feet and tucked his hands beneath his armpits. “I say we venture inside.” His breath was as thick as fog.

      Guy drew his sword, his eyes wary, but before he could answer, the cottage door opened.

      A woman stepped across the threshold.

      Sybilla stood transfixed.

      The woman wore a rich red overdress of fine damask, with dangling sleeves lined with ermine. Her sable hair, unbound, tumbled down her back, framing a regal face with smooth skin and full crimson lips. Dark, arching eyebrows swept upward over luminous brown eyes. She was no crofter’s wife, or huntsman’s woman. Her elegant bearing bore a stark contrast against the humble cottage.

      Guy smiled a slow but knowing smile.

      The woman held her hand up in greeting as she surveyed the rest of the traveling party. Simon craned his neck to look around her, attempting to see inside the cottage. Etienne turned pink and looked at his feet.

      Sybilla endured the woman’s scrutiny. Guy was not a stranger to this woman.

      Guy glanced back at Sybilla, a look of contrition on his face, almost apologetic, yet at the same time, asking for her trust.

      “Greetings, Lady Morna.” He addressed the woman as though they were at high court.

      Sybilla shifted on her feet. So this was the famous Lady Morna—the gifted seer, renowned for her beauty, and cast off by her noble husband? Sybilla had never dared to get this close. ’Twasn’t safe for horse midwife to be seen with a seer who lived on the edge of churchly persecution, too.

      Lady Morna smiled.

      Turning her gaze to meet the woman’s dark eyes, Sybilla saw the mark––the small, blackened half-moon, no bigger than a thumbprint, burned into her left cheek––the mark of a Separate.

      The mark did not mar the Lady Morna’s dark beauty, but a chill rippled up Sybilla’s neck. She clenched her fist to keep from touching her own cheek.

      By the saints, what had this gentlewoman done? And how had she survived? By her dress and well-kept cottage, Lady Morna lived far better than most peasants. She had some means, mayhap a wealthy patron of noble birth who did not fear the law. Common folk caught consulting, or bringing food or clothing to a Separate would face a lashing, or worse.

      Sybilla shivered. She risked her life by just being in this woman’s presence. Sir Guy and Sir Simon might not be charged for consorting with her, but she doubted she or Etienne would escape punishment if they were caught.

      Regalo nickered, a small nicker, so weak it was barely audible. Sybilla stroked his head, wishing he’d been born a month later, when the sun would have been warm and Addy would have had the chance to graze on green grass. He looked so frail now, and he had that distant look in his eyes, one that told her he would worsen.

      Sybilla struck that thought from her head. A СКАЧАТЬ