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Chapters (76)
  1. Title Page
  2. Copyright Notice
  3. Dedication
  4. PROLOGUE
  5. PART I
  6. ONE
  7. TWO
  8. THREE
  9. FOUR
  10. FIVE
  11. SIX
  12. SEVEN
  13. EIGHT
  14. NINE
  15. PART II
  16. TEN
  17. ELEVEN
  18. TWELVE
  19. THIRTEEN
  20. FOURTEEN
  21. FIFTEEN
  22. SIXTEEN
  23. SEVENTEEN
  24. EIGHTEEN
  25. NINETEEN
  26. PART III
  27. TWENTY
  28. TWENTY-ONE
  29. TWENTY-TWO
  30. TWENTY-THREE
  31. TWENTY-FOUR
  32. TWENTY-FIVE
  33. TWENTY-SIX
  34. INTERLUDE
  35. PART IV
  36. TWENTY-SEVEN
  37. TWENTY-EIGHT
  38. TWENTY-NINE
  39. THIRTY
  40. THIRTY-ONE
  41. THIRTY-TWO
  42. THIRTY-THREE
  43. THIRTY-FOUR
  44. INTERLUDE
  45. PART V
  46. THIRTY-FIVE
  47. THIRTY-SIX
  48. THIRTY-SEVEN
  49. THIRTY-EIGHT
  50. PART VI
  51. THIRTY-NINE
  52. FORTY
  53. FORTY-ONE
  54. FORTY-TWO
  55. FORTY-THREE
  56. FORTY-FOUR
  57. FORTY-FIVE
  58. INTERLUDE
  59. PART VII
  60. FORTY-SIX
  61. FORTY-SEVEN
  62. FORTY-EIGHT
  63. FORTY-NINE
  64. FIFTY
  65. FIFTY-ONE
  66. FIFTY-TWO
  67. PART VIII
  68. FIFTY-THREE
  69. FIFTY-FOUR
  70. FIFTY-FIVE
  71. FIFTY-SIX
  72. EPILOGUE
  73. AUTHOR’S NOTE
  74. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  75. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  76. Newsletter Sign-up

“Do you think that bastard knight was right?” Devon asked. “You think he’s already dead?”

“I hope he is. I do,” Guy said without hesitation. “It’s better than the hole.”

TWENTY-THREE

ARABLE DE BUREL

NOTTINGHAM CASTLE

ONLY A HANDFUL OF mirrors existed in the castle, making it difficult for Arable to use one with any sort of privacy. So she stole into the widow Murdac’s old bedroom, a cozy chamber on the third floor of the high keep that remained relatively untouched since the previous sheriff’s death. Arable had not lived in Nottingham then, but she understood Ralph Murdac kept it solely for his wife’s infrequent visits. So long as Roger de Lacy was sheriff, there was little threat of his family ever using the room. Only dusted and refreshed once a month, Arable was usually happy to claim the duty. Its décor had a forced feminine flair—a man’s attempt at a woman’s touch—but she found it a comfortable place to disappear now and again. A single shuttered window could see all the way down across both the lower baileys to the castle gates, though she refrained from enjoying the view for fear of being spotted from below.

A quick rummage through the widow’s vanity yielded a small squarish piece of polished silver. She took it and curled up beneath the window’s sill to let the last of the day’s sunlight on her face, and squinted at the rippled reflection scowling back at her. Across each of her cheeks, the long straight knife wounds had grown bright red and puffy, though their edges had begun to harden and scab over. She teased her hair forward, letting it dangle on either side of her face in thick bunches to see how well they concealed her cheeks. There was no hiding the gashes. Arable had done her best for days to stay hidden, to obscure her face, to wear oversized bonnets that kept her cheeks shadowed. Her reflection made a mockery of her attempts at secrecy.

That knowledge burned black inside her. Aside from William and Gunny, no other soul had given her face a moment’s notice. Either nobody cared about what happened to her, or they simply considered her attack too normal to bother with. Both were suffocating in their ramifications. She was faced with the crippling reality that she was exactly as weak and ignorable as she pretended to be.