The Scarred Highlander (Blood & Honor Trilogy #1) Read Online Donna Fletcher

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Historical Fiction Tags Authors: Series: Blood & Honor Trilogy Series by Donna Fletcher
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Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 95326 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 477(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
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“Good Lord,” the monk said and crossed himself.

“I wear the scars with pride as do any Gallowglass warriors,” Cavell said, knowing the name alone would instill fear in the monk while his many scars intimidated. Some scars were still healing, while others had taken permanent residence on his once handsome face. He kept his auburn-colored hair at shoulder length so when he bent his head the thick strands fell forward closing off the sides of his face like shutters upon a window concealing a view.

Brother Emanual paled and was unable to hide the tremble that took hold of him.

Cavell understood his fear. The Gallowglass were a notorious mercenary group of superior skilled aristocratic warriors. They were well known for their exceptional strength, their cruelty, and their lack of compassion. They would die before they would yield. His scarred face proved that there was nothing that could stop him. No matter what a Gallowglass warrior suffered, he continued to fight as Cavell had done the day he had gotten the scars.

Brother Emanual’s hand shook as he filled a shallow, wood cup with mead and he had to grip it with two hands, he trembled so badly, to offer it to Cavell.

“I am not here to harm you or those here, Brother Emanual,” Cavell said, taking the cup from the monk. “I am here to collect my wife.”

“I was only recently notified of the arranged marriage and—” He took a fortifying swallow of mead before he continued. “I must say I was opposed to it.”

An encouraging response for Cavell since if the monk opposed the marriage, it would make it easier for him to have it annulled.

That the monk opposed it had him asking, “Why would you oppose it, and did you share whatever concern you have with my father, Lord Philip?”

“As I said, I only recently learned of the arrangement or else I certainly would have alerted your father to my opposition,” the monk assured him.

“And what is that opposition?” Cavell asked.

“It makes little difference now.”

“Why is that?”

“Your wife has escaped the monastery. It has been three nights now since she has been gone,” the monk said.

Had she opposed the marriage as well and fled to avoid it? If she did, it boded well for his plans. Still, he wondered how she had escaped a place that appeared more like a fortress than a place of worship and comfort.

“How did she manage to escape when it appears you have only one entrance and egress?”

“I have given that thought and have yet to discover a suitable answer. She was here one day and gone the next.”

That his wife had escaped from this place made him think that she was far from a weak woman, and he admired her courage and ingenuity. Unless?

“Have you searched the woods?” Cavell asked, concerned she did not have the skill to survive on her own and had fallen prey to any number of possibilities.

“Aye. As soon as she was discovered missing,” Brother Emanual said. “I sent a group of monks out to search the area, fearing what harm might befall her. Unfortunately, no signs were found of her. I do fear for her safety. She is skinny with little strength to her and plain featured.”

“And yet she escaped you,” Cavell said, feeling a strange need to defend his wife.

The monk acknowledged the fact with a nod but remained silent.

“Have any merchants visited here lately? She could have escaped in one of their carts?” Cavell suggested.

“Merchants rarely stop here since we need nothing from them.”

“What of travelers seeking shelter for the night?” Cavell asked.

The monk stared at him oddly. “We do not accommodate travelers here.”

His senses had been right. Something wasn’t right about this place. Monks did not turn people in need away.

“I thought all abbeys were a refuge for travelers, the ill, the needy,” Cavell said.

“Forgive me, sir, I thought you were aware of what we do here,” Brother Emanual said. “We are different from other abbeys.”

“Different how?”

“I think you would better understand our mission here if I showed you rather than tried to explain it,” Brother Emanual said and extended his arm toward the door.

Cavell placed his empty cup on the table, then his hand went to rest on the hilt of his dagger, letting the monk know he was prepared to fight if necessary.

“I would keep my hand on your dagger. It is not safe where we go,” the monk said, and instead of giving Cavell the lead, walked out the door, leaving him to follow.

The stench hit Cavell long before they reached the door at the far end of the abbey. Once in the narrow corridor, the foul odor overwhelmed. Several doors with square openings in the center top of the door, iron bars preventing anyone from reaching out or in, ran along the corridor. Moans of anguish and pain sounded a sorrowful melody, and Cavell could only imagine what suffering occurred there.



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