Reign: The Haunting Read Free

dried blood. “It is all I hear, my son. Every time I lie down to sleep the pounding wakes me once again. At first I thought it was the horses; hooves, but I killed all the horses and still, it echoes on.”
    â€œYou killed all the horses?” Francis repeated. Suddenly the virgin white snow was covered with the bodies of slain horses, dozens of steeds lay all around, their blood seeping out into the ground. “Dear God.”
    â€œI have asked him for help.” Henry laughed, pulling his sword from its sheath. “He ignores me. I find no rest.”
    â€œThe priest read your last rites,” Francis said, treading carefully around the corpse-littered clearing, away from the ghostly shape of his father. “We gave you a Christian burial. All was done correctly.”
    Henry took one more step forward. “You murdered me, son.”
    Francis opened his mouth to reply, but there was nothing.
    â€œBlood will have blood,” Henry said, opening his fur cape to reveal a small swaddled bundle. A baby. Francis’s baby. He held him tenderly, stroking his cheek and smiling. “My blood is yours, your blood is his.”
    â€œFather, no.” Francis tried to move, to help his son, but he was frozen. No matter how hard he willed his feet into action, they refused to move. Henry twisted his sword in his hand, flexing his wrist as the baby began to cry.
    â€œIt saddens me that we were unable to meet in life, grandson.” Henry traced his sword over the swaddling clothes. “At least we may comfort each other in death.”
    â€œNo!” Francis screamed, fighting against his invisible bonds.
    Henry raised his sword above his head. “Sons must sacrifice for their fathers,” he said. “Blood will have blood.”
    As he brought the sword down, Francis’s feet freed themselves and he lunged at his father, the steel of his sword slicing through the air.
    â€œFrancis!”
    The scream that brought him to came from Lola, not his father. His eyes flew open, wide and wild, he was completely unaware of where he was. Lola stood before him, the baby in her arms, the same scared look on her face that he had seen on Mary the night before.
    â€œWhat were you dreaming of?” she asked, holding their baby tightly. “I thought you would raise the dead.”
    Francis stood quickly, pulling on his jacket and staring at his son before he turned for the door.
    â€œThat’s what I’m afraid of,” he said gravely. “Look after him, Lola.”
    *  *  *
    â€œHere you are.” Mary rushed the last few steps toward her husband, almost skipping with happiness. Even though they had been married for some time and had been through so much darkness, her heart still swelled when she happened upon him unexpectedly. “I thought perhaps you were with the baby. And Lola.”
    â€œI was,” he confessed. “Had I known you were planning to visit, I would have waited for you.”
    â€œIt was not planned,” she said, leaning in to kiss him. Mary brushed her lips against Francis’s cheek, but he turned swiftly, pressing his mouth against hers with unexpected fervor. The kiss deepened and in that moment, Mary could have been anywhere, could have been anyone. All that mattered was the kiss. Finally, he broke away, pressing his forehead against hers as they caught their breath.
    â€œYou’re feeling better?” she asked, a flush rising to her cheeks.
    â€œI am now,” Francis said. The rush of the kiss fell away at the thought of Mary talking to her friend about his visit. “Do you have to visit with Lola today?”
    â€œNo,” Mary replied lightly, her hands resting against Francis’s leather-covered chest. “I haven’t sent word, but I found myself alone and it has been too long since I visited my godson. I thought you were at court, Cardinal Strozzi is due to arrive any moment.”
    â€œI’m