The Wolf of Harrow Hall (Tales of the Latter Kingdoms Book 7) Read Free Page A

reluctance to enter into matrimony, some ugly rumors had swirled about — that he was deformed in some way, that he was so ugly not even his title was enough to make him appealing. I had always brushed those rumors aside, thinking such sentiments spoke more of the ones who traded them than the person they were actually discussing, but now, as I trudged along the muddy path, I could not help wondering if there might be some truth to those rumors.
    In that case, his lordship might be very angry at my intrusion.
    I swallowed, and told myself not to be so silly. It was far more likely that Lord Greymount was a haughty sort who did not wish to waste his time on commoners such as myself or the rest of the inhabitants of Kerolton. For all we knew, he had a large retinue of courtiers from Tarenmar who feasted nightly in his castle, although one would have thought we’d have heard something of such revels, if they occurred. At the very least, we should have encountered them as they hunted in the woods of Sarisfell, but no such parties were ever seen.
    A flake of snow drifted down to the earth before me, and then another. They were soft and feathery, and so fat they looked fluffy enough to stuff a pillow — if they had been made of down and not ice.
    Damn. I paused for a moment and squinted up at the sky, which looked far nearer than it had when I’d taken my leave of Amery and set out on this path. More and more flakes began to descend, leaving white flecks on my gaudy cloak and already beginning to dust the bare mud of the path with sugar-frosting traceries.
    Well, there was no help for it. I had been walking long enough that I guessed I was closer to Lord Greymount’s castle than I was to the village. Turning back was not an option. The best I could do was increase my pace before the snow grew too deep.
    Walking faster did help to warm me somewhat, for along with the snow came a thin, biting wind, one that did its very best to penetrate the folds of my cloak and pierce through the bodice and skirt of homespun I wore beneath it. My boots were thick and sturdy, dearly bought this past summer when my old ones gave out completely. Even so, I could still feel the wet and the cold seeping up through their soles and the knitted woolen stockings I had on.
    I ignored the discomfort as best I could and kept walking. This certainly wouldn’t be the first time I’d gotten wet through from an untimely snowstorm. And though my grandmother had tutted over me on those previous occasions and made me sit by the fire so I might dry out, I had never once caught a cold or an ague from being so thoroughly soaked. She might have commented on my unusual good health, except that it did save her from days or even weeks of worrying. One did not question such luck, but only accepted it as a gift from the gods. Even so, she must be fretting now, knowing that I had been caught out in the snow. I did not know whether to wish that Evven had delivered his message on time or not. I feared my grandmother would worry even more if she knew I was on my way to Harrow Hall, rather than merely trying to make my way home through familiar woods.
    And this storm — it swirled thicker and thicker, obscuring the path before me. True, that narrow opening through the trees helped to guide me even after the muddy route was more or less obscured by falling snow. If I kept to that opening, one which enterprising souls had cleared long before I was born, then I should remain on course.
    But then the trees began to thin, and I came out into open country, a region that seemed to be comprised of blowing snow and nothing else. Of course, I knew that was not true, that in fine weather these were probably handsome, rolling hills, but in that moment, I could feel only despair, for I had no true notion of where I should head next.
    I stopped where I was, shivering, holding the opening of my cloak closed as tightly as I could to prevent the rising wind from penetrating right through my