“I’ve heard you have a collection of medieval hunting knives?” The man’s face become wary. “Would you consider showing me them sometime? I would be most interested as I also collect knives.”
“Really? You don’t seem the type.”
No, he wasn’t, but his mother always told him that you catch more flies with honey than vinegar. “I was a soldier, Sir Hector. They’re so much more efficient and quiet than a rifle.”
The man nodded. “Perhaps we have more in common than I thought, Major. Come by the house when you wish.”
Lucas inclined his head thoughtfully as he watched the magistrate canter from sight.
Rosalind pulled the blankets tighter around her shoulders. She was so cold, and sleep was fitful. A heaviness crushed her skull, and everything bleached white.
Ravens ruptured the air with their cries. “Find, find,” they cawed, “cold, so cold.” Black wings beat in haste above a landscape pure and clean.
Snow had fallen.
No footsteps marred the scene. All sound muffled by the glistening blanket.
Panting breaths whispered white as the woman ran, searching, and still the ravens circled. “Find,” they screamed.
Movement was slow, her hem heavy, the black cloak trailing and sodden.
Wings thrashed frantically against her face as the ebony birds dived. “Find him,” they screeched louder, racing ahead – a line of black.
The seeker followed, running between trees frozen to silence, powerless to awaken before spring.
A mighty oak, and the ravens found home. Hunching, they grieved the deathly winter, whilst beneath the branches, a crimson hue tainted the virgin snow, running rivulets of red to a bundle – brown and decaying.
She ran to it.
The woman dropped to her knees – fear and dread, it surrounded her. From beneath the heap of acorn-coloured rags, a hand lay out in supplication – still and bereft.
Her trembling fingers reached out to touch, and she fell upon the body, covering it with her own.
Heads bowed, the ravens perched silent…
With a cry, Rosalind threw back the heavy coverlet, not even bothering with slippers or robe, and ran to the window, heart beating fiercely. The earlier rain had eased, and the sky had cleared for the moon’s arrival.
There was no covering of white.
Voices echoed from the hall, voices trying to be quiet but failing miserably. She recognised the deep tone of Lucas talking to Billy, and Benedict she knew was already abed. Her family were safe.
But someone was to be hurt – and she had until the coming of snow to work out who…
