Taming the Wolves by Lyx Robinson EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Author: Lyx Robinson
- Language: English
- Genre:Nordic Myth & Legend Fantasy
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
TAMSIN
Day 1 of the Waning Moon of June, “Traveller’s Moon”
When Rhun and I travelled over our Briton countryside, the small Christian
chapels always offered us nothing but sanctuary. Those stout stone
buildings were as homey a sight as our nursemaid Hilda’s ruddy red cheeks.
Once we entered through their doors, we knew we could gather with likeminded Christian folk to pray and find sanctuary from the long windy road.
Here, standing in front of this Dálriadan chapel… for the first time, I
find myself absolutely repulsed by a house of God.
Perhaps it’s because my husband lies dead in there, hacked open by a
Viking warlord who acted on my command.
The pain lacerating my back gives me purpose. My husband hurt me; he
delighted in it. But it was one thing to concoct this plan after the horror of
my wedding night, with pain and desperation thrumming through me. It’s
quite another now to stand in front of the red doors of God’s house and
offer up my bloody palms for Him to judge.
I don’t want to go in there. All of me screams to walk away from it. I
have to force myself to place one foot in front of the other as the monks
lead me inside.
The scene from this morning is still so vivid in my mind. Thrain
Mordsson bent over my husband, spattered in his blood. And Lady
Catriona, kneeling by her gored son’s side, her face a picture of horror.
She’s waiting for me in this chapel, too.
The air feels uncomfortably tight around my body as I enter through the
old red doors. God’s judgment should frighten me the most, but the idea of
facing Lady Catriona is more terrifying still. While I planned with Thrain to
rid ourselves of Lord Aedan, I discarded the thought that even monsters like
him had mothers. That killing him would hurt her. She threw herself across
the hall while Thrain dragged his seax up Aedan’s gut – and she was
shrieking, shrieking like it was her own belly that was being torn open.
My fingers worry a loose thread on the hem of my sleeve as I follow the
monks down the aisle. Summer sunlight slants in through the stained-glass
windows, throwing red and blue diamonds in our path. They lead me
onward without a word, walling themselves behind cold asceticism.
This place is deceptively familiar with its Celtic knotwork carved in the
stone walls. There isn’t much to differentiate it from our own Briton
chapels. The only thing that’s missing is a statue of Clota, large and round
and covered in spirals.
In the crossing beyond the pews, a dark curtain shields Aedan’s body
from view. The flagstones are cluttered with buckets and stools, bottles and
string and all sorts of paraphernalia. Monks regularly step into view to sort
between tools, wearing blood-spattered aprons. A stench of death and blood
and offal wafts out from beyond the curtain.
Lady Catriona sits at the front pews next to Eormen.
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