Blood Oath: The Janna Chronicles 1 by Felicity Pulman

through the night until they came at last to the gatehouse of Babestoche Manor. The gate was already open and the horse galloped through, not breaking its stride. Janna caught a brief glimpse of the gatekeeper standing by as they rushed past.
    The manor house loomed large before them. Made of stone, it was the biggest house Janna had ever seen. She had only a confused impression of bulky darkness below and a faint gleam of candlelight shining through window slits high above, before the servant reined in and dismounted. Without ceremony, he reached up to Janna and swung her down. Trembling, she stared about her.
    “Come.” He set off at a fast pace across the courtyard, and Janna hastened after him. He bypassed the door that seemed to lead into the manor house, and instead raced up a stone staircase outside the building. Janna followed close on his heels, her heart thumping with fear.
    The servant stopped abruptly, and hammered on a door. It was flung open and there, standing dark against the light of the torches behind him, stood the handsome stranger from the marketplace. Surprise flared in his eyes as he recognized Janna, but his face quickly creased into lines of concern. “You must be Johanna,” he said gravely, dismissing the servant with a flick of his fingers. “I am Hugh fitz Ranulph. Please come with me.”
    Janna hardly had time to make her obeisance before he turned and strode quickly through a long hall with a high, beamed ceiling. A fire blazed in a huge fireplace, shedding a soft, dancing light on stone walls and the decorative tapestries that partially covered them. Flaming torches, slotted into sconces, added a glow to the rich colors of the hunting scenes woven across the walls, but Janna was too preoccupied to do more than glance at them. She followed her guide through the hall and into a smaller room screened off by a leather curtain at the far end.
    “Please wait here,” Hugh said. He pushed aside the heavy curtain and disappeared from view. “Alice?” he called. Janna heard a murmured reply then Hugh’s head poked out. “Come,” he said, and vanished again. Janna hastened to obey.
    A woman lay upon the large bed that dominated the bedchamber, her figure partially obscured by a number of people gathered around her.
    “Mother!” Janna sprang forward without thinking, only to freeze in embarrassment as she realized the reclining figure was a stranger to her.
    “Here is Johanna, my lady, as you requested.” Hugh’s deep voice made the introduction. The figure on the bed raised a feeble arm. Just as Janna was debating whether or not she was supposed to kiss the lady’s hand, Dame Alice made a dismissive gesture.
    “Your mother is through there.” She indicated a small alcove off the bedchamber. “Pray do what you may for her, and quickly, for I have great need of her services.”
    Dread settled on Janna’s heart. She rushed into the alcove, taking in the situation with one agonized glance. With a half-stifled sob, she fell to her knees. She didn’t need to be told that Eadgyth was dead. She’d read it instantly in the blueness of her mother’s lips and the absence of light in her eyes. Fighting grief, she placed her hand on her mother’s chest, willing the heart to pulse beneath her fingers. She forced herself to concentrate so that she could mark off time to the rhythm of her mother’s heartbeat—but there was no movement, no indication of life. Janna bent her head close to Eadgyth’s mouth, listening for a breath, for anything that might give her hope. The silence, the waiting, seemed to stretch into eternity.
    “Mother!” Desperate now, Janna grasped her mother’s arm and shook her hard. There was no response. Janna noted that her arm was limp, her body still quite warm, not yet stiffening into death. She had arrived too late, but only just. Bitterly, Janna reproached herself for not insisting that she accompany her mother on the long journey to the manor house. If she had