Shadowmoor (de Lohr Dynasty #6) by Kathryn Le Veque Page A

him.
    But he was a different case altogether. He wasn’t a young boy, but a man and heir to the property Bramley sought. Once they found that out, and Brynner was more than likely sure they would once alcohol loosened his tongue, he wouldn’t be surprised if there wasn’t some kind of negotiation involved with him to try and gain the place.
    With enough alcohol, Brynner knew he’d agree to anything.
    And that concerned him.
    As for the Frenchman, he wasn’t quite sure what he had in the slovenly man but something told him that his fortune had been good this morning. At least, that was what he thought, but it wasn’t to be the case – he would miss the opportunity he should have been looking for less than an hour later when the object of his lord’s greed, a lovely woman with pale skin and bronze hair, left the gates of the destitute fortress and headed north. By that time, however, the Frenchman and his guest, a man whom he soon confirmed to be the brother of the sought-after woman, were well on their way to being drunk and making plans. The Frenchman discovered very quickly that his guest craved alcohol more than money, so it wasn’t a matter of a bribe.
    It was the matter of a promise.
    The situation was about to become quite interesting.
    *
    The stormy weather had cleared up and there was hardly a cloud in the sky. It was breezy as the sun rose, reaching fingers of gold and pink across the landscape, stretching out as far as the eye could see.
    It was a bucolic vision just after dawn and would have been quite perfect had it not been for the fact that man, beast, and land were a sopping, muddy mess. Everything was wet and the oversaturated ground was littered with massive puddles of water. As Daniel emerged out into the ward from the keep, he made sure to avoid those watery traps as he crossed the bailey and headed towards the stables.
    It was cold outside, too, a far cry from the warm room he had spent the night in. The very tiny room had been surprisingly clean and the bed had been mostly comfortable, so he really had nothing to complain over and he’d slept very well. He didn’t much equate comfort with this destitute fortress, but he’d been pleasantly surprised by Gunnar l’Audacieux’s small bed.
    Therefore, after a heavy sleep through the storming night, he’d awoken refreshed and proceeded to dress. Donning a heavy linen tunic that smelled like a dead body beneath his mail coat, because he’d not washed it in weeks, and then donning a heavy leather coat with fur trim around the neck and sleeves, he’d headed out into the coming dawn.
    Shadowmoor’s box-shaped keep was surrounded by its own moat, a ditch dug around the structure while the structure itself was slightly elevated. It was cold; the eastern horizon turned pastel shades and breath hung in the air in foggy puffs. Daniel looked at his surroundings as he headed for the stables, finding some interest in Shadowmoor in general. People were about at this early morning hour, scrounging for firewood for cooking fires, and the smell of smoke was already heavy in the air. He looked at the faces as he passed them; everyone looked tired and hungry, wrapped in their meager rags against the freezing temperatures. The inability to create work for themselves or trade with neighboring villages, all of these things prevented by Bramley, had taken their toll. Daniel thought that everyone looked very much like the walking dead.
    Hopeless.
    But there was more to it than even that. As he neared the stables, it occurred to him that there were, literally, no animals at all at Shadowmoor – no dogs, no chickens, and he realized when he’d been in the stable the day before that he’d only seen two other horses. No animals because they had all been eaten by starving people. Although he’d had mutton the night before, he recalled that it tasted old and he thought it was perhaps because Lady Liselotte had been trying to stretch the meat. Perhaps because that was