"Irene Radford - Merlins Descendents 02 - Guardian of the Trust" - читать интересную книгу автора (Radford Irene)

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Prologue

Kirkenwood Grange, near HadrianтАШs Wall. Spring in the Year of Our Lord 1199. The tenth year of the
reign of our beloved King Richard Coeur de Lion. HENRY Griffin, eighth baron of Kirkenwood, listened
to the irregular rhythm of his heart. Thump, thum, thum. Kathump, thum. Consciously he slowed and
steadied his breathing. He needed control over himself if he hoped to save Lotta. Thump, thum, thum.
Kathump, thum.

Nothing worked. His heart knew that part of him would be ripped to shreds if he let Lotta die tonight.
He had to save her.

тАЬCome, Resmiranda.тАЭ He held out his hand to his great-niece. Her childish fingers, sun-browned and
toughened by hard work in the herb garden seemed pure and innocent entwined with his own. The
smoothness of her skin contrasted sharply with his, wrinkled and spotted with age and not so innocent
anymore. The world had turned upside down, and he had failed to set it right again. More than fifty years
of harmony he had shared with his beloved Lotta. He didnтАЩt know how he could go on without her.

Nothing would ever be right again without her.

Thump, Kathump, thump, thummmmmmm.

A tear escaped his eyes. He tried to sniff it back, but more followed. Resmiranda wiped away the tears
gently with a piece of embroidered linen that showed smudges from her latest foray into the herb garden.
тАЬDo not be afraid of death, child,тАЭ Henry whispered. He gulped back his tears, trying to convince himself
as well as this precious child. тАЬDeath is a part of life, a transition that comes to us all. Sometimes we need
to postpone it a little, though. Aunt LottaтАЩs work on this earth is not yet done. She needs to live just a
little longer. Would you help us do that?тАЭ HeтАЩd tried desperately to save his wife from that transition to
death and heaven. But he couldnтАЩt do it alone. Not even the presence of Diddosrwydd, his wolfhound
familiar, had given him the talent and strength to work this ancient spell, handed down through the family
for more generations than he cared to count.

Thump, kathump, thum, thummtn.

Lotta had taken to her bed only yesterday. The day before she had filled Kirkenwood Grange with
laughter as she scattered newly picked flowers into the floor rushes. Each step brought the fragrance of
spring and fresh air. Today the stink of sweat and fear and fever replaced the flower scent he usually
associated with his wife.

Yesterday she had shouted with triumph as one of the serving maids brought a new son into the world.
SheтАЩd scolded Cook only a little for scorching one side of the roast while he wrung his hands waiting for
his son to bellow his displeasure at his abrupt entrance into this world. Another transition. One of joy, not
sadness.