Winter’s Prison (The Winter Murders #3)

Chapter One

In the Year of Our Lord Eleven Hundred and Forty-One, July, on the road to Winchester

A fly lazily buzzed around Bronwyn Blakenhale’s head.

She swatted at it and shifted irritably, rubbing at her sore backside.

She’d been riding for hours and no matter how warm the summer’s day was, how sweetly the birds sang in the trees, she felt itchy, sweaty, and sore.

She squirmed in the stiff leather saddle.

Bronwyn gave her armpit a subtle sniff and wrinkled her nose at the scents of horse and sweat.

She wanted to jump in the nearest river, which was nowhere to be found.

A quick peek to her left made her dizzy, and she leaned back in the saddle.

The ground looked too far away from up high for her liking, and she gripped the reins tightly.

The horse flicked its tail as if to say it wasn’t happy about having her around, either.

She hadn’t learned how to ride until very recently and was still learning. All those knights and noblemen who made it look easy were wrong, in her opinion. She could spend a lifetime riding and still fail at guiding a horse with her knees or her feet.

She tugged gently on the reins and once the mare had stopped, she slowly slipped off the saddle, preferring to walk.

She groaned and rubbed the backs of her legs, taking the horse’s lead in her hand.

To say her legs and rump were sore would have been an understatement.

The ride had finally driven her mad, and whilst she knew her feet would not thank her later, anything was better than the monotony of the slow march along the road to Winchester.

She waited patiently as a fellow servant took hold of the reins, planted one foot in the stirrup, and climbed up easily.

The gaunt servant looked relieved to be off his feet and handled the reins with an easy confidence as he patted the horse’s neck.

Bronwyn wanted to roll her eyes and glared at the horse.

The mare seemed much happier with her new rider.

Bronwyn joined the party and resumed walking.

Ever since the fiasco that was Empress Maud’s attempt at a coronation in London, Bronwyn had been one of the party that had fled the city, running from a London mob.

She remembered the dire, tension-filled moments when in the warm, stifling Westminster Abbey.

There had been an attempt on the empress’s life, the people had revolted, and hell had broken loose.

She and the closest thing she had to a friend, Lady Alice Duncombe, had gripped each other’s hands so as not to lose each other and had fled in the empress’s wake with her trusted men.

Bronwyn’s heart had been in her throat. With each step, her ears had buzzed with the shouts and curses of angry Londoners and her chest had tightened at the fear and panic that threatened to grip her, as she knew that if caught, she might have been trampled by the mob that had demanded the empress’s blood.

Empress Maud and her party had escaped, just, by the grace of God.

Bronwyn wasn’t a particularly devout young woman, nor did she much care for the politics of this country, but she knew that that day had been extraordinary, and she wouldn’t forget it in a while.

Not just for escaping with her life from a London mob, but also due to her saying farewell to a particularly charming and chivalrous young man: Theobold Durville.

A squire to the head military commander in Empress Maud’s court, Sir Robert of Gloucester, Theobold was tall and fair with dark curls, hawk-like eyes that pierced her soul, and a slight arrogance that at times both annoyed and thrilled her.

A quiet but proud soul, he seemed to prefer the close-knit friendships and loyalty of a small group of people over a wide acquaintance.

Even if he had first been instructed to get close to her by the empress, his interest and their relationship had developed into something more.

He pursued her with a flirtatious delight and now she didn’t know what they were, now that he had ridden off on an errand for the empress, in search of his cousin Lady Morwenna, who had tried to poison Empress Maud.

As he’d ridden away, Bronwyn didn’t know if she would ever see him again.

She did know that she felt extremely conflicted and stuck in her feelings for two men.

For there up ahead, rode another squire who had stolen her heart: Rupert Bothwell.

If Theobold was the moon, then Rupert was the sun.

Rupert was full of life, laughter, and warmth.

The popular young man had a friendly smile for everyone, and he’d looked out for Bronwyn when no one else would, which had raised no small number of eyebrows amongst the ladies-in-waiting and servants in Gloucester castle.

With a strong chin and thick, wavy, reddish-blond hair that shone in the sun, he reminded Bronwyn of a lion.

If only he weren’t basically affianced to her friend, Lady Alice.

Rupert and Alice were sweethearts, and it rankled Bronwyn to the core.

He and Bronwyn were friends and while he looked out for her, she couldn’t deny her attraction to him.

His sunny smile, his kind way of escorting her around, especially if it was after dark.

Even his light teasing warmed her heart.

But his lightheartedness made it hard to be around him when he and Alice were together.

Despite him being a squire and Alice coming from a noble household, Alice had taken a shine to Rupert almost instantly and spent all her time with him. She had a dark look for any young woman who got too close, and that included Bronwyn.

But Bronwyn needed more to be happy than a girl who was sometimes a friend, and a young man to occasionally flirt with who wasn’t even hers.

Her plan was to be a baker and run her own bakery someday in a city like her hometown of Lincoln, and maybe raise a family, if she was so lucky.

Currently, she lived under Empress Maud’s employ and traveled with her as needed or worked in the castle kitchens.

But Bronwyn wanted more from life than working in the kitchens and sharing the occasional smile with a handsome young man, only for it to lead nowhere.

Life had to be more than constant turmoil and disruption and not knowing where she would sleep at night.

She craved some sort of stability, and yet it didn’t matter if she slept beneath the stars or by a castle fire, she did not feel safe or secure.

Her life wasn’t working out the way she’d thought it would.

She had grown up to the ripe, old age of eighteen in Lincoln, only to have her life turned upside down in the space of an evening.

What had started with her family’s bakery selling expensive bread rolls to a nobleman had led to a man being poisoned, with her father accused of the murder and landing in prison, and Bronwyn given just a few weeks to find the real culprit.

I succeeded, but it almost doesn’t matter now, Bronwyn thought bitterly as she walked on, holding a hand up to shade her eyes from the sun.

Since then, she had rescued her father and made the acquaintance of Rupert and Lady Alice.

But the trio had barely escaped with their lives as the city of Lincoln had come under attack, and they’d joined Empress Maud’s camp, only to stumble across a plot to steal the royal crown and prevent her coronation.

The plot to ruin Empress Maud’s coronation almost didn’t matter now, as the ceremony had been ruined by an angry mob that had chased the empress and her servants out of London.

Now on the road to Winchester, Bronwyn walked with the other members of the camp that the empress had requested to join her.

A year ago, Bronwyn would have pictured her immediate future very differently.

She’d imagined spending her days in her family’s bakery in Lincoln, which was now no more than a hovel that squatters had taken over.

Nothing remained of her family, and she didn’t know if they were alive or dead. It pained her just to think about it.

As the sun beat down on her blonde hair, Bronwyn squinted to see ahead. She traveled with a long line of cooks, servants, maids, and men-at-arms in the empress’s entourage.

Since leaving London, the empress had moved with urgency. Men rode on horses, armed, casting glances around, as if they expected an attack at any moment. When they stopped in towns and nearby villages to buy food to feed the army and entourage, what they couldn’t buy, the soldiers simply took.

Bronwyn was horrified by this. It wasn’t right.

She didn’t like it at all. The empress didn’t hear about it, and when people did protest, the men told the empress it had all simply been donations, given in support of the army and her just cause.

It had taken a few weeks before Bronwyn had realized that not even an empress learned all the information.

But rumors filled the air that King Stephen’s wife, Queen Matilda of Boulogne, was raising an army of her own while her husband sat in Bristol Prison.

Bronwyn had served her before, when Empress Maud’s cousin King Stephen had ruled over the land, and had been struck by the firmness of her character and strength of will.

The former queen possessed an intelligence that many men overlooked.

She wondered at the might and power of the petite and steadfast queen, and whether the rumors were true.

Would Queen Matilda succeed in raising an army?

Bronwyn didn’t know. But it wouldn’t have surprised her.

The woman was capable of anything, the empress liked to say. She didn’t know just how true that was.