EIGHTEEN
"What in heaven's name are you doing?"
The voice was feminine, but authoritative. Accustomed to being obeyed. It could only belong to Lord Ronin's wife, Lady Doireann. Grieve let the axe hang by his side, no threat to the lady. "My lady, Lord Ronin wishes to build better fortifications to protect your house and all those who live there." He lifted the axe for another swing.
"Touch that tree again, and I promise you shall regret it. Even more so when I refused to give you any willow bark for the pain."
Grieve whirled, shocked. Lady Doireann had looked so small and docile – not the sort of woman who would threaten him with pain for touching a tree, of all things. "M-my lady?" he stammered.
He glimpsed the tall figure coming toward him, before the sun chose its own moment to ent
