There was a tearing sound and the cloth of her habit ripped apart as the smothered point drove through it, missing its intended target. Not with the unavoidable explanations, and the need to secrete the sword and hide it before returning the priest’s horse to its stable—which had been her excuse for running from Martha’s protestations. He seemed to avoid meeting Anna’s eyes as much as possible. ‘But I don’t trust you an inch.
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