When the cart carrying their bodies arrived a week ago, Rachelle’s life spiraled onto a path of destruction. Nothing would ever be the same. Her spirit died that day—hope forever lost.Now, she spent every morning outside in the garden, while priests and servants came and went at all times of the day. Her mother’s dishes and jewelry, her father’s beloved collection of scrolls, their horses, and clothes—anything of value—were being appraised. They’d likely be sold to pay debts and ensure her place in the nearest covenant. Nobody cared if another daughter of the lower gentry was offered as a bride for Christ.Because her parents had gifted her with freedom and knowledge, she knew more about the travails of the world than any child her age should. And she understood why the holy men who lived near York worked diligently to place her in a religious house. To make right what sins her father had committed. For years, her sire had warned all who would listen that the Pope no longer served Christ, only his own selfish ambitions.
