Lord Featherbed's Demise
an excerpt

Every morn, as sure as the angry bells tolled matins at the Monastery of the Beloved Grail but ten miles on, a shriek of great magnitude erupted from the martyr’s tower at Thornley Manor. Neither servant nor baron dared ignore the rising of the hair on the back of their necks while listening to the teeth-clenching uproar. ‘Twas for protection that they crossed themselves whilst giving wide berth to the stone edifice, hurrying about their business of the day.
And today was no different as a group of surly riders congregated inside Thornley’s bailey, readying for their journey. Beleaguered servants scampered about delivering cups of ale which avoiding the angry hoofs of skittish horses.
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