Murder at Penwood Manor

Murder at Penwood Manor

For Amina, who dreams . . . perseveres . . . inspires “Seek and you shall find.”

Murder at Penwood Manor The Harwood Mysteries Book 5

Antony Barone Kolenc

Copyright © 2023 Antony Barone Kolenc All rights reserved.

Cover art credit: Martin Beckett, MahirAtes/iStockphoto/Getty Images. p. viii-x Map art credit: Martin Beckett Back cover author photo, SSSPHOTOGRAPHIC, LLC. ISBN: 978-0-8294-5554-0 Library of Congress Control Number: 2023938678 Printed in the United States of America.

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Contents How t o Read H ist or ical F icti on ....................................................... vi Map: X an’s W or ld , 12th-C entur y Engl and ................................viii 1 Crusader Road .................................................................................... 1 2 New Threats ........................................................................................ 9 3 Old Friends ........................................................................................ 19 4 Dead End ........................................................................................... 27 5 The Suspect ....................................................................................... 35 6 The Request ....................................................................................... 43 7 Crossed Stars ..................................................................................... 51 8 Winter Frost ...................................................................................... 59 9 The Sword .......................................................................................... 67 10 Peretur’s Wrath ................................................................................. 75 11 The Crusader .................................................................................... 83 12 Torn Clues ......................................................................................... 91 13 William’s Envy .................................................................................. 99 14 The Novice.......................................................................................107 15 High Stakes ......................................................................................115 16 True Confessions............................................................................123 17 Envy’s Sting......................................................................................131 18 The Demons ....................................................................................139 19 The Investigators ............................................................................147 20 Love’s Perils......................................................................................155 21 The Cave ..........................................................................................163 22 Evil’s Trap .........................................................................................171 23 Demon Hunt ...................................................................................179 24 The Exorcism ..................................................................................187 25 The Murderer..................................................................................197 26 Envy’s Revenge ...............................................................................207 27 Many Farewells ...............................................................................217 Epil ogue .....................................................................................................225 Auth or’s H ist or ical N ote .................................................................229 Gl ossar y .....................................................................................................235 Ackn owled gment s .................................................................................239 About the A uth or .................................................................................242 Other B ooks by Ant ony Bar one Kolen c ....................................243 v

How to Read Historical Fiction

Murder at Penwood Manor is a work of historical fiction. This type of book differs from nonfiction because the story is imagined by the author and does more than simply tell you “what happened.” Rather, this type of book helps you, the reader, understand what happened in history while drawing you in and entertaining you. The story invites you to make connections with situations and characters and to discover what stays the same for people of any period and also determine what might have changed over time.

Even though the characters and events are imagined, an author of historical fiction tries to be accurate when presenting what it might have been like for a specific group of people to live and work in a particular time and place. That’s why an author might present scenes and dialogue that differ greatly from what we experience today.

These differences are also why some of what you read might feel foreign or even shocking. As you read, remember that in some cases, the characters aren’t doing something “wrong”; they are simply doing what was considered acceptable at that time. As the reader, it’s important for you to read critically throughout. If you’re interested in learning more about the historical context of Murder at Penwood Manor, you’ll find more information in the back of the book, in the Author’s Historical Note.

Here are some tips for making the most of Murder at Penwood Manor. vi

How to Read Historical Fiction

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Before Reading Do some brief Internet research about life in twelfth-century England and in a typical city of that time. Watch a video, view illustrations, or read an article to gain some historical context.

During Reading Ask yourself questions such as the following: • In what ways are the actions and reactions of young characters like those of kids today? In what ways are they different?

• God and religion played a significant role in the lives of people during the Middle Ages. What religious terms and ideas in Murder at Penwood Manor seem strange to you, and why? What aspects of religion in the story are more familiar to you, and why?

• Xan and his friends rely on the care and honesty of the adults in their lives. How are these expectations challenged? What goals and dreams influenced people in this story? Do you see anything similar happening today? Why or why not?

After Reading Ask yourself questions such as the following: • In what ways do people now think and act differently from people in Xan’s time? Do you think today’s ways are better or not? Why? • Why did Xan and others suspect that the returned Crusader might be demon-possessed? How did Father Andrew and others discern about this?

• Xan felt that God had given Lucy light and clarity for her life but had withheld these things from Xan. What did Xan discover by the end of the story?

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Crusader Road

X

an peered at the threatening clouds gathering above the creaky wagon. “The sky grows darker.”

He sat in back on the wooden bench, next to Christina and across from Father Philip. In front, Uncle William drove two sweaty horses, their hooves kicking up earth with each step.

Behind the thin face-veil that covered her nose and cheeks, Christina turned to the sky. “Maybe the rain is coming at last to wet down all this dust before it chokes us to death.” She coughed and brushed dirt from her dress, which was the same emerald color as her eyes.

She was right: the black hides of the carthorses had become gray from the relentless dust. Even the green wool of Xan’s tunic had grown dimmer. This must be the driest week of 1187—surely the thirstiest Easter season in all the long history of England.

Yet Christina should be careful about praying for rain. This dust was better than the storm that had wrecked Xan’s journey along this same road two years ago. In that thunderous downpour, their cart from Harwood Abbey had met disaster.

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Murder at Penwood Manor

Father Philip gripped the edge of his brown robe. “We should rest soon, William. My sore bones need a break before we reach the village.”

The old priest was probably worn out from all the craters they’d ridden over since they’d left Lincoln on their journey north to Penwood Manor.

Xan pointed to the path. “’Tis this bumpy Roman road, Father. ’Twas built over seven hundred years ago, and they say King Henry hardly repairs it.”

“Is that what the monks at Harwood Abbey call this path?” Uncle said. “Your grandfather used to call it Crusader Road, ’twas so filled with brave men returning home from Crusade—and luckier merchants than I, who found easy fortunes on their travels.”

“Not only men came home.” Christina straightened her face-veil, which she had recently fastened to her head-covering to hide the jagged scar that stretched from her lips to the top of her right cheek—the badge of shame carved upon her last year by a dagger in the ruins of Lincoln Cathedral. “Women went, too. My grandmother was a washerwoman in the last Crusade.”

“A what?” Xan said. “They let girls go to war?”

She sighed. “A washerwoman, Alexander: cleaning clothes, preparing meals, stitching garments. You think men could do all that without women?”

“There were a few women who fought in the war, my dear,” the priest said. “Famous ones.”

“Did you hear that, Xan? Women warriors.” Christina must have been grinning behind her veil.

She often teased him these days with stories of the women in history who had never needed husbands. But no matter how good a companion he’d been to Christina this past year, his friendship hadn’t cured the sadness veiled beneath her playful stories. Nor had his work as a merchant’s apprentice restored Uncle’s wealth after their terrible misfortunes last year.

When will you give me some light on this path, Lord?

Crusader Road

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No doubt, he was walking the path God had paved for him since the day those bandits burned his village and killed Mother and Father, causing him to live at Harwood Abbey with the monks and the nuns and the other orphans, and Lucy, of course. But the path had been dim and winding. He’d followed God’s will to leave the abbey and move to Lincoln, where he’d worked with Uncle and Christina. He’d kept to that path for two years, yet his every step had been in darkness. How nice it must be for Lucy—now a novice in the abbey’s nunnery—to walk on her well-lit path, knowing in advance the peace each day would give to her.

“Who might that be?” Father Philip pointed at two figures struggling on the road ahead.

Uncle William pulled the horses to a halt, and the wooden chests near their feet slid along the wagon’s floor. Two of the chests contained supplies for their journey, but the third had been filled by Uncle in private, its secrets secured by a heavy lock to which only Uncle had a key.

Xan stood to look, but so did Uncle, blocking the view with his wide shoulders.

“Two men . . . battling each other,” Uncle William said.

Father Philip rose, the tip of his nose pointed toward the scene. “Are they truly fighting, or is the one trying to help the other? There are two horses tied to a nearby tree.”

Xan tilted to Uncle’s side to see better. In the distance, a tall, bearded man had both arms locked around a stockier man with thick, dark hair. If they were battling, the taller one must be squeezing the life from his opponent. Yet that didn’t seem to be his intent, for the man had spotted their wagon on the road and was crying out for them to help.

“What do we do, Father?” Uncle said. “’Tis no business of ours.”

Uncle was right. They hadn’t taken this journey for adventure but for an Easter visit to Father Andrew and the others at Harwood Abbey and Penwood Manor. Uncle had come along as a sort of pilgrimage to thank the Benedictine monks for all they’d done in caring for Xan. And Christina had come as their assistant, after Uncle and Father Philip had

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Murder at Penwood Manor

convinced her parents that her depressed mood might be lifted on the holy grounds of an abbey.

“What should we do?” Uncle said again. “Shall we pass them by?”

The priest scratched at his silver hair. “God did not pass us by despite all our sinfulness, but raised His Son from the dead to save us.

Plus, if these two have traveled so far upon this road, then Penwood Manor must also be their destination.”

Xan tightened the leather belt around his tunic. “I’ll go see what’s happening.”

Lord, give me the strength I need.

Christina blocked his path. “You’re barely fourteen years old! If anyone should help those men, it should be your uncle.” Her words stung.

After all, he was only a year younger than she and had proved his bravery many times. Yet her tone sounded not with insult but concern.

“We should all go,” Father Philip said. “Drive the horses, William.”

They sat back down as Uncle cued the horses along the road toward the men. By the time the cart had stopped, the clash between the two foes had ended. The bearded man—panting and sweating—clung to his shorter opponent, whose body had gone entirely limp.

Father Philip stood in the wagon. “What is happening here?”

“Give aid!” the man said. He wore fitted black pants and a crimson shirt, such as a wealthy craftsman might wear. “He is too heavy for me.”

No doubt, the stocky man’s leather shirt of armor added to the weight of his unconscious frame.

“C’mon, Uncle!”

Xan rushed past Christina and leapt from the wagon to the dusty road, the thin soles of his shoes slapping upon the dirt. Uncle William followed.

They each took hold of one of the limp man’s shoulders, while the bearded man supported the back. Together they slid the body along the dirt and laid it gently upon the grass under a tree, not far from where the two brown horses were tied. A broad iron sword lay

Crusader Road

5

unsheathed in the dirt nearby, the words “God wills it” carved into its hilt in the Latin tongue.

The bearded man collapsed to the grass and put his elbows on his knees, resting his head in his palms. “Thank you,” he said between huffs. “I was entirely spent.”

Christina hurried down to the unconscious man’s side. She placed a gentle hand upon his forehead and bent close to his face. “He is breathing as though in a deep sleep.”

Father Philip dismounted with great care. “What happened? Who are you?”

“I am a merchant,” the man said, still out of breath. “Robert is my name.”

Uncle perked up and drew closer. “I too am a merchant—from Lincoln. My name is William, and this is my nephew and apprentice, Xan. Where do you conduct your business?”

“Please, William,” the priest said. “There will be time to talk of your shop later.”

Uncle nodded and took a step back.

“I am a merchant of York,” Robert said. “I have traveled far on the road with this man, Laurence—ever since we debarked our ship at Dartmouth, newly returned from the Holy Land.”

“Are you crusaders?” Xan asked. That would explain the armor and the iron sword.

“Laurence fought to protect the Kingdom of Jerusalem, and I too am a crusader of sorts—though my mission for jewelry and other fineries is far more worldly.”

“What is the matter with the man?” Father Philip said. “Why were you two struggling?”

“An evil mood overtook him—a fit of fury, as has happened several times before.” Robert’s beard drooped lower. “These past days I have discovered that some devil haunts his nightmares. At times he awakes in a panic in the dark—or even if we rest in daylight, as happened moments ago—shouting and clawing at his face, beating himself about

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Murder at Penwood Manor

the chest and head. I know not why these fits overtake him, though he often mutters about demons when he dreams.”

“Demons?” Christina said. “Is he cursed, then?”

Robert gave a shrug. “When the foul moods come upon him, all I can do is try to prevent him from causing too much harm to himself.”

“Does he ever attack you?” Xan said.

“Not with malice. I have learned that restraining him from behind is my safest course.”

Father Philip blessed the merchant. “’Tis very Christian of you to care for this crusader.”

“He is a good man, Father. He has suffered much for the sake of God’s kingdom on earth.”

Christina touched Laurence’s forehead again. “How long will he sleep like this?”

“Perhaps a moment, perhaps an hour. Who knows?” Robert stood.

“When he does awake, he will likely not remember that we ever struggled, nor how he got beneath that tree.”

Uncle drew near to the merchant. “Are you two traveling to Penwood Manor?”

“Aye. Laurence says he lives there, and I will rest a day before heading to York.”

“Perhaps we can ride together,” Uncle said. “I wish to hear more of your business as a merchant in Jerusalem. My good fortune seems to have run out on the shores of England. Every shipment is more a struggle for me than the last.”

Robert smiled. “There are many fortunes to be made in the Holy Land, my friend. I will return there soon enough. I travel to York only to check on my home’s affairs and to resupply.”

Father Philip cleared his throat and raised a silver eyebrow. “Later, William. We must wake this crusader now and get back on this miserable road before night befalls us.”

Crusader Road

7

As if overhearing the priest’s words, Laurence stirred. His breathing became shallower, his face grew paler, and his lips formed whispered words: “Daemonium . . . daemonium!”

He’s speaking in Latin.

Xan stepped closer to Christina. “Have a care. He talks of demons again.”

Father Philip fell back. “Is this the start of another fit, Robert?”

Before the man could answer, the crusader opened his eyes and sprang up with a fierce cry.

2

New Threats

X

an leapt in front of Christina, planting himself between her and the crusader, who had spun around in a circle, wide-eyed and panicked.

Not again! Protect her, Lord.

Christina had suffered enough because of Xan. In the ruins of the cathedral, she’d thrown herself into the path of danger to protect him.

It was no wonder her parents had blamed him for her scar, though they’d recently forgiven him because he’d shown her such loyalty.

“You are safe, Laurence,” Robert said, both hands raised to calm his companion.

“What?” The crusader placed a hand upon a clop of dirt on the back of his thick hair. His bulging eyes took in the scene around him: his horse tied to a tree, his sword unsheathed upon the ground, Xan’s arm out to defend Christina, Uncle William crouching in surprise, Father Philip making the Sign of the Cross. “W-what happened?”

“Another fit,” Robert said. “These Good Samaritans stopped along the road to help us.”

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Murder at Penwood Manor

“Another . . . fit.” Laurence eyed his armor, the thick leather pouch attached to his belt, the sturdy boots at the bottom of his black pant legs. “Another fit,” he repeated in a whisper. “Aye.” With that, the tense mood faded. Relief grew in their eyes as several quiet moments passed.

Finally, Robert bent to the ground to recover a blanket. “Night will be on us ere we get to Penwood, my friend, unless we depart soon. Let us ride together with our new companions.”

Christina placed her hand on Xan’s arm—still outstretched—and forced it to his side. “Call off the battle, Alexander. I’m safe.” She was teasing again, yet her voice was gentle.

“Right.” He brushed his sweaty hair behind his ears. “Of course you are.”

Laurence bowed unsteadily. “Forgive me, I have my wits now. I am Laurence of Leeds.”

“Leeds?” Uncle said. “I thought you lived at Penwood Manor.”

“My brother Rolfe lives at Penwood. I also stayed there a few years before I took up the Cross for the Holy Land, departing for the mighty castle fortress at Kerak.”

Father Philip stepped forward and introduced each of them to the crusader. “Thank you for your service to God’s kingdom, Laurence.

Men such as you keep Jerusalem in Christian hands.”

The crusader flinched at the compliment, his eyes turning downward. “I deserve no praise, Father, and Jerusalem will soon be in the hands of Saladin, I fear.”

The name Saladin had been uttered many times the past few years, both by the monks of Harwood Abbey and the men of Lincoln. Saladin: sultan and ruler of the Saracens—the countless followers of Mohammed throughout the Holy Land. The sultan’s legendary wisdom and generosity were surpassed only by his reputation for ruthlessness toward his enemies.

Xan turned to Uncle. “Didn’t you tell me that the Christians signed a truce with Saladin to keep peace between the two kingdoms?”

New Threats

11

“Your uncle spoke truly,” the crusader said. “But none of that will matter in the end.”

Father Philip shook his head. “Has that sultan become so ambitious as to break a sworn truce? Does he already feel Jerusalem within his grasp, though so many Christian strongholds still stand?”

“They shall not stand much longer against the Saracens,” Laurence said. “Mark my words.”

As if to confirm his prediction, drizzle fell upon their heads at that very moment. But maybe ’twas not an ill omen; rain would help keep the dust in its place for the final hours of their journey.

Robert untied one of their horses. “Come. We can speak more as we ride to the manor.”

The crusader still seemed shaken, however, with his eyes unsettled.

“Give me a moment to compose myself.” With that, he headed into the woodland, as Robert packed their gear and the others mounted the wagon again, their faces lifted to the cool raindrops.

When Laurence returned, he seemed transformed. Gone were the jittery nerves and fearful eyes, the shaking hands and doubtful glances.

He walked with confidence, throwing his pack on the other horse and mounting it in a single motion. “We ride!”

This version of Laurence truly acted the part of a crusader, now that his mood had passed.

With light rain to comfort them along the road, they met no further delays. While Robert led his horse beside Uncle to talk merchant business, Laurence rode near the back of the wagon with the others, speaking with Father Philip at length about the dire situation in the Holy Land. The topic seemed to dampen the crusader’s spirits.

“You must love the Holy Land very much,” Christina said, with great feeling.

“More than I can say.”

“Is that why you took the vow to go there?” Xan said. “To see it for yourself?”

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Murder at Penwood Manor

Laurence nodded. “I took up the Cross three years ago, when rumors were running wild that Saladin was poised for all-out war against the Christians.” The crusader went on to explain how the peace had been kept until last year, when King Baldwin—the one they called the leper king because he’d been stricken with leprosy as a child—died, leading to much political upheaval. His successor apparently was unpopular with his subjects.

“Why do they dislike this new king so much?” Xan said.

“Because he is a fool, and fools make for dangerous leaders.” Laurence grew silent again.

In front of the wagon, Robert was speaking with Uncle about the ease with which merchants were making fortunes in Lisbon and Xelb and other places with odd names.

“For those who risk it, there are riches to be gained even in Damascus,” Robert said.

Uncle smiled. “How I envy you. In Lincoln, I struggled for twenty years to build up the kind of business you have negotiated in a single month. I suffered some ill luck, unfortunately.”

Uncle must be referring to the doomed shipments that had wasted his life savings, causing him to recklessly take a loan from that evil usurer, the Master. That was before Xan had come to Lincoln that first time in the company of the repentant prisoner, Carlo—the very bandit responsible for the deaths of Mother and Father. Xan had saved Uncle from the Master in the end, but more tragedy had struck them because of events in Lincoln last year.

“I fear my days of merchanting are nearing an end,” Uncle said to Robert in a hushed voice.

Despite Xan’s hard work and support, Uncle had barely paid off the debts that had remained after their misfortune last year. They’d put away a modest savings now, but for Uncle it never seemed enough.

He always worried that their progress had been too little for lasting success.

New Threats

13

In the back of the wagon, Father Philip asked Laurence another question about Jerusalem.

The crusader’s answer was even bleaker than before: “Jerusalem hangs by a thread. While Saladin gathered his power among the Saracens, our petty Christian lords conspired against one another, plotting ways to keep the kingship from each other after the death of our beloved leper king.”

“What about the crusaders?” Xan said. “Are there not others like you taking up the Cross?”

“Not nearly enough of them. For years, our leaders have begged the English and the Franks to send more men on Crusade to strengthen our defenses, but their cries have fallen on deaf ears. King Henry sends a tithe of treasure each year, but what they really need is men with swords.”

Last year in Lincoln, they’d all seen firsthand the kind of distractions King Henry was facing in his old age. His sons were fighting among themselves to gain power in the hope of becoming the next king after their father died. It was no wonder the king had hesitated to send his knights to the far-off Holy Land.

“Enough news of despair,” Father Philip said. “Tell us about your family.”

Laurence eased into his saddle. “I have an uncle at Penwood Manor.

And there is my brother Rolfe, whom my father sent to Penwood as a boy when my uncle’s son died in a plague. I joined my brother at the manor a few years later. That is where I met my Muriel.”

At the mention of the woman’s name, a smile finally formed on Laurence’s lips.

“Muriel?” Christina said, apparently finding a topic of interest at last. “Is she your wife?”

“Not yet,” Laurence said. “But I sought permission from her father to make a proposal of marriage ere I departed to Jerusalem. He promised I could have her hand if I ever returned.”

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Murder at Penwood Manor

“And here you are,” Christina said, probably smiling behind the thin, white face-covering.

Laurence’s eyes lit up. “And here I am.”

“And here is Penwood Manor!” Uncle William announced, pointing to the path ahead.

Father Andrew used to speak often about Penwood Manor: one of a pair of manors that supported Harwood Abbey’s black monks, as they were called because of the color of their robes. Xan had never been to Penwood, but it couldn’t be much different from his old manor, Hardonbury, with fields of crops and tiny cottages and a church for the people to worship in.

The dusty road—now tamed by the rain—led them past a wooden fence, where sheep grazed in a pasture. He’d tended such sheep with Father as a child, when he wasn’t helping to harvest the crops in the East Field. Those days were long after Uncle had departed Hardonbury for Lincoln to become a merchant. They were also some of the best days of Xan’s life.

“Where will you all be staying in Penwood?” Laurence asked Father Philip.

“One of my parishioners from Lincoln has family here that we will visit,” the priest said. “They have agreed to let us stay on extra mattresses in their cottage for a few nights, at least.”

Robert seemed concerned. “Must you all sleep on the floor, then?”

“We’ll be going to Harwood Abbey soon,” Xan said. “They’ll have space for us in the guest rooms for the rest of our trip.” Truth be told, there was no need to worry about their accommodations. The hospitality of the Benedictine monks toward travelers was legendary, and their weeklong visit would likely involve sleeping in several locations before it was over.

“We are drawing near to my home,” Laurence said. “Let me introduce you to my uncle.”

They rode past a row of wooden cottages with thatched roofs, grander than those at Hardonbury. They halted the horses in front of a

New Threats

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structure thrice as large as Xan’s old cottage—it even had two windows on the same side. Perhaps Hardonbury had been the poorest manor in England.

A tall man with straggly hair emerged from the cottage door wearing a long gray shirt pulled over black pants. “Is that you, brother? Can it truly be so?”

The man rushed to Laurence’s horse, which the crusader dismounted in a single motion.

They embraced. “Rolfe! You look healthier than I remember.”

Xan elbowed Christina. “He looks a bit sickly to me, don’t you think?”

She nodded in agreement, for Rolfe’s pale face was marked by dark bags under his eyes.

“These past few days the weather has been a bit better for my condition,” Rolfe said. “But I hear the Holy Land is miserably hot. If only my health would have let me join you there.”

Laurence stepped back. “I am home now, brother, so do not worry any longer about your health and its limits. Where is our uncle? Why has he not come out to greet us?”

Rolfe pointed toward the main road. “He has gone to Leeds to visit our cousins for Easter.”

“Of course,” Laurence said. He pointed to Xan and the others.

“Where are my manners? Let me introduce my companions.” He presented each of them to Rolfe in turn.

“If you are friends of my brother, then you are very welcome here,” Rolfe said.

Laurence swiveled his head to take in the area, as though he were searching for someone. “And how is my Muriel? Have you been looking after her, as you promised?”

The bags under Rolfe’s weak eyes seemed to darken even further.

“Well . . . I—I can say that she is not unwell; she is still staying with her father near the West Field.”

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Murder at Penwood Manor

“Not unwell?” Laurence drew nearer and placed his hand on Rolfe’s arm. “What is the matter, brother? Has something happened to her?”

Rolfe hesitated. “It—’Tis only that Roger Smithy has taken up much of her time of late.”

“Roger!” Laurence’s voice dropped to a growl. “That blacksmith sets his ambitions on every young woman in this village! He best keep his filthy hands away from what is mine.”

“Muriel has tried to keep him at bay, but . . . well, Roger can be very persuasive.”

Laurence grasped the hilt of his sword and drew it from its sheath.

“This blade has been stained with the blood of greater men than a blacksmith, Rolfe.”

The dark fire that arose in Laurence’s eyes seemed to have come from the very demons that had plagued his dreams. He angrily jabbed his sword into the air.

“Mark my words, brother. Roger shall leave my Muriel in peace if he values his life.”

About the Author

Antony Barone Kolenc retired as a Lieutenant Colonel from the U.S. Air Force Judge Advocate General’s Corps after twenty-one years of military service. He has been a law professor for over a decade, publishing numerous legal works. He speaks in middle-school classrooms around the nation, as well as at conferences on writing, home education, and legal topics. He and his wife, Alisa, have several wonderful children and grandchildren.

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Other Books by Antony Barone Kolenc Harwood Mystery Series Shadow in the Dark The Haunted Cathedral The Fire of Eden The Merchant’s Curse

Antony Barone Kolenc

F IC T ION

5

Kolenc

X

an and Christina embark on a journey to Harwood

Abbey, where they reunite with their old friends, Lucy and

Manor, all evidence points to Laurence, a Crusader recently returned from the Holy Land. Unconvinced of the man’s guilt, Xan and his friends must act swiftly to solve the crime.

Who could have committed such a horrible killing? Is anyone safe?

Is Laurence tormented by demons, or is he haunted by some other secret?

And will Xan be forever changed by the choice Lucy and Christina present to him?

Murder at Penwood Manor

Joshua. When a brutal murder occurs at nearby Penwood

ISBN: 978-0-8294-5554-0 $19.99 U.S.

The Harwood Mysteries Book 5