An Excerpt From Chapter Eight of Huntsman

From Chapter 8

The manse fairly sparkled in the torchlight. Aila puffed a stray lock of wheat-brown hair from her face and lowered herself to the bench by the hearth.

For but a moment, she told herself. It had been a busy day and for just a breath or two, she allowed herself the luxury of sitting. There was time before the guests began to arrive and if she did not admire the work of her labors now, she knew she would not.

Armed with her mother’s exacting lists, and her small army of servants beh...