Free Rowena Through the Wall: Expanded Edition by Melodie Campbell Page A

home. I didn't like the fact that it was bare in the middle. When I slipped it on I realized I'd lost a little weight because the skirt now hung lower on my hips. But it was a shimmery fabric and not a color found in this world, so that made it special.
    I draped Gareth's jewel around my neck. "When in doubt, add jewelry." That was my motto.
    My mother's beaded slippers were a snug fit, but doable. I did as much with my hair as I could, but it would have to stay down. I didn't have the tools for anything more elaborate.
    Noise erupted from the corridor. Male voices and laughter.
    Now or never, I thought as I left the sanctuary of my room.
    As I descended the stairway, there was a hush. All eyes turned toward me, mouths gaping. Sargon's murky stare held mine as I paused on the bottom step.
    Ivan rushed forward and held out a hand. "Allow me."
    "We have a Goddess in our midst," Sargon said, crossing his arms.
    There was appreciation in his eyes as they trailed from my bosom across the expanse of bare skin to my hips. His eyes veered upward and latched onto the jewel. He scowled. "May I?"
    Without waiting for an answer, he grabbed the jewel and turned it in his hand, the candlelight casting beams of blue across the room.
    "This was Norland's, last I saw." His eyes narrowed. "A gift?"
    I nodded.
    He grinned with wolf teeth. "You become more and more interesting. There must be a story there."
    I gave him a tight smile in return. Ivan stiffened beside me.
    "This is my brother Thane," Sargon said, introducing me to a man standing nearby.
    Thane was a softer version of his older brother. Was it possible to use the word soft with respect to any of these men? There was no softness in his strong, hard body. He was a similar height to his brother, about six feet, and his face reflected the same chiseled features as Sargon's. The softness was in his eyes, which were a friendly blue instead of black. And the mouth, although thin, smiled with kindness, not contempt. He had the most beautiful black hair that curled over his forehead and ears.
    When I caught Thane's eye, there was a zing of electricity.
    I shrugged it off.
    Beside Thane stood Rhys, a man of few words. Next to him was Logan, who was even taller, but younger, with hair as auburn as mine. There were more men behind them, all well built, all respectful, and ―I noted―still armed. You might leave your sword at the door in this world, but never your dagger.
    In the dining hall, two places were set at the head of the table. Grandfather took a seat and I sat to his right. Sargon chose a middle seat along the left s ide, opposite Ivan. His men filled in beside him. Our men took places along the right side of the long table. It was an odd arrangement, but I expect it had something to do with defensive positioning.
    One thing I noticed at these meals, there was a lot of meat. We had chicken, venison, wild duck and every variation of game. They used a bland flatbread to soak up juices. No one seemed to have heard of vegetables. Or salad. The thing I missed most in this world was coffee.
    And table manners.
    As far as I could tell, there were none. Men reached for food and discarded bones with little finesse. I was used to ranch life and the way of cowboys, so this didn't shock me completely, but the loud chewing and talking with mouths full of food did little to appease my sense of proper etiquette.
    I took my modest serving and tried to stay out of their way.
    Partway through dinner, I noticed a curious thing. The men were drinking far too much as usual, but not Sargon. He made the motions, but did not sip every time he raised the tankard to his lips. His ominous glance would catch me now and then, measuring. This made me wary.
    Why was he intent on not drinking?
    The room grew hotter, noisy. Smoke from the candles gave the air a ghostly haze. Through it, I could see something being passed about. A dagger.
    I had a bad feeling, a sense of dread.
    "You like this blade?" Sargon asked