Then his mare’s front hooves hit the cobblestones of the bridge, but as she thrust forward, there was resistance at her back end. The beast reared again, whinnying and groaning, her powerful body struggling to go forward…
Fear ripped through Seth’s body as he turned round and met the face and hands of the very creature in the kirkyard that had screamed for his destruction! Her talons grasped the flowing tail of his mare, wrestling the creature for control, trying to pull them back from the bridge into total darkness.
No. This couldn’t be, and Seth gritted his teeth as he faced forward again and screamed to his brave mount. “Go, girl, unless we both perish this unholy night!”
He prayed as he never had. Silent, desperate prayers.
Then, as he thought all was lost, he closed his eyes tightly and yelled out, “Mercy! I am not one of the men that killed you!”
He awoke on the ground, his mare standing over him, pawing at the earth and breathing heavily. Seth shook his head and sat up; they had made it across the bridge. But when… how had he ended up on the ground?
Rising to his feet and dusting off his pants and jacket, he reached for his horse to soothe her. She had saved his life, apparently. Worried for her wellbeing, he circled her and froze at her backside. He blinked to make sure he was seeing correctly. Her beautiful tail. It was gone. Blood stained the poor beast’s hindquarters, but not so much he thought she would die.
He gazed across the bridge, torchlight still visible on the other side, voices still buzzing. The witches had pursued him. Chased him down like demons from hell.
“Seth! My dearest, Seth!”
He knew that musical voice, Rosalind. Then she was drowned out by a dozen other voices—cries of concern.
“My lord, what happened?”
“Are you well, sir?”
“You are late for your own wedding…”
That made him whip around and stare at the group of people standing behind his beloved Lady Rosalind.
“Not by choice, it seems.” He pointed to his mare. “What evils lurk in the night in Belware?” he demanded of his guests.
One man surged forward and inspected his mount. “Rosie, girl, did you not tell your groom to beware of crossing Belware Bridge at the witching hour on Summer’s End eve?”
Rosalind looked thoroughly chastised as she stared at the ground and said, “No.”
“’Tis a miracle they didna catch ye,” another man offered. “Yer horse has paid the price for ye. For once ye cross the middle of the river on the bridge, no witch can touch ye.”
The reality of it all settled in Seth’s gut like lead, heavy and poisonous, and for a moment, he faltered on his feet. Rosalind reached out and steadied him.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
He gazed down at her delicate features, so beautiful and gentle. Everything he could want in a woman and more. “Yes,” he said resolutely. “For you are here.” He tugged her into his arms and kissed the top of her head as she laid her cheek on his chest. “Come,” he commanded, having recovered his senses. “Nothing will keep me from speaking my vows before God and our guests.”
As he directed his guests to return to the manor house, his bride tucked beside him, and his brave mare walking behind him, he turned his head and stared back at the bridge.
Ye escaped me this time, Baron. Yet, if I ever find ye on the bridge again on Summer’s End, I will have ye. Body and soul. Forever.
As a violent shiver shook him, Seth knew from that time onward, he would respect the traditions of Belware, as his forefathers had before him.
