“Do you not understand, lad? They were witches, all of them. White witches, of course. Healers and fortune-tellers.”
Seth rubbed his chin, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end for some unknown reason. “Summer’s End was their favorite night of the year—commemorating their oaths to the gods. The fall harvest. The full moon. Anything with nature, really. They were the first naturalists, I think.”
Seth finished off his ale and set the empty glass aside on a nearby table. Had he picked this night to wed by coincidence, or had there been a higher reason? “Then a blessed night for a wedding.”
Sir James coughed and signaled a waiter for another drink. “That depends entirely on who you are asking.”
“You.”
“Well,” the man spluttered again, seemingly nervous. “Though this is an important eve of celebration, it is also one filled with dark curses.”
Seth chuckled and patted the man’s shoulder affectionately. “Ghosts and witches. Haunted manor houses and ancient bridges?”
“Why, yes,” the man said matter-of-factly.
“I have always been taught belief in superstitions die with education. But that does not seem to be the case in Belware.”
“You have been away a long time, lad. Try not to judge before you know the truth of things.”
“I do not mean to be judgmental, only critical of what I am told about such things.”
“Did you ever consider the greatest of legends are based on truth instead of lies?”
“Perhaps,” Seth said, to keep the peace and not appear arrogant. After all, he had to live with these good people for the rest of his days.
*
Lady Rosalind, alongwith her lady’s maid and two other female servants, had taken her uncle’s carriage to her new home, Belware Manor, in the late afternoon. There, preparations were made for her wedding celebration. Many guests had arrived early and were resting before the ceremony and following feast.
The fine home was everything Rosie had dreamed of—elegant and unique as a country estate should be. There were vast gardens, a loch, sprawling forest, and walking and riding paths—many places to explore.
The manor had been superbly decorated with the last blooms of summer and greenery, hundreds of candles, and colorful banners. She had refrained from visiting the small estate chapel and would wait to meet her betrothed there under the full moon.
“It is beautiful,” her companion and lady’s maid, Shockley, said quietly, gazing about the ball room. “The housekeeper, Mrs. Black, is very skilled.”
“Yes, and the cook…” Rosalind sniffed the air delicately and smiled. “Such aromas.”
“Ye should eat before the ceremony,” her maid said. “Will help with yer nerves, I think.”
“Perhaps a cup of tea, but I relish the anxiety. It is part of the excitement of finally becoming the Baroness of Belware. My husband is young and strong, intelligent, and possesses a sense of humor—what lady could do better?”
Shockley crossed herself before she spoke. “Do ye think he will be here before midnight, my lady?”
Unfortunately, Rosie didn’t know any better than her maid. Though her uncle had been determined to make her betrothed late for his own wedding in order to block him from offending the poor spirits that roamed the village on this hallowed eve, she couldn’t underestimate Seth’s determination. He had reiterated in numerous letters that punctuality was of great import to him, and during their meeting yesterday…. hadn’t she tried in every way to let him know it was not a proper night to marry? She could not just blurt it, for that would be offensive to any gentleman.
“Only if the earl and the men of the village successfully delay him with entertainments.”
Shockley rolled her eyes. “Ye are the only bride I’ve ever known who would encourage her groom to drink.”
“We cannot admonish the new baron for picking a wedding date that pleases him. Even if we did, I am not convinced he would believe us. We must hope that everything will fall into place as should be—thereby avoiding any ill fortune brought on by a wedding at midnight on the eve of Summer’s End.”
Chapter Five
“Beware the witchesof Belware. Beauties in their own right. Legendary ladies from the northern climes, drowned for make-believe crimes…”
Seth refused to sing such a horrid song with the drunk residents of Belware. No matter how welcoming and entertaining these men had been, including the elusive earl, Seth found himself violated by the words. Open admittance to the needless slaughter of innocent women—one of which was reportedly his relative. A woman forced into marriage to keep her life.
He’d drank more ale and whisky than he ever had but was still steady on his feet. And as he gazed at his pocket watch—eleven-thirty of the clock—he realized if he didn’t go to the stables and order his mare brought out, that for the first time in his adulthood, he would be late for an important event. The most important of his life! What would his betrothed think of him? How would he live with himself?
