As he sipped the last bit of ale in his glass, he envisioned his sweet Rosalind in a pale pink gown with blossoms in her hair and a translucent veil covering her lovely face, walking up the aisle to him, ready to take him as husband. Heat suffused his body as he slammed the glass down on the bar and smiled at the tavern owner.
“Care for another, my lord?” the pleasant man asked.
Seth shook his head. “Another time.” He dropped a pile of coins on the bar and thanked the man for accommodating him. “Your wife is an impressive cook. Send my regards to her and your children.”
As he reached for his brown felt hat on the bar and straightened his short lounge jacket, Seth suddenly realized he was dressed in his riding costume, not his wedding clothes. He would need to change as soon as he arrived at Belware Manor. Blast his bad luck and irresponsibility. He would not have his bride waiting for him at the altar like some jilted woman.
Before he was able to step outside the tavern, his barrister blocked his way with a grin. “And where are you off to, sir?”
“The same place you and the earl should be going. My wedding. Now kindly step aside, Mr. McClain.”
“But, sir…”
Seth, a towering six feet, gently swept the barrister aside and walked out. From behind him came the sound of the earl’s booming baritone, “Montgomery! Get back inside.”
Ignoring the earl, Seth rounded the building and called out for the stable lad. Within a few moments, the boy appeared with his mare and handed her over. Seth smiled at him, grateful at least one person in this village wasn’t trying to delay his nuptials. He flipped an extra shilling at the lad, then mounted his horse.
Always a spirited animal, his mare seemed unusually so tonight, high-stepping and restless as he trotted her down the main street, struck by the activity and blinding light emanating from the kirkyard. Anyone with a set of eyes could not ignore the scene, for dozens of women, some scantily clad and some naked, danced wildly around the inferno before them. Hell-like flames shot into the air, igniting the inky sky with color.
Seth halted, gaping—horrified and shocked—wishing he understood the chanting, the nonsensical words they repeated over and over again as their bodies moved in unison to the vulgar beat of drums.
This is what he had been warned about. Summer’s End. Witches dancing in the kirkyard. Old spirits being aroused on this very eve. Traditions being honored. Curses being fulfilled.
He felt out of place suddenly, even threatened. But nothing could make him tear his gaze from the scene as an older woman emerged from the dancing ring of women and pointed at him. She was stark naked, her body touched by advanced years, and Seth couldn’t keep from laughing… not shaming laughter, but more from nervousness and self-preservation.
But it didn’t matter to the old witch. She shook her finger violently, calling out his name, encouraging the other women to stop dancing and stare at him.
“Intruder! Debaucher of the fairer sex. The Baron of Belware!”
Had his eyes played tricks on him, or had her normal features transformed into something hideous—bulging black eyes—green skin—fangs—elongated fingers with talons for fingernails? A hissing noise followed by more chanting. Screeching and cackling!
His heart stopped, or so it seemed, before it beat violently again, and all the hairs on his body stood on end.Run! Flee! Save yourself!his instincts screamed unrelentingly. His mare reared up, and without prompting her, took off, galloping violently forward, nearly bucking him as he hung on with his strong thighs and hands.
He must reach that damned bridge to make it to his wedding. That bridge. The haunted, cursed bridge.
As his mare crashed along the open road, then neared a narrowed riding path leading out of the village and to his new home, everything flashing around him, he couldn’t overlook the burning torches that had been placed along the pathway. Who would do such a thing? For the moon was full, and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky.
According to his barrister, there was a full moon every Summer’s Eve.
And from what Seth could see, there was too much light for an accursed night such as this.
Not meaning to, he spurred his horse faster and she responded—bolting—dangerously fast, veering to the left and almost off the groomed path.
Then Seth heard the sound of thunder, or so he thought. The ground shook underneath him as Belware Bridge loomed before him.Just make it across, then you are home.
Debaucher of women!
Had he imagined those words, those accusing words, or had the wind carried them?
He dared to turn around in the saddle, spotting a whirl of smoke and fire gaining on him, what sounded like a hundred hoofbeats and a hundred voices screaming for his blood.
“Grab the Baron of Belware. Sacrifice him as atonement for the sins of these men. These murderers….”
Sweet Jesus in heaven…
He turned back and leaned over his mare’s neck, holding on to her for dear life, begging and urging her onward, faster and faster as the bridge waited directly in front of him, the welcoming arch suddenly a safe haven.
Demons were afoot screaming for his blasted soul. And all he could see and taste, smell and feel, was his Rosalind, his blessed Rosie.
