As they neared the edge of the village, the small parish church came into view. It was the church where Andrew’s parents had been wed and where both he and Alphonse had been baptized. In fact, Andrew was named after the church – St. Andrew’s, as it was known. He had fond memories of that church in his youth, and of a young village girl he’d been very fond of at the time. She’d been adorable, with curly red hair, but she much preferred an older boy, a farmer’s son, who was young and strong and virtuous. Andrew had been short and young and rather pudgy. He grinned when he thought of his broken heart upon losing his seven-year-old love.
As he wallowed in memories of his lost romance, he noticed two priests emerging from the church yard on a small horse cart. The cart was nearly falling apart, being pulled by a little pony with a shaggy coat. By the time the priests made it onto the main road, they intersected with Andrew and the others, and Andrew pulled to a halt to allow the priests to pass. He couldn’t help but notice they were heading in the direction of Haldane, so he called out to them.
“You, there,” he said. “Priest! Wait a moment!”
The priests pulled their huffing and puffing pony to a halt, waiting for Andrew and the others to catch up. When the priests looked up at Andrew with a mixture of curiosity and fear, Andrew pointed to Haldane in the distance.
“Are you going to the castle?” he asked them.
The older priest, a man with rags for robes, nodded. “Aye, m’laird.”
“Why? Is someone ill?”
The priest shook his head. “A wedding, m’laird.”
Andrew’s heart caught in his throat. “A wedding?” he said. “Today?”
“Tonight, m’laird,” he said. He looked at Andrew and the others hesitantly. “Are ye friends of Laird Blackbank?”
Andrew passed a glance at Sully before answering. “Possibly,” he said slowly. “Is it the laird’s wedding?”
“Aye, m’laird.”
By God! Andrew nearly collapsed in relief. Just in time! “I see,” he said, struggling to contain his excitement. “And you are to perform the mass?”
The priest nodded. “Haldane has a fine chapel,” he said. “’Twill be there. Are… are ye guests to the wedding, then?”
Andrew was thinking very quickly. These priests had no idea who he was, which meant he could possibly use that lack of awareness to his advantage. The fact that God had put him here, at this very moment, told Andrew that it was a sign that he should use this situation. He had to make it work for him. His mind was working rapidly as he thought of a plan, something that would bring the priests to his aid without even knowing.
God, it had to be clever.
It had to work!
He grinned. “I am a very old and dear friend of the earl,” he said, trying to make the situation sound light and humorous. He gestured to the others around him. “In fact, we are all friends of the earl. We want to surprise him for his wedding, so do not tell him you have seen us. It will spoil the surprise.”
With that, he dug into the coin pouch at his waist and pulled forth several coins, which he pressed into the palm of the priest. The man’s eyes widened when he saw how much money he’d been given.
“Nay, m’laird, I shall not tell him!” the priest said excitedly. “If I can do more for ye, I am happy to!”
It was the offer Andrew had been hoping for. A plan suddenly occurred to him. Leaning over on his saddle, he fixed the priest in the eye.
“There is,” he said. “When you enter the castle, tell the sentries at the gatehouse that you are expecting five more… priests, men to help you with the mass. Tell them to let us pass without question. Will you do this?”
The priest nodded eagerly. “I will, m’laird. It… it will be a good surprise for the earl, will it not?”
Andrew almost grinned when he thought of the truthful answer to that question. Instead, he gave a generic version of it.
“It will be a surprise, indeed,” he said. “Remember – you are not to tell the earl that you have seen us. It will spoil everything and I will take back my donation if you do.”
The priest’s eyes widened; he didn’t want to give the money back. Coinage such as this would feed them for months and to so poor a parish, money was the most important thing. Therefore, he nodded firmly.
“Not a word, m’laird,” he said. “I must get along now.”
Andrew stopped him before he could get away. “When is the mass?”
“Sunset, m’laird.”
That was only in a few hours, and Andrew let him go after that. He waited until the men and their rickety cart were well down the road before turning to the others.
“Did you hear that?” he hissed. “I could not have planned this better. My God… what an opportunity!”
Ridge, next to him astride his big, black horse, shook his head in disbelief. “God is watching over you, d’Vant,” he said. “That, my friend, was not a coincidence. God is on your side in this matter and we must make the best of it.”
Andrew nodded, feeling truly blessed by the coincidence. In fact, he was in some disbelief about it. But he looked to the men around him, seeing their grimly determined faces, and it occurred to him that each and every man thought this was his fight. They all wanted to assist Andrew so badly that it was quite possible he might be pushed out of the way in their zeal. Therefore, he felt the need to make things perfectly clear with them so there would be no mistake.
“Haldane’s chapel is large,” he said. “There is one entrance. And when we enter, you will disperse around the church. I am the one who will confront my brother. Your jobs will be to ensure Josephine is safe. That is the only reason you are here. Do you all understand?”
Sully and Donald nodded. Thane and Ridge were slower to respond. “But what happens if you are compromised, Andrew?” Thane wanted to know. “Are we to simply stand by and watch your brother kill you?”
Andrew thought seriously on that. “If he kills me, your lives are forfeit,” he said quietly. “He will not let you out of Haldane alive, not to mention what he would do to Josephine. If it seems as if I am to be defeated, then I want you all to promise me something.”
“What is that?” Thane asked.
“You take Josephine and you run,” Andrew said grimly. “Get her out of there. Thane, I already asked you once if you would take her to de Wolfe at Castle Questing. I will reiterate that request. Promise me… whatever happens, that you will make sure she is safe above all else.”
Thane sighed heavily; he didn’t like the thought of running off when Andrew needed him, but he knew he had little choice in the matter. He had a heavy burden to bear with keeping Josephine alive should Andrew be unable to.
“Aye,” he said reluctantly. “I swear she will be safe.”
That was all Andrew really wanted to hear. Knowing that Josephine would be taken care of, even if he was unable to do it, was all that mattered. With the confrontation with his brother looming on the horizon, he was oddly at peace. Everything was coming together as it should, and he was content with it. This was where he was meant to be, and he accepted that. He accepted that this was his destiny.
Now, he just had to live through it.
“Thank you,” he muttered to Thane. “Now, we are going into that church and find robes or cloaks that will be convincing. If we are going to pose as priests, then we should probably look like priests.”
With that, he turned his horse towards the church, spurring it onward. Donald followed him, but Sully, Thane, and Ridge were slower to respond. They watched the two men ride off across the old, dusty road.
“If he gets into trouble with his brother, I cannot say that I will run away and not help him,” Ridge muttered. “In fact, I know I will not. I will not watch The Red Fury cut down by a man who is wholly unworthy to do so.”
Thane nodded. Although he didn’t really know Ridge, he’d come to know him a little on their ride to Haldane and his impression was of a serious knight with strong loyalties. He liked h
im.
“Then I am comforted,” Thane said. “My responsibility is Lady Josephine. To know that you will look out for Andrew gives me great comfort.”
Sully was the last one to speak, his gaze lingering on the castle in the distance, wondering how on earth they ever got to this point. Not two weeks ago, he and Josephine were fighting off the Dalmellington when the king sent word of his arrival to Torridon. Now, Josephine was in grave danger from a man he didn’t even know and Andrew d’Vant’s life was on the line because of it. God, it all seemed so far away from those days when all he had to worry about was an attack from Colin Dalmellington.
Times had changed, indeed.
“Josephine will not be easy to remove if she believes Andrew is in danger,” he finally said, turning to Thane. “I will have to help you. Trust me on this.”
A twinkle came to Thane’s eye. “Are you thinking she will punch me in the face much as she did the first time Andrew displeased her?”
Sully lifted his eyebrows. “You will be fortunate if that is all she does,” he said. Then, he tilted his head in the direction of the church. “Come along, now. Let’s get on with this.”
As the three of them headed towards the little church, Sully was still lingering on the situation and what lay ahead. In truth, his concerns for Josephine weren’t far off – he doubted Thane would be able to remove her if she thought Andrew was in trouble. Her instinct would be to fight for him, and that was one instinct Sully couldn’t allow her to give in to this time. It would be bad enough to lose Andrew.
But to lose Josephine would be devastating.
God help us…
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
The knock on the door came.
It was dusk when the knock came, and Josephine knew exactly what it meant.
It was time.
This had been the most miserable day of days. Her wedding day. Something that, for most women, would have been a day of joy. But to Josephine, this was the day of her doom, of her execution. She was about to be taken to her death.
And there was nothing she could do about it.
Andrew hadn’t come. The moment of her wedding was upon her, and he still hadn’t come. She had to believe that something awful had happened to him over the past several days and he was unable to make it to her. She could never believe that he had made the choice not to come for her; she knew in her heart that was not the case. But the only way Andrew wouldn’t come for her was if he was dead.
Therefore, she had to assume he’d met his end somehow.
Grief consumed her. The entire day had been filled with sorrow and anxiety as the last threads of hope were cut. She was about to be forced to marry a monster and everyone in the world who had promised to help her wasn’t there in her hour of need.
She was alone.
The knock on the door was Chauncey. The old steward was dressed in finer clothing than Josephine had ever seen him in, and he’d been admitted into her chamber by the mute servant, who seemed to be quite sympathetic to her new mistress. But sympathy wouldn’t prevent any of this from happening, and Josephine rose from the bed she’d been sitting on for the past hour, wrinkling the white surcote she’d been instructed to wear, but she didn’t care. She didn’t care about anything any longer.
Inside, she was dead.
Chauncey took her out of her chamber and walked her across the drawbridge, the moat, and, finally, the outer bailey as he took her to the chapel where her life would come to an end. The beautiful day that had turned so ugly was now waning, and Josephine glanced up at the sky, thinking it would be the last time she ever saw it. She knew she wouldn’t survive the night. Very soon, she would see her parents, and even Andrew, in the halls of heaven, and she took comfort in that.
It was the only comfort she had.
Josephine was led to the threshold of the doors leading into the chapel. The interior was surprisingly ornate, with subtle coloring gracing the walls, which depicted several scenes of Jesus’ life. She suddenly found it bitterly ironic that she was to be married to such a devil in the presence of such holy images.
Chauncey held her tightly by the elbow as somewhere in the chapel strains of a flute floated through the air and could be heard by all. There were only a few people standing around, people Josephine had never seen before and didn’t know. They turned to look at her as she entered in her white dress, looking beautiful but feeling sick. Sick to death with what was transpiring and having no power to stop it.
Chauncey gave her a push forward. She hadn’t even realized the processional had begun. In front of her, looking especially pious, were two priests and two small, skinny acolytes carrying candles. She scoffed inwardly; some holy servants when they couldn’t even see what was going on, that a woman was being led to her doom. On weak legs, she walked slowly after them.
Alphonse d’Vant, Earl of Annan and Blackbank, stood by the altar watching his bride come towards him, his dull brown eyes devouring her. She looked so pale and pure. He was grinning lewdly for all to see, thrilled at his new bride. As he’d told her, he’d never had anything pure in his life. This was to be a first. If she survived the night, then she might be able to bear him an heir. Perhaps, he would not be so hard on her as he had been with others. He hoped she would be good breeding stock.
Oblivious to Alphonse’s thoughts, Josephine was halfway up the aisle, halfway to her death sentence. She couldn’t even look at him. She felt such complete despair that it took all of her strength to simply keep walking. But she had no choice; there was nowhere to go and nowhere to hide, and any attempt at resistance would certainly be greeted with painful violence. Lost in thought, she was at the altar before she realized it and the light from a thousand candles bathed her in a golden glow. The earl took his position beside her and the poorly dressed priest began to immediately intone the mass in Latin.
And so, it begins…
Josephine heard the priest, but she wasn’t listening. All she could think of was how she was going to handle the earl in the marriage bed. She shuddered involuntarily; her experiences with Andrew had been beautiful, loving, and exquisitely sweet. To imagine that such an act could be used as a weapon of violence and submission was nightmarish at best.
God, she prayed silently, I have never been one to pray, but hear me now. Please help me. Please!
The service continued, with the priest slightly off-key as he sang the mass. Josephine stared at his dirty robes, not fixing on his face or on her surroundings. Her expression was so grim that she looked hopelessly miserable. She saw nothing, heard little, and felt only pain of a life lost.
That is why she never saw Ridge slip into the church, dressed in priestly garb. He silently slipped into the shadows, his eyes on Josephine and praying his sword made no noise against his mail. Across the church from him, Sully was also wrapped in thick, brown garments. His face was hooded, and his ice-blue eyes locked on his sister-in-law. It took all of his self-control not to run to the altar, slicing through everything and everyone in his way. His protection instincts were in overdrive, but he managed to control them. He only wondered for how long.
The third priest in dirty robes, Thane, quietly enter the church, carefully taking up his position by the door. And the fourth one, Donald, enter on Thane’s tail. In truth, he was here for many reasons, not the least of which was avenging the attack on his friend, Nicholas. He felt very honored to be a member of this auspicious group, and glanced about him almost too conspicuously to make sure everyone was in place. Sully saw Donald bobbing his head around like a chicken and wished he’d had a big rock; he’d have nailed him right in the head with it.
The priest, oblivious to what was about to happen, handed his Bible to a waiting acolyte and benevolently spread his arms, reciting something Josephine didn’t understand. It took her a moment to realize the man had stopped altogether and, when she looked up at him, he was looking behind the bride and groom with a queer expression on his face.
The earl saw this, too. At nearly
the same time, as if in slow motion, he and Josephine turned to look at whatever had the priest so muddled. With the last remnants of the late afternoon sun pouring in through the rear windows, the chapel was cast in a warm, ethereal light. For a moment, it blinded both Josephine and the earl until a bright flash of metal, like a bolt of lightning, struck out from the very back of the chapel by the entry door.
It was puzzling. Josephine moved her head a little, just enough to block the sun and, when she did so, her breath caught in her throat. A hand went to her chest as strangled gasps freed themselves from her lungs. And her head began to swim so badly that she thought she might faint.
But she fought it; dear God, she fought it, for the vision before her was something she had resigned herself to never seeing again. Before she could stop herself, she screamed one word.
“Andrew!”
Andrew stood by the massive rear doors. Like a vision from heaven, the avenging angel had arrived in a suit of armor that could only be described as god-like; silver-white rays glittered from it as it caught the light, as if it were emitting light of its very own. From the top of the silver helm to the bottom of the armor-clad feet, Andrew was an exquisite work of art. It reminded Josephine of the Arthurian legends of the knights that were nearly demi-gods because of their skill and greatness, and Demon Slayer was in Andrew’s right hand, glaring in the light of a thousand candles and hungry for human flesh. Andrew looked entirely surreal and magnificent, and absolutely deadly.
Her prayers, it seemed, had been answered.
Those in the chapel, sensing something terrible was about to happen, began to scatter in terror. The huge silver knight was extremely fearsome, and it was impossible to tell where he was looking with the faceplate down. No one knew who he had come for, and it was better to run than to find out.
Josephine, however, knew exactly who he had come for. Unknowingly, she had wandered several feet towards him, with her hand clutching at her chest. Andrew was still, however, a good distance away. With great deliberation, he lifted his feet and took a few steps, pausing again to contemplate his enemy. The man was looking at him now… black, wicked eyes.