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  The clearing filled with men, and her heart sank when a flash of lightning revealed twenty in all. Even if she did saw through her bonds, how on earth would she escape twenty men? Especially when she was at the center of this absurd ritual?

  She studied their faces, but recognized only some farmers and a tradesman from Llanddeusant. The others were strangers.

  One man approached Sir Reynald, and she recognized him as the priest from a neighboring parish. It startled her to see a man of the cloth among such scoundrels.

  Everyone’s eyes were on her now, and she shrank back against the stone. Despite being fully dressed, she felt naked. What would Sir Reynald do once he discovered she wasn’t a virgin? Would he bring her here to sacrifice? Did he and his companions ever sacrifice humans? Were they such monsters?

  The wind howled through the trees, the otherworldly sound fueling her fear. She lifted her face to the wind, trying not to think of what Sir Reynald planned for her. It would only make her weak, and she needed to be strong.

  Sir Reynald gave a signal and two men stepped forward. One bent to untie her ankles; the other removed her gag. Then they caught her under the arms and jerked her up. As her wrists strained against the cravat, she felt the cloth give a fraction.

  As soon as she was on her feet, they released her, but her legs had long ago lost all feeling, thanks to her bonds, and she fell to her knees. This time it was Sir Reynald who lifted her, holding her against him with one arm.

  Her feet caught fire as they came awake, and she had to bite her tongue to keep from crying out. She wasn’t sure she could anyway, for her mouth felt dry as dust after being stuffed with a handkerchief. How did they expect to force her to voice marriage vows? Or did they even care if she did?

  Lightning streaked across the predawn sky as Sir Reynald began to speak of the wedding that “the gods had sanctioned” and the future that was to come of their “holy union.” As he droned on, she moved her wrists and discovered that between the sawing she’d done and the pressure the men had put on her bonds, she’d torn the cravat just enough to loosen it.

  Her hands were nearly free and she thought she could wriggle out, but she’d have to wait for the right moment.

  23

  Evan and his companions crouched in the woods around the dolmen. Lightning crackled overhead, and Evan groaned as it lit up the clearing. The druids had Catrin. He could see her leaning against the dolmen. In the storm-dulled light of dawn, her pink gown stood in marked contrast to the white-robed men around her.

  She appeared unharmed, but it was hard to tell, for the wind whipped her hair about her face. Her legs seemed too weak to hold her up, and her hands were bound behind her back.

  Rage surged through him, especially when Sir Reynald drew her close to plant a kiss on her lips. Evan leapt to his feet, but Rhys jerked him down again.

  “Don’t be a fool, man!” Rhys growled. “You won’t save her that way.” He surveyed the clearing. “There’s near to twenty of them, and a nasty-looking lot, too.”

  Evan gritted his teeth. Right now, he could tear every one of them limb from limb.

  “What’s the bloody bastard planning to do with her?” Sir Huw hissed. “He’s got a bull out there, so he can’t be planning to sacrifice her. Wait! He’s holding up that chalice you described! What’s he saying?”

  Evan couldn’t make it out. Now Sir Reynald stepped away from Catrin to fill the chalice with what looked like red wine. Evan hoped it was red wine and not something more gruesome. “They’ve got men posted along the circumference. One . . . two . . . I think there’s four.”

  “One for each of us,” Rhys said grimly. “Perhaps we should take them first, while everyone is engrossed in this bizarre ritual.” He glanced at Bos. “Do you think you could manage that?”

  Bos scowled. “I assure you, sir, I am perfectly capable of doing whatever it takes to defend my mistress from skullduggery.”

  “Good,” Evan said. “We need every man we can get.” He assessed the scene. “The only way we’ll get through this is by trickery. They outnumber us five to one. But we have the element of surprise, and we have rifles. Nothing alarms a man so quickly as the roar of a flintlock.”

  “How do you intend to keep Sir Reynald from harming her?” Bos asked.

  “Leave him to me.” Evan had a few ideas about how to manage this rescue. “Now here’s what we should do . . .”

  Relief surged through Catrin when Sir Reynald insisted that they stand on one side of the dolmen while the priest stood on the other. Thanks to Sir Reynald’s belief in his own self-importance, the other men crowded behind the priest, leaving Catrin and Sir Reynald alone on the side closest to the trees.

  If she could somehow distract the men long enough to run into the forest, she might lose them all, especially if the storm broke. It was her only chance for escape. Once Sir Reynald had her locked up on his estate, she’d be doomed.

  But how to distract them? She wriggled the cravat off her hands, then clenched the letter opener between her fingers. There was one way. If she focused their concern on their leader, she might slip away in the confusion. It was worth the attempt.

  Her hands grew clammy on the letter opener. The priest was already intoning the words of the wedding mass. Thunder cracked overhead, making everyone jump, but the priest went on.

  She must seize the moment . . . or face a future too grisly to consider. Swiftly, she stepped back and drove the letter opener toward Sir Reynald’s back in what might have been a deadly stroke if he hadn’t turned just as she thrust.

  Instead, the letter opener drove into his shoulder. He let out an earsplitting scream. For a moment she stood there in shock, watching the blood course down the pristine white sleeve of his robe. Then she ran.

  At first, she was so intent on escape that she didn’t hear the sound of guns firing behind her. But when pandemonium ensued and she spotted Evan running toward her from the trees, she realized that more than her attack on their leader had occurred. Another volley of shots went off, sending the men in the clearing scattering into the woods around her.

  “Evan!” she sobbed as he reached her and caught her in his arms. “Evan, you’re here!”

  “We’ve got to get you away.” He hooked his good arm about her waist and pulled her toward the trees. “I told the others to aim above their heads, but a stray shot might still hit us.”

  Shots whistled past them, far too low. Evan dropped to the ground, taking her with him. Two of Sir Reynald’s men were shooting back at whomever fired from the woods.

  Sir Reynald leaned over the dolmen to shout, “Murder every one of the bastards,” as he wrenched the letter opener from his arm.

  “Deuce take it,” Evan growled. “Someone should have told these bastards that druids don’t carry pistols.”

  A brief silence hit the clearing, punctuated only by the whine of the wind and a roll of thunder. “We’ll have to take our chances.” Evan sprang to a crouch and tugged on her arm. But as they headed for the woods again, five men blocked their path.

  Evan pushed her behind him and drew his sword, but Catrin could tell he would never win this fight. And when someone grabbed her from behind, put a knife to her neck, and called out to Evan, “Drop the sword!” she was almost relieved. She didn’t want Evan to die in her defense.

  With a cry of utter anguish, Evan whirled and dropped his sword at once, his face ash-white as his gaze fixed on the knife. The five men rushed up to restrain him. Only then did the man holding her take the knife from her throat.

  Then other men filtered into the clearing, pushing Bos, Sir Huw, and Rhys Vaughan ahead of them. She wanted to cry. They’d come to her rescue, and they would die.

  “You fools!” shouted a voice.

  Everyone turned to see Sir Reynald standing atop the dolmen.

  As Catrin caught sight of his bloody sleeve, she wondered how he’d managed to crawl up there. He didn’t seem human anymore. Gone was any hint of age. His eyes were alight wit
h fury, and in his white robe, he looked invincible.

  Fear washed over her. This was the man who meant to make her the mother of his child . . . who would torture her if she didn’t comply. If she’d had any doubt before that he could and would do it, it was gone.

  Rain started to fall in fat drops, but Sir Reynald seemed oblivious to it, for he drew the dagger from his belt and pointed it at Evan.

  “You, sir, have made a grave mistake. You shall be our sacrifice for this evening instead of that bull.” He smiled, but to Catrin it looked more like a grimace. “But first you will watch me wed your love. And then take her here, on this very altar. I’d planned something more private, but this is better, is it not?”

  Evan roared, straining against the men that held him. “You can’t kill us all, Sir Reynald! How will you hide the murders of a baronet, a squire, and a Cambridge scholar? They’ll hunt you down like the dog that you are and they’ll hang you!”

  Sir Reynald laughed. “You don’t understand, you fool. I have power beyond your dreams. I’ve spent years studying the ways of the ancients, and when I couple my knowledge with the power of the chalice, no one will ever cross me!”

  He held the chalice high. “As the legend says, marriage to Morgana’s descendant will make the husband as strong and powerful as the warrior! When Catrin and I say our vows and drink from the chalice, we will both be as gods! Gods!”

  Catrin’s eyes went wide as she stared at the chalice. It had begun to glow, as if to confirm what Sir Reynald said about the power imbued in it. An orange light shimmered over the bronze, growing more intense as she stared. It was like nothing she’d ever seen. The other men were murmuring and pointing, and absolute terror gripped her. How could she fight such power from the beyond? She and Evan and the rest of them were nothing but ants in the face of the ancient legend of the chalice.

  But as Sir Reynald held the glowing vessel high, his face contorted with his greed for power, a clap of thunder sounded, so loud that she and the man who held her staggered back.

  Lightning struck the chalice and consumed Sir Reynald, pummeling him with stunning force. Catrin couldn’t turn her face away, couldn’t move, couldn’t utter a sound. The only sound in the clearing was the crackling of nature’s wrath at the center of the dolmen.

  As suddenly as it had come, the lightning released Sir Reynald and he crumpled over, tumbling off the dolmen to the ground like a marionette tossed aside by its maker.

  Catrin averted her gaze from his blackened body, but she couldn’t keep out the smell of burned flesh.

  The man holding her cried, “It’s a bad omen!” and fled, as did the other druids.

  In seconds, the only people left in the circle of trees were she and Evan and his companions. Evan rushed to her side, gathering her up in his arms with a cry.

  She buried her face in his chest. “Oh my God, Evan . . .”

  “Are you all right?” He clutched her tightly. “Did that monster hurt you or touch you or—”

  “No . . . although he was planning to marry me and keep me prisoner . . . but you heard what he . . .” She broke off in a flurry of sobs.

  He stroked her back. “You’re safe now, love. He can’t hurt you anymore.”

  “Is he dead?”

  “I’m sure he is.” He kissed her hair. “Did you see the chalice before the lightning struck?”

  “I saw.” She lifted her face to his. “What made it glow?”

  “I don’t know, love.”

  “Holy God in heaven!” exclaimed a voice behind them, and Catrin turned to see Sir Huw standing over the dolmen. “Would you look at this? The stone is split in two!”

  Catrin shuddered as she hid her face in Evan’s shirt. She’d never forget Sir Reynald’s expression as the lightning hit him . . . a mix of horror and disbelief and shock. He’d wanted power . . . and he’d gotten it, more than anyone could withstand. Perhaps there were things men weren’t meant to have.

  “What about the chalice?” Evan called out to Sir Huw. “What happened to it?”

  Catrin tensed.

  Rhys answered, his voice full of awe. “Come see. You won’t believe this.”

  They headed over, careful to avoid where Bos knelt beside Sir Reynald’s body, examining it for signs of life.

  When Catrin caught sight of the chalice—or what was left of it—she gasped. The lightning had melted the metal to a misshapen lump. Where the image of the raven had been was only a swirled surface of blackened bronze. But on the other side, the image of the maiden and warrior were perfectly intact.

  “I don’t suppose anyone will be drinking out of it now,” she whispered.

  “No, love, I don’t think so.”

  “Someone needs to send for the constable in Carmarthen,” Sir Huw said. “I’ll see to that.” He walked from the clearing.

  Rhys murmured, “I’ll make sure none of those bastards are lurking in the forest, though I think they were all frightened out of their wits. I know I was.” He headed off toward the woods.

  “With your permission, madam,” Bos said, “I shall return to the house and inform the staff of what has occurred. They are all beside themselves with worry.”

  Catrin nodded, then watched as Bos, too, left, so that only she and Evan remained. Evan led her away from the dolmen. The storm seemed miraculously to have disappeared, as if Sir Reynald had created a disturbance in the elements that subsided the moment he died.

  Now the first light of dawn was breaking over the tops of the trees, limning the ancient oaks with golds and reds and lavenders. Catrin paused in the center of the clearing to glance up at the sky, thinking of all that had occurred, all the damage Sir Reynald had wrought. Yet Nature passed over it as if it were only a ripple in the surface of eternity.

  “I think you should know,” she told Evan, “it was Sir Reynald who killed your friend Justin. He . . . he learned about the chalice through David, and he has been waiting ever since to take it . . . and to take me.”

  “Yes, I figured that,” Evan murmured, tightening his arm about her waist. “He also murdered David Morys.”

  “Sir Reynald said as much.” A tear slipped down her cheek. “So many men have died because of Morgana’s wretched chalice. The men in my family. Willie. Your friend. And now David, poor man. I wonder if Morgana dreamed of the legacy of pain she would create in her petulance over her daughter’s marriage.”

  Evan drew in a ragged breath. “I’ve never believed in magic or fairies or such. But then, I’ve never seen anything like what I saw today.”

  Her pulse racing, she left his side to look at the clouds that had gone from black and thundering to white and floating in a matter of moments. “So what do we do now? What is to happen to us?”

  He came up to slip his arm about her waist. “We marry and we have children and we love each other for the rest of our lives.”

  “What about the curse?” she whispered in an aching voice.

  “You can’t be expected to drink from a chalice that no longer exists.”

  “But perhaps it was destroyed because I’m meant to be cursed forever.”

  He nuzzled her hair. “I believe it’s the opposite. When Sir Reynald tried to tap the chalice’s power for evil, Morgana put an end to it. That’s why the symbol of death, the raven, has been obliterated, leaving only the image of the warrior and maiden.” He kissed her ear. “Us, my love. I may not be much of a rescuer and you may not have hair down to your toes, but we’re the warrior and maiden all the same. Morgana is giving us her blessing.”

  It made sense. Still, she’d lived so long in fear of the curse that to think of marrying without drinking from the chalice made her uneasy. “But what if—”

  “Catrin.” He turned her to face him. “I love you. I want to marry you. For once in your life, risk everything. Take hold of happiness with both hands and say, ‘To hell with the curse and fear and death. I want to live. With Evan.’ ”

  He lifted her chin with the tip of his finger. “Becau
se if you don’t, I swear I will hound you until the day you die all alone and pining after me in your great mansion. And then I shall lie down beside you and die, too, for life without you is no life at all.”

  She stared up at the face of the man she loved more than breath, the only man she’d ever wanted to risk anything for. The thought of losing him to some nameless force beyond her understanding terrified her, but the thought of losing him to her own fear terrified her more.

  He was right. Even three years with the one she loved would be better than none. And no years with him would be like dying, so what would be the point?

  “Will you risk it?” he asked. “Will you take the chance and be my wife?”

  There really was no choice at all. Twining her arms about his neck, she smiled at him with all the love that warmed her soul. “Yes, my love. Forever and ever and ever.”

  And the sweet, searing kiss he gave her was the best foretaste of forever that a woman could ever want.

  EPILOGUE

  Catrin awakened before dawn on the day after the third anniversary of her and Evan’s wedding. She lay there thinking of the lovely celebration they’d had the night before—both the sedate one in the dining room and the scandalous one later in the bedroom.

  With a contented smile, she rolled over to face Evan, but the bed was empty, and her breathing stopped.

  Three years. It had been three years and a day.

  As she slipped out of bed and searched for her wrapper, she told herself she was being foolish. Evan was almost never in bed when she arose. He liked to watch the sun rise over the Carmarthen Fans before he began the work of the day—helping her run Plas Niwl and writing his books.

  Still, she dressed hurriedly and rushed out of the bedchamber. She wouldn’t feel secure until she’d seen him.

  She padded down the hall past the open door to the nursery, then stopped when she heard a deep male voice coming from inside.

  A rush of relief hit her as she entered to find Evan sitting in a chair by the window. Two-year-old Justine was curled up in his lap with her thumb stuck in her mouth, and both father and daughter stared out the east-facing window, awaiting the dawn that trembled on the edge of the horizon.