Читать книгу Heiress to a Curse - Zandria Munson - Страница 8

16th Century, Romania

Lord Victor Drakon stood at the foot of his wide, four-poster bed as he watched his wife in repose. Her tall and elegant frame was entwined with the many furs that covered the bed, while the lovely wealth of her hair lay splayed about her face. She was beautiful and equally as gentle hearted and he loved her dearly. From the moment he’d first spied her picking flowers on his land, he’d loved her. She held no title and she wasn’t of noble birth, but she was pure and her love was sincere.

He’d gone against propriety, against his family’s wishes, and severed his betrothal to Lady Vivian Dan cescu to claim this woman as his own. She was his heart, his life and his love.

Moving closer, he gazed upon her face, bathed in the flickering glow from the hearth. She sighed then, her soft breath fanning the stray tendrils that had fallen near her lips.

He leaned over her and gently drew away the black curls. “My sweet Amelia,” he breathed.

A sudden knock sounded at the door. It was his messenger, no doubt. He’d been waiting for news of Lady Vivian. After learning of his covert marriage to Amelia, the lady had been consumed by rage, hacking off her hair and publicly cursing the day of his birth.

He, however, didn’t hold himself accountable for her ill feelings, for he’d tried desperately to reason with her. They’d been forced into their betrothal as children—a union that was to join the wealth of two powerful houses. There was no love between them and thus, he’d offered her freedom. He’d proposed a sizable fare to appease her wounded pride, but she was a greedy and self-righteous woman; it was his lands she desired. And so, he’d been left with no choice but to summon the chancellor during the silence of the early morning to perform the ceremony that would join him and his beloved Amelia.

He quickly donned his cloak and opened the door. His manservant stood on the other side, panting and covered in soot. “The Lady Vivian, my lord, she is dead,” the man informed him.

“What do you mean, dead? Surely you jest!”

“No, my lord. She took her own life.”

The blood drained from Lord Drakon’s face and a sudden feeling of guilt overcame him. “How?” he asked.

“She burned herself alive, my lord. Even now fire consumes Elburich Castle.”

Lord Drakon’s nostrils flared as he inhaled a pained breath. Why anyone, most especially the gentle-bred Lady Vivian, would choose to end her life in such a horrific way was beyond him. “And her family?” His voice trembled.

The messenger’s head lowered. “They were all sleeping. Everyone perished in the flames.”

Lord Drakon spun away from the door and ran his fingers through the thick mane of his hair. Had the woman gone mad? To end her life was one thing, but to do so without the slightest consideration for her own family was another.

Was he to blame for her crime? Had his rejection driven her to insanity? No, he told himself. Her actions were the result of her own lust for greater wealth. No, the only one to be blamed was her.

A shrill cry resounded from the window of his bedchamber, shattering the solemn moment.

“Lord Drakon, I curse you!”

He exchanged confused looks with his messenger and they hurried toward the open shutters. Below, a woman stood bearing a torch. She was garbed in a heavy cloak that permitted only a shadowed view of her face.

“I curse your house and all who dwell within!” she continued.

“Who is she?” Lord Drakon asked.

“The witch Necesar. She was cousin to Lady Vivian.”

By this time, Amelia had awakened, and she slipped from the bed, draping the heavy coverlet around her. “Victor, what is it?”

He hesitated for a moment. “Lady Vivian’s cousin,” he replied.

Again the voice of the woman below rang out. “You rejected my cousin to take a common woman to your bed! Her heart was slain by your insult and now she is dead, taking her beloved household with her!”

“It was not her heart that was slain, but her pride!” Lord Drakon called in return.

“You are one to speak of pride when you have disgraced yourself and sullied your family’s name. Tell me, when you lay with your peasant bride, do you see Vivian’s face? Do you feel her pain?”

“Go home, woman!” he barked. “The hour is late and my patience runs low.”

“I do not fear you,” she snarled. “My beloved cousin bestowed a task upon me and I shall not fail her. You and your house shall suffer as she has. Your souls shall be stripped from your flesh and even the sun will betray you. Curse upon you, Lord Drakon, and curse upon your kin.”

“Silence!” he shouted, consumed by rage now. “Leave this place, you wretched witch.”

She stripped the hood of her cloak from her head, revealing a mass of silver hair. “My death will not end your torment. You and your generations to follow shall bear the same fate. Darkness will be your prison and you shall pray for death, but it will flee from you.”

Lord Drakon turned to the man at his side. “Go below and cease this heresy. Give her a horse and send her on her way.”

The messenger nodded and left to do his bidding. Lord Drakon maintained his post at the window as the woman continued her ranting. Deep within him, fear kindled, for he’d heard of the power of the witch Necesar. Her spoken word was potent, like the venom of a serpent.

Yet could one possess such power that she could curse an innocent man and his entire house? Would God allow such a thing?

Amelia appeared at his side, her beautiful features ashen. “Why does she speak so?”

He draped an arm about her, drawing her to him. “Lady Vivian has taken her life. The Elburich Castle has burned to the ground and everyone inside has perished.”

“Oh, dear God,” she gasped.

Beneath them, the sound of hooves emerged as three armed men on horseback, one with a mare in tow, moved to circle the witch.

Necesar continued as if they’d never come upon her. “For an eternity you and your children will be feared by all men and you will be hunted like beasts! The world will change, and as the vines come creeping to shroud the walls of your castle and the trees grow so dense that you cannot see beyond them, you will remember this night and what was lost in it.”

One of the men advanced upon her. “Be silent, sorceress!”

She continued. “Five were those who perished, and in five winters darkness will be brought upon you. From thence, for five centuries will I be your constant torment. And when this time is spent, the one whose love you rejected will claim the body of my descendant and gain her vengeance.”

With an angry growl, the horseman dismounted and drew his sword. “Be silent!”

She fixed the horseman with an unblinking stare. “Your wife is only two moons from giving birth,” she stated.

Slightly taken aback, the horseman halted his advance.

“You will have a son. He will be born beneath the sign of Aquarius. He will be in your image, but his eyes will be taken from him. Born into darkness, he will never see your face.”

“I am warning you, witch,” the horseman growled.

“Your young wife, in her grief, will fall into madness.”

“Silence!”

“For an eternity you shall dwell in this castle….”

Her words were cut short as he thrust his blade into her abdomen just as Lord Drakon’s protest echoed over the courtyard.

“No!” he shouted. But it was too late. The blade passed through her slender frame.

Necesar gasped, her eyes turning to the balcony. “Remember this night well, Lord Drakon, for it marks the beginning of your eternal torment.” With that she collapsed to her knees.

Lord Drakon turned from the window and raced down to the courtyard. He pushed aside the horseman who remained above Necesar, staring in disbelief at what he’d just done.

It seemed that time slowed as Necesar’s gaze roamed the faces of each individual present. She fell onto the dirt, her breathing slow and labored.

Lord Drakon moved to her side, stripping his cloak from his shoulders and draping it over her. He eased her head from the cold ground. The last thing he’d wanted was to see her slain, witch or no witch. The night had already claimed too many souls. He hung his head. To think that something as pure and simple as love could brew such a tragedy saddened his heart.

A flash of silver toppled from beneath the cloak and onto the hand he had positioned beneath her head. Necesar’s amulet, with the Dancescu crest. He reached out to retrieve it, for she should die with the symbol of her family near her heart. Necesar suddenly snatched his arm in a painful grip. She held on to him, her eyes deep and penetrating. He could only return her unnerving stare, for he found no words to appease the pain he saw there. Then, as silent as the drifting of ashes, her eyes closed and she breathed no more.