Black Moon (The Moonlight Trilogy) by Teri Harman

Author:Teri Harman [Harman, Teri]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Jolly Fish Press
Published: 2014-09-23T07:00:00+00:00

Chapter 22

Waning Half Moon

September 475 A.D.

Bartholomew carried her torched body as carefully as he could. The foul, unbearable smell filled his nose, mouth, and lungs; his eyes watered. He marched out of town and over the hillside before collapsing under his grief. His knees hit the hard earth and more precious pieces of her body fell off, each one like a slice of his heart cut away, never to be repaired.

Moments, a few small moments, he thought. If only I’d arrived sooner, then you, my love, would still be alive. Time is the cruelest of masters, forever torturing the heart. He glanced down at her black and red face, deformed, melted, and bile rose in his throat. He gagged; it shamed him greatly to have to look away. Tenderly, he shifted her body to one arm and removed his long cloak. He cast it out before him and it settled to the earth. With aching reverence, he laid her body in the center and wrapped it slowly.

“Brigid,” he whispered her name.

Kneeling before the bundle, Bartholomew gripped her necklace in his palm. It had survived the fire with only a slight scorching of the silver. He’d given it to her when they’d married. He’d given it to her for protection, enchanted it with a spell, a strong one—or so he thought.

Her death could only mean one thing: another witch had betrayed them, helped in her capture, bound her magic so she could not escape. Brigid was strong, incredibly powerful. This should never have been possible.

He lifted his eyes upward, to the half moon sharing the sky with the sun. “How could you fail me?” he whispered between clenched teeth. “How could you betray your most loyal subjects?”

A small sliver of light curled through the air to touch his cheek, to comfort and caress, but he turned away. The day grew cold around him.

“I should never have gone away,” he whispered, both hands pressed gently to the bundle. “I stayed too long.” He paused and began to cry. “I should have taken you with me.”

A memory poured into his mind, both elixir and poison at once.

A week before he left, on his way back from pasturing the sheep, he saw Brigid swimming in the pond near their home—a favorite pastime of hers, but one he rarely witnessed. Quietly, he concealed himself behind a willow tree and watched. Her slim body, tiny yet strong, glided through the glassy water with ease. Sunlight pooled on the water’s surface and followed behind her in long golden ribbons.

Bartholomew’s breath caught in his chest as Brigid emerged from the pond, her body dripping, shedding water. Her skin, whiter than sheep’s wool, glistened, and her long dark hair clung to her curves, flowing down her back and over her chest like a royal robe. Even after ten years of marriage, her body thrilled him, fascinated him, called to him.

The leaves above him rustled, and before he had time to look up, one of the long branches wrapped around his arm, holding him tight.

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