Dark Maiden by Townsend Lindsay

Author:Townsend, Lindsay [Townsend, Lindsay]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi, pdf
Tags: romance
ISBN: 9781419941702
Published: 2013-06-12T22:00:00+00:00

She dug in the churchyard where Martin’s widow showed her Martin’s grave. As Yolande’s spade struck the side of the coffin, the winter sun finally peeped over the horizon.

Thank the Mother for that mercy.

Martin’s corpse did not reek of sulfur but was not so wholesome that she wished to linger. It was tempting to hurry but she forced herself to do everything correctly and give this restless ghost due reverence. Aware of a knot of villagers scuttling from the church and gathering behind her aching back—one reason why she had wanted Geraint facing them and not digging with her—she prayed aloud for Martin and laid the parchment on top of his coffin with as much care as she could manage.

The small of her back ached like a toothache, and the calves of her braced legs were stiff with tension as she leaned over the open grave, straddling the coffin itself.

This was a lustful ghost. I most relieved that I am still a maid and not open to his unwanted attentions.

Dimly, she sensed the crowd watching her every act and was glad when they repeated the “amen” after her. She made the sign of the cross over the body, laid a crucifix at the foot of the coffin, plunging it as deep as she could into the hard winter earth, and sprinkled all with holy water.

She waited, head bowed. No voice came, nothing from the revenant.

“It is done,” she said in Latin.

She might have swayed or, horror of horrors, tumbled into the newly opened grave itself, but Geraint’s sinewy arm held her upright and safe. She turned slowly to the villagers and forced her dry mouth to speak.

“It would be a kindness, a most Christian, neighborly act, to cover him again. He will rest until Judgment Day in peace.” She held out the spade. “Who will aid Martin and his widow?”

The reeve rose from a crouch and took it. As other men hurried to help and the sun rose over the freshly turned earth, Yolande guided Martin’s pale, quaking widow to the house where she and Martin had lived as man and wife. Without prompting, Geraint kept Godith from following by entertaining her and the other womenfolk with a show of tumbling.

Earlier, he had written the parchment at Yolande’s direction—a letter to Martin exhorting him, by God and Saint Martin, to leave this earthly realm and join the saints and angels—and had been surprised by her neat signature. In all, he thought the whole ritual well done indeed. Had he been restless in his grave and fussed over by Yolande, given prayers, holy water, a sacred cross and a parchment lovingly placed over his heart, he would be vastly content.

One soul is put to his eternal rest. We must do the same for the other poor creature, the female revenant. Then there are the wretched priest and the incubus. As Yolande said, so much trouble for one little village.

All the time she had been working, he had sensed that Yolande also kept watch in the churchyard for signs of ghosts or demons.

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