Chapter 17
Hamish led them into the Great Hall, Declan keeping firm hold of Aura’s hand, the sound of their footsteps echoing in the hush of the keep.
Word had not yet spread about the sudden and disturbing news, but the stillness felt heavy, as if the stone walls themselves were waiting to hear what would be said.
Cleric William stood near the hearth, his robes dusted from travel, his hands clasped before him. His eyes moved first to Declan, then to Aura, and he inclined his head politely.
“My lord, my lady,” he greeted, his voice steady but not without curiosity. “I received a request from this keep for a marriage rite, and I have come at once.”
Declan didn’t immediately answer. He studied the man.
He was of good height, fine features, though a scar, healed but visible, marred his one cheek, and his shoulder-length white hair was neatly kept.
He wore a clean brown robe and there was a quiet authority in his manner.
He found no trace of the sly, watchful look he remembered from the cleric who had stood before them not long ago.
“There is… a complication,” Declan said finally, his voice even. “A man claiming to be a cleric has already wed us.”
William’s brow creased. “No such man came from Donchill Abbey. I am the only cleric Abbott Bennet sent.”
Aura felt the tension tightening between them. If they told him the truth, that she suspected the man was a warlock, would he bless their union, or condemn it? She kept silent, her hand closing tightly around Declan’s.
William’s gaze moved between them. “If the rite was not performed by a true servant of the Church, it is not recognized in the eyes of God. Men have been known to pose as clerics to take advantage of god-fearing people, to get food and shelter and even coins.”
The words landed like a stone in the pit of her stomach since she felt there had been more to the man than someone looking merely for food, drink, and shelter.
Declan’s jaw tightened. “What do you suggest?”
“I suggest we see to it now,” William said simply. “Properly.”
For a moment, Aura thought herself in a dream, though more a nightmare, and that Declan would look at her, laugh, and refuse to wed her. She cast a cautious glance at Declan, searching his eyes for the decision that must be made.
Declan’s hand tightened around hers, a soft smile on his face, and love shining openly in his eyes that appeared more green than blue today.
“We’ll see to it now,” he said, his gaze never leaving hers.
Something in his voice, firm, sure, protective, loosened the knot in her chest, even as her mind whispered of curses and false vows.
Cleric William gave a single nod. “Then let us waste no time.”
Hamish stepped forward. “I’ll fetch a few witnesses from the village. A marriage should be seen.”
Declan shook his head. “Nay. This is for us.”
Aura was relieved it would just be the two of them with Hamish as witness. And she was glad to see that there was no deception in Cleric William’s eyes, only quiet patience.
William gestured toward a small alcove not far from the dais. “We may hold the rite there. Private and proper.”
Declan turned to her, and for a moment, the keep, the village, the threat beyond its walls, all of it faded.
“I’ll say the vows as many times as it takes for you to know you’re mine,” he murmured.
Her lips curved faintly. “And you are mine.”
They stood before the cleric, hands clasped. William spoke the words with calm authority, and Declan repeated them without hesitation, his voice steady, his eyes never straying from hers. When her turn came, Aura’s voice caught, just for a heartbeat, before she found it again.
William pronounced them husband and wife, death the only thing that could part them and when Declan bent to kiss her, she felt the faintest shiver in her spine, as if some shadow lingered at the edge of the light.
William offered his blessing, then quietly stepped away to speak with Hamish, leaving them alone in the small alcove.
Declan still held her hands, his thumbs brushing lightly over her fingers. “Better?” he asked, his voice low, meant only for her.
She nodded, though a faint unease still stirred beneath her relief, she didn’t want to mention it and spoil the moment.
He kissed her, sealing their vows. “Good. Then it is done and nothing can separate us.”
He turned to join Hamish and the cleric, drawing Aura along with him, but the moment they stepped forward, he felt as if his boot caught on to something, yet he knew there was nothing there. He lurched forward, releasing her hand to catch himself against the wall.
Aura’s breath stilled. “Declan—”
He straightened at once, forcing a faint grin. “It was nothing.”
“If it wasn’t for the other incidents, I might believe you,” she said softly.
He brushed his knuckles over her cheek, his voice warm despite the shadow in his eyes. “I’d rather you believe I can handle whatever comes.”
She wanted to. Good, Lord, she wanted to. But as they walked on, her hand in his once more, the image of him nearly falling again lodged itself deep, and the vow she’d just spoken felt like more than a promise—it felt like a challenge to whatever unseen force had its grip on him.
Food and drink were brought for Cleric William, and Declan had no choice but to sit and talk with the man. She, however, was eager to return to her work cottage. How to do so politely when Cleric Willaim insisted on toasting to their proper union, as he claimed, was the problem.
She was pleased her husband understood her dilemma without saying a word to him.
He took the matter into his hands and commanded with a grin, “You may return to your duties, wife.”
“As you say, husband,” she said obediently and stood, though not before giving him a hard jab in the side, causing him to chuckle since he barely felt it.
The soft light of late afternoon slanted through the cottage window, falling across the table where Aura had been working for some time now.
She had a few bits of leather, some polished stones, and lengths of cord left to shape them into the last of the talisman.
The air smelled faintly of sage and rosemary, the scent calming to most, but not enough to ease the knot of worry twisting in her chest.
She threaded a cord around a small carved stone, her fingers moving from habit while her thoughts circled back to the same place, every stumble Declan had taken soon after the man thought to be a cleric had wed them.
She worried who he truly may have been… a warlock out to destroy them.
But why? Why would a warlock have any interest in them?
Had it something to do with the ring of stones?
Had they unwittingly trespassed on his domain?
And could he be the one who wanted her abducted, and if so, why?
If he was a warlock, what had they done to capture his wrath?
They had both spoken of it before but not since and it needed to be discussed again. The only one who could truly help them, make sense of things, would be the witch. She only hoped they hadn’t waited too long to speak with her.
A sharp knock broke her thoughts. She went and opened the door to find Hamish standing there, his expression grave.
“We need to get you to the keep,” he said without preamble.
Her heart leapt with worry. “What’s happened? Is Declan—”
“He’s fine. For now. But there’s talk in the village,” Hamish said, glancing past her toward the closed door as if wary of being overheard. “Word’s spread about your marriage not being valid before today. And that you and Declan were seen at the ring of stones.”
Aura’s stomach tightened. “So?”
“So,” he said, lowering his voice further, “Cleric William’s caught wind of it. And there are whispers—about witches. He wants to speak with you.”
The air seemed to thicken around her. Did he think her a witch? She found the thought laughable, but it was no laughing matter.
“We best put a quick stop to any talk about witches,” she said, grabbing her cloak and stepping out into the fading light.
Hamish nodded and mumbled, “If it’s not already too late.”