Chapter Ten:
The first thing Theresa noticed was the large, leather-bound tome that lay open before her. Its pages were thick and its words – written in a language she couldn't comprehend – had been painstakingly inked by some devoted hand. The second thing she noticed was the man reading from it.
Vlad.
He wore dark robes, with the hood thrown back. Summer sun beat down on his blonde hair, making it glint like gold. He followed the words with one slim finger as he read; his touch as tender as a caress.
"And now these three remain: faith, hope, and love. But the greatest of these is love..."
Vlad stopped, his voice trailing off. As the silence stretched from one minute to the next, Theresa gently bumped his shoulder.
"Are you alright?" she asked.
A shake of his head brought Vlad back to the moment. He smiled at Theresa.
"Yes," he said, reaching out to take her hand. "I was just thinking about love."
"You were?" Theresa swallowed the nervous giggle that tried to escape at his words. She gently pulled her hand free. "What about it?"
"Well," he started, "I was raised in the monastery, practically from a babe." He toyed with the edge of the woollen blanket they lay on. "I have heard that word more times than I could ever hope to count. But..."
A tremor started in Theresa's hands. She clasped them together, tightening on the hand-carved wooden cross Vlad had given her earlier that afternoon. Anticipation hung heavy in the air around them. It held the feeling of something big about to happen; whatever Vlad had to say, it would change both their lives forever. Theresa was almost as afraid to hear it as she was thrilled.
"But?"
He turned to look at her, his eyes full of mirth, joy, and... and something else a man of the cloth ought not have in his eyes.
"But I never really understood what prefect love was until-"
Theresa's breath caught in her throat. She almost couldn't find the air to say, "Until?"
The mirth faded from Vlad's eyes, making the emotions that remained more intense.
"Until I met you."
There. It was said. The thing that had been growing between them these past weeks had finally found its voice. And there was no going back.
Vlad leaned into Theresa. They were already so close that there was very little space to fill – but fill it he did. Theresa lifted her lips to meet his kiss. It was soft and innocent. Tentative and hopeful. It was the first of many they would share before the evening bell called Vlad back to his prayers. It was-
The dream shifted so quickly it left Theresa reeling.
One moment, she was enjoying the gentle exploration of Vlad's kisses under the hazy summer sun; the next, she was hurrying from a thatched roof cottage, carefully sidestepping a hound dozing on the lawn. She clutched the shawl tight around her shoulders as the late autumn air bit her cheeks and nipped at her bare toes.
Excitement zinged along her nerves. She couldn't wait to see Vlad again. It had only been three days since they'd met in the woods outside the monastery but it felt like three hundred. Theresa hated to be apart from Vlad for any length of time. She wished they could live together as man and woman were meant to – as husband and wife – but knew that the abbot would never allow him to leave.
It was wrong, Theresa thought, to blame a son for the sins of his father. Vlad had nothing to do with the atrocities perpetrated by his father, the man they called "The Impaler". How could he have? Vlad had been naught but a babe when his father was driven from the land; no one even knew for certain whether that ruthless killer even knew one of the women he'd savaged had born him a child.
Still, the abbot had appointed himself the child's saviour. Vlad would earn his place in Heaven, even if Alec had to drive him there at the end of a whip. Though Vlad had never shown even the slightest hint of his father's propensity for violence, Alec was certain the evil was in there, somewhere, just waiting for the right moment to burst free – and only he could keep it in check.
Theresa disliked the man for his ability to keep her and Vlad apart. She hated him intensely for the crisscrossing of old scars and fresh wounds that stretched across Vlad's back. If anyone was a monster, surely it must be the person who could inflict so much pain on such an innocent, peaceful man.
It must have been thinking about the twisted abbot that made Theresa jump when a dark figure emerged from the shadows behind the barn. A hand flew to her mouth to cover her gasp. Then, she saw the shape of a monk's robe and Theresa relaxed.
"Vlad!" She breathed a sigh of relief, rushing toward him – only to be brought up short when the robed figure reached up to push back its hood.
The moment it took Theresa's mind to understand what was happening was too long. Rough hands caught her from behind before she could run. Another figure, flanked by two larger ones, was bustled out of the darkness.
"Do you see?" Alec said with a satisfied grin. "I told you your darling daughter had seduced a holy man."
Daughter? Did that mean...?
"Papa?"
She struggled against the hands restraining her but to no avail; their grips only tightened painfully.
A torch flared into life, illuminating the scene. Vlad! Gagged, he was bare to the waist and sweating, despite the chill. Theresa could only imagine how he must have fought against his captors as they waited for her to keep their rendezvous. He struggled now – but, unlike Vlad, the two burly villagers that held him were no strangers to physical labour.
Theresa's father stepped into the light, his usually kind face twisted in disgust. She recoiled from his gaze as if he'd struck her. He was usually a gentle, patient man who had never so much as raised his voice to his daughter. What had so altered his perception of Theresa that he would look at her with such undisguised hatred in his eyes?
What? Or, who?
"Alec," Theresa said as understand slowly dawned. Of course, who else?
The backhand came so unexpectedly that Theresa would have been knocked to the ground if not for the hands holding her in place.
"How dare you speak my name with such familiarity," Alec spat. "Unlike Brother Vlad, I am not a victim of your lustful ways. You have no hold over me, harlot."
Embarrassment beat at Theresa's cheeks, turning them red. "I am no harlot!" she snapped back.
Alec stepped toward her. With a sneer, he said, "Do you deny having sexual relations with this monk?"
Tears stung Theresa's eyes but she fought to keep them from falling. She looked at Vlad, whose own eyes were damp and full of fear. He shook his head. Theresa could almost hear his voice in her head, urging her to deny it. To protect herself. She shook her head in response.
Never. She would never deny their love. Regardless of what it might cost her.
Vlad dropped his head. The fight went out of him, all at once.
"I love Vlad," Theresa said, raising her chin defiantly. "I am not ashamed to admit it."
And I'm ready to face the consequences, she thought. Whatever they may be.
Her father would certainly turn her out – and there'd not be many in the village willing to offer her solace and risk garnering his displeasure. She would have to leave, go someplace far away but, if Vlad were with her, Theresa could face that. She could face anything, with him by her side.
"There!" Alec said triumphantly. "You have it, from the whore's own mouth!"
Theresa didn't get the chance to argue. He continued, "She has admitted to seducing a holy man. What more proof do you require?"
An angry murmur from behind told Theresa that the mad abbot had a larger audience than she'd thought. It was unsettling to think that her neighbours were watching the display.
"We need no more proof," came a woman's voice. Theresa's stomach clenched painfully as she realized that it belonged to Mihaela, the eldest woman in the village. It suddenly occurred to Theresa that, whatever was happening, it went far beyond an illicit romance.
"You came to us with claims that one of our own was consorting with the Devil. We did not believe you but we agreed to hear you out. The proof that you have given us is beyond doubt. There is only one course of action we can take, to ensure the evil ends here, with her."
Consorting with the devil? What-
Alec leaned in close to say, "Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live." His expression was sombre but Theresa imagined she could see the glee in his eyes.
Panic coursed through her. "I am no witch!" she insisted.
"Take her to the courtyard," the old woman commanded. Theresa was lifted off her feet and dragged away.
The village commons was lit by many torches and filled with Theresa's neighbours, family, and friends. Not one of them looked happy to see her. She scanned their faces, hoping to some sympathy. Some friendship. There was none, only hostility and judgement.
Her village had turned against her. Or, more accurately, had been turned against her. By Alec.
The rage that filled her at the thought of the abbot's manipulation was short-lived. All-consuming terror took its place when Theresa saw the tall pole erected in the centre of the village; branches, logs, and bales of dried hay piled high around it.
Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live.
Theresa screamed as she was dragged to certain death.