Spellbound - Cara Lynn Shultz [48]
Although it pained him greatly to leave Gloriana’s side, Archer felt compelled to, as he worried for the child’s soul. Gloriana’s labor had been difficult, and both she and the child, Alexander, had struggled with fevers. For a moment, Archer fervently hoped his wife really was a witch, so she could simply take away their pain with a spell, but Gloriana gently explained that it was not quite as simple as that. Should the child die before getting baptized, Archer feared Alexander would spend his eternity in Purgatory.
Archer kissed his beloved, and his sweet son, promising them that he would soon return to their side.
“My eyes are not worthy to look upon your face,” Archer told Gloriana. “Yet they will not rest until they see you again.”
“Nor will mine,” she promised. “For I belong with you.”
But she never saw her husband again.
When word reached Lord Charles that Archer and Gloriana had produced an heir, fury gripped the bitter man’s heart. His own daughter, scorned by Archer for a peasant—and a witch, at that!—was too ashamed to show her face at court. She was forced to live as a spinster—no proud man would accept a woman who was rejected for some moon-worshipping commoner.
As Archer petitioned the Cardinal, Lord Charles hired mercenaries, who crept into Archer’s manor under the cover of night, to kill Archer’s beloved.
Gloriana, still sick with fever, was awoken by a young servant girl, Mary. “They’re coming for you! You must flee!” Gloriana gave the servant her infant son, Alexander, begging her to make sure he was safe. Weak and frail, Gloriana knew she couldn’t run as swiftly as the young maiden. She directed Mary to her cottage, empty and dark since her family now resided in the manor. “Tell my family to escape to our dear cousins’ home. Do not wait for me. I will meet you at the cottage,” Gloriana instructed the girl. With one last kiss to Alexander’s head, Gloriana handed over her son. Mary fled.
Struggling against fever and weakness, Gloriana clutched her final poem to Archer in her hand and stumbled through the manor’s hallways. Shoving open the heavy door to the manor’s grounds, Gloriana stepped into the cool blackness of night. Her steps faltered as she retreated through her cherished garden, where she was discovered by Lord Charles’s mercenaries. They descended upon the frail maiden, and stabbed Gloriana in the heart. She died among the roses, staring up at the crescent moon.
Archer returned the next morning. There, he found his manor in shambles. Rooms had been burned, tapestries torn and shredded, valuables stolen. He raced through the rooms, seeking his wife and fearing the worst.
Archer dashed out of his manor—never looking at the backyard garden—and galloped through his lands, calling out Gloriana’s name. Archer challenged his steed to run faster, hoping that he would find Gloriana at her parents’ cottage.
Once there, he found the servant girl. Weeping, Mary told Archer that Gloriana had begged her to escape with wee Alexander, and that she had never arrived at the cottage as promised.
“Please stay with my son,” Archer pleaded with the girl. “Thank you for saving his life. I shall return with my love.”
Archer raced again to the manor, calling Gloriana’s name throughout the burned, razed home. As if his heart was pulling him toward the site of its own destruction, he turned toward the garden.
There, amid the roses, was his beloved. Archer knelt by Gloriana, putting his head to her still heart.
“My Gloriana, my rose.” He wept, cradling her in his arms and caressing her cold face with his hand. Needing to feel her touch one more time, he reached for her hand and pulled it to his face. A small scrap of bloodied parchment fluttered to the ground. Archer picked it up and found Gloriana’s last love poem, still unfinished.
Like a fortress I feared I would harden
But upon a bright summer glare
Amidst the roses in my garden
I met my future there
My purpose, my life and my soul
I would give