“Don’t touch me. The Sword will fail. I was doomed from the start. Go,” Donald insisted.
“No. There’s no time to explain now. We must get you to the church.” The vicar grabbed his arm and pulled him along.
The rock cavern gave a shudder as the rocks fell on the tombs sending chips everywhere.
Donald still hesitated.
The vicar spoke in a commanding voice. “The only way Andrea will leave is with you. Will I be saying a funeral mass for you both?”
The three hurried down the path through the maze of falling rocks, jumping over breaches in the path until they came to the narrow ledge. Before they could get across a barrage of stones rained down. When the dust settled, most of the ledge was gone.
Donald started to cross. He found hand and foot holds. Rocks already loosened trickled down striking his back. He pressed himself against the face of the cliff. When the rock fall subsided, he made his way to the other side.
“You’re next,” the vicar said to Andrea, and helped her to the edge.
“It’s ten steps. Put your hands and feet where I did,” Donald called over the rumbling. He leaned over the side. His arm stretched as far as he could reach.
“Once we get to the other side it is easy going. You mustn’t let him stop. We must get him to the church,” the vicar said and helped Andrea set her foot and find the first hand hold.
She pressed against the cliff face, determined to reach the other side. Slowly she made her way across.
Over the roar of the wind and rumble of the stones, she heard Donald’s voice directing her hands and feet. She kept her face against the rock. Small showers of stones peppered the air and grazed her back.
“Rea, give me your hand,” Donald’s voice crooned.
She looked at his outstretched arm and grasped his. He pulled her into his arms. But their embrace was short-lived. He needed to get the injured vicar to safety.
The vicar started out.
“He’s in great pain from his wound. See how he winces when he stretches for the hand holds,” Andrea said. “Reach to your left, just a bit higher,” she called.
The vicar closed his eyes. His face was ashen.
“We have to hurry and get him across. The effort will quickly sap his strength,” Donald said.
They looked on as the vicar had difficulty placing his foot squarely on the hold. His fingertips slid on the stone. He had gone eight steps but the next one gave way. He clutched at the rocks, but his fingers wouldn’t work. His dangling foot sought another perch.
“Joseph, grab the stone,” Donald commanded calmly.
He grabbed it, but couldn’t hold on much longer. Donald was close to the edge. As the vicar began to slip from the rock, Donald reached out and grabbed his arm. Clasping his free hand over his other, he hoisted the vicar to safety.
They clutched at each other, only for a moment.
“We need to get to the church,” the vicar said.
They hurried the rest of the way to the top of the cliff. Donald half carried the vicar as they raced to the church.
Once inside, the vicar pushed Donald against the door, turned and pulled the holy water basin from its bracket and ordered him to drink it.
Andrea and Donald stared at him in disbelief.
“Drink,” the vicar commanded.
What did it matter? He was a doomed man. If the vicar thought the holy water would save him, so be it. Donald took the beautiful bronze etched cup, put it to his lips, and drank. He hadn’t realized how thirsty he was. Donald almost laughed.
“I would much rather my last drink be a good ale.”
After downing the last drop, he handed the basin to Andrea.
“Rea, I don’t know how much time I have left. But I will not leave this world without—”
“You have many years before you leave this world,” the vicar said, replacing the basin.
Donald and Andrea stared at him.
“I didn’t have time to tell you. Yes, this water is sacred. The water came from the center of the earth and flowed behind the chalice niche. Every year on St. Aidan’s birthday, we go to the cave. Everyone drinks the holy water we gather there.”
“From the dragon stone chalice?” Andrea asked.
He nodded. “Afterwards, we fill the cup, bring it to the church, and refill the holy water basin.”
“And no one has ever died.” Donald let out a deep breath.
“No. I was shocked when that man died. At first I thought Davenport must have put something in the cup. Then I realized he filled the cup with rainwater. It was the only explanation that made sense.”
“How did you know I was not doomed?” Donald asked.
“Come with me into the sanctuary.”
They stood in front of the stained glass window they had stared at hours ago.
“Look carefully around the edges of the border.”
“There are words here. They are difficult to see, but I can make them out,” Andrea said.
“Abadia de Amiens. The Seeker and Sword win wars. An antidote to power to be held by only one strong of heart. The Sword will.” Andrea stopped.
“What does it say?” Donald made his way in front of her.
“Well?” the vicar asked.
“The Sword will never fail.”
Epilogue
Sagamore Hall, England
Five Months Later
Lord Donald Eden enjoyed his years of being responsible only for himself. With a casual personality and playful teasing manner, men and women were drawn to him like bees to a honeypot. Unlike his brothers who preferred swords, he excelled with the bow and arrow. He traveled from one archery tournament to the next coming away with a heavy purse.
That was, until last year.
Destiny made Hugh and Graham his brothers. Fate made the three devoted friends. And when Hugh found his fortune, his wife, Charlotte, he made certain his brothers found theirs. Graham had his Isabella, and now Donald had Andrea.
It was hard to believe they’d been married for three months.
Donald was in the comfortable solar
