THE PENDANT
Morena stepped into the cell. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dark, but then she saw him. Her heart lurched with alarm. Amoro lay on his back in blood and filth curled upon the straw with a ragged cloth around him, chained to the wall like a wild animal. He shivered like a rousing cat and babbled something indistinguishable as he held up his arm to shield his face.
His face, half-turned into the shallow light that filtered into the room from the tiny barred window, was a mask of filth and bruises. One eye was swollen shut above a bruised and swollen cheek. He cradled his arms to himself in an effort to keep warm. His good eye widened in surprise at the sight of her. He blinked as if in disbelief, as if she were too bright, like some sudden, sharp burst of sunlight.
THE BLIGHTED TROTH
Even before Emilie Basseaux heard the trot of horses behind her, she sensed their presence. She looked back and noticed two men approach on horseback. Mon Dieu, non, not again.
Her heart raced. She had allowed her thoughts to wander to her approaching nuptials to her beloved, Robert Lanzille, the miller of Pointe-du-Lac, whom she would marry in three days. Foolishly lost in her daydreams, enjoying the pleasant walk down the shady lane lined with towering maple trees, she had lagged behind her friends. She hastened her step, but before she could catch up to them, the two men slowed their horses to a walk beside her. She looked up from beneath the brim of her straw bonnet.
Seigneur Richard, the youthful seigneur of Pointe-du-Lac gazed down at her from the lofty perch of his well-muscled black gelding...