Dark Warrior (Warrior 2)

The dress Brigid had stitched for her was simply beautiful. It was a combination of blues, from deep blue velvet to soft blue silk. The bodice neckline was square and billowed out from beneath her breasts to fall to a flurry of dark blue velvet at her feet. Pale blue silk ribbon threaded along the bodice and around the upper arm. The sleeves fell to her wrists, the ribbon running around the edge like a cuff. And sapphires adorned the square neckline, beneath the bodice, and also trimmed the cuffs.

Her honey-blond hair was piled on her head, ivory combs keeping it secure. Blue and white wildflowers and bits of greenery were nestled in the curls. Old Margaret had fashioned a lovely bouquet of dried lavender and mint. It smelled heavenly.

Everything was set; she would soon wed Decimus, their destiny forever joined. The only hope she had to hold on to was the seer’s words.

You will be the demise of Decimus.

She prayed the woman’s prophecy would be true and that one day she would be free to love Michael.

A cloud drifted over the bright sun and dimmed an otherwise sunny day. Was it an omen of what was to come? Would her life with Decimus always be dim?

A knock on the door drew her away from the window and her troubled thoughts. She opened it and Magnus walked in.

He looked magnificent in his dark splendor, black leggings and a black tunic trimmed in silver thread.

He offered her his arm. “It is time.”

She attempted a smile but it faltered and she turned away to retrieve her bouquet and gather her courage. She felt on the verge of tears, and she could not allow herself to cry. She would show Decimus no weakness, only strength.

She turned after taking a deep breath and fortifying herself for what she must do.

“I am ready,” she said and took his arm. She did not attempt to force a smile. It was not possible to display happiness when sorrow filled her heart.

“Your parents would be proud of you, Mary. You have grown into a beautiful, courageous woman.”

She choked back her tears and nodded, not daring to speak.

They walked out of the room to face Mary’s destiny.

Reena and Brigid had attempted to make the wedding special, filling the great hall with baskets of flowers and branches of greenery. A plethora of white candles graced the mantel, the tables and the dais and platters of food waited for the celebration to begin.

Decimus had intended a bishop to wed them but when he changed the wedding date, he had had to make do with the local cleric. He vowed that they would repeat the ceremony with a bishop in attendance.

Decimus stood next to the brown-robed cleric waiting for her approach. His colors chilled her for he had chosen a blood red tunic over black leggings with a large black cross stitched across the front of the tunic. His shiny black hair hung straight over his shoulders, and his face appeared more sinister than handsome.

The great hall was filled to capacity. All the villagers had been invited, and dared not refuse, and all of Decimus’s men as well. If there had been time, no doubt the king as well as high officials of the church would have come.

Magnus walked her slowly to Decimus as if he took every step reluctantly. And when they finally reached him, Decimus stepped forward.

Magnus took her hand and placed it in Decimus’s. Then he raised his voice for all to hear. “Treat her well, my lord, she is a gift.”

Decimus gave a brief nod of recognition, though his dark eyes showed displeasure with Magnus’s warning. He turned with her to face the cleric.

The ceremony went on for some time, the cleric extolling the virtues of marriage and the duties of an obedient wife. Mary was relieved when it was done, and she was pronounced Decimus’s wife. It was over; she now belonged to him.

The celebration began, Decimus and Mary taking their place of honor at the two center chairs at the table on the dais. Magnus sat next to Decimus and Reena next to Mary.

Food was plentiful but Mary felt no hunger. No matter how hard she tried she could not get her thoughts off later in the evening when she would perform her wifely duties. The idea of Decimus intimately touching her made her sick, and she did not know what she would do.

Reena leaned close to her. “You worry.”

“It is not as easy as I thought it to be,” she whispered.

“Feign illness.”

Mary leaned closer. “And put off my duties for one day?”

“Two maybe three if the illness is good.”

“A short reprieve.”

“I can help, as will Old Margaret,” Reena assured her.

“I think my appetite returns.”

“It must, so we have something to blame it on,” Reena murmured. “Eat food your husband avoids. I will see that a few others complain of being ill.”