CHAPTER 8

When at last Damien reached the offensive place, the ground with the bodies of the dead strewn around, he shuddered at the sight, while pressing a handkerchief to his face, and even then the stench seemed to be sickening. And the disease too hung on the very air here. One could smell it, almost feel it. Yet, he kept on searching for the beauty among the dead.

"Where are you?" he whispered as his gaze scanned the remains of the dead. That she should be here in this filth even for a short while, brought a fury more potent than any he had felt before surging through his veins. What was it about her that caused such reactions in him? Why did he care so deeply for a girl that he did not even know?

"Damien!" a voice called, and he turned. "Come away from there before you take ill!"

At the edge of the pit, a young man Damien had called a friend since they were children together, sat astride his horse. It was Sam Freeman, leaning on the saddle, looking down at him.

"I will not go until I find them," Damien replied.

"Well, you will not find them, my friend, for they must be elsewhere. I searched for myself only an hour ago. I arrived here faster by horse, I suppose than you could on foot," Sam told him.

"Are you sure?" Damien asked him.

"Yeah. I would not lie to you about this, Damien. I can see this is important to you. Or she is important, to be precise. Did you know the girl?"

"No," Damien replied, making his way to the edge. "But it felt as if I did." When he began to climb up, out of the pit, Sam dismounted and bent to offer a hand. Damien got his footing at the top and brushed at his soiled clothes. Clothes that were barely fitting him, but they were all he had, once he had discarded the priestly robes he no longer felt he was able to wear.

"Why were you looking for them, Sam?" Damien asked.

"Same reason as you, I would guess. To bury them properly. I liked what was done no more than you did, Damien." He looked out over the dead and grimaced. "I did not find them, though."

Damien's heart twisted. "Where can they be?"

Sam smiled, but it was bitter. "No doubt your friend Nicholas Davenport would claim they used black magic to rise and walk away. But I suspect there is a far more simple solution. Some relatives came for their bodies in secret. It happens, Damien."

Damien nodded but met Sam's eyes. "Nicholas Davenport is no friend of mine."

"He was here, you know," Sam informed him.

Damien frowned. "Nicholas? Here?"

"Yeah, looking for those two women himself, I do believe. And as he got here before me, he must have run his horse rough the whole way. I meant to ask him why that was, but he beat a hasty retreat when he saw my approach," Sam informed Damien.

The thought of that bastard laying his hands upon the girl set Damien's teeth on edge. "He did not find them? Are you certain of that, Sam?"

"Certain as I can be," Sam said. "He seemed to be still searching when I arrived, and he had no bodies over his saddle when he galloped away."

"What could he want with them?" Damien asked.

"Nothing good, I can bet on that," Sam said.

"The bastard."

Sam's brows rose in twin arches. "Ah, so your great teacher is a bastard now, is he?"

Damien sighed, looking at the ground. "You were right about him all along, Sam, and I should have listened to you. Yeah, he is a bastard and a killer, and I told him as much."

"Indeed," Sam said, slapping Damien's shoulder. "Half the town knows of it by now." He tilted his head to one side. "They are saying she bewitched you, Damien. Stole your heart right there on the gallows."

Damien lifted his head to meet his friend's eyes. "Perhaps she did," he whispered.

"Yeah, I can see this has shaken you deeply," Sam said.

"And what is worrying me more is that I will not know where she rests. Even that small comfort has been stolen from me. It was wrong, what was done to her, Sam."

Sam nodded. "It is yet another reason that I have decided to move on. I am taking Natalie and leaving this place. And Damien, my new bride, and I would be proud to have you come along with us."

Damien searched Sam's face. "Where will you go? Back to Scotland?"

"Across the sea, my dear friend. To the New World. They say it is far different there. That place has an opportunity for every man. The rich and the poor, both live as equals there," Sam replied.

Taking a deep breath, Damien thought hard about saying yes. He had heard people talking about this New World, this place called America, where religious persecution, it was said, did not exist. Wild and new and exciting. The idea appealed. But he had matters to attend to. He had responsibilities to uphold.

"I would like nothing better than to do just that, Sam. But not now. I will have to return first to Scotland to face my father with what I have done."

Sam shook his head. "Augustine, your father, will be furious, no doubt. He paid Davenport and the church a hefty sum to take you in for training."

"And I will repay every bit," Damien vowed.

"After you have repaid the debt to your father, Damien, what then?" Sam asked.

Damien shrugged, looking off into the distance, seeking something he could not name. "I do not know. Truthfully, I just do not know."

Sam slapped his shoulder. "If you decide to join us in America, my friend, just come along. We will welcome you gladly."

"Thank you," Damien said. "I just might, at that."

"I hope you will." Then Sam frowned. "In the meantime, Damien, I hope you will put this day's doings behind you. You have a haunted look about your eyes that worries me."

"Haunted," Damien muttered. "Yeah, this is the way I feel. I think that beautiful girl will be haunting me for some time to come, Sam. And I doubt, rather seriously doubt, there is any way on God's Earth, I can put her memory behind me. I am not even certain I want to do that."