After racing to the house, she found the housekeeper in the pantry, the soft clinking of silver and the scent of lavender filling the air. The elderly woman polished a candlestick, her back hunched.
“Tell me about the curse,” Anne urged, eyes searching the older woman’s face.
The housekeeper’s gaze darted away. “It’s just an old tale, Lady Daun.”
“Old or not, why would the lord strike such a deal? Forfeit his soul for a bridge?”
Leonor closed her eyes. “Beatriz was right. It was greed, pure and simple.”
“Greed? Pure? No, there’s more to it.” Anne followed her around the small room, lifting her hands in front of her chest. “Please, I need to know.”
The woman shook herself like a trapped bird. “It’s just a pile of rocks. Leave it be.”
“How can I? When the river’s incessant murmur never leaves my mind?”
The housekeeper paused, frowning. “What did you say?”
Anne pressed her ears, trying to shut it out. “I must be hysteric because I can feel it. It’s ingrained there, deep in the granite, something dark and lonely. So sad. It’s even affecting my husband. I know it is.”
The housekeeper’s demeanor changed, and her eyes lost the film of age. She went to the pantry’s only window and stared outside. “He is there still.”
The hairs on Anne’s arms and neck lifted. She looked through the glass but could see no one. The bridge was empty.
The housekeeper’s face turned paler, and she swayed.
Anne touched her shoulder. Why did she provoke her so? “Perhaps you should sit.”
“Lord Rafael is there, trapped in the stones. He’s been there for ages.” Tenderly, Leonor touched the windowsill. “God have mercy on his poor soul.”
Anne’s breath caught. “Why is he there?”
“He was a reckless, stubborn man… He was in love.”
“But why—”
“Back when woolen cloaks were mended more than washed, and a loaf of rye bread was a Sunday feast, a couple defied the laws of men. He was a landless knight, and she was a princess betrothed to another. They fell in love. Her father locked her in the Misarela fortress, confident the river would keep unwanted suitors away, and she would retain her virtue for her intended. But Rafael never gave up. Speaking through the treacherous waters, they made plans to escape.”
She paused, her eyes lost in the winter landscape.
“And then?”
“The groom arrived early, and the marriage was scheduled for that night. Lord Rafael struck a deal. The devil wanted his soul in exchange for a way to cross the river, but Rafael negotiated with him. The devil would not demand Rafael’s soul if he could convince the princess to run away with him.”
“Certainly, she went with him.” Anne bit her lip.
Leonor turned defensive, brushing at her tears. “She had doubts. The princess couldn’t understand why he would have dealings with the devil. Out of fear, she fled alone. And Rafael’s soul became trapped in the bridge. Since then, it has never snowed. He loved it. The snow.”
“And the princess?” Anne asked, dreading the answer.
Leonor averted her eyes. “She never recovered, and in a sense, she became trapped, too.”
The weight of tragic love and broken promises settled heavily on Anne’s heart. Could it be Lord Rafael’s eternal lament she had heard? Anne rubbed the older woman’s back. “That’s so sad.”
The housekeeper grabbed her arm with surprising force. “He speaks with you. There must be a reason.”
Anne backed away, shaking her head. “I don’t know what reason there could be.” She and Pedro loved each other. Certainly, they were free from such a curse. “I love my husband.”
“Love is not enough. The curse runs deeper. Who loves, sees himself, who accepts, sees the other. A pact with darkness, a secret cost, snowless Christmases, a love long lost.” As she recited the verses, the housekeeper’s voice grew softer.
