She nodded regally. "As my lady wishes."
The village of Ferral stood separated from the fortress by the river Ribagão, and the only way to reach it was from the Misarela.
Anne's gaze drifted to the frost-kissed window. "Do you think it will snow?" Her earliest Christmas memories in England were of playing in the snow. She had no recollection beyond the white covering everything and the sense of peace, of completion that came with it.
Beatriz put down her embroidery. "With the Devil's curse? Not likely."
The legend that the Devil had built the bridge was common knowledge, but she didn't remember a curse was involved. "You know we shouldn't allow folk tales—"
"They say the lord of the fortress made a pact with the devil to build the bridge and that since then, it never snowed in the region."
"Why would he do such a deal?" A pact to save a dear one was understandable. Anne had tried to strike a bargain with someone worse than the Devil once and would do it again without blinking if it came to save even a day of Pedro's life. But for a bridge? It made no sense.
Beatriz scoffed, her needle pausing mid-stitch. “Greed, of course. What else?”
Anne frowned. Greed. That was what they said moved Pedro in his political machinations. She knew it wasn't true.
"You speak nonsense, child," Leonor chided. After dropping theluminarias, she went to the window and gazed outside, her back stiff.
"Are you all right, Leonor? I'm sure Beatriz meant no offense."
"No one understands." The housekeeper's gaze got lost somewhere in the landscape. "He is there."
The river's murmur rose until it clashed against Anne's ears. Leonor's eyes became haunted.
"In the shadows of the Devil's embrace, eternal winter, a chilling grace. A pact with darkness, a secret cost, snowless Christmases, a love long lost." Leonor's mouth moved as if in prayer.
Beatriz crossed herself.
Anne placed her hand over the woman's shoulders. She was ice cold.
"A love long lost. Was it love, then? He agreed because of love?"
Leonor's filmed eyes focused on Anne. They were eerily devoid of color. "The past is buried under the rocks. If you excuse me, I will oversee the dinner preparations."
With that, she departed.
Beatriz stretched. "It's just stories. Don't let her bother you." After collecting her embroidery, she left as well.
Alone, Anne hugged herself. Look at her… Believing in folk tales? Her brother would call her a nitwit. Brushing her arms, she went to the window. The bridge stood there, unmovable, but the housekeeper's words continued to resonate, a sad accompaniment to the murmuring river.
The wind invaded the morning room, and the door banged on its hinges. Anne whirled, her heart racing, half expecting to see the Devil lurking among her watercolors.
A figure materialized from the shadows.
When she recognized Pedro's golden hair and tall frame, Anne released a pent-up breath. "Love, you scared me, I —"
He didn't move. He just stood there, eyes unfocused, his broad shoulders tense. His face was pale.
Anne raced to him. "Pedro, please, speak with me. What happened?"
She placed both her hands on his cheek. He wouldn't look at her. Her pulse sped.
"Is it Cris? Is your brother all right?"
Cris had been gone for two years on a grand tour and had wired them from Constantinople last month, promising to spend Christmas with the family. Did something happen to him?
Anne shook Pedro's shoulders. When nothing worked, she went on her tiptoes and kissed his lips.
