Prologue
1347
England
St. Agnes Caves
“There’s nothing to be afraid of,” Luke of Brackley announced as he carefully stepped into the dark cave, holding Melwyn’s hand. He thrust a torch forward to light their way. The flickering flames did little to illuminate the slick floor or wet walls. Still, he knew it was safe. He had searched the cave already. He would never bring his charges, Melwyn, and her little sister Nessa, into the cave without being certain. He was responsible for their safety; a task even at sixteen, he took seriously.
Mel had insisted on coming to the cave. She said this was the only time they would be able to go because they would never be this far east again. She had told him some tale of two lovers who died in the cave and were washed away into the sea. The legend said whoever put their hands over the lovers’ bloody stain would affirm their love. She was convinced the legend was real.
“I’m not afraid,” Mel said softly, but there was a hitch in her voice that told Luke otherwise.
Luke stepped carefully over the damp ground, guiding Mel through the slick cave.
“Wait for me, Mel!”
Melwyn glanced back at the voice with a grimace on her young face. “Why did we have to bring her?”
“Be nice, Mel,” Luke warned. He had promised lord Tristan, the girls’ father, that he would look after them while he watched a play at the amphitheater. Luke took a step back to light the way for Nessa.
A young girl of eight summers entered the lighted circle. Her braided blonde hair was an imitation of Melwyn’s but Nessa’s was beginning to unravel. Wild strands poked out from the braids and one hung along the side of her face. Her fillet was askew and she lifted a hand to right it. Nessa trailed Melwyn everywhere, idolizing her. The girls even looked alike with the same nose and shaped eyes.
Luke smiled at Nessa. He enjoyed her company. She was bright and curious.
She stopped suddenly, staring at the ground. Luke thought there was a spider or other insect he would have to “rescue” her from. Suddenly, Nessa leapt into a small puddle, spraying water around her.
Mel squealed and held her arms up to protect herself from the water. “My dress!”
Luke chuckled softly and chastised Nessa, “Perchance you should be more careful.”
“It is dark in here,” Nessa stated, ignoring him. “What happens if the torch goes out?”
“It won’t,” Luke promised.
“Do you think the tide will come in? The water probably fills this cave to the ceiling.”
“It’s low tide. We’ll be safe.”
“That’s what happened to the lovers’ bodies,” Melwyn explained. “The sea claimed them.”
“People died in here?” Nessa asked.
“You know they did. You know the legend.”
Nessa looked around with wide eyes. “I didn’t know it wasthiscave. Where is the blood stain?”
“It should be on the wall.” Luke walked to the side of the cave, holding the torch toward the wall. He strolled along the line of the wall, looking for the stain of blood the legend said was there. The walls were gray and smooth as if someone had carved them. But Luke knew the only artist to touch these walls was the sea. The torchlight fell over a wall with a small patch of deep red smeared along its surface. The dark wet stain ran down the side of the wall. Luke had to admit it did look like blood. He touched the dark area on the wall and looked at his fingers. His fingers were wet, but they were not stained red.
“Ew. The cave is bleeding!” Nessa cried.
Luke wiped his hand on his doublet. “It’s just iron.” He was certain it was. He had learned of iron’s coloring in one of his lectures from Master Hugh. He continued searching the wall.
“There!” Mel called.
He stopped and stepped back, moving the torch about to search the wall. Finally, the light fell over a large red stain. Mel had told him the story, but he didn’t believe it. A story about two lovers who died in this very cave. And about a blood stain that appeared on the wall near the very spot where they had died.
“It looks like a rabbit,” Nessa said.
