The Demon's Bride by Jo Beverley Read Free Book Online Page B

they vie for it. She gets a pretty dress and flowers in her hair, and the tradition is that she’ll marry well within the year. Then she and everyone go up to Dymons Hill where a fire’s been lit and there’s dancing, drinking, songs, and such. . . . “He trailed off uncomfortably. “When the sun rises, it’s over and everyone goes home.”
    “Come, Pritchard,” said Morden, “that’s not much of a tale. What of Dym’s Bride? What becomes of her?”
    “Becomes of her? Why, nothing, Morden, except that she gets to keep the dress, and ends up well-wed. It’s my suspicion that they choose a girl already planning her marriage.”
    “She does nothing special? Nothing special is done to her?”
    It was clear to Rachel that the earl was angling for embarrassing details. When he winked at her, she realized she’d been frowning at him, as if she had the right or responsibility to chide him.
    Sir George, oblivious to undercurrents, frowned back ten years or so. “Nothing special as I recall, Morden, no. The Bride dances with all the men who want to . . . Oh, yes, she leads some special songs, then . . .” He straightened and looked at Rachel’s father. “Now I think on it, this might be of interest to you, vicar. You like these curiosities. She has this knife, you see, and she plunges it into the earth.”
    They all waited, but after a moment it became clear that was the extent of it.
    “Into the earth,” said Morden. “But Dymons Hill is solid rock. There’s mighty little earth up there.”
    “Aye,” said Sir George. “That’s what I thought the first time I saw it. I was sure the blade would snap, and it’s a fine one that they use. Old-looking.”
    “A crevice, then,” Morden said.
    “That must be it, aye. Seemed to me some older women showed her where to stick it. . . . But there’s more.”
    “Yes?”
    Rachel realized that impatient voice was hers.
    “The Bride cuts herself. Just a little cut on the hand. One of the years I was there the girl made a silly fuss over it, and had to be helped. You could see the people didn’t think much of her for that.”
    There was another silence. Rachel glanced around wondering if anyone else desperately wanted to wring information out of Sir George like a washerwoman wringing water from a cloth. Her father clearly did.
    “What happened after she cut herself, Sir George?” he asked.
    “After? She stuck the knife in the ground. Didn’t I make that clear? She cuts herself, smears the blood on the blade, then sticks it in the ground.”
    “And then what?”
    Sir George frowned. “Everyone goes back to drinking and dancing. It’s a grand affair.”
    And that appeared to be all Sir George had to add, despite having been at the event on a number of occasions. He clearly didn’t realize the year just beginning was a year that would include a Dym’s Night.
    But then would it? What was the effect of the changed calendar on such matters? No wonder the local people still fretted about the government’s interference in days and dates.
    When it was time to leave, the earl usurped the footman’s place, and wrapped Rachel’s woolen cloak around her shoulders as if it were velvet lined with fur. “I’ll give you a pretty gown and flowers in your hair,” he murmured.
    Rachel clutched the cloak at her neck, unable just yet to manage the clasp.
    “I’d make a good demon, don’t you think? Would you lie on the ground for me and smear my blade with your blood?”
    She wrenched herself out of his lax hands and glared at him. “You are a demon, my lord.”
    His eyes twinkled. “A compliment at last!”
    “I don’t consider it one.” She swung to face the mirror and managed to clasp her cloak.
    He appeared behind her, beautiful, irreverent, and devilish. “Will you marry me, Rachel?”
    She met his eyes in the glass. “I give you fair warning, Lord Morden. If I do marry you, it will be to reform you. I’ll drive the demons out entirely.”
    He blew her a kiss.