Page 56 of With You Here
Clare’s chest expanded as she took in a deep breath. “I thank you.” She eyed Christyne. “The time for the processional is upon us.”
Though marriages customarily occurred at the bride’s estate, because of the unique situation and punishment to Clare’s father, it was declared that the ceremony would be held at Heidelbraum. The procession, too, had been altered. The bride and groom would not be walking through the streets of the town to legitimize the union in the eyes of the people, nor would Clare be atop a white horse. In so doing, the emperor stripped Clare’s family and left them clothed in humiliation.
If the monarch witnessed Clare, shoulders back and regal in her finery, he would not observe a woman in shame. Rather, a lady with more strength and determination than all of his landsknechte combined.
Two servants pulled open the doors, and cheers erupted on the other side. Prince Ernst awaited them and held out his arm to Clare. People of every station lined the courtyard. Some Christyne recognized as family and friends from court, dressed in splendor. Others were feudal tenants from her father’s lands, gathered to celebrate with their master.
The crowd split, allowing the bride and groom passage across the courtyard and entrance into the castle’s chapel. Bishop Wilmer awaited near the dais. His jeweled vestments, arched miter upon his head, and scepter in his hand gleamed in the morning light streaming through the stained-glass windows.
Christyne knelt and then sat at the front of the chapel. She folded her hands in her lap, pressing her fingers together so they would not fidget. Though her body sat within the four walls, her ears took in the words of the gathering rite the bishop recited even as her mind wandered to the undercroft.
Did Lorenz, Katherine, and Bytzel even now seek exit from that hidden place or did they yet wait for a more perfect time? Did they follow her route out of the castle battlement or remain huddled in a dark, earthen corner?
Bishop Wilmer’s voice droned on as he continued the liturgy. With small movements, Christyne rotated her shoulders and turned her head. The door to the chapel had been left open so all without could partake of the ceremony.
Dark eyes met her own. Held her gaze captive in a menacing grip. Kampff’s lips curled in a self-satisfying smirk as confidence rolled off his imposing figure. She wished to look away, but something held her there. A flash in his eyes. A knowing. The holder of a secret.
Christyne sucked in a breath and shifted forward.
He could not be privy to their comings and goings.
Her heart raced, mind working to decipher what the evil man’s look could mean. How could she ever have thought he had not earned his reputation? He no longer even pretended the guise of a sheep, baring instead the fangs of a ravenous wolf.
The rite of marriage, vows exchanged. Now all would receive the holy sacrament of the Eucharist. She rose and stepped in front of Bishop Wilmer, her lips parted to receive the converted substances of the body and blood of Christ. He placed the wafer on her tongue, and she closed her lips as the host dissolved. As she closed her hand around the chalice, the Bishop offered the wine with the words, “The Blood of Christ,” and she responded, “Amen,” and sipped. She stepped aside so the next guest could receive the sacrament.
Did the bread and wine become the body and blood of Christ through transubstantiation? So much she had yet to learn. Who would teach her?
Her knees hit the ground as she bowed her head. Prayed that even now the Brethren were far from there, including Nikolaus. If she needed to find another means of escape from the duke, then so be it, but she could not have the others risking their lives for her.
Christyne scarcely paid attention to the remainder of the ceremony until the end of the concluding rite was said. She kept her eyes down as she followed the others making their way out of the chapel. Even so, she felt eyes on her. An evil gaze that heated her blood until she felt as if she were burning beneath her skin.
She stepped out of the chapel and warily looked up. She glanced about but did not see Kampff. Her shoulders sagged in relief. There were many crowded in the courtyard, melodies from the musicians and laughter from the jesters mixing together to make guests drunk on celebrations. If ever there was a distraction where a few extra bodies would go unnoticed, it was now.
A strong hand enclosed upon her upper arm. Her breath hitched, and she whirled around. Ice and sky stared back at her.
Her pulse froze.
He could not be here.
“Lorenz,” she hissed, looking around furtively. “You must leave. Now.”
“Not without you.” His hand slid down her arm. He threaded his fingers with hers.
She refused to be moved by his touch. Not when his life was in such danger. “Where is Nikolaus?”
Concern flitted like a cloud over the vibrancy of his gaze. “I know not. But this I do know—I could not depart and leave you behind.”
His words penetrated her heart much like the arrow that had pierced his flesh. Both caused pain. Both could end his life.
Fool he was to come for her. Did he not know the trap he could possibly have walked into? His face was known to those who sought him, a prize upon his head. He should have fled before all was lost.
A shadow crossed over them and she glanced up. Not a cloud in the sky. Apprehension caused her body to tense, dread cinching about her like a rope encircling her throat.
Lorenz’s blue eyes widened as he looked beyond her. She’d begun to turn when a familiar figure in an ostentatious uniform stepped into her line of sight. A hand clamped upon her shoulder at the same time the landsknecht jerked at Lorenz’s arm.
“No one is going anywhere, heretics, except to the devil himself,” Kampff’s voice boomed.
Chapter Twenty-Three
