Free The Demon's Bride by Jo Beverley Page A

way!”
    “Now, now, don’t fly into alt over this, my dear. Of course everyone assumes that you’re a maid, being the vicar’s daughter. This development is most intriguing.”
    “Intriguing? It’s terrifying!”
    “Come, come, Rachel. You cannot really suppose the people here would intend harm to you.”
    “I don’t know what to think anymore. But it’s a Dym’s Night. . . .”
    “We’re agreed that there’s nothing evil about this Dym’s Night, Rachel. Of course, you don’t have to take this role if you don’t want to, but I will be in attendance at the rites to make certain that no harm comes to you. It would be a priceless opportunity to obtain a completely accurate record of the event.”
    Rachel recognized how much her father wanted that, and his calm good sense was melting her alarm.
    But then her father said, “As a further safeguard, we’ll send the record of our research thus far to the bishop, and make sure that everyone here knows that we’ve done so.”
    “You think they might act to keep their secrets?”
    “No, no. Merely a precaution. But see, my dear, I’ll ask Sir George to attend this year. Mr. Home-Nowlan, too. They will be additional observers and representatives of reason.” He considered her anxiously. “I truly believe there’s no cause for concern, but if you think it wrong. . . .”
    Rachel couldn’t resist the unspoken plea.
    She put on a cheerful tone. “It will be rather exciting, Father, and after all, they say Dym’s Bride always marries within the year. I’m something of an old maid. I can’t afford to turn up my nose at that.”
    But then she was assailed by the image of the only man ever to propose marriage to her, the only man to tempt her beyond reason. If she would not marry him, where would she ever find a man to her taste?
    After the Easter service, Rachel found herself the center of attention. Everyone knew she’d been chosen to be Dym’s Bride, and everyone congratulated her. She thought it odd, however, that no one seemed surprised by the choice of a maiden of advanced years.
    “What’s more,” she said to her father later as they assembled the records of their research to send to the bishop, “none of the other eligible women seemed jealous.”
    “However the choice is made, my dear, I assume they accept it.”
    Rachel tucked some sheets of paper into one of the books. “There’s something else.”
    “Yes, dear?” Her father looked up from his letter to the bishop.
    Rachel licked her lips. “The earl has kissed me.”
    “I’m not surprised.”
    “The last two times, he was stopped. . . . No, we were stopped by local people interrupting. The children might have been chance, but Mistress Hatcher . . . if we’d not been stopped. . . .”
    Her father’s brows rose. “You think that perhaps the people here have been preserving your, let us say, eligibility.”
    Rachel’s face was burning. “Yes.”
    “While Lord Morden was trying to remove it in order to force you to the altar. What a great deal goes on in a simple country village, to be sure. Perhaps I will write a paper on the subject. But perhaps the Bride is chosen, however that is done, long before Easter.”
    “I suspect I was, Father. I do wonder why.”
    At least the days between Easter and Ascension passed quickly, for Rachel was harried with preparations for her role. There were a number of chants to learn, ones that she would have picked up naturally if she had lived here all her life, but which she had to learn by rote. This was particularly difficult as many of them were gibberish.
    “Miggeth, hibby, degeth ru,” she repeated to Mrs. Hatcher one day as the housekeeper helped her cut out the bright green fabric for her Dym’s Bride robe.
    “Degeleth ru,” the woman corrected.
    “But what does it mean ?” Rachel demanded.
    “No one knows, miss.”
    “Then what does it matter?” Rachel complained, her patience very thin.
    “Maybe it don’t.”
    Rachel looked at the