Prologue
The night was filled with the still silence of moonlight as the tall severely clad man made his way across the churchyard. The square granite building in the distance was the one place he could always go for peace from the often harsh realities of his world. Tonight he felt his excitement rising as he contemplated his time of solitude, locked away from the never-ending complaints of poverty-stricken villagers, illness and death, even the chatter of his well-meaning companions. These were his few moments of relief, and he cherished them at the end of each day.
As he pulled open the heavy oak door, he breathed deep, savoring once more the musty odor of the old place, enjoying the damp chill which never quite seemed to dissipate, regardless of the season. His church! How hard he'd worked for it, and how he loved these cold walls etched with the presence of God! Now-to seek out his favorite place, the ancient bench with its swan-chained carving, where he would at last commence his prayers and meditations.
Then he heard it. A slight movement. A sound-almost as if someone were in pain. Moaning...
He moved toward the noise. It's coming from the bench, he thought, becoming more than a little anxious. What troubles had invaded his private spot?
Feeling his way along the pews, little by little his eyes adjusted to the darkened sanctuary. As he neared the bench, where the sounds seemed to originate, the noises grew louder, the breathing harsher and faster. My God, he thought, knowledge dawning as he peered into the shadows. Two people, not one, and not pain he heard, but rather the throes of passion. Fornicators! In the house of God, no less!
Anger unlike any he'd experienced rose in him like a phantom moon. He reached forward into the darkness and pulled one of the bodies up, away from its sinful embrace. Yanking it up like a madman, he shook the startled form until its teeth seemed to rattle aloud in the quiet, and then, without a second thought, he cast the figure aside like dirty laundry.
Next he turned to the unmoving form lying upon the bench. His bench. The girl, with still spread legs and full breasts tumbling from a half-open bodice, looked young, perhaps no more than fifteen, and even in the shadows, he could see fear outlined on her face. Yet she made no sound, no scream, merely stared at him, waiting, he supposed, for her own punishment.
Without warning he felt an unexpected emotion. She must pay for disrupting his place of piety. And he would make sure she did-in a way only she could understand. A hardness rose in his groin; he reached down and unfastened the buttons of his trousers. He took her quickly, before a second thought had any chance to dissuade him, ravishing, hurting, yet entertaining within his depths a satisfaction beyond his wildest fantasies. When at last he lifted his drained body from hers, he thought he caught a glimpse of triumph in her eyes; but no, surely not. He knew he'd caused her pain-still, she hadn't cried out, had merely lain there, taking his assault.
Abruptly, he remembered the other, the body of the boy he'd so carelessly cast aside. Had he slipped out unnoticed during the interlude or was he lying there yet, unconscious and needing attention? Guilt began to creep in.
The girl seemed suddenly to remember as well, for she pulled herself up and, holding her tattered clothes together, moved slowly toward the form, now lying still on the hard stone floor. She bent down and touched the fellow's head, slowly bringing her face close to his in the dark. She backed away from the body slightly, then without a word turned to face the wooden bench and he who sat there with shame in his heart.
Never would he forget the honeyed words that came next, in a voice as sensual and compelling as harem silk. Even in the shadows, he could see the faint trace of a smile playing at the corners of her mouth, and somehow he knew he'd been led into a drama from which he could never return. The girl held out her hand almost enticingly, and he drew back from both the words and the blood on her fingertips.
"Reverend Jaspar, I do believe you've killed him."
)
Anne Cowper escapes from an abusive kidnapper and is rescued by two men--one blond and beautiful, the other dark and brooding. Both have feelings for Anne, but mystic visions from an earlier time warn her that she must make the right choice. Choose the wrong man and the consequences can be very bad indeed.
