Saved by love

by Barbara Cartland

  “Quick! Come with me! There is something evil happening and we have to prevent it at all costs. We will be riding, but there is no time to change.”

  As he spoke, he pulled a rapier from where it was hanging on the wall in its case.

  Then he started to run down the corridor towards the door that led to the stables, followed by his three friends.

  *

  Smoke was rising around Yursa and now she could hear the crackle of the twigs and feel the heat on her legs.

  She did not look, but turned her face up to the sky, seeing the stars overhead and the moon illuminating everything with its silver light.

  The prayers that came from her lips were very simple.

  She no longer begged God to save her knowing that it was impossible, but prayed only that she might be brave when her body began to burn.

  She thought of Joan of Arc and knew that she had confounded the English soldiers with her bravery, praying with her head turned to the sky until she died.

  ‘Let it be – quick! Please – God, let it be – quick!’ Yursa pleaded.

  She felt as she prayed that not only was God hearing her, but also that her mother was near her.

  Now as the shrieks and excitement of the women increased, they spoke as though the Devil was with them.

  Yursa forced herself not to listen to their hard voices, but to think of the angels who she was sure were with her.

  Yet despite every resolution, she heard Zelée’s scream,

  “The Master is here! Lucifer is with us! He had heard our plea. Our cries have reached him!”

  As a tremor of fear swept through Yursa, she closed her eyes.

  Now, because she was frightened of seeing Satan, she prayed again.

  ‘Please God save me – Holy Mary – Mother of God – save me! Don’t– let this evil – touch me!’

  It was then the heat seemed to intensify and she knew without looking that the logs had caught fire and the flames were beginning to rise.

  “Satan! Master! You are with us and we kneel at your feet.” the women yelled.

  Zelée flung out her arms as if she would embrace her lover crying as she did so,

  “Lucifer, Prince of Darkness, my Lord, my Leader, I am yours!”

  There were more shouts of excitement from all the women and it was their screams that guided the Duc towards them.

  He swept into the clearing at a gallop, his rapier in his hand, his three friends close behind him.

  He saw at a glance what was happening and, springing down from his horse, he advanced towards the women who retreated from him in fear.

  Then, realising who he was, they started to run as quickly as they could into the darkness of the wood.

  Only Zelée stayed, defying him.

  He ignored her, starting to kick away the burning logs so that he could reach Yursa.

  “You are too late,” she jeered. “She is sacrificed to Satan! Lucifer has taken her and – ”

  Before she could finish the sentence, Henri de Soisson pushed her to one side almost knocking her over as he realised what the Duc was doing.

  Then he too was kicking away the burning logs and the other two men did the same.

  Their horses were left unattended as they realised that there was no time to be lost unless Yursa was to be burnt alive as the witches had intended.

  The Duc reached her first.

  He cut her bonds with his rapier and, flinging it to the ground, lifted her into his arms above the flames and carried her to safety.

  She was half-suffocated by the smoke.

  Bewildered by fear and for a moment she hardly realised that she had been saved at the last moment by her prayers and by the mercy of God.

  The Duc carried her to where the horses were congregated together.

  Henri, realising that there was no longer any need to continue to put out the flames, caught the Duc’s stallion by the bridle.

  He lifted Yursa into the saddle and mounted up behind her.

  Only when he picked up the reins in his right hand, holding Yursa close against him with his left, did the Vicomte ask,

  “What shall we do about the other women?”

  The Duc looked around the clearing, but the only one left was Zelée.

  Crouching on the ground where she had been thrown, she was regarding him with fierce dark eyes like a tigress at bay.

  “Leave them!” he replied to the Vicomte. “They can do no more harm tonight.”

  He turned his horse as he spoke and began to ride back through the wood and, after conferring amongst themselves, his three friends followed him.

  The Duc rode slowly and carefully towards The Château aware that Yursa was semi-conscious after all she had been through.

  Her face was hidden against his shoulder and her golden hair covered the nakedness of her shoulders.

  He could see her tattered petticoat where the witches had torn it and there were scorch marks on her feet that he knew would be very painful later.

  He was angry with an intense rage that made his chin square and his lips close in a tight line.

  How was it possible that such a thing could happen on his estate and to one of his guests?

  They emerged from the wood and now The Château of Montvéal was just ahead of them.

  Yursa stirred and now she spoke in a small voice that he could only just hear.

  “You – you saved – me!”

  “With God’s help and the good sense of Jeanne, who saw you being carried away.”

  “The other maid – told me that – Jeanne was – injured, but then I – found that – Madame meant me to die!”

  “I will deal with her later,” the Duc said. “What you have to do now, Yursa, is try to forget that this ever happened. I promise that nothing like it will ever occur again.”

  He felt her tremble as she asked,

  “How can you – be sure of – that? She will – still want to – kill me.”

  “That is something I will not allow,” the Duc said, “but you have to trust me.”

  “I-I was – so frightened.”

  “I thought when I saw you looking up at the sky that no woman could be so brave or so magnificent in such a terrifying situation.”

  The kindness in his voice and the note of admiration percolated through the fog, which still seemed to Yursa to chill her mind so that she could not think clearly.

  Then, as if like a child she realised that she was safe, even from the Devil himself, she began to cry.

  At first it was just tears streaming unchecked from her eyes and then it was like a tempest, shaking her body so that the Duc felt her tremble against him.

  “It’s all right,” he said soothingly, “quite all right now and I swear on everything that is holy that it shall never happen another time.”

  As he spoke, he had the feeling that she could not hear him.

  They reached The Château and the grooms, who had earlier saddled their horses with a speed which had never been exceeded before, were waiting for them.

  Very slowly the Duc managed to dismount, still holding Yursa in his arms.

  He carried her up the steps and found as he expected that Jeanne was waiting in the hall.

  “You have – saved her, Monseigneur! You have – saved her,” she cried.

  “It was you who saved her!” the Duc replied, “but she has suffered cruelly.”

  As he spoke, he began to ascend the stairs, still holding Yursa close against him.

  She had stopped crying, but he knew that she was clinging to him as if she was still afraid.

  He reached her bedroom, Jeanne running ahead to open the door and carrying her to the bed, he laid her down gently.

  She gave a little murmur of protest as if she could not bear him to leave her and he said quietly,

  “Jeanne will look after you and I will come back when she has bandaged your feet and put you into bed.”

  He was not certain whether Yursa understood.

  She was loo
king at him with eyes that seemed to plead with him, her long eyelashes wet with the tears still on her cheeks.

  He thought by the light of the candles that she looked exceedingly lovely.

  But he realised too that she was in a state of shock after what had happened to her.

  He left her with Jeanne and went down the stairs to find that his friends, as he expected, had gone into the salon and each of them held a glass of champagne in his hand.

  As he joined them, the Vicomte said,

  “If I had not seen it with my own eyes, César, I would not have believed such a thing could happen in a civilised world!”

  “Witches still exist in all countries,” the Duc replied, “but it is the first time I have known a Sabbat to take place on my land.”

  There was no doubt of the fury in his voice as he spoke.

  One of his other friends handed him a glass of champagne and said,

  “Well, thank God, you saved that lovely girl! What are you going to do about Madame de Salône?”

  “What can I do?” the Duc asked.

  He took a sip of his champagne and said,

  “I think we are all sensible enough to be aware that the less said about this the better.”

  His friends nodded agreement as he went on,

  “I am going to ask you to give me your word of honour that you will not speak to anybody, and I mean anybody, of what has occurred here tonight.”

  For a moment they all looked at him in surprise.

  Then Henri de Soisson replied,

  “You are right, César, of course. It would be a great mistake and very damaging to Lady Yursa if people talked or the newspapers got hold of the story.”

  “That is what I was thinking,” the Duc agreed. “And of one thing we can all be certain, the servants will keep silent. They are far too frightened of offending the witches!”

  “But it was a maid who told you that Lady Yursa had been taken away,” Henri remarked.

  “She will not talk,” the Duc said. “Because she was brave enough to save Lady Yursa, she will be too frightened of any repercussions if it was known that it was she who told me where they had taken her.”

  “I am sure you are right,” the Vicomte replied.

  The Duc finished his glass of champagne and then went back to Yursa’s bedroom.

  Jeanne had undressed her and put her into bed, and the Duc had taken upstairs with him a glass that contained a little brandy diluted with water.

  He went to the side of the bed and without speaking put an arm behind Yursa’s head.

  “I want you to drink this,” he suggested.

  She did not protest, but obeyed him like a child.

  She drank a little of what was in the glass and then put up her hand.

  “Just another sip,” the Duc coaxed her.

  He put down the glass and, looking at Jeanne said,

  “I want to speak to you for a moment.”

  He pressed Yursa’s hand and said softly,

  “I am coming back.”

  She seemed to understand and he went through the communicating door into the boudoir that was attached to Yursa’s bedroom.

  Jeanne followed him and he realised as he turned to speak to her that she was looking at him apprehensively.

  “I am extremely grateful to you, Jeanne,” he said, “and you saved Mademoiselle’s life.”

  The maid gave a little gasp and clasped her hands together, but she did not speak and the Duc went on,

  “I intend to reward you with a sum of money that will enable you to have a large dowry should you wish to be married.”

  “Thank you, Monseigneur,” Jeanne replied, “but I am happy to have saved m’mselle. It was – wicked that she should be – taken away by those who do not follow – le Bon Dieu.”

  “That is right,” the Duc agreed. “At the same time I want you to promise me that you will not speak of it to anybody in the household or tell your family what has happened. My friends have promised never to speak of it again.”

  He saw the relief in Jeanne’s eyes and knew, as he had suspected, that she was very frightened of the witches in case they took their revenge.

  “You will understand,” he continued, “that I have no wish to send for a doctor or for anybody to ask questions as to what has happened to Mademoiselle tonight?”

  “I swear to you – Monseigneur, that I’ll never – talk about it,” Jeanne murmured.

  “Thank you,” the Duc replied, “and I am very grateful to you.”

  He walked back into the bedroom and Jeanne tactfully did not follow him.

  He crossed the room and sat down on the side of the bed, taking Yursa’s hand in his.

  “It’s all over,” he said quietly, “and now you have to get well very quickly.”

  He felt her fingers tremble in his and he said,

  “I have sworn Jeanne and my friends to secrecy, so that no one will know what has occurred. Do you understand that you have to be brave enough to face the world again tomorrow as if nothing had happened?”

  “But – it did – happen!” Yursa whispered.

  “Go to sleep,” the Duc urged. “Everything will seem different after a night’s rest. Tomorrow we will talk about it together.”

  He smiled at her in a way that most women found irresistible and, then taking her hand, kissed it very gently.

  He thought that she looked at him in surprise and he rose to his feet saying,

  “Goodnight, Yursa. You know better than I do that your Guardian Angel is watching over you.”

  With that he left the room.

  Yursa closed her eyes as she said in her heart,

  ‘Thank You, God – and thank you – Mama. I know that you – sent him to – save me.’

  *

  The following morning Jeanne told the Dowager that Yursa had passed a sleepless night, and that she had persuaded her to stay in bed.

  “A sleepless night?” Lady Helmsdale exclaimed. “That is very unlike my granddaughter.”

  “I think, madame, perhaps m’mselle ate something that disagreed with her,” Jeanne said. “There were oysters on the menu at dinner and, although they were fresh, there might have been one amongst them that was bad. It does happen sometimes.”

  “That is true,” Lady Helmsdale conceded. “And tell my granddaughter there is no hurry for her to rise and, if you can persuade her to sleep until luncheon time, so much the better.”

  “I’ll do my best, madame,” Jeanne replied, curtseying before she left the room.

  *

  Yursa slept for an hour or so and then with an effort she told Jeanne that she must get up.

  She realised that it would be a great mistake for anybody in the house party to enquire too closely as to why she was unwell.

  She thought too that the Duc might despise her for being cowardly.

  He would know, if no one else did, that she was afraid to face the world after what had happened.

  She wanted more than anything else to remain unseen and for no one to ask her any awkward questions.

  One of her ankles was very sore and Jeanne bound it up, telling Yursa as she did so that she must say that she had had a nasty mosquito bite.

  “It’s quite a likely thing to happen, m’mselle,” she said, “and anyway, we’ll find a gown to cover it so that nobody’ll notice the bandage.”

  She helped Yursa to dress in one of the pretty gowns that her grandmother had brought her from Paris, which was white and trimmed with broderie anglaise.

  It had inserts through which was threaded narrow blue velvet ribbon.

  There was also a sash of blue velvet to tie round her tiny waist and, as with her other gowns, the bustle was a small one but very graceful.

  As she dressed, Yursa tried not to think of the beautiful gown that the witches had torn from her body and which had been consumed by the flames.

  Even to think of what had occurred made her tremble and she forced herself to look at the sunshine streaming in through
the windows.

  There was a vase of orchids on her dressing table and roses filled another bowl on a beautifully inlaid commode.

  She went down the stairs slowly, holding onto the banisters, but she managed to walk with her head held high into the salon where everybody had assembled before luncheon.

  Only the Duc and his three friends were aware that she was very pale and that there were little dark lines under her eyes that had not been there yesterday.

  The rest of the party were gossiping amongst themselves and, as she went to her grandmother’s side, the Dowager asked,

  “Are you feeling better, dearest?”

  “I am quite all right now, Grandmama,” Yursa replied.

  “Your maid thought that you had eaten something that disagreed with you.”

  “I expect that is what it was.”

  At luncheon the Duc noticed that she was making a great effort to talk to the gentlemen on either side of her and thought that no one could be braver or more self-composed.

  Because he thought that it would make it easier for her, he said that after luncheon while the others went driving that he had promised Yursa that he would show her the Picture Gallery.

  “I will tell her the history of some of my pictures,” he announced.

  “Quite frankly, César,” one of his lady guests remarked, “I would prefer to go driving behind two of your superb horses. I have heard your lectures on the family treasures before.”

  “And quite obviously found them dull!” the Duc retorted.

  “Not dull, but somewhat impersonal,” the lady replied with a provocative glance.

  He laughed.

  The Dowager went to her room because she said that she had some letters to write.

  When the others had driven away, the Duc said to Yursa,

  “Before we go to the Picture Gallery, I want to talk to you and we can do that most comfortably in my study.”

  They walked down the corridor to the room which she knew was peculiarly his own.

  As he closed the door, she moved to the large bow window and sat down on the velvet-covered window seat.

  The sunshine was on her hair and he thought as he joined her that no one could look more beautiful or, in spite of everything that she had suffered, so serene.

  He sat down, half-facing her, and said,

  “You have been very brave, Yursa, and I thought, although I don’t think that we should linger on the subject, you would want to know what I have done about what occurred last night.”