Page 111 of The Darkest Oath

“No one enters there, young lady. As the legend goes, the knight who owned this land was a great protector, the ancestor of Seigneur Montvieux,”—Lorin gestured to Rollant as the descendant—“the first Seigneur Montvieux. His lands were as far as the eye could see and were granted to him by King Philip II Augustus. His gardens provided food for our ancestors. He and his company protected us. But he was killed in battle in the Levant, or so the storytellers say. His wife and child lived there on that estate, and he guards them fiercely from beyond the grave. He will kill you; he will. No one who ventures there returns alive.”

Clement pointed to Rollant. “Our Seigneur Montvieux is the knight’s descendant, and as seigneur of this land, he has allowed us to live here and cultivate it. He returns every now and then to check on the property or bury a family member.”

Lorin began again with a lifted finger. “This reminds me. Graves are on the property—another reason we do not enter. Generations of the knight’s family are not buried in the church grounds, so their spirits walk the land. To warn you before you go further, only those of blood or bond to Chevalier Rollant de Montvieux enter and leave alive.”

Élise slipped Hugo’s ring to the other hand and slipped Rollant’s ring on the third finger of her left hand—a perfect fit. Fate had answered her again, and she knew her next action would be the right one, even though her community would alienate her for hurting Hugo.

She glanced at Hugo and mouthed, “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” he whispered. “For what?”

Odille stepped forward and loomed over Gabrielle. “That means, young lady, you will not enter and live.”

Lorin glanced at the solemn, scared faces. “Unless Seigneur Montvieux has taken a wife, only he can enter the estate,” the priest said, calm but firm, his gaze sweeping over the crowd.

Rollant leaned back and crossed his arms. His expression was neutral, but Élise could feel the tension radiating from him. The room was silent, save for the faint crackle of the hearth.

But Élise raised her hand. “I am his wife,” she said, her voice clear, though her heart hammered in her chest.

Gasps rippled through the room, and every pair of eyes turned toward her. Rollant stiffened, his head snapping toward her. Hugo froze beside her, his knuckles white as he gripped the edge of the bench.

Camille started laughing. “No, sweet Élise, you are to be wed tomyson, the esteemed herbalist, Hugo. You can’t be married to Rollant de Montvieux.”

Hugo and Élise shared a glance. Hugo’s jaw clenched, and for a moment, she thought he might contradict her, call her a liar in front of everyone. But his shoulders sagged as if the fight had drained out of him.

Hugo stood up slowly, his eyes locked on Élise before turning to answer his mother.

“It . . . It was so, Mother,” he said, after a moment of hesitation. “But Élise and I grew apart, and we ended our promise to be wed.”

“Ended it!” Camille stood up. Her face flushed with anger. “But you wear his ring. Show it!”

Élise held up her hand, first showing Hugo’s simple wooden ring on her right hand, then the silver ring with the Montvieux crest on her left. The room fell silent.

Camille’s mouth opened and closed, her indignation sputtering into silence. All eyes turned to Hugo, who stood with his head bowed and face turned away at the sight of Rollant’s ring.

Élise closed her eyes at the hurt in Camille’s gaze and the condescending stares of the community. Rollant’s touch warmed her back, giving her strength to face them all.

“You should give it back, Élise,” Camille said, hitting a fist on the table.

She opened her mouth to agree, but Hugo spoke first with a tightness in his voice.

“I made the ring for her, Mother.” He was slow to sit, and his gaze never met Élise’s again. “It was a gift, and she is still a friend to our family. I will let no harm come to her for wearing it as I asked her to.”

The room erupted into whispers—murmurs of scandal, betrayal, and questions that would linger long after the meeting ended. Élise’s cheeks burned with shame under Camille’s glare, but she kept her head high.

Rollant stood up, silencing the room. “Please treat my wife with respect due to my family,” he requested of the entire assembly, who had lived on his land, whether for decades or centuries.

Clement bowed his head. “It shall be as you say. Dame Montvieux will be our beloved, just as you are. We shall speak of the matter no more.”

Rollant nodded with pressed lips. “You are wise in your counsel,” he complimented the elder. “Now, I must return to Paris tonight, and I would like to leave my guests with the knowledge that they know their sleeping arrangements and that I can rely on your patience as they learn your customs.”

“It shall be so,” Lorin said as the morning sun tipped the horizon.

The villagers and Charonne refugees busied themselves, making introductions and assigning living quarters throughout the day.

As the sun dipped lower in the sky, the villagers dispersed, their curious and judgmental glances lingering as they returned to their homes with their assigned guests. The Charonne residents had avoided her all day, speaking only when necessary. She had hurt Hugo, and she hoped that, in time, he could forgive her. She had tried many times to tell him, but he wouldn’t listen.

Élise stood by the meeting house, watching as Rollant instructed the elder and the priest. She approached them, overhearing the conversation and feeling at ease with his calm and commanding voice.

---