Forgotten Hearts

The course of true love never did run smooth.

William Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night's Dream

      CHATEAU MIRANDA, CELLES BELGIUM 1907

      Emily Beaufort's heart pounded louder in her ears than the drums of the execution to be. There was movement outside her window. Servants kept the fog at bay with torches while others pounded ceremoniously on their musical instruments. The gathering had centered their attention on a familiar oaken-haired boy. Her blood ran cold. It was Amir Vermeulen.

      After spending the last few months trading letters, sharing whispers in the dark and sneaking about with the boy whose life was now in jeopardy, their secret had been finally exposed. "I have to do something," Emily told herself.

      She threw her robe over her nightgown before scrambling into the hall. Across white halls and down grey staircases, she raced to save Amir from a fate he did not deserve. Yet she had not taken more than two steps toward the antechamber before her mother seized her arm, jerking her to a stop.

      "Oh no, you don't!" Enora chastened. Occupying the front doorway she was still adorned in the elegant creamy yellow dress from the day before. She wiggled her ring-decorated forefinger at Emily in disapproval. "You go back to bed this instant, young lady. That boy is a monster and I'll not have a mongrel like him fraternizing with my sweet child!"

      Emily stared at her. "You used to like him!" she cried. "You said he was -"

      Her mother drew back in disgust. "I never said anything of the sort!"

      It was a lie, and Emily knew it, but it didn't matter now. Nothing mattered except getting to him, saving him. Without another word she moved to push past her mother.

      "Emily!" Enora shrieked. The woman rushed to head her off.

      "What's going on?" a soft, groggy voice called.

      Her younger sister Aline descended the steps. Like Emily herself, she had earthen brown hair but a more delicate complexion.

      As their mother turned to face the sleepy girl, Emily saw her chance. She tore out of her mother's grasp and through the door. The yard was in chaos, a terrible onslaught of voices and screams and panicked orders. In the middle of the group, already pinned to a stake by wolfsbane soaked ropes, was Amir. Burns covered his skin everywhere the ropes touched. He struggled against his bonds with a miserable growl and winced in pain, and she felt it in the depths of her chest. Meanwhile, the clock tower that loomed up from the chateau ticked quietly, counting away the seconds to eternity. Tick! Tick! Tick!

      "You were warned," Noah Beaufort preached. Emily's father paced angrily in front of the boy wearing a buttoned frock coat, slacks, and polished boots. As he tromped a worn path into the ground the man stroked at a neat beard. "We told you never come back! We told you if you ever showed your face, I'd have to take care of you. I specifically stated that I wouldn't let a filthy beast like you. No daughter of mine will be violated! I won't allow it!"

      Emily swiveled her gaze through the crowd. Her brothers, Ruben and Lukas, stood passive with expressions of faint amusement. Then a pistol thundered.

      Amir screamed. The next thing Emily knew, she was forcing herself between her father and the boy as the latter squirmed about, his eyes glowing liquid gold. The boy glanced at her with an attempted smile. Though the night was warm, the sweat glistening on his face had nothing to do with the heat. However, the bullet wound to his ribs was healing. "I mean no harm," he choked.