The Battle is O’er
The explosion of
thunder—rare in winter—drew Niall’s eyes up from prayer just as
lightning flashed across the rose window. It lit the statue of Mary
and danced across the polished backs of the pews in the small chapel
and disappeared, leaving Niall, Hugh, and the Laird once more in only
the flickering light of candles.
A chill shot down
Niall’s spine. It was only the chill of the long ride, he told
himself. But his eyes locked on the statue. The air wavered before
her. Voices cut the silence—a deep, angry voice, and a rasping
elderly one, that seemed to laugh.
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For other posts with excerpts from the series:Dan Blum
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