Of Deeds Most Valiant: A Poisoned Saints Novel

W e started out onto the winding forest road from the tumble-down chapel with our hands tightly clasped together.

The old friar had been surprised when we landed on his doorstep in the middle of the afternoon and begged him to bind us in matrimony. We paid his friar’s fee with a handful of wild onions we’d found on the way and the old friar, quite taken by us, had gifted me a copper ring that someone had thrown in the plate two Sundays before to stand as my wedding ring.

The God takes away, but the God also gives.

What he’d taken from me was my loneliness and sorrow.

What he’d given me was everything.

There was no warm house waiting for us tonight, no guarantee of a hot meal, no friends to celebrate, but we had our two horses, the dog leaping and jumping as he tried to catch early spring butterflies, and the endless road stretching ever onward.

And above all that we had the kind of love that even the worst of difficulties could not stamp out.

We had the kind of faithfulness that stood a dozen generations.

We had the kind of passion that would keep our blankets endlessly warm.

When I looked into my husband’s dazzlingly bright eyes, I saw no more shadows haunting him, no more guilt bowing him down. Instead, I saw the warmth of tender love, and when he looked back into mine, I knew he could see that I had faith now.

It was a faith like I’d never believed was possible.

It was a faith born of love and perseverance.

It was a faith he’d helped create.

And it was all mine.