Sarah stared up at the young stranger in the moonlight. He looked back at her with an anxious grimace on his clean-cut face.
“How are you feeling?” he said. Sarah heard a deep, masculine, English speaking voice, “Are you all right?”
She rubbed her bruised head.
          “I…I think so…” she replied. “I expect my fall looked worse than it was.”
The young woman felt chilled propped up by the cold stone wall. She was sitting on the damp grass. The moonlight had become more intense as the clouds rolled away. Sarah shivered. The temperature had dropped noticeably.
She tensed. This was ridiculous, she thought. It must be after midnight. Here she was making excuses for being bruised and battered after chasing a perfect stranger through the ruins of an old abbey. She felt stupid, vulnerable and very alone. It didn’t help that the young man was trying hard to be solicitous about her situation. Sarah felt a rising flash of anger. She glared at the stranger.
“What was the meaning of your taking advantage of me just now?” she
said.
The young man jerked back as if he had been hit in the face.
“Whatever are you talking about?”
“You know very well,” said Sarah. Her beautiful green eyes flashed with indignation.
“No, no. I do not.” The stranger ran a nervous hand through his brown, wavy hair. Sarah could tell the man could not be more than twenty-three or four at the most. “Will you please explain what you are talking about?” he went on.
Sarah slowly and shakily stood up. She still felt a little dazed by her experience. The man watched her closely. She turned to him, eyes blazing with frustration.
“Do you deny that you physically manhandled me just now? Do you deny that you seized me, lifted me up and ”  she paused  “And kissed me on the lips?”
The young man’s mouth fell open with astonishment.
“What?”
Sarah glared at the stranger defiantly.
“Do you? Do you deny it?” she said.
“I most certainly do,” said the stranger. He stood tall, raised his head up and faced her squarely. “You may be an attractive woman, Miss, but I am not in the habit of ravishing and raping each and every damsel I come across.” The young man’s deep tone was strong and very decisive.
Sarah hesitated. She had run out of words. She felt a mix of emotions, flattered and angry all at once. None of this made any sense. The stranger was denying what he had done just a few minutes before.
The young man opened his full red mouth.
“Miss, I only saw you a few moments ago,’ he said.  “I was driving by the Abbey when I watched you slip and hit your head on the ground. I lifted you up and carried you to the stone wall here and attempted to revive you.” He looked at the young woman with a wry half-smile. “Maybe you just imagined what happened to you while you were unconscious.”
Sarah cut in. “Enough. I know what I saw.” She tossed her red curly hair out of her eyes. She tried hard not to picture this handsome, masculine hunk lifting her up, holding her close in his arms, carrying her through the Abbey ruins. She tried hard, but she was failing miserably. It almost made her feel weak at the knees  once again.
She tried hard to regain her composure. She lifted her head and pointed into the ruins.
“You deny posing there in your fourteenth century outfit? Throwing a velvet cloak over my shoulders just now?”
“What fourteenth century outfit?” asked the stranger. “What velvet cloak? Miss, I’m sorry to have to say this, but you’re delusional.”
Sarah was so fit to be tied she almost stamped her foot.
“How dare you!” she said. “How dare you infer that I am a lunatic.”
The man drew back, startled at the woman’s vehemence.  Sarah tore the cloak off her shoulders and threw the garment at the stranger.
“There,” she cried, “Take it. Take it back. I don’t need a musty old piece of velvet on my body.”
The young man caught the hefty material deftly in his strong, warm hands.
“Velvet cloak?” he said. “What velvet cloak? This is my woolen great coat. I threw it around your shoulders so that you wouldn’t catch cold.”
Sarah peered at the material in the moonlight. The stranger was correct. It was a woolen great coat. She could also see that the man was dressed in woolen slacks and what looked like a cashmere sweater. This was hardly fourteenth century attire, she had to admit.  Sarah thought for a minute.
“You don’t fool me,” she said, eyes narrow with suspicion, “You must be a very adept quick-change artist.”
The handsome young man looked at her and gave a deep, manly chuckle.
“Oh, really? I suppose I must be if you think I can change clothes and swap coats, all in the space of about fifteen seconds.”
Sarah looked at the ground. She felt foolish. What the stranger said was true. How could the clothes suddenly change in the blink of an eye? It must have been a trick of the light, she supposed.  But if it hadn’t been this young man who had approached her, whoever could it be?
There was a sudden heavy silence. Sarah continued to stare at the ground, her lovely face crunched up in thought, trying to sort things out. The young man cleared his throat.
“Look, Miss, You’ve had a bad fall. You still look pretty shaken up. I don’t think you are in any condition to drive. You may have delayed concussion. Why don’t you let me take you home in my car? Your Little Austin will be perfectly safe here overnight. I can call for you in the morning and drive you over.”
Sarah raised her eyebrows. “How do I know you won’t attack me again?” she mumbled.  More silence. Even Sarah felt that remark was pretty feeble, considering the present circumstances.
At length the stranger let out an exasperated sigh.
“Okay, have it your way,” he said. His tone was sharp. He made a move to go. “Stay here on your own if you like.” The man backed away and started walking out of the ruins and back to his car. Sarah could see the dim outline of a Morris Minor outside the Abbey boundary. She watched as the slim, muscular frame of the man retreated into the distance. Maybe she had made a mistake. Maybe what he said was true. Maybe it wasn’t him who kissed her. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe. Sarah shivered in the cold March night air. Her head hurt and the sound of the pounding waves was making it feel worse. She had to get out of here. She stiffened as she heard the sound of the young man’s car engine start up. Sarah stumbled out of the Abbey ruins and stood with her back to the cliffs. The stranger’s car glided by slowly. Suddenly the man popped his head out of the car window.
“Last chance, Miss. This taxi isn’t a round trip.”
Despite herself, Sarah smiled at this amusing comment. The young man was so handsome and her heart was actually doing a butterfly dance. She straightened up and called out.
“Well, all right. But no hanky panky, do you hear?”
The young man nodded. “No hanky panky, Miss. Your wish is my command.” The man leaped out of the car and briskly opened the passenger door for Sarah. Sarah eyed the handsome stranger warily. Her heart was melting at the sight of those liquid brown eyes of his. “No, I mustn’t,” she admonished herself. She paused and finally got into the Morris Minor and gave him directions.
“I live at Number twenty-six, West Point.”
“Oh, that’s pretty near where I live,” he said, “It’s a nice part of town.”
“What part of Perris-on-Sea isn’t?” Sarah blurted out.
“You’d be surprised,” replied the young man. He put the car in to gear and they were off.  The Abbey disappeared behind them, lost in the white moonlight mist.
“You must have lived here for quite a while,” said Sarah. She folded her arms tightly. It was cold in the car. The heater hadn’t had time to warm up  yet.
“I was born here,” said the young man.
“You don’t sound very Welsh,” said Sarah.
 “Well,” he replied, “An Oxford education will do that to you.”
“I suppose so,” she said.
The young man paused. He turned and glanced at Sarah. Those liquid brown eyes… Sarah’s heart did another little dance. Oh, why did he have to be so handsome?
 “Look, if we are going to share a short car journey together let me introduce myself. My name is Hugh. Hugh St. Owen.”
Sarah stared at her companion. “St. Owen?” she asked. Her eyes were wide with surprise.
The young man  Hugh  turned and glanced again sharply at Sarah sitting there beside him.
“Let me turn up the heater,” he said, “It will warm up soon.”  He paused and quickly scrutinized Sarah with what seemed to her an appraising sort of look. It seemed to her as though he was measuring her up for something or other.  Sarah turned in the car seat and faced him.
“What?” she said. “What is it?”
Hugh St. Owen hesitated. “Look, Miss,” he began.
Sarah interrupted him.
“Sarah. Sarah Llewellyn,” she said, “Call me Sarah.” She bit her lip.  She hoped she didn’t seem a bit too anxious with her disclosure.
“Very well  Sarah,” he said.  The man paused a moment longer. “Exactly how much do you know about the legend of Saint Owen's Abbey?”
Sarah thought a while before speaking.
“Well, I do know that it was a Druid stronghold centuries before it became an abbey,” she said.
“There is a bit more to it than that, Sarah,” said Hugh St. Owen. “When the Romans invaded the North Welsh coast and slew the Druids here, they put a curse on this place.”
“A curse?” Sarah questioned. The young man had her full attention. “I never heard about that.” A razor-like shiver of danger ran through the girl’s slim body as she listened to the man’s disclosure.
“Well it’s true,” replied Hugh. He nodded slowly while he gripped the steering wheel tightly.
“Go on. Please do go on,” Sarah urged. She sat ramrod straight in her seat.
He continued. “The Druids put a curse on anyone who desecrated their sacred ground for ever more.  And when the Abbey was destroyed during King Henry VIII’s Reformation, the legend was that the Abbey Knights of Chivalry, as they were called, would be the Guardians of Saint Owen’s Abbey down through the ages.” The young man paused again.
Then he made an astonishing announcement.
“One of my ancestor’s was an Abbey Knight.”
Sarah gasped. She felt out of breath. She quickly realized that she had been leaning forward and holding her breath for a full minute as she listened to Hugh St. Owen’s intriguing story. The young man reached over in his seat and touched her arm. It felt warm and comforting.
“Are you feeling okay?” he said.
“Yes, yes,” said Sarah, “I’m fine.” She leaned back in her seat. “That is quite a story.” Sarah breathed deeply.
“I can see that this night has taken quite a lot out of you,” said Hugh St. Owen, “You’ve been knocked about quite a bit.”
He let out the clutch and eased on the brake pedal. “Here we are, Sarah. You’re home.”
Sarah jumped. She hadn’t realized how quickly the time had gone. She was already home  just when the car felt so comfortably warm.  Hugh St. Owen got out of the car and opened the passenger door. He held out his hand to steady the young woman as she alighted from the parked vehicle. As he touched her, Sarah felt sparks of delicious electricity run up and down her arm and course through her ripe, full body. The heartbeat patrol was drilling a tattoo in her chest.
“Thank you for the ride,” Sarah managed to stammer. She looked into the young man’s deep brown eyes. “I do feel exhausted. Good night.”
It was difficult for the young woman to tear herself away. She hesitated, then deliberately made the effort and turned to go.
“Just a minute, Sarah. Can I call for you tomorrow?  I will take you back to the Abbey for your car.”  Sarah turned and looked up at the young man. She did not want to appear too enthusiastic.
“Will eleven o’clock do?” he asked, “Maybe we can have some lunch?”
Sarah nodded.
“Yes, eleven is fine. Thank you for  “
“Don’t mention it,” the young man said. He climbed back in the car, started the engine and waved.
Sarah stood by the gate and responded with a weak wave of her own. The Morris Minor disappeared into the distance. She did indeed feel totally exhausted, and yet exhilarated at the same time. She felt battered and bruised, yet alive and radiant with the knowledge of a pleasant tomorrow. It was always exciting when one could look forward to something, she thought. She let herself in the house and went straight to bed. There were so many things to think about.

Could the Druid’s curse actually be true? Was the stranger connected to the legend of the Knights of Chivalry  the Guardians of St. Owen’s Abbey?  And why could she not get the memory of that young man’s perfect face and body out of her fevered mind? What strange power did he have over her? See the next exciting installment in Chapter 3 of Sarah Llewllyn and the Druid’s Curse!
Read Chapter 3: Revelations from the Wicked Stepmother
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