by user
Then we were past the stone sentinels, the gatehouse and attached livery, and coming out in the courtyard where that mysterious tower stood in the most awkward of places, taking up at least half the space. It rose up like a black finger toward heaven, making my neck crick in my attempt to find the top.
My father saw me looking and said, “A wizard’s tower, my dear. Or, at least, that’s what they used to call them.”
“Is it really?”
“The Rothschilds have long been dabblers in the Craft.” He inclined his head. “Not unlike yourself. In fact, I hear that Elric Rothschild is quite the magical adept, as well as being young and comely of face…”
“Come now, Father,” I laughed a little nervously to cut him off. “Your attempts at matchmaking are sorry at best, and desperate at worst.”
He took my hand. “Would it be so very despicable to find yourself in a state of marriage, Marie? I shan’t live forever, and you will need the protection after me.”
“I hardly despise marriage, you know that. But you also know about my standards. He must be strong and sure of himself, a warrior and a protector.” I smiled at my father. “Fear not. I shall meet him one day.”
“Marie,” he chided gently. “The man you seek exists only in books of romance.”
I laughed even thought I truly did believe he existed! Once, long ago, I cast a spell upon a pond of water near our estate. A water nymph had answered my summons and had told me my one true mate was out there in the world, waiting as I was, and that I would meet him one day. He would be a powerful warrior, and a protector to me. I hadn’t stopped looking since!
As we crossed the courtyard I spotted several house servants waiting for us, lanterns held aloft to ward off the quickly descending dark. They swept forward to greet us, enshrouded in their long, fur-lined cloaks. Quickly they pulled open the coach, footed us down, efficiently and with little ceremony.
“We should hurry, Lord Belmont,” one of the servants told my father as they rushed us toward a pair of huge, iron-banded doors. “Night has already fallen and these are not lands to be about in.”
“Yes, of course,” my father answered.
I had only time to gather my gown and cloak before a particularly stout man shoved me along. His strength and determination surprised me. I was a tall, hardy woman like my gypsy mother. There was meat on my bones and I was not so easily moved. My legs had gone all pins and needles during the long ride, and my knees all but buckled as we dashed into the hall as thought the hounds of hell were nipping at our heels.
Only when we were safely inside the cold, torch-lit corridor, the iron-banded oaken door securely locked behind us, did the men finally relax and offer up the proper bows and courtesies that our respective ranks demanded. Then we were ushered down the cold, swarthy corridor to the end, where a rough-hewn, stone staircase spiraled upward into darkness.
We’d be staying in one of several guest towers, and the idea excited me. I wondered how much of the Low Country we could see from our tower windows.
The light of the men’s lanterns had pushed back the darkness only feebly, but I immediately recognized a broad, looming shadow standing at the end of the corridor, near the stairwell. It took me a few moments to recognized it as Lord Simon Devereux, and only because my father had given me sufficient warning in advance to beware the lord and his questionable past and pedigree.
Lord Devereux was an ally of Lord Rothschild’s, a sort of wandering mercenary soldier who fought, it was said, for money rather than honor. He did not come from these lands, but he had fought beside his friend Rothschild in many campaigns in the Darklands to the far west. Rothschild now employed him as Captain of the Guard in the Hall. He carried no lantern, but then, he seemed quite at home in the dark and probably knew his way around the Hall rather well by now.
He was a large, lean, powerfully-built man at the height of his youth and strength, his jet black hair cut just a hair too long at his collar to be fashionable and swept somewhat haphazardly away from his face, which was as sharp as a blade. He looked like a formidable warrior, and his face bore the old, pale scars of his many campaigns. He had strong cheekbones, winter-pale eyes, and a slight underbite that made me think of stubborn and ruthless men.
The moment he looked upon me, I felt my heart quicken in my chest. He bore a hunter’s look about him, wary and always watching, and unlike the evening finery of the servants and footmen who had seen us in, he wore an oiled oxhide jerkin over a doublet, knee-high equestrian boots with big buckles, and a heavy cloak, like a man who had only just recently returned from the battlefield. A thick belt crossed his chest from shoulder to hip, and slotted into the belt were a number of finely forged knives. His cloak, when we drew close enough for our lantern light to fall upon it, revealed itself to be as dark and sleek as his hair. I thought it might be forged of wolf fur.
He watched us with those pale, silvery eyes as we approached. He did not move at first, but I sensed a quivering readiness about him, and his thickly muscled limbs looked poised in a way that made him seem to want to spring, or perhaps to reach for the dirk at his hip. I imagined he’d made quite a magnificent warrior in his day.
“Lord Devereux,” my father said congenially as we came upon him. “It’s good to see you again.”
Lord Devereux’s nostrils flared briefly, like an animal sensing a dangerous lie, but then he smirked in return. Perhaps he knew my father had little use for mercenaries. “Lord Belmont. It’s been too long,” he said in a low, whispery voice that seemed to rumble from deep within his broad chest.
He and my father exchanged brief, stilted bows before Father put his hands protectively upon my shoulders and said, “My daughter, Lady Marie.” The tone of his voice indicated that this was a formality not to his liking and that Devereux was to look but not touch.
Devereux fixed those icy grey eyes on me in challenge and I swallowed against the lurching heart in my chest that was trying desperately to crawl up into my throat. I wasn’t short by anyone’s standards, but the man still managed to loom over me in a way that could be construed as either threatening or comforting, depending on his intentions.
I was certain many men feared Devereux. Still, I had never been the type of girl to be cowed by the boys of my village and so stood up straighter in the presence of this human wall of a man, throwing my shoulders back proudly and eyeing him with as much cool indifference as I could muster. Let him see I had no fear of him, or anyone.
A corner of Devereux’s mouth quirked up as if he were impressed by my gumption. The musky smell of his black wolf fur cloak made my head swim as he drew close enough to take my hand and brush his surprisingly warm lips just below my knuckles.
“Lady Marie,” he said, and I noticed for a man who had supposedly lived a mercenary lifestyle (at least according to my Father) he had beautifully white and powerful-looking teeth. Too often, the men in our own lands came back from Darkland battles dissipated and ill, with rot upon their skin and teeth and the horrors of war firmly lodged in their frightened eyes, but Lord Devereux looked positively untouched by his campaigns.
I was about to ask him about his battles when my Father interrupted. “Marie, would you be good enough to go up to your quarters now and prepare for dinner?”
I hated the way my father tried to instruct me as if I were a little girl! Was I not the reason we were here in the first place? It was for my aid that Lord Rothschild had personally requested our presence, not my father. I stubbornly raised my chin to him. “Actually, I was hoping to meet our host, Lord Rothschild…?”
“I’m afraid Elric is indisposed until nightfall and cannot greet you personally at the moment,” Devereux interrupted, “which is why he sent me to make certain you are well taken care of.”
I immediately turned to look at him and recognized some form of duplicity in his expression. Not an outright lie, perhaps, but there was something left unspoken. Call it a gift from my gypsy mother. I could feel when someone was lying to me in s
ome way. Devereux was lying now.
“I hope his health is well,” my father said, thankfully forgetting my insolence for the moment.
Again that insouciant smirk. It made Devereux looked positively predatory. “He’s quite well, I assure you. Some business of his he could not delay. I’m sure he’ll tell you all about it at supper.” He indicated the stairwell with a flourish of one long, thin, sinewy hand. “Now, I’m sure you and your daughter would like to rest after your long journey. If you will, my lord. My lady.” He bowed graciously.
I gathered my skirts and started up the long spiral stairwell, trying not to shiver or cast a look over one shoulder. I could feel Devereux’s eyes on my back the whole way!
* * *
Also Available from Courtesan Press:
Indecent Proposal
Dreams in Black & White
Playing House
Freeze Frame
The Dollhouse Society Volume I: Evelyn
The Rules of Engagement
Big, Bad Wolf
The War of the Roses
The Dollhouse Society Volume II: Rachaela
Eyes Wide Open
Touch
Teacher’s Pet
Angel in the Dark
The Dollhouse Society Volume III: Daniel
Lady Luck
House of Dolls
The Reluctant Bride
A Woman on Top
The Dollhouse Society Volume IV: Lucky
All I Want for Christmas: A Dollhouse Society One Shot
The Dollhouse Society: Playing With Dolls (Only the Sex Scenes)
Red (50 Shades of Fairy Tales)
Puss ‘N Books (50 Shades of Fairy Tales)
Snow (50 Shades of Fairy Tales)
The Little Mermaid (50 Shades of Fairy Tales)
50 Shades of Fairy Tales: Courtesan Press Collection No. 1
50 Shades of Fairy Tales: Volume I
The Beauty of the Beast (50 Shades of Fairy Tales)
Rumpelstiltskin (50 Shades of Fairy Tales)
Cinderfella (50 Shades of Fairy Tales)
Beauty’s Sleep (50 Shades of Fairy Tales)
50 Shades of Fairy Tales Volume II
50 Shades of Fairy Tales: Courtesan Press Collection No. 2
50 Shades of Fairy Tales Volume III
The Dollhouse Society: Margo
The Dollhouse Society: Felix
The Dollhouse Society: Bad Girls
Blood & Lace (Blackstone Hall #1)
The Dollhouse Society: Playing With Dolls, Volume 2 (Only the Sex Scenes)
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