The Weeping Books of Blinney Lane

by Drea Damara

  He hadn’t been able to stand seeing her sent away to a locked room, as he’d ordered, but it was necessary until he could arrange his thoughts and figure out what to do with her. He wasn’t about to let her roam free, not with his men all over the stronghold. He’d spent the rest of the evening trying to compose himself. When he realized composure was not likely to come, he decided drinking himself into stupidity in the company of the women who frequented the stronghold for him and his men was the next logical course of action. When the women left him for the evening, he'd hoped the final descent into drunken, whoring oblivion would find his mind erased of the new developments come morning. Oh, how wrong he had been.

  He shoved his legs into some pants and boots and continued to think on the matter. Perhaps he could make the girl his personal servant and she could grow to trust him, while he could grow to disassociate her from his memories of Deronda. Would that be possible on his part? She truly could be a gift if he could grow to find enjoyment in her presence, as he had whenever Deronda had simply entered a room.

  Ranthrop sighed and tightened the leather boots around his legs. His bitterness stretched beyond losing Deronda; he knew that. She had been incredibly lovely, yet losing the promise of uniting his lands with the North had been a second blow. His people needed full access to the North to truly prosper. Losing Deronda had not only slighted the possibility of his personal happiness but also his pride as a leader for what their union would have brought Groslivo lands.

  Improving his personal happiness didn’t seem all that fulfilling now. The Wortwarts were sorely mistaken if they hoped offering Shelby would alleviate the harrowing war between him and Vasimus. He yanked one of his thin black shirts over his head. Sighing, he rubbed his puffy eyelids. Finding a place for Shelby in his household might at least improve his mood. If he couldn’t learn to disassociate her from his memory of Deronda, however, then he would send her packing far away from Farwin Wood. Lord help him if Vasimus ever saw the girl’s face and was reminded of Deronda as well.

  A loud rap at the door broke his thoughts, and he gladly turned to call over his shoulder. His personal guard strode into the room, looking better put together than him.

  “You are awake, my Lord?”

  “Hrmph. Yes, I am alive Varmeer,” he said, running his hands up his face and through his hair.

  “Sir, there is a messenger to see you.” Varmeer looked anxious, resting a hand on his sword hilt.

  “Well, send them in.” He tucked his loose shirt into his snug black leather pants.

  “Sir, I’ve instructed them to wait in the great room,” Varmeer muttered as he shifted from one foot to the other.

  Ranthrop studied his personal guard and oldest friend with a shrewd eye. He noticed the man shift his weight again. He either had to piss or was worried about something. Ranthrop would meet a messenger anywhere unless it required a formal setting or extra guards. Those types of messages did not come as frequently as they had in the beginning of the war when demands and negotiations had been attempted.

  He fastened his belt and holstered his sword. “Where does this message come from?”

  “The escort said from…House of Allister,” Varmeer said, looking nervous.

  Ranthrop felt his nostrils flare as he took a swift intake of air. His hangover was completely forgotten upon hearing what Varmeer had just told him.

  “Has the gate been locked behind them?”

  “Yes. I ordered it as soon as I heard where the message was from and they were safely inside.” Varmeer’s posture straightened like he was proud of his vigilance.

  “Good,” Ranthrop murmured and slapped a hand on Varmeer’s shoulder as he headed to the door. He stopped abruptly, wondering what had occurred to cause a message from House of Allister to come for him after having heard nothing from that family in nearly twenty years. He spun around and asked, “Where is the girl?”

  Varmeer nearly slammed into him. “She is still in the guest wing. The door remains locked. I checked it this morning.”

  “Did she tell you where she was from or mention anything of the Allisters?”

  “No, sire. Only the same as she told you: Salem. Some place called Salem, but no one has heard of it from what I’ve gathered.”

  Ranthrop grunted in his displeasure at solving the riddle of events and went out the door. His conscience didn’t need this much frustration in the span of twenty-four hours. Was his paranoia getting the better of him? Did this girl have something to do with the arrival of a House of Allister messenger? Had this messenger been to Daundecort Hall as well? As far as he knew, Vasimus had never again heard from the Allisters. If he had, Ranthrop’s spies would have informed him directly.

  VARMEER TOOK his place next to the sculpted, wood chair on the stone mezzanine of the great room. At the far end, the cloaked messenger stood silently waiting. Some of Ranthrop’s guards had been summoned and stood five to a side, lining the length of the room. They stared at each other with bloodshot eyes that matched their crimson tunics. Varmeer wished they looked a little more awe-inspiring this morning, given the origin of the message; however, he was simply grateful that they’d roused as quickly as they had after last night’s brouhaha with Ranthrop.

  With a quiet sigh after the silent inspection, Varmeer lifted his sword into the air, and then he brought the blade down to the stone floor with a resounding clank. The guards simultaneously came to attention and slammed their own sword tips to the floor, hands folded over the hilts in front of them.

  “Lord Ranthrop Groslivo, ruler of the free Southlands and all its peoples!” Varmeer bellowed the customary cry he had not called in so long. The acoustics from the high ceiling gave him goose bumps and a proud sensation that he'd missed. The messenger stood statuesquely, seemingly unaffected.

  Ranthrop’s feet pounded in from the side entrance, his chest out as he strode to his chair. He stopped before his seat and squinted at the messenger. Flipping the end of his tunic back, he sat down against the high back of the chair, settling his sinewy arms on the carved armrests.

  “Approach!” Ranthrop commanded.

  Sarah approached slowly out of respect, as was appropriate, but ensured her steps were purposeful. Her dark cloak swept against the floor around her. She’d taken care to tuck her braid behind her back before Ranthrop entered. She wanted to try and get Shelby without exposing her identity. She would reveal herself only if necessary, but she was still unsure if doing so would secure her plan. She stopped just below the three steps that led up to the mezzanine and Ranthrop, but she kept her head lowered enough to keep her face hidden.

  “State your purpose,” Ranthrop called down. His voice held the same annoyed tone she remembered from her encounter with him so many years ago.

  “Lord Groslivo, I bring you a message from House of Allister,” she said loud enough for her voice to reach him and to give her house the sound of might a noble family would carry.

  “House of Allister—” Ranthrop said in a mocking tone. “That is a house that has been spoken much of in the land, yet ironically—” Ranthrop looked to Varmeer and his men, “—no one has near as smelled an Allister in almost twenty years! And now, a woman, I presume, comes to me with a message from these elusive Allisters. What business could an Allister possibly have to honor my stronghold?”

  Ranthrop shot Varmeer a foul look for not informing him the messenger was a woman; Varmeer responded with an innocent expression. Ranthrop would know a woman’s figure from a mile away. It was not common that a woman brought messages, let alone from highborn households. His curiosity made his breath quicken, but he forced himself to remain firmly seated in a ruse of calm authoritativeness against his chair.

  “Your lordship, a young girl called Shelby was lost from Allister lands, and we have learned that she was brought to your stronghold, as a gift from the Wortwarts of Oedher Village.”

  Ranthrop’s annoyance grew as he tried to view the woman’s face from his vantage point and absorbed the claim
she made. Blast it! He had a feeling that girl was not from Farwin Wood. Had he not gone off so quickly to imbibe himself last night, he might have discovered her background. Who was she that House of Allister had suddenly appeared?

  He made a disinterested noise and shrugged. “As you say, she was a gift. She made no mention of which house she hailed from, nor do I care. It is for me to determine the fate of anyone foolish enough to enter our war-torn domain.”

  “Lord Groslivo, that is why I am here. House of Allister kindly requests that you relinquish her to me so that I may return with her to her homeland.”

  Ranthrop blinked as he leaned forward, then he threw his head back and let out a hearty cynical laugh. He slapped his hand on his armrest and glanced from Varmeer to his guards.

  Sarah heard some snickers from the men who flanked her. She knew they were joining in her mockery, although all she could see were Ranthrop’s boots as she peered out from underneath her hood.

  “Kindly requests? House of Allister kindly requests? Well, then, kindly take them my answer. No!” Ranthrop exclaimed. “Is that all then?”

  “No, your lordship.” She didn’t hide her disdain as she spoke this time. “House of Allister offers this request with the knowledge that House of Daundecort is not yet aware of the situation. Should the news that your lordship willingly detained a young lady of the Allister court reach Lord Vasimus, he may view such an action as an open invitation to retaliate.”

  Ranthrop stopped laughing immediately and dug his fingers into the arms of his chair. He leaned forward, glowering, and could feel the muscles in his jaw twitch. The audacity! He sucked in a deep breath as he considered his retort but could not hold back his anger.

  “Retaliate? Ha! Vasimus has been retaliating for twenty years without provocation! And now, Allisters have the audacity to bring me idle threats over vague claims of some unknown little court mistress! Who is she that it was so worth the trouble of an Allister messenger appearing to request her return? There is only one Allister left that I know of, and if he lives, he will get nothing from me! Nothing! I’ll have her head before I release her to Richard Allister!”

  “She is not of Lord Richard’s court, your lordship.”

  “Ha! Then what care I or Vasimus, for that matter, if a House of Allister request be honored? Even Vasimus wouldn’t be fool enough to broaden this feud at the sake of protecting extended Allister cousins he’s likely never heard of.”

  “Because she is from the court of Lady Sarah Allister.”

  Ranthrop’s throat tightened at the mention of Sarah Allister. He didn’t like to be reminded of her even more than he did of Deronda Daundecort after the hand he’d played in Lady Sarah’s death. The thought of Sarah’s hair slipping through his fingers as he forced her head down into the River Duke still haunted him.

  Ranthrop didn’t know how he’d lost his grip on her that day. He’d only meant, even in his rage, to hold her under the water for a brief moment to taunt Vasimus. The next thing he knew, as he stood glaring across the river bank at Vasimus, who was pulling his empty hand up and staring down into the flowing water with no sign of Sarah to be seen. Eighteen years of torment over a woman he hadn’t meant to kill but who had died as a result of his anguish over another woman, who also shouldn’t have been killed. He was lucky he hadn’t gone insane. Each attack from Vasimus and his men had been enough to harness his guilt into justifiable anger. He knew in his heart that he hadn’t committed murder and thus wasn’t deserving of Vasimus’s wrath.

  Pulling his mind back to the cloaked woman before him, he narrowed his eyes. He knew just how long it had been since that fateful day. Whoever had sent this woman to place demands on him clearly didn’t; even he could see that, despite how much he’d drank the night before.

  “This mistress, Shelby, could not possibly be of Lady Sarah’s court, madam,” he said, forcibly calm. “Lady Sarah has been dead nearly twenty years now, and this girl has not even seen her twentieth year. Is this some kind of spineless ploy by Richard? Does he take me for a fool? Is he such a coward that he would hide behind his sister again?” He heard his voice grow as he stood from his chair, fists clenched at his sides. “Will this disgrace continue while he hides behind her even in death?”

  “Your lord, I assure you she is from the court of Lady Sarah,” Sarah said more gently.

  “That is not possible!” Ranthrop bellowed.

  Sarah raised a hand slowly to her hood and took a step forward. She saw a glint from the sword of Ranthrop’s personal guard as the man took a step closer to his lord. With a swift pull, she drew the cloak back from her head. She shook the loose strands of hair from her eyes and let her braid fall over the front of her shoulder as she raised her head to look into Ranthrop’s eyes. “It’s actually quite possible, Ranthrop.”

  She watched Ranthrop’s jaw drop and took in his aged face. She never would have admitted it aloud, but he had always been somewhat ruggedly handsome. Though he had immediately become the enemy once an arrow had pierced Deronda’s heart. She’d only met him once after he’d found her while he and his men were looking for Richard. The two days she’d spent in his stronghold had not been pleasant due to her worry over what would transpire once Vasimus learned she’d been taken and came for her, which he had done.

  He looked much the same, though he appeared bigger and stronger, likely from his years of battle. There were tiny scars on his face and forearms where his sleeves were pulled up to the elbow. His light brown hair seemed shaggier, and there were lines around his eyes that had not been present on his once smooth bronzed skin.

  “Varmeer,” Ranthrop stuttered as he blinked at her.

  “Yes, sire,” the personal guard said, as he also stared at her.

  “Am I seeing a ghost?”

  “Nay, m’lord. I think not.”

  Ranthrop staggered down the steps, never taking his eyes from her face. He stopped a foot in front of her.

  She looked up where he towered over her and tried to remain calm under his intense observation. “It is I, Ranthrop. I woke up far down the river that day, and then—I returned to Blinney to make sure my brother had made it back there safely.”

  Ranthrop reached out and touched her jawline. She trembled at the touch of his rough hands.

  “I would not have killed you,” was all he could manage in a hoarse whisper, still in shock at seeing her alive.

  “I believe you.” She reached up to touch his hand with hers, but he quickly pulled away.

  “And Vasimus? Has Vasimus known all this time?” he asked, demandingly.

  “No! No, he hasn’t. He still doesn’t.” Sarah stepped closer. He appeared confused over her confession. “I knew he would not be the same after Deronda died, and I had obligations in Blinney after what transpired. I could not come back. However, I did not know that not returning would lead to the destruction that has happened here. I swear. I had no knowledge of it until yesterday.”

  Ranthrop’s shoulders relaxed, and he walked back to his chair, clearly lost in thought. He sat down and arched a brow. “Then your threats before of Vasimus fighting to reclaim your mistress for you—you have no idea if he would do such a thing to honor your memory?”

  “His guards watch House of Allister in Oedher Village. This I’m sure you know,” she said. Ranthrop merely nodded. “Well, I fear my arrival there will have caused them to alert him of my presence. I would not taunt you with empty threats, Ranthrop. I want peace in Farwin Wood more than anyone.”

  “Fear? How is it that you’ve come to fear someone you once loved so deeply? Or perhaps you have seen your dear Vasimus already?” Ranthrop let out a chuckle.

  Sarah swallowed at hearing another proclamation of a transformation in Vasimus. Had he really become so hardened?

  “I have heard that he has changed, but I have heard this war has changed a lot of people. I am simply asking for you to return Shelby to me before Vasimus learns of it and of me being here. If he should find that I am alive—well,
I think it would be in your best interest if I am nowhere near your stronghold.”

  “I see you don’t hesitate to dole out threats.”

  “It wasn’t intended to be a threat. It was intended to motivate you into doing the right thing. I have an obligation to return Shelby to Blinney and I want peace here. The people of Farwin Wood don’t need to suffer anymore vengeance.”

  He must have realized her declaration held some merit. If Vasimus learned she was alive and in his stronghold, they would be right back at square one where the war had started.

  “If you want peace, Sarah, how could you have come here? Bloody doom, he could think I’ve kept you alive all these years under my roof!”

  “Ranthrop, Shelby is just a girl lost from her parents. I beg you. Let me take her, and I will go as quickly and undetected as I came,” she pleaded.

  She didn’t want to stay in Farwin Wood any longer than she had to now, after seeing how the thought of Vasimus learning of her arrival had unsettled Ranthrop. He had made a valid point. She needed to get back to Allister Hall before Vasimus’s men had time to send him word of her arrival. More importantly, she needed to leave Ranthrop’s land before Vasimus found out, in case he was still committed to avenging anything his nemesis did to her. Ranthrop stood and began to pace in front of his chair.

  “You have no intention then of seeing Vasimus?”

  “I did not come here to see him. My only intention was to help Shelby,” Sarah started, realizing she hadn’t given the possibility much thought. “Now that I have seen Farwin Wood, I believe if I could speak to him, that if it could help to end this war, I would, but—”

  “—But you fear your lover may not greet you with open arms after learning you concealed your existence and did not return to him?” Ranthrop stopped pacing and gave her a pointed look.

  It stung to hear it, but Sarah didn’t have time to think about herself, Vasimus, or their childhood romance. She had to think about Ricky and Shelby.