Page 5 of Lord of the Castle
Chapter Four
I waitedwhile Lord Cedric’s uneven footsteps echoed down the hall. Then I crept to the door and listened, my heart thudding unnecessarily in my chest. I was no spy. Sneaking and planning and scheming wasn’t for me, but after staring into those dark purple eyes, I knew I should complete my task as soon as possible and run from this devilish place as fast as my legs would carry me. Despite Lord Cedric’s warning. Surely the road would lead me to civilization. I’d find another trader and be on my way back to the kingdom, leaving this nightmare behind.
Low voices interrupted my thoughts. The deep gravel tones of Lord Cedric were first. “It will happen tonight. Let it.”
“But my Lord,” the next voice was higher, unhappy. Perhaps Julius the butler? “It is too risky, what if your foresight is not correct—”
“Let it happen,” Lord Cedric growled again, and then his stumbling footsteps continued.
I scurried back to my seat. No sooner than my bottom met the fluffed velvet, a step came at the door and in sashed a young woman I had not met before. She was willowy with hair as light as sunlight piled up on top of her head. Her skin was a beautiful brown and her face was long with high cheekbones setting off nut brown eyes and ruby red lips. She had a body the ladies at court would kill for. Her simple blue gown was open at the top and showed off her perfect cleavage. She sighed heavily when she saw me, and there was a bit of a spoiled pout on her face.
“Come my lady, I will show you to your room,” she gestured.
She turned her back on me and walked out of the room before I could move. I hurried after her. Her long legs moved quickly through the castle, but her velvet slippers were silent on the stones. I made a note of that even as my muddy boots rang out, loud and harsh in the silence.
Gentle candlelight lit our way, and the pouting woman led me back to the marble staircase I’d seen with Julius.
“My name is Mariel,” I offered. “I’m not a lady.”
The woman snorted. “And I’m not a maid.”
I pressed my lips together tightly, taking the hint. I could tell when I was not wanted. The maid held herself rigid as she glided up the stairs, making no attempts to be friendly. The walk was long and silent as we went up another flight, down a corridor and a wide hall to a door she flung open.
“Betty wanted you have a nice room, since you are a lady. Your bath is ready in the adjoining room. Night clothes and slippers have been provided. Leave your armor and muddy boots.” The maid flared her nostrils at my clothing and gave another dramatic sigh. “Someone will collect them.”
I knew that someone would not be herself. She might think she were a fine lady and needed to be waited on hand and foot. Although the staff at the castle seemed small, perhaps she had her way most of the time.
I entered the room, my eyes widening at the sight. A massive bed—large enough for four to sleep on—took up most of the space along with other furniture. There was a couch, a small table, a looking mirror and windows that stared out into the darkness of the night. Candles lit each corner of the room, and a crystal chandelier hung above my head. My jaw dropped at such magnificence, and I turned in small circles, taking it all in.
The hiss of the maid brought me back. “You are not welcome here. Go back to where you came from, before it is too late.”
A retort rose on my lips as I glared at her. But instead of hostility in her eyes, I saw fear.
Before I could respond, she spun on her heel and shut the door firmly behind her. A lump settled in my throat. Why the warnings and what was she afraid of? The ditty I’d seen written in the book crossed my mind:Stay at a distance, he will protect you. Get too close, he will consume you.But no, I would not give in to speculation and doubt.
Left alone in my new and intimidating rooms, I stripped out of my clothes and made for the bath.
Steam rose from a tub so deep and wide I thought I might drown myself in it. I climbed in, and the scent of roses drifted to my nostrils. A memory of my time in the brothel came back to me. My mother humming as she bent over a tub, far smaller than this one, scrubbing my small back with rose-scented soap. There had been rose petals, red and white, strewn across the room.
“Flowers become you, my Mariel,” she hummed. “If I had known you’d be so pretty, I would have named you Rose. I should have named you Rose, but when you laugh...” She tickled my underarms, and I giggled helplessly.
“My merry girl,” she’d hummed again.
“Mama, sing the sang,” I begged, so small and happy.
She rubbed soap through my curly black hair and sang.
“Flowers for the children.
Flowers for the child.
Roses for the lord
In his tower wild.
Lord of the castle.
Lord of the moor.
