Page 3 of Secrets of Capell Manor
A sharp wind blew. Alden shivered as the cold draft forced its way through his heavily padded doublet and cape. Devlin refused to tremble, refused to show weakness. He countenance was emotionless, like stone; his eyes faced forward to the manor house below.
Devlin picked up his horse’s reins. His mount, after standing in the wind, raised his head and let out an impatient snort.
And without a word, Devlin began a careful descent down the hill toward the manor house.
****
Rosalind sat in a comfortable rocking chair in front of the large fire in the great room. The hearth was massive—a fully-grown adult could walk easily inside the firebox without striking the stones above, and its flames provided generous warmth for the dining hall. However, the roaring blaze did nothing to warm her this evening. Fear had settled deeply into her bones.
Marta, the cook, sat with her and watched the flames dance in the hearth. Her normally cheerful round face was drawn with worry. Marta was more of a mother to Rosalind than anyone elsein her life. Rosalind knew Marta loved her like her own and had refused to leave her alone to face the beast.
An hour had passed since Ridley had run roughshod out the kitchen door and around the corner, bringing the news she had so dreaded. He yelled loudly, “They’re here!”
The loyal kitchen boy had kept careful watch for two days, knowing the king’s men would arrive.
And despite the knowledge of their upcoming arrival, her breath hitched, and her stomach threatened to empty itself of the little amount of food she had managed to eat that day. She stood at Ridley’s announcement but the room spun slightly and a cold sweat popped out on her brow.
“My lady! Sit before you faint!”
Rosalind took a deep breath. “I am fine,” she said in a weak voice. But she sat with shaky knees. “Ridley, tell me how many and what they are doing.”
“Milady, there are two men at the top of Knobs Hill looking down upon the manor. One is tall with light hair. The other is as dark as midnight. Black hair and he looks fierce. He is dressed all in black, and his horse is black as well.”
Cold dread and then a feeling of doom hit her. Marta held her hand to her mouth to stifle a gasp.
“And beside his steed, a large hound sits looking mean as the devil. He could eat me in one bite for sure!”
“Ridley,” Rosalind said firmly, “Let’s not let our imagination interfere with our assessment. The simple facts are hard enough to deal with right now.”
But Rosalind knew who this rider was. His reputation preceded him. Sir Devlin Alastor. A loyal servant and hired killer of the king. Rumors abound wherever he went. It was said he killed without mercy and enjoyed what he did. Her worst nightmare had come true. She had prayed fervently for the kingto send a harmless clerk or even a local sheriff to look for Lord Edmond, but instead, she would now face the devil himself.
“They are just sitting there milady. Just watching.”
And so she waited. The few house servants she had left had prepared the manor house for visitors. The guest rooms were aired. Wood for fires was stacked in the rooms, and a bathtub was ready for use should the king’s men wish to bathe. But more important than readying the manor was that they all had to be mentally prepared. They had to appear unafraid and as perplexed as anyone over Lord Edmond’s disappearance.
Everyone had to tell the king’s men the same story. The slightest inconsistency could spell doom for them all.
Her heart beat quickened when her uncle’s manservant entered the hall. Benton had served the Capell family for three generations. No one knew how old he was, but Ridley often joked he was at least one-hundred-and-twenty.
He walked painfully slow across the great room. His once tall, proud stature was now bent over in the shoulders. And Benton never hurried. In fact, he was probably unable to hurry at his great age. But Rosalind considered him a great treasure. His wisdom and quick wit had got her out of many unfortunate circumstances.
“My lady,” he said calmly, “The king’s men have arrived.”
Rosalind swallowed hard. A bead of cold sweat traveled down her back, and once again, a wave of nausea shot through her abdomen.
Pull yourself together! Losing your dinner at the feet of the king’s men is not the first impression you wish to make. Breathe! Breathe!
After a moment, she said in a steady voice, “Show them in, Benton.”
Benton gave a curt nod, turned, and walked just as slowly out of the room as he had walked in.
Did anything rattle that man?
Rosalind looked down and she was wringing her hands to keep them from shaking.
Oh, Lord, Father in Heaven. Hear my prayer. Deliver me from this evil and keep my family safe from harm…
As she prayed, her breathing calmed slightly. From across the grand hall, the heavy English double doors creaked open with a slow, ominous wail that echoed through the lower rooms of the manor. Silence followed, thick and suffocating, until the doors groaned shut once more. A cold draft curled around her feet, but the chill that crept up her spine came from something far more unsettling than the icy air.
