I’m left with nothing but speculation still on who my husband really is.
Oren leads us inside, setting my trunk on a tufted bench at the foot of a curtained four-poster bed. It is opposite a large, stone hearth, in which a fire is already crackling. Just like everything else in this castle-like manor, the furnishings are fine and well-kept.
“Dinner will be within the hour. I hope you are amenable to eating earlier so that you can be back in your chambers by sundown.”
“It’s fine. I’m usually an early to bed, early to rise sort of person.” I smile.
Oren only nods and leaves me. It isn’t until after he’s gone that I realize I’ve forgotten to ask what attire I should wear to dinner. And…if it is when I will finally get to meet the man I’ve married.
Chapter 3
Dinner is in a room attached to the back of the tower. The space is more conservatory than dining room. Pointed archways that frame expensively large panes give a view of the darkening woods that surround the back half of the manor. I feel like a butterfly trapped in a glass box and carried into an unnatural environment. I’m safe within these walls, but there is only a thin pane that separates me and whatever monstrosities live in the forest.
I stare out the windows at the very back of the room, peering past my reflection and into the depths of the trees. They feel older here than back home. No, I correct myself, this place is my home now.
“How do you feel about roasted boar and wild vegetables?” Oren carries in a tray on his shoulder from a side entrance.
“I’m not picky when it comes to what I eat,” I say with a smile. I’ve had too many nights where hunger was the only thing on my plate to complain about any hot meal placed before me.
“Good,” he says. “We don’t have consistent food out here.” He pauses as he sets the dish at the head of the table. “That isn’t to say we don’t have food. We have all we need. But the menu is whatever the forest provides and what needs to be eaten from the pantry.”
“I’d be happy to help you forage,” I say as I sit.
He looks aghast at the suggestion. “We are not scavengers rooting through the mud for food.”
“Of course not.” I laugh as if I have never been that person before. The need to scavenge was what prompted me to search my father’s library for books on the local terrain. It’s how I can tell a safe mushroom from a poisonous one. “I merely think wild mushrooms are delicious. And finding them is an activity I enjoy.”
He pours me water and wine from two separate carafes. “It has been noted.” But nothing will come of it. I can hear as much in his voice.
“Will the master of the house be joining me for dinner?” I ask.
“No, he takes dinner in his quarters.”
I purse my lips. “Will I meet him after dinner?”
“It will be close to sundown then.”
“He can come and visit me in my chambers if it is late.”
“That is not appropriate.”
I cough up wine into my glass. “Not appropriate? Am I not his wife?”
“On paper by the laws of this land, yes.”
“Then I think it is fine if he sees me in my quarters.” I put down the glass slowly, grateful that my hand doesn’t tremble enough that it clatters on the table or spills.
“The master is very busy.”
With what? I want to demand to know. I’ve tried for hours to handle this whole situation as graciously as possible. But I still have no idea who the man I married is. I have no idea how he came into his fortune, where he came from, what he wants, and why he needed a book enough to agree to pay for a wife just to have it.
“Could you please pass along to him that his wife would be very grateful if he could spend a few minutes with her before sundown?” I look the butler in his beady, black eyes as I make my demand.
“I will pass word along.” He promptly leaves.
I eat dinner alone. It might be uncomfortable to some, but I’m used to solitude and time with just myself. In fact, in some ways, it’s preferred. Silence is consistent and solitude is safe. There is no one trying to take my food from me. No one demanding that I engage with them. No one about to push me from my place at the table so that I can go start on dishes.
The plate is empty before I know it and my stomach slightly uncomfortable. I ate too fast. The food is also richer than I’m accustomed to. I lean back in my chair, unladylike, and pat the bulge of my abdomen. It’s been a long time since I felt this full.
This could be worse; I return to my earlier thought. My husband seems to have no real interest in me. It’s better than a man expecting me to come to his bed tonight so that I can begin work on my “duty” of giving him an heir to his fortunes. And I seem to have the same amount as—no, more freedoms than back home. Plus, no one will bother me here.
Oren returns, interrupting me from my thoughts once more.
“Are you finished?”
“Yes.”
“Was it enough?” He collects my clean plate.
“More than.” I sit straighter. “Please tell the cook that it was delicious.”
He gives me a sly smile and nods. “I will.”
“Any word from my husband?” I ask.
The butler sighs. Yet again, something that should be a simple answer has him stewing for far too long. “I believe he can make time, five or ten minutes, perhaps. I will start a fire in the study of your wing. You can wait for him there.”
The butler leaves quickly, carrying out the dishes. I stand, and do a lap around the dining table. I suddenly regret asking if I could see Lord Fenwood. What if he’s upset with the demand? What if he wants nothing to do with me and now I have only tempted his ire? I come to a halt and shake my head.
No, if I am to live here, and to be wed to this man, then I have a right to at least meet him once. To know his name. If we have nothing to do with each other day-to-day, that’s fine. But we should at least acknowledge the other’s presence.
Courage gathered, I leave the dining room and head right. To my surprise, the second door is open. A fire crackles in the hearth. Mostly empty bookcases line the walls. A table has been pushed off to the right-hand side, one that I imagine was once situated between the two chairs that are now back-to-back before the fire.
I cross and run my fingertips lightly over the leather. What a strange sitting arrangement… I muse. It isn’t long before I learn why the chairs are arranged in such a manner.
A voice cuts through the silence and my thoughts, resonating deep in my core. It has the same tonal quality as the low growl of a wolf and sparks a prey instinct within me. Run, my better sense urges at the sound. Run far from here, this is not a place for you.
“Do not turn,” he says.
Despite myself, I glance over my shoulder. Instinct, really. When someone speaks, I look. I wasn’t intending to disobey… Not this time, at least.
“I said don’t turn.”
My eyes snap forward again. “I only saw a bit of your shoulder. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”
“Oren has been over the rules, has he not?”
“Yes.” The man I’m speaking to is of tall build, judging from where his shoulder came up to on the doorframe. But that’s all I can tell about him. He’s leaning against the wall to the side of the door, as if he knew I would try and look upon him despite his order.