“This is the final rule that you must know,” he says. “Under no circumstances are you to ever lay eyes on me.”
“What?” I whisper, fighting every urge to look over my shoulder once more.
“Oren informed me that you wished to meet with me. I am obliging you, as is now my duty. However, I will only do so if you swear to never look at me.”
The chairs now make sense. I wonder if he is horribly disfigured. Maybe he’s just cripplingly shy. Whatever the reason, I have no want to make him uncomfortable.
“That’s fine with me.” I take my seat in the wingback that faces the windows, my back to the door. “I’m grateful you took the time to meet with me.”
I hear his footsteps across the floor. He has a wide gait, further confirmation that he’s as tall as I suspected. His steps are light, almost silent. He walks like I do, as if he’s trying to never make a sound. I can’t imagine him being a very muscular man, given his footsteps. No…I’m imagining him as a wiry individual. Not much older than me, judging from the strength of his voice. I try and steal a glimpse of him in the watery reflection of the windows but the room is already much too dark for that. He’s little more than a blurred shadow moving behind me.
The chair behind me sighs softly under his weight. The tiny hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. I’ve never been more aware of anyone’s presence. I have never been more tempted to do anything than turn and look and see if my every assessment about him is correct.
“Now, what is it that you would like to speak about?” he asks, somewhat curtly.
“I merely wanted to meet you, is all,” I say. “It seemed rather odd to be married to someone without ever—” I stop myself from saying “seeing them” and instead say “—speaking to them.”
“You married me without speaking to me, why does it matter now?”
I can’t tell if the fact wounds him or not. Did he hope that I would beg and plead to meet with him before signing the papers? Does he even realize that my fate was sealed with a stroke of a pen that I wasn’t even holding?
“We are going to spend our lives together,” I say. “I’d like to make that as pleasant as possible.”
“There is nothing pleasant here.”
My husband is very cheerful, it seems. I roll my eyes, grateful he can’t see my expression. “You have a nice enough house, wealth enough to do as you please, no one telling you what to do—”
“Don’t presume to know me,” he interjects sharply.
“I would be happy to, if given the chance.”
“I have no interest in you knowing me, because I have no interest in knowing you. This is an arrangement, nothing more. All you are is a bargain that I have to live up to.”
I clutch my dress over my chest, as if physically trying to shield myself from an invisible wound. What did I expect differently? What had I really been hoping for? Some great romance? Ha. The type of love in the stories young girls read isn’t true. I’ve seen “love” between my father and Joyce. That is the only love that’s real, and it is not something to want.
No, I didn’t want him to love me. But, maybe, I’d hoped I would not be seen as a burden, for once.
“Fair enough,” I say softly.
“Is there anything else? Or are you satisfied?”
“I’m satisfied.”
“Good. I expect to have no issues from you while you are here. Heed the rules, and you will want for nothing as long as you, or I, walk this mortal plane. You will never have to cross my path again.”
The chair squeaks as he stands; his footsteps fade. I wish I had something else to say, or a clear picture of what I wanted. But the fact is I’ve never been allowed to want anything in my life. I’ve been told what I can and can’t have for so long that whatever skill a person is born with to make those choices has been lost to me. It has withered and died from never being used.
I sit for almost a full ten minutes after I’m certain he’s gone, just staring out into the dark woods. Night has fallen and the moon is waning, so it’s almost impossible to make out the dark silhouettes that bar the forest. The longer I stare the more I am filled with a strange sensation that something is staring back at me.
Unable to tolerate the uneasiness any longer, I head for my own room. But as I emerge in the hall I hear footsteps in the main entry. My head slowly turns toward the door that serves as the entrance to my wing. Against my better judgment, I creep across and press my ear to the door.
There are muffled voices on the other side, but I cannot make out what they say. The words are strange, and foreign, spoken in a tongue that I don’t recognize. I tread lightly over to one of the windows that overlooks the circular drive. It’s empty. Not even the carriage that took me here is parked out front any longer.
Who is there? I wonder. Do others live here? Oren made it sound like there were only three of us in the manor. Would he lie? If so, why?
Heed the rules and you will want for nothing, Lord Fenwood said. Oren had also made those rules clear: I am not to leave my wing at night regardless of the sounds I hear. Whatever the lord gets up to in the late hours is not my business.
Fine. I don’t mind being more long-term house guest than wife.
I retreat to my room and ready myself for bed. The mattress and duvet are among the most comfortable I’ve ever felt and I quickly fall into a dreamless sleep…
Only to be woken within the hour by bloodcurdling screams.
Chapter 4
I jolt upright, clutching the covers to me as though they are armor. The screams stop as quickly as they started and echo only in my ears. My heart races; my breathing is short and fast. I look to the door wondering if some bandit or worse is about to break through and murder me in my bed.
But nothing happens. The air is still and quiet once more. There’s not even a breeze rustling through the trees of the woods outside. I do not hear the songs of nighttime bugs or the soft creaks of an old house.
I don’t know how long I sit like that, but it’s long enough that the muscles of my back begin to spasm from holding me so tall and rigid. I exhale and try to release some of the tension as I slip from the covers. Throwing a shawl around my shoulders, I lean against the door to my room, listening. I still hear nothing.
Knowing I must certainly be mad to venture forth, I crack open the door. Gray moonlight, little better to see by than a single candle trying to illuminate the whole hall, streams in through the windows. I look around and see no one.
I dash across the hall and lean against the wall by one of the windows that face the drive. I peek outside. The gravel is empty and smooth, as though Oren just raked it. I keep moving forward as though lingering in the moonlight too long will make me a target in this brisk and eerie night.
Finally, at the door at the end of the hall, I press my ear against the wood. There’s no talking, no movement, and no screams. My hand falls upon the handle, trembling. I was given four very clear rules. But that was before I heard screaming. What if there’s an attack? What if we’re in trouble?
I push down on the handle. It doesn’t budge. I’m locked in.
My heart is in my throat as I back away from the door. I shake my head, silently pleading to no one. I’m no longer in the hallway. I’m in the long closet underneath the stairs of my family’s manor. The door is locked. Helen tells me that Mother has thrown away the key and that I will never see sunlight again.