Word and Deed
By Rachel Rossano
Published by Rachel Rossano at Smashwords
ISBN: 978-1-4661-8594-4
Copyright 2012 Rachel Rossano
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form without the prior written permission of the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed in a newspaper, magazine, or journal.
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Word and Deed is a work of fiction. Though actual locations may be mentioned, they are used in a fictitious manner and the events and occurrences were invented in the mind and imagination of the author. Similarities of characters to any person, past, present, or future, are coincidental.
Cover by Rachel Rossano
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Chapter One
“You are weak, Verdon. You kill like a woman!” I glared at my half-brother.
His narrow shoulders tensed. A hush fell over our late father’s great hall. The dog lying before the hearth groaned loudly.
Sick with anger and helplessness, I gloried in his reaction. He condemned me to a living death, marriage to a man some considered unsettled. Still I could evoke fire in my frigid sibling. I knew his soft places where the words would sting most. Rage prodded me on.
“Your mother would writhe in her grave if she saw the slovenly murderer she brought forth. It would be better for her if you never lived.”
“Hush, Verity, hush.” My old nurse’s hands trembled where they gripped my arm. Ealdine served more as a companion now that I reached adulthood.
She had good reason to cower. My cheek still stung from Verdon’s last loss of composure. Wisdom urged me to let go of the burning emotion in my gut. Yet the anger demanded I rant or sob.
I refused to give Verdon the satisfaction of tears.
His fingers closed on the hilt of our father’s sword. My sword. Our father promised it to me, yet Verdon refused me even that. I unleashed the final blow.
“Our father would rise up and call you coward for this act. Selling me to a mad man will not silence my tongue.”
The impact of his fist snapped my head back. I welcomed the pain. It grounded the anger, distracting me from the agony in my chest that began with our father’s death. The grief ached with every breath those moments I missed him most. I was helpless without Father’s protection, a fact never more clear than now.
Another blow, this time behind my right ear, rocked my sense of the earth. The crack of my skull on the stone echoed, preceding searing pain. A fog blanketed my senses. The hand I lifted to my scalp came away red.
“Foolish move, Ravenridge.” Sir Hirion’s face wavered above me. I blinked, but he remained out of focus. “Lord Silvaticus paid for a living bride, not a corpse. If you wish to remain in Silvaticus’ favor, she should be well and whole when he arrives.”
“A fortnight is time enough for her to heal. I have not left a lasting mark on her features, only her head. He will see nothing amiss. Now lock her in the tower. I grow weary of her lies.”
Rough hands lifted me from the floor. Ealdine’s pleas for caution grew distant as my senses finally faded.
~~~~~
Dust and taste of mold assaulted my tongue. The convulsion of my sneeze morphed into a cry of agony. I ached as though trampled by a horse.
“Hush, love, calm.” Cool hands touched my face and then stroked my wrists. “Hush. The pain will pass.”
“I …” My attempt to speak grated my throat raw. Unbidden tears pricked at my eyes. I would not cry. “Wat …”
A cool, wet rim pressed to my mouth. I drank. The fluid tasted ill. I would have spit, but I needed the moisture.
“It rained last night, and I didn’t have a clean vessel. Your brother allowed you water, but not enough,” Ealdine explained. She offered the cup again. I drank with gratitude. Once my thirst was quenched, I pushed it away.
“I was foolish.”
“Child, words spoken in anger are rarely wise.”
“The apology will hurt my pride thrice the agony of my headache.”
“Humility takes strength to cultivate.” She spoke the words of my sire.
“Aye.”
I opened my eyes slowly. The light, filtered through the lattice over the window, pierced my eyes. I grimaced up at the wooden ceiling beams.
“The tower again?” I croaked. Only three months ago I stared up at these beams. Then I gave little thought to my surroundings, too ill with grief to care. Father newly dead, Verdon, drunk with power, banished me and my whetted tongue.
Then his marriage plans gained me the reprieve. Dangling like a lure before all the rich and powerful nobles, I had smiled and kept my tongue silent. Lords and knights alike evaluated me with bored or lecherous features. They placed a price on my hand, womb, and inheritance. Apparently, the last was the crucial attribute to my new lord and master.
Lord Silvaticus purchased me without bothering to lay eyes on me. He witnessed instead the perfection of my land and coveted the strategic value of the cliffs on the southern coast. He wished to build a fortress. Hardly a flattering decision.
I dreamed like any other maid of a mate who loved me in word and deed. The hope poisoned by my brother’s greed died with the betrothal announcement. I was now the property of Lord Silvanticus, a man with a heart of ice. All he had to do was come claim me.
“Your brother decreed you are to speak with none but me until your husband comes to claim you. I am only to attend you three hours each day.” Ealdine fussed with my bandage. My head still throbbed, further reminder to keep my temper before Verdon.
“Did he ban the garden?”
“Nay, you are allowed exercise within the walls, but the gate has been barred from without.”
“He wishes me to crave human contact.”
Verdon also knew the chinks in my armor. After the previous confinement, I sought contact, conversation, and interaction with others.
“If he wished that, he would have denied you me also.” Ealdine stroked my forehead, hands soft with age. “Now sleep. You need rest.”
My skull pulsed in rhythm with my heartbeat. I closed my eyes and attempted to sleep. I would write my apology in the morn.
-----
Chapter Two
Three days later, I rose from bed. The afternoon sun shone beyond the lattice, beckoning me. The sight nurtured an already restless spirit into mobility. I was intent on a turn in the garden, at least a semblance of freedom for my tortured soul. My body still ached and sudden changes threw my balance, but I fixed my purpose and pressed forward.
Ealdine, having used two of the three allotted hours on breaking fast and serving the midday meal, would not return until after nightfall. That gave me time to creep down the stairs to sit in the sun at least.
Walking across the warped floor boards proved an uneventful task. However, upon opening the door to the sight of the steep descent to the ground two levels below, my grasp of balance wavered. I d
ropped to sit on the doorsill and lowered my head into my hands.
“Might I assist you?”
I lifted my head and instantly regretted it.
“Steady, miss, steady. Don’t go toppling on me. I don’t wish another death on my account.”
I blinked in the sunlight, struggling to place the source of the voice. Finally, a movement brought my focus to where the stairs spilled into the garden. He stood, left boot on the first step. Gaining only an impression of graying brown hair and sun-browned hands, I lowered my head once again.
“Who are you?” I asked.
“Bryn Wolfe of Ardenstain. And you?”
“I am Verity Favian.”
“Ah, you are the maid in the tower. I was warned about you.” He stepped off the bottom of the stairs and leaned against the tower wall, his face still in shadow.
“What warning?”
“’The maid yonder has a shrewish tongue.’”
“Hardly a warning since I am already betrothed. If you no wish to listen, you can leave.”
“Ah, so I heard. It is to the Silvaticus, the crazed.”
Straightening my shoulders, I glared down at him for a moment. “I will not allow you to speak thus of my betrothed.”
Surprise brought back his head. He lifted his face to the sun to peer at me. The light revealed tan skin and a cloth patch strapped to his face where his left eye should have been. It was a countenance one would remember. I knew almost every man in my brother’s service. This scarred man was a stranger.
“You know your husband-to-be then?”
“Nay.”
“Then why prevent me from speech when I speak truth born of knowledge?”
“It is not fitting to speak thus of others.” I peered at him from my perch. “You are not of my brother’s men.”
“Nay, I arrived with the men sent ahead to prepare the way for Silvaticus.”
My back tingled, suspicion bringing my pride to bear. “You are here to evaluate the goods,” I accused. “Why else would you be permitted to speak with me?”
“I was not permitted.”
“Then why are you here?” My head ached. I normally enjoyed verbal play. Today it made me dizzy.
“At the moment? To offer aid. I spotted you at the door and witnessed your stagger. I feared you would tumble down the stairs.”
“Silvaticus would be sorry to lose such choice coastline,” I observed.
“Nay, I didn’t wish to see you break your fair neck.”
Contrary to my expectation, he didn’t look at me as he delivered the sweetened line. Despite the fact I believed he did not mean them, the words still warmed my cheeks and burned my ears. What business did a servant have speaking such to a maid? The answer was none, yet I was pleased.
I brushed aside the notion without much thought. It was simply the delusions of a woman barren of the hope of love. Attention starved, I swooned at the smallest turn of a pleasant phrase.
I intended to give Bryn Wolfe a rebuke only to find him gone. No sign of him remained. As Ealdine’s voice called to me from within, I resolved to not mention the stranger.
I rubbed my throbbing temples. I didn’t believe I dreamed him, but considering the condition of my head, I preferred caution.
~~~~~
The next day, I woke to skies heavy with unshed rain. Ignoring the possibility of a dousing, I escaped bed yet again. No unsteadiness hindered my descent into the garden this time. My head ached a little, but I ignored it. I stepped from my slippers and curled my naked toes in the cool grass. With a languid sigh, I reveled in the moist earth compressed beneath my feet.
I loved spring, rain, black loam crumbling between my fingers, and the scent of green life. I breathed deep and slow. The scents of the wild flora soothed my spirit. The tower’s original resident, my grandmother, spent hours in the garden daily until her death when I was twelve. Only God knew when I would be able to enjoy the sensation of the earth unhindered by leather again. I shoved the thought aside. Life as Silvaticus’ wife was a mystery I had no desire to explore.
“Best get inside Maid Favian. You will catch a sickness from the rain. Silvaticus won’t like that.”
I turned toward the sound of his voice, anger flaring with the pressure of the frantic heart in my chest. “More likely I shall die of a fit first if you do that again. You frightened me out of my wits.”
“Nay, your wits are sound. You are speaking with me clear enough.”
Today he stood close to the garden wall opposite the stairs. He wore the attire of a soldier, leather jerkin over a loose shirt, leggings, and worn boots. His hand rested on his sword belt, but the scabbard hung empty.
“Where is your sword?”
He grasped out of habit for the hilt and found air. “I was warned of your skill with the blade and reasoned it was best to not bring it with me.”
“Someone’s tongue appears loosely hinged. Who are you? Why do you come here?”
“As you said yesterday, I was sent by Silvaticus to meet you and give him a report.”
“I mean, why return? Surely you evaluated enough yesterday.”
“My task is not finished.”
Aware of my exposed feet growing numb, I crossed the flagstone path to retrieve my cast off slippers. “What more would Lord Silvaticus seek to learn? Whether or not I am pox-scarred or deformed? I assure you I stand whole and have all my limbs and digits.” I spread my fingers for emphasis. “They are straight and serve me well.”
Bryn Wolfe’s mouth twitched. “Nay, Silvaticus is concerned he should find a blade between his ribs on his wedding night.”
I laughed. “He fears a woman?”
“He is a cautious man, not prone to impulse.”
“Yet he purchases a wife knowing nothing of the maid he must bed.”
“He has good reason and bedding you shall be no trial, maid.”
My face afire, I turned my back to him as I pulled on my shoes. “Tell me, Bryn Wolfe…”
“… Just Bryn,” he interrupted.
“Very well, Bryn, pray tell me what manner of master is Lord Silvaticus?”
An awkward silence answered. I rose from tying the last laces to find Bryn Wolfe looking profoundly uncomfortable.
“Speak, man. No reason restrains me from learning of him also, true?”
“None,” he admitted. “Yet …”
“You know him well, yes?”
“Yes, I am an intimate of his from many years past, yet I have not needed to describe him before.”
“Surely someone has asked your opinion before.”
I watched his features in earnest. Honesty lined his face along with age and sun. I wondered how old he was. Despite gray hair and scars, his eye and expression seemed paradoxically younger, perhaps only a decade my senior.
“Fellow soldiers have asked, perhaps?” I suggested.
“Nay.”
“Is he a fair master? Kind? Even tempered?”
“All of those.”
“Yet fierce enough on the battlefield to evoke fear of insanity among his equals.”
“A warrior undefeated,” he agreed.
“An enigma,” I surmised. Not as I wished. It was easier to hate him if he was simply evil. But how could one hate a man who was kind to his servants, even tempered, and fair?
“You seemed unhappy to discover he is not a monster?”
“It would be easy to hate a monster,” I explained. “Deciding how to respond to a complex man is more difficult.”
“Perhaps you could love him. I heard that is the best response to marriage.” The amusement in his voice pulled my attention to his features again. His single eye, a vibrant blue like a cloudless summer sky, returned my intent scrutiny.
“Are you married, Bryn?”
“Sadly nay.”
“Do you wish to be?”
“Aye, a winsome lass to join me in bed each night, share burdens and joys, and bear children we might raise together, of course I wish it. Don’t you desir
e a marriage and children?”
The words sounded less menacing spoken calmly in a rich male voice. Within my thoughts, they had taken on the attributes of a death knell. Perhaps because I thought of all these things as solely my husband’s, but Bryn was right. Silvaticus’ bed would be mine as well, his children also mine. We would share the consequences of calamity and good harvest whether joined by love or hate.
I grimaced. I didn’t want to see beyond the hate, but the soldier’s words forced me to admit there was an alternative.
“I wish the choice of husband,” I told him.
He was watching the sky. A sudden rustle of wind among barren branches brought the scent of rain.
“Seek shelter, my maid,” he entreated wearily. “Rain comes. If you become ill, more than my conscience will berate me.”
Three drops of cold water fell on my face. I shivered, suddenly chilled. Turning to ask Bryn whether he would return to ask more questions, I found him gone.
I climbed the slick stone steps in confusion.
Ealdine greeted me at the door. “Ah, Verity, love, you are sopping.” As she removed my wet gown and kirtle, she clicked her tongue. “Come stand closer to the fire child. We must dry your hair. Where did I put your brush?”
Submitting to her tugs and rambles, I only half listened to her words. Instead I drank in the warmth of the flames.
“Lord Silvanticus arrived today. You missed quite a pageant, Verity.” She paused to gesture with the brush over my shoulder. “Banners, heralds, and an honor guard that put your brother’s to shame. So many men, young strong men, you will be well defended at Ardenstain when you are his lady.”
“And what of my betrothed?” I attempted to keep my tone casual.
“He is a strapping man. He stood at least half a head above your brother.” The brush caught a knot. She bent to work at it with a comb. “It was strange though. Lord Silvanticus refused to remove his helm. Even after he dismounted, he didn’t remove it. He conversed with our lord in the hall as though he didn’t wear a helmet at all.”
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