Anya led her through the room and into the bathroom. A large tub sat in the center of the room, a coal fire chamber underneath to heat the water. A shelf built into the wall held an assortment of bottles and cloths. A small, silver basin with a matching pitcher sat on another table at the other side of the room.
“I took the liberty of drawing your bath just before your arrival. It should be warm enough still.” She looked at Sascha expectantly, and Sascha blushed. “Well...go ahead and take off those old things. You won’t need them.”
“My clothes?” Sascha stammered, clutching her cloak tightly around her shoulders.
“Well of course, dear.” Anya sighed. “You can’t go around in those old rags. Give them to me, and we can get you into the bath.”
“That really won’t be necessary. I’m sure I can bathe myself.” Anya laid a hand on her shoulder in reassurance and Sascha pulled away.
The old woman’s expression hardened. “I am only trying to help you, dear. You spoke earlier about angering Lord Marek? Well, child, these are my orders, and I will not have you bringing his wrath down upon me.” She crossed her arms, staring at Sascha with annoyance.
She nodded in defeat and began shedding each layer slowly. The more she took off, the more crimson she became. Never in her life had she been so humiliated.
As the last of her clothes came off, she stood before the old woman with her arms crossed over her body, hiding as much as she could. Scratches and old scars snaked over her skin, including old burns she’d acquired at The Goblet. She remembered clearly Sera bumping into her and making her fall against the iron cauldron, burning straight through her dress to the skin of her hip beneath it. She was painfully thin, but it didn’t affect the generous curves of her hips and breasts. Her dark hair hung in a tangle, nearly to her waist, and was matted with dust.
Anya took the clothes as if she were holding some disgusting bug. “All right, love,” she said, shooing her toward the tub. “Into the bath with you.”
Sascha could feel that she was blushing clear down to her toes. Her cheeks were hot, and her eyes watered as she turned to step into the tub. She soon forgot her humiliation as she sank into the warm water. The water emanated the clean scent of rose petals and rain. As she lay back against the porcelain bowl, she felt her muscles, which had been tense and aching all day, relax almost immediately. Her exhaustion began to catch up, and she was nearly asleep when Anya re-entered.
“Don’t fall asleep, child.” The woman chuckled, sitting down beside the tub on her knees.
Sascha’s face burned red again. “Is it really necessary that you stay here and watch me?” she asked, her teeth gritted with aggravation. “I’m not going to run away.”
“Of course you aren’t,” she said. “I’m just here to help you…”
“I don’t need any!” Sascha snapped. “I just want to be left alone!” Anya looked stricken by her rudeness. She immediately regretted hurting the old woman’s feelings, and hung her head. “Oh...Anya...I’m sorry.”
“No need, child,” she replied stiffly. “You’ve had a difficult day.”
“Yes, mistress,” Sascha mumbled. “But there was no need to speak to you in such a manner.”
“Perhaps.” Anya sighed. “Let me help you.”
Sascha nodded and leaned back, letting the servant pour water over her head and begin scrubbing at her scalp. To her surprise, the touch was such a comfort that she soon found herself lying back in ultimate relaxation.
After several minutes, Sascha spoke again. “Are you the only servant here?”
“There’s Mr. Kincade, the caretaker, and Tristan, the stable boy. But not many will work for Lord Marek.” Anya chuckled, picking at a particularly stubborn tangle.
“Do they fear him?”
“I suppose some do now,” Anya replied. “The castle used to be very different when Lady Isabella was alive.”
“Lady Isabella?” Sascha asked, confused. She had never heard of her.
“It was many years ago,” the old woman mused. “There was a terrible accident. We aren’t to speak of her.” The look on Anya’s face pled for her to drop this line of questioning, but Sascha’s curiosity was piqued now.
“What was she like?” she asked, sinking under the water briefly to rinse the soap out of her hair.
Anya hesitated and handed Sascha a soapy sponge. “Here, scrub yourself clean.”
Sascha nodded and obeyed, scrubbing the dirt from her hands and arms first.
Anya looked around cautiously before leaning in. “Lady Isabella was the most beautiful woman. Bright blue eyes and raven hair, much like yours. She’d been a farmer’s daughter in a village on the other side of Falkin. Many said that Marek was marrying below his station, but he did love her so. In fact, she was the only person that could seem to quell his roughshod manner.”
Sascha smiled. “You’ve known Lord Marek his whole life, haven’t you?”
The old woman nodded, smiling. “Since he was very young anyway. I was a chambermaid in his father’s house. When King Sebastian sent him here, his father sent me along.”
“King Sebastian?”
“Oh yes, child. Lord Marek was a knight. Sebastian’s Sword, some called him.” She took the sponge from Sascha and began scrubbing her back roughly, as if to shear the top layer of skin from her flesh. “Anyway, Marek was away at war when we received word that he was being made Lord Governor of Kaspar and that we should make our way to Castle Monkshood as soon as possible. So I, Lady Isabella, and several other servants made our way here. We knew it was because he must have been terribly injured, but Bella went about making a home for them. The gardens out there were her doing.”
“They are quite beautiful,” Sascha replied, gritting her teeth against the painful scrubbing. “So, what happened to her?”
“For months we waited for his return. Each day we grew more and more uneasy that his injuries had proven fatal. Finally, a messenger arrived with news of his return. Lady Isabella was beside herself with joy and insisted that she rush out into the forest to gather wild roses to decorate the castle. It became dark, and no one had seen her for hours. Finally, when Lord Marek did return, he was carrying her body, all broken and bloody.”
Sascha gasped, the shock of Anya’s description showing on her face. “But how…”
“He would only say that it must have been wolves, attracted to her scent. He buried her in the courtyard. I believe your former master, Mr. Longwillow, managed to find her grave.”
“The rose…”
Anya nodded. “Months after her death, we noticed a wild rosebush growing in the corner of the gardens, sort of hidden from everything, just where Marek had laid her to rest.”
Sascha could feel the tears spring to her eyes, stinging them red.
****
Sascha couldn’t have felt more exposed if she was descending the stairs stark naked. The tiny slippers on her feet made her unsteady, and she gripped the banister for dear life. Anya had twisted her hair into a loose braid down her back, not even allowing her to hide behind her mass of hair. The gown she wore hugged her body a little too tightly across the chest, but Anya assured her that these clothes were only until the seamstress could come with others that would be more to her liking.
Honestly, nothing about this was to Sascha’s liking. Anya had tried her best to be reassuring, but it was of little use. She was completely confused about her place here. What did Lord Marek want with her? Obviously, he wasn’t expecting her to scrub floors or make beds. There was barely enough work for Anya, much less another house servant. If he wasn’t going to kill her then what was he going to do?
“Follow the rosebud carpet to the dining room.” Sascha repeated Anya’s directions to herself again as she searched the foyer for signs of a rosebud carpet. Seeing none, she went around the staircase where, to her surprise, was a large, open area with an intricate mosaic tile floor. Their pattern formed a red rose, circled in a gilded wreath of green. The circle joined wit
h a long rug that led down an endless corridor. Sascha smiled as she noticed the rosebud and ivy details that had been worked into the rug under her feet. The extraordinary beauty of every accouterment was not lost on her.
She passed by several closed doors on her way, but as she came to the end of the rug, she could see that the corridor opened up into a vast ballroom. One entire wall of the room was a blazing fireplace that must have heated that entire end of the castle. Another rose had been painted in the middle of the floor, but this one was far more intricate, and its enormity was overwhelming.
“I see you’ve decided to join me after all.” Marek’s voice echoed from across the room, making Sascha jump.
She turned to see him standing in front of a long dining table. His hands were clasped behind him, making him look even larger than before. He looked somewhat calmer this time—less wild. His long, black mane still fell across his brow in unkempt waves, but it shone brightly in the firelight. He wore simple black leggings tucked into riding boots that stopped at the knee and an ivory shirt laced just over his sternum. He was, in a word, breathtaking in his masculine beauty. Sascha approached him, concentrating on keeping her breath even and silently cursing the smooth bottoms of her slippers. She just knew she was going to fall down on her way crossing the space between them.
“As you wished, my lord,” she replied, giving a clumsy bow.
“No,” he answered sharply. “In a gown, you are to curtsey. Try to remember that you aren’t a stable boy.” One corner of his generous mouth turned slightly upward as if he wanted to smile. He took her hand as she curtseyed, nearly losing her balance. He chuckled, leading her to the seat across from his.
As they sat, she noticed that only one end of the table had been set. It struck her as funny that they were only two people sitting at a table meant for at least twenty. She tried to stifle her laughter, but a small sound escaped and she covered her mouth quickly.
“Something amuses you?” he asked.
“No, my lord,” she stammered.
“Please, little one, speak freely,” he replied, pouring wine into his goblet.
“Well,” Sascha began, unsure as to whether she should continue. “The dining room. It seems so absurd that two people should dine in such a grand room alone.” She looked down at her lap, trying to appear demure rather than embarrassed.
Marek nodded and leaned back against his chair casually. “Perhaps you’re right,” he said, taking a sip of wine. “Tomorrow, we’ll dine in my bedchamber.” He gave her a pointed stare, his innuendo clear.
Sascha cleared her throat, knowing that her face was bright red. She shifted in her seat a little, a sudden warmth settling between her legs.
Marek smiled in victory. “You’ll have to forgive me, girl. I’m not really used to company.”
Before she could reply, Anya entered with a large tray, setting it on the table between them. “Shall I serve, my lord?”
“No, thank you, Anya,” he replied, his eyes never leaving Sascha’s. “I’m sure that we can manage.”
Anya gave a slight bow and sent a reassuring smile in Sascha’s direction before disappearing into the kitchen again. Leaning forward, he pulled the cover off the tray, revealing roasted venison that smelled so inviting that Sascha’s stomach growled. Her mouth ached as it watered hungrily. Marek motioned for her to help herself.
“I couldn’t serve myself before you, my lord,” she mumbled.
“Of course you could,” he replied. “I actually ate earlier.” He smiled, gesturing toward the plate. “Please. You look as if you need it more than I.” He watched with interest as she served herself, pulling at the meat with her fingers. She tore into it as if she hadn’t eaten in years and was sure someone would take it away. He watched for several more minutes, allowing her to finish before speaking again. “Poor child. You really have been neglected, haven’t you?”
She swallowed self-consciously before taking a generous gulp of wine from her goblet. “What do you mean, my lord?”
“You eat with both hands like a savage,” he stated matter-of-factly. “Not at all the way a lady should.”
Sascha blushed again. This time not with embarrassment or fear, but with hurt anger at his criticism. “You asked that I eat.”
“Not as if you were killing it with your bare hands.” He took another drink from his goblet and rose slowly, walking around the table and standing behind her. He leaned down, his mouth against her ear. “If you are to live in my house,” he whispered, “you will behave in all situations as a lady.”
Sascha’s heart pounded beneath her chest, feeling as if it would push everything she’d eaten back into her throat.
Marek reached forward and took the fork at the side of her plate between his fingertips. “These utensils were created so that we don’t have to behave like animals.” He offered the instrument to her and she took it, her hands shaking.
Marek straightened to his full height and turned, walking away from the table toward the corridor. Before leaving, he turned back to her. “If you insist on acting as a beast, I can assure you that I will treat you as such,” he said calmly before disappearing down the hallway.
****
“Lord Marek!” Anya shouted, trying to get his attention as she ran to catch up to him. “My lord! Marek!” She panted. “Cianan!”
Upon hearing his given name, he stopped in his tracks and turned angrily toward Anya. “Be careful, woman,” he snarled. “You would be wise to leave me be.”
Anya’s eyes sparkled with anger. “Who is it you think you’re talking to, Cianan? We’ve been friends for quite some time, and I’ve tended more of your wounds than you care to remember. And you will hear me out.” Her sudden outburst of temper was enough to quiet his protesting. “You mustn’t be so coarse with that girl. She’s already frightened to death of you.”
“I will thank you to let me keep my own counsel on how to speak to my own slave.”
“You and I both know that she’s not an ordinary slave, Cianan,” she hissed. “I’ve seen her soul as well. Do you think I can’t see her resemblance to Lady Isabella?”
“I’m not doubting your gift of sight, Anya.”
“And I’m not doubting your love for her. But she doesn’t remember anything about that life, and it is up to you to show her. Not make her a nervous wreck.”
He sighed and nodded in defeat. “I’m not trying to make her nervous.”
“Your nature has never been gentle, Cianan. I know that. And your...condition...makes it worse, I’m sure.”
“Condition? You speak of it as if it’s some kind of disease,” he hissed. “Something that could be cured by a physician.”
She ignored that. “But you must be more patient with her.” She laid a maternal hand on his arm, peering up at him. “She will never submit through fear.”
Chapter 6
As soon as he was gone, Sascha laid her head on the table, weeping quietly into the crook of her arm. She didn’t know how she had offended him so. She was only doing what she’d always done. She didn’t know how to be the person he expected. The problem was, she could dress up in silly gowns all she liked, but she would never be a perfect, courtly lady. And why did he care so much anyway? She was here to be his slave, not his wife. Realizing quickly that crying in her plate wasn’t solving anything, Sascha sat up straight and looked at the fork in her hand. She gripped it carefully and began picking at what was left of her food, cutting small bites and bringing them awkwardly to her lips. She found that stabbing the meat wasn’t as easy as she would like and dropped the bites into her lap several times before giving up with a sigh of exasperation.
Anya entered quietly from the entryway, watching her closely. When Sascha began to cry again, she rushed to her side. “There, there, dear,” she soothed, patting her on the shoulder. “It isn’t so bad.”
“Yes it is.” She sniffled. “I can’t seem to put a foot right in this place.”
Anya smiled. “I know that Lord Marek
is a bit rough, but I promise, he’s not so bad once you warm to him.”
“He wants me to be something I’m not,” she replied. “And I don’t understand what I’m supposed to do. I just feel so alone.”
Anya took her hand and squeezed it gently. “You aren’t, dear. I promise I’ll help you.” She looked down over the plate of ruined venison in front of Sascha. “Though I have to say I agree with him, somewhat. You went at that meat like a starving peasant.” She took Sascha’s hand and wrapped her fingers around the silver fork. “Here. You have to hold it this way,” she explained. “That way your grip is tight enough to stab the meat.” She demonstrated, and let Sascha try it for herself. After several tries, she seemed to manage it and was able to eat the rest of her dinner without incident.
“There, see? You got the hang of it quickly.”
Sascha nodded with a sigh.
“It’s been a difficult day for you. Why don’t we get you into bed? Things will seem much easier in the morning.” She helped Sascha to her feet and put an arm around her shoulder, leading her toward the staircase.
As they passed through the corridor, she asked the old woman about some of the closed doors.
“The large, double doors there open into the library.”
“A library?” Sascha’s eyes brightened with a glimmer of hope. Her father, though only a poor farmer, had been very passionate about books and had passed that on to her. Many times had she retreated to her tiny room at The Goblet to escape into a book.
“Of course. Isabella was, as Lord Marek used to say, ‘a devourer of books’. Not that he ever cared much for reading himself. Unless the words were falling from Bella’s lips.”
“She read aloud?” Sascha’s face broke into a smile at hearing this. She often read aloud when she was alone. Somehow, it seemed to cure her loneliness to have her voice filling up the empty room.
“All the time,” Anya continued. “They would sit under a big tree in his father’s courtyard for hours, her reading aloud while he listened.”
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