by Marie Brown
Happily Ever After?
a tale of Anarill
Marie Brown
©2012
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 1
The room was decorated in a fantasy of opulence. Silk, velvet, and satin abounded. Rich jewel tones gleamed in the light of scented candles. Leena felt a shiver of apprehension as she followed a house servant into the Lady's private chambers. She had never been here before. There was little need for a lowly kennel girl to enter the private domain of the Lady, and Leena did not know what had prompted this summons.
"Do sit down, child." The languid voice of the Lady emerged from an artfully shadowed nook. Leena sat hesitantly on the edge of a velvet-cushioned settle, wishing the messenger had at least given her enough time to change. She doubted Lady Eliana would appreciate dog hairs on her fine furniture. "I am sure you are wondering why I have sent for you."
Leena nodded, peering into the shadows. She could just make out a figure seated in a deep wingback chair. "Yes, Lady."
"I have a proposition for you." The Lady paused. A hint of motion suggested the movement of a fan. "It would involve a bit of deception on your part, but the rewards would be substantial."
"I beg your pardon, my Lady?" Leena's eyes widened with shock.
With a rustle of silk, Lady Eliana rose from her chair and moved into the room at last. "Let me look at you, child." She glided over to Leena and took her chin in one gloved hand, turning it this way and that. The Lady's sharp eyes took in every detail- the clear complexion, the thick, amber-colored hair, the clear hazel eyes. . . and the sturdy hands and well-toned muscles of one who was accustomed to working with dogs for a living. She frowned slightly at the scruffy working clothes, more so when she spotted the fine scars collected from teeth and claws. "Gloves, most certainly..." she murmured. In a louder tone, she continued. "Perhaps you are aware that my son is of an age to marry."
Startled, Leena nodded. Quite possibly every citizen of the Barony knew this fact.
"He has done little towards achieving this goal, and I grow weary of his games. He has rejected out-of-hand every eligible lady in the district."
"Everyone knows this, my Lady. What can any of this have to do with me?"
"Everything, child. I would have you collect information for me."
"My Lady?"
"My son is drawn to those who need his help. We shall manufacture a situation in which you appear to be a Lady in distress. Then, when he rescues you from this situation, you will make yourself his close friend and confidant. You will find out exactly why he has not chosen a bride, what qualities he is looking for. This information will be given to me, that I may coach an appropriate bride in the way to catch my son."
"My Lady—I—I cannot—" Leena was speechless with shock. This was nothing short of cold-blooded manipulation, and she felt dreadfully sorry for the young lord.
"In exchange, of course, you shall be well taken care of. We can arrange the details later, but I can assure you that your success will mean you need never soil your hands in a kennel again."
Leena drew breath to reject the offer. Such a thing did not even bear considering.
"Do not answer now," the Lady commanded. "You will now return to your quarters. Think on this, and give me your answer by this time tomorrow."
With a graceful swirl of skirts, Eliana turned and left the room. Leena rose slowly, mind filled with incredulous disbelief. She could scarcely credit that a mother would seek to entrap her own son so. Seeing little alternative, she returned to her own quarters.
Here she found yet another surprise. Crammed into her small room were three maids, with an assortment of toiletry items and a fantastic gown.
"It is my Lady's order that we clean you and dress you," said one of the maids. "She bids you to consider such treatment carefully, and observe the result."
Rather amused by this, Leena submitted tamely to the ministrations of the maids as they did arcane things to her skin and hair. This gave her plenty of time to think on the Lady's words, and to reject the plot thoroughly. Although she did not know the young Lord Varley at all, she doubted that he deserved to be manipulated into choosing a wife he had already rejected once.
"If the lady would care to look in the mirror. . .?" The maid's voice intruded into her thoughts. Leena glanced into the mirror and gasped. Was that her? She had not known she could look so fine, as though she were a lady in truth and not a mere dressed up kennel girl. Satin slid smoothly against skin accoustomed to wool and cotton. She twisted about, eager to see every angle of herself in the full length mirror the maids had brought along.
"My goodness, what a difference a proper gown makes!" she exclaimed aloud, twirling delightedly and enjoying the feel of the satin swirling about her ankles. A part of her, filled with vanity and greed for pretty things, urged her to reconsider the Lady's offer. But no, she was no lady. No matter how fine this gown looked, her manners were those of a kennel girl. She had no more idea how to behave amongst the nobility than a fine lady had of how to break up a dog fight. Reluctantly, she turned to the maid who seemed to be in charge.
"Beautiful though this gown is, I cannot possibly—"
"No, lady," the maid interrupted. "You are to keep the gown, as a reminder of what awaits you. We have performed our duty, and will leave now."
With that, the trio quickly and efficiently gathered up their equipment and left. Leena, alone at last, sighed wistfully and ran her hand over the rich burgundy fabric. Then she strengthened her resolve and removed the gown, storing it carefully in her standing wardrobe. Despite the interruptions and turmoil of the day, the dogs still needed their evening feed.
Chapter 2
The next day, Leena was summoned once again into the Lady's rooms, interrupting her midday dog grooming routine. She gathered her courage and followed the servant into the same fantastic bower.
"My Lady," she began, only to be interrupted.
"I trust the gown was to your liking? It is but one of many that shall be yours."
"My Lady, the gown is beautiful. But I cannot possibly do what you have asked of me."
"Refusal is not an option. You must perform this service for me."
"No, my Lady, I will not." Leena drew a shaking breath and held it. Defying the will of one's employer was scarcely prudent, but she could not bring herself to enter into the mad scheme Eliana had proposed.
"Foolish child," the Lady hissed, crossing the room to glare at Leena furiously. "You shall obey me! Do you know what is at stake here?"
Leena gulped. Her life? Her home? Her sole means of support? Certainly she knew what was at stake. But what good was her life if she couldn't look at herself in the mirror? Something in her simply would not allow her to conspire against someone who had done her no harm. "The answer is unchanged."
"Very well, then. If that's the way you want it, then so shall it be." Before Leena realized what she was doing, Lady Eliana strode to the door of the suite. "Guards!"
Two guards materialized promptly and a sudden intense fear gripped Leena by the throat. "This girl is a thief. Detain her immediately and send for your Captain."
Leena's jaw fell. "No. No! It's not true! I'm not—I'm just not—"
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br /> "Hush now, missy, there'll be no more out of you." One of the guards moved in close to her, while the other called a page out of the busy corridor. "I don't want no trouble, hear? You just stay right there and we'll be just fine."
"But I'm not—"
"I said no talking. Now just keep your mouth shut and wait here like a good little girl."
The guard Captain arrived all too soon. Leena stood quietly as the Lady instructed the Captain to have one of his men search Leena's quarters, watching for anything that looked out of place. Maybe cooperation would help.
The guard returned from his search of Leena's quarters swiftly, with the gown of yesterday draped over his arm.
"That gown belonged to my dear departed daughter! This little tramp had no right to even look upon it, much less take it for her own use!"
Leena felt tears gather in her eyes. "But you sent it to me yourself!"
"I did no such thing, and well you know it. Captain, I demand that you have this—creature—whipped, marked, and exiled for her crimes."
"No!" Leena moaned. The tears overflowed. "I didn't steal anything, I—"
"Silence, girl," growled the guard Captain. "Bring her along, I'll see to it myself," he said, gesturing for the other guards to follow as he left the suite.
Frantically, Leena struggled to get free of the grip on her arm.. "No, no, you don't understand! I didn't do it, please don't do this to me!"
Apart from the tightening of the grip on her arm, there was no response. Leena continued to struggle futilely, bitter tears scalding cheeks cold with fear.
They took her to the stableyard and peeled her clothes off as they attached wrists to the whipping post. Leena thought she saw a hint of pity in the Captain's eyes, but not enough to spare her this unjust punishment.
"Lady commanded it, so you must be whipped." The Captain fiddled with the slender rod used for disciplining children. "But she didn't say with what, or how many strokes. So I'll go easy on you, girl."
Easy or not, Leena still yelled in outraged pain as the whip struck her once, twice. . . a total of five times. Then she began screaming and struggling in earnest, for a man approached with the heated branding iron in hand.
"No!" Helpless, unable to get away, tied to a post and trapped! The hot iron burn into the back of her right hand, then her left. She screamed. The pain was easily the worst she had ever felt, and the stench of her own flesh as it burned gagged her. Then they took her and slung her, still naked, over the back of a horse. A party of five took her outside the gates of the manor grounds, then dumped her unceremoniously on the ground and rode off, leaving her alone on the forest road. The sun, almost repellently cheerful, shone down brightly in a sky dotted with high wispy clouds. A playful spring breeze rattled the budding branches of the trees.
Bitter sobs shook her as her mind railed against the injustice of it all. The Baroness, lovely Lady Eliana, was nothing but a lying, conniving, two-faced. . . she couldn't even think of an appropriate word to describe the Lady. "Bitch," applied to Eliana, would be an insult to the noble female dogs of the world.
Leena wept until her throat was dry and scratchy. The rough dirt of the road beneath her was damp and she had little strength. Apathy and dejection held her immobile. The burning pain in her hands began to take over her entire consciousness. She was so intent on her own misery that she did not even hear the sound of approaching hoofbeats.
"And what have we here?" A man's voice intruded upon her thoughts, as she stared at the brand on the back of her left hand.
"Oh please sir, please help me!" Leena struggled into an upright position. Dirt and tears mixed on her face to make her a most unlovely sight. She tried to cover her breasts, but moving hurt her hands.
"Who are you, and who has done this to you?" The man dismounted from his horse, unfastening his cloak and covering her with it. Leena clutched it about her with intense gratitude, ignoring the rasp of the wool against her tender back.
"My name is Leena, sir," she said, gulping against a sob at the unexpected kindness from a stranger. "I—was—a kennel girl at the Baron's estate. The Lady—no, you won't believe it." Her shoulders slumped in defeat.
"The Lady Eliana did this to you? Tell me." Disregarding the dirt of the roadway, the man knelt down in front of her, gazing earnestly into her eyes.
"She wanted me to do something," Leena said, unable to look away from the compelling gaze. "I didn't want to do it. She set me up to look like a thief, and had me whipped, marked, and exiled." A few more tears leaked out of her sore eyes. The stranger reached out for her hand where it clutched his cloak, loosening her grip and turning it so he could examine the rune burned rawly into the back, which proclaimed her a thief to all the world.
"And naturally, with these, the hand of every man will be against you. I think you'd better come with me, I know someone who may be able to help you." The man rose, pulling Leena up with him. She followed mutely, unable to see any alternative.
He remounted and offered Leena a hand. A bit nervous, since she had scarcely ever been on a horse, Leena grasped his hand and mounted behind him. She was still trying to arrange the cloak to cover as much of her as possible when the horse moved off at a gentle trot. Trying to ignore the discomfort of riding without protection for her legs, Leena held on grimly. She had no idea what was going to happen, but it could hardly be worse than what she had endured already today.
The man guided the horse onto a thread of a path through the forest. "Please, sir," Leena asked, "where are you taking me? And who are you?"
"My name is Camryn. I am taking you to my home. Do not worry, it is not terribly far."
Much to Leena's relief, this was true. The sun had scarcely traveled an hour's distance across the sky when the horse jogged into a clearing in front of a modest hunting lodge. At the sound of hoofbeats, the door opened and a man emerged. Leena gasped. It was the young Lord Varley!
"Back so soon, Cam?" The Lord smiled a welcome, then caught sight of Leena. "What's this?"
Camryn dismounted abruptly, turning to assist Leena. She tried in vain to keep the cloak about her as she slid down the tall horse's side. "This, my friend, is the latest of your mother's. . . projects."
"Do tell! I must know what my mother has been up to this time." Then his sharp gaze fell on the brand, showing clearly on the hand clutching the cloak. "But you are hurt. We must get you inside and cared for first."
"Th-thank you, m'lord." Leena was nearly speechless with gratitude. Her mind was stunned with the bizarre events of the day, but she retained enough wit to follow the men inside.
The young Lord led Leena through the main room of the lodge to a door in the side wall. She had a confused impression of a cross between rustic charm and comfort, then she entered an entirely modern room. Long and narrow, it combined a bathing room—complete with running water and flushpot—and a large closet filled with men's clothes.
"Let me see, now. . . His would be miles too big, surely I have something in here. . ." Lord Varley began sorting through the shelves and pegs, searching for something that might possibly fit Leena. "Here, this should do. I know it is hardly appropriate woman's garb, but it is better than Cam's cloak." He offered her an armful of clothing, and she took it gingerly, reluctant to get dirt on the clean cloth. "I trust that everything else will work just as well for a woman as a man, though," and he indicated the tub with a grin. "Now get yourself cleaned up a bit, and then I would like to hear your tale."
"Thank you, my Lord! More than I can say. I—"
"Hush now, clean yourself up first. And make sure to get all the dirt out of those burns, no matter how it hurts. They will heal much better if they are clean."
The Lord turned and left, closing the door behind him.
Leena could hear a low murmur of voices begin in the other room, but ignored them in favor of the tub. Amazing, really, how well-appointed this room was, a far cry from the common bathing room the kennel staff shared. She choked back more tear
s at the thought of her home and friends, determined to make the best of this strange situation she found herself in.
Once clean and dry, the world seemed a brighter place. Leena pulled on the loose tan trousers provided for her, tying the drawstring tight and rolling up the overlong legs to form cuffs. Then she gingerly slid the loose cotton shirt over her head, wincing a bit as the sleeves scraped over her wounded hands. At least the skin of her back no longer felt as though it were on fire. The shirt hung nearly to her knees, and she rolled the loose sleeves up to her elbows to avoid any chance of contact with her hands. Leena giggled a bit, catching sight of herself in the long mirror. She looked like a child playing dress-up with an adult's clothes. Small wonder, though, Lord Varley was much taller than she. Her head barely came up to his shoulder, and Camryn stood half a head taller still.
Leena pulled a comb through her still-wet hair, then admitted to herself that she could no longer avoid the inevitable interview. She took a deep breath, gathered her courage, and stepped through the door into the main room. Her first impression had been correct. This room was very large, and resembled a rich person's idea of rustic charm. Bed, living area, and kitchen were all combined into one large room. The furniture was heavy and roughly made, but well upholstered and covered with luxuriant blankets and furs. There was an immense fireplace along the wall, with a small fire burning to ward off the spring chill. Herbs and root vegetables hung in strings from the rafters of the kitchen. A few more fine skins decorated the walls.
Her rescuers were standing close together by the large window opposite the fireplace, speaking in low voices. Leena cleared her throat, a bit self-consciously. She had the feeling they were discussing her.
"Ah, you look much better." Lord Varley promptly turned to face her. He crossed the room and took her hands to carefully examine the backs. "You did a good job of cleaning these. Now do sit down, and tell your tale."
The two men sat on the large couch. Leena settled into a wide chair, easily large enough to hold two of her. "My Lord, you may not like this," she warned.
"Be easy, Leena. Camryn has told me already that you ran afoul of my mother, and I wish to hear the details from you."
"Well then, my Lord, it started yesterday, when the Lady called me to her rooms. . ." As she told her tale, more fully this time, a sense of unreality crept up and gripped Leena. She felt dislocated, adrift in a sea of disturbing happenings. Not much made sense anymore. . . not her memories of the last two days, not her present location, not the fact that Lord Varley and some other man were hanging on her every word. . .