by GinaRJ
He did keep his own hired men busy, occupied with procedures that few were ever aware of…only those he trusted and, yes, those few were even more than he’d imagined it would ever come to.
“How long will we be there?” Byron asked along the way. It was almost dark and soon they would set up camp for the night. The nearest town was yet hours away and he just assumed stop and sleep beneath the stars.
“Two, three nights at the most. We’ll need a space of time to visit Earl Rutherford as well… before the wedding,” he added.
The wedding. He was happy for his friend. Very happy. But felt disturbed whenever he considered or observed Rachel the Elder. By any fault of her own? He could not see. What exactly was it troubling him so?
Perhaps because he found her to be so very appealing. But what man would not? She was probably the loveliest woman he’d ever set eyes upon…striking, he reasoned, without knowing so, meaning to be so or wanting to be.
He thought of Patrice. Beautiful. Smart, She lived directly outside Rowan and operated a harem, which he occasionally frequented…just to see her. They’d been acquainted for ten or so years. She was very well able to satisfy his manly desires. But in comparison…well, there was none. Rachel was pure and simply beautiful on the inside and the outside. She was provocative and did not even know it. She was pure, and Jacob was a lucky man—a lucky man, indeed.
And happy as he had a right to be. So much misfortune had tainted most of his life. Ah, the change in the man overall. It was amazing how he had shifted for the better following the death of his son. Little Jacob…they all missed the lad. Marcus, himself, had become attached to the boy, taking time out to answer the hundreds of questions the curious mind a son of a man like Jacob Trent could come up with. Jacob had properly instructed him even under the condition of his very harsh attitude. How he’d loved the boy! Yes, before little Jacob’s death the man had been ruthless, impossible, and hadn’t seemed to give a damn about anyone or anything besides the raising of a strong child, his own fortune and matters pertaining to the emperor’s realm. Marcus had tolerated him, perhaps better than anyone else could’ve considering the amount of time he’d had to spend in his presence and under his orders for hire—by his own choice, of course. But Jacob had been more to him than a means to make money or an alliance or one who could benefit him thru the benefit of some other noble.
Jacob was also the emperor’s most favorite noble. For the most part, he’d proven himself faithful and well able to keep the emperor’s position intact. No army could match any in comparison to Jacob’s when it came to potential wars between nobles in New Ebony and especially threats from rulers overseas. Had it not been for Jacob, the emperor’s position would have been taken by the king of Roark many years ago. He’d claimed the right to rule New Ebony, said it had been stolen from him. In some distant way the two men were related. But the emperor had every right to his position. Jacob had swiftly rounded up an army, invaded Roark and brought back not only the heads of that king’s two most powerful nobles, his uncle and chief general, but of the king as well. The position King of Roark was then passed on to the brother, and no country had since then so much as raised their voice in a letter of opposition to the emperor.
But now it was not the emperor’s life on the line, but Jacob’s. And neither he nor the emperor would back down until the guilty party was discovered, stopped and put to death. Then they could tell Jacob. Then. He anticipated the day.
CHAPTER SIX
The idea of taking lessons to learn more about, practice and perfect her ‘noble’ skills was not exactly a pleasant one. Percival was the one to bring the proposition to her. He was quite convincing, claiming she could use something to do while Jacob was busy or away other than sewing, reading or going for simple walks.
“I think I am doing well enough.” She placed firm hands on her hips. “Whose idea was this, anyway?”
Percival looked at the floor as if in shame. “Mine, milady.”
“Does he agree to this?”
“I did not mention it to Lord Trent. It was merely an idea that I thought to bring to your attention…not that you fall short in your abilities, milady. I only thought you would be interested in learning more and perfecting your skills…and also learning more about the behaviors of those around you and what they mean.”
“You are very convincing, Percival.” She walked over to a table and shuffled thru some books. She took one out from the pile and turned, holding it up for him to see. “This book explains everything I need to know.”
His eyes lit up and he walked toward her. “Ah, an excellent source for learning the behaviors of the noble class.” He took the book for himself, flipping thru its pages. “And you discovered this in the library? Who would’ve thought? There are so many books.”
“I only discovered it after setting out to organize the books. If you visited the library you would find the shelves much more organized, and the books lined up according to subject. So, you see, I have discovered ways on my own to occupy my time. With such a valuable collection, you would think someone would take the time to organize it properly. One thing I have learned, the things people in Westerly would cherish with all their heart are the very things people here take terribly for granted.”
“Well,” he began, handing the book back to her. “I suppose we should see about finding someone to fill that position. Nonetheless,” he turned, preparing to make an exit, “I shall tell Sister Camille that you are in no need of further instruction.”
“Sister Camille?” she repeated, and set the book down. “Percival, you mentioned nothing about Sister Camille.”
He had stopped and turned back around to face her. “I did not think it would make a difference.”
“Well, it certainly does. You may tell Sister Camille that I accept her offer for tutoring, and that I very much appreciate it.”
He grinned tiredly. “Very well, I shall tell her.”
Their first reunion was a very happy one. Camille embraced her, smiling brightly and cheerfully laughing. “I was so delighted when I heard of your engagement to be wed. It came as a surprise to me. You see, it was assumed Lord Trent would be wed to Roselle of Lyndinburg, the earl of Lyndinburg’s daughter. But when you descended the steps that morning and I beheld you…well, Lord Trent, I knew, would behold you just the same, and with the addition of being a man. Then I spoke with Father Nelson—briefly, mind you.” She almost whispered, “He explained it all to me: The letter. Jacob’s reaction to it then and now. I am so very happy for him and for you. It must have been fate that brought you together.”
She had thought so herself, but did not mention it.
She and Camille began meeting so ever often in the week. Rachel would ride into Harp and spend nearly the entire day there. Not that they only focused upon noble etiquette. They also spent a great deal of time simply talking and sharing a laugh about this or that. But she did learn things that she hadn’t read about or heard or thought of, such as the proper way to accept a glass of wine, how to bow the head so ever slightly when greeting a Lesser Nobles, toward the left only. It was only proper to bow the head toward the right when greeting a Higher Noble.
“How is one to know whether a man is a Lesser or a Higher?”
“Have you noticed Jacob’s clothing? He dones a red emblem…engraved into many of his vestments, usually on the lapel…which is the case always during social events. They purposely do this.”
Just how anyone kept up with all of this was beyond her. She imagined it would take some time. But she had all the time in the world. She only wondered…how long did he have? Maybe longer than he imagined. She certainly hoped so.
******
Three weeks altogether passed and the day of the wedding came
about. Rachel began preparing herself early and accordingly. The gown was laid out; so beautiful, like something from a book or a dream—a child’s dream.
Her bath had been accomplished, her hair was washed and dried. Za
ria would brush and fix it in a short while. Later, so soon as evening was about to set in, she would shed her robe and array herself in the elegant gown made especially for her. The seamstresses and clothier had done an excellent job designing it.
She touched the silk train, all sorts of emotions washing over her. Could it be? Was she truly about to become the wife of Jacob Trent, Lord of The Great City, the finest city in all New Ebony?
Butterflies swarmed in her stomach, amazement consumed her heart. But erratic stabs of fright kept her from being at complete ease. Could she actually go through with this? Honestly, there were sporadic temptations to run and run hard.
She paced the floor, eventually stopping before the window from which she stared out at the courtyard below. This would be an outdoor wedding, just as she’d dreamt about as a child…before the idea of choosing the Sacred Vows over marital one’s had ever entered her mind. The large enclosure was decorated with all sorts of flowers and greenery and statues of lions and birds, gentlemen and ladies. A red carpet was in the process of being rolled out down the center of the area where they would be wed. It would lead from the entrance of the chapel to a platform where the vows were to be exchanged. Candles floated atop the water encircling the fountain. They would be lit, along with dozens of torches encircling the immediate area. And dozens of bridesmaids and grooms would stand in perfect harmony, dressed accordingly. It would be spectacular.
She wondered for possibly the hundredth time if she was making a mistake, furthermore, if she would be punished. She was more-or-less trading her heavenly commitment for a worldly one. Was she at all in the right to abandon her calling?
She recalled the hefty donation, and that she was not obligated to do anything, nor had she ever been. She was marrying Jacob because she loved him. No, this trading of worldly vows in exchange for her heavenly ones had nothing to do with money. It was Jacob. It was love.
It was as she stood gaping at the scene below, people coming and going, mostly servants arranging things about the premises and guards strolling about, that the door opened and Tilly burst into the room. She came toward her with such force it seemed she would run directly into her.
Rachel’s hands instantly came out to take her by the shoulders. “Tilly! What is it?”
“It—it’s….” she stopped, trying to catch her breath.
“Tilly!” She shook her. “What has happened?”
“It is Sir Trent. He—he is ill. The sickness that comes and goes has come upon him. He is very ill.”
Rachel released her and after a quick glance from her face to the door, to her face and the door again, she nudged her aside and hasted from the room, rushing from one corridor to another and to the doors of Jacob’s private quarters. The entrance was secured by two guards, one at the left, one the right. They simultaneously stepped in front of her as she would have gone inside.
“He is sick, milady,” explained the one, “and being tended to.”
“Let me by,” she urged, dodging one to the left and the other the right.
“He is ill,” said the other.
“And I am his fiancé,” she loudly reminded before again commanding, “Let me by!”
At this point her fists were clenched and her expression had gone from suppliant to bold and grave. The two glanced from her to one another and then, although hesitantly, stepped aside just as simultaneously as they’d stood together. Rachel burst into the cozy, unoccupied drawing room and hasted toward a second set of doors, this leading into a bedchamber. Two maidens instantly looked up from the bed where Jacob lied. They had been caring for him, both using damp towels to dab his skin with cold water.
She rushed to the bedside, nudging one of the maidens out of the way. She eased down to sit on the edge of the bed, examining his pale, sweaty skin. She took one of his hands, casting her eyes upon the maiden opposite her.
“Where is the physician?” She demanded to know.
“He has gone to fetch another dose of his remedy, milady,” answered the one nearest her instead. Rachel took the damp towel from her hand and began smoothing it across Jacob’s forehead. “Jacob,” she quietly called, frowning deeply at the sight of him in such a shape.
“He cannot hear you,” said the one, a hint of scorn in her voice.
“He only comes to on and off,” said the other.
Rachel took a moment to peer at them both before refocusing on his sickly face. “Jacob,” she quietly called to him, and was ever relieved when he said her name in response.
Still his eyes were closed; he was barely awake, too close to barely alive, it seemed. But she did not care even if he could barely hear her, only that he could at all…this was reassuring.
“Rachel,” he whispered.
“Yes, I am here.”
His brows came together as if from pain. “This,” he began, his voice very quiet, “it’s a curse to me.”
“No,” she disagreed. “It—It is an illness, not a curse.”
“Of all days this one. Could it not have waited one more?”
“You will get well,” she both hoped and assured, hating to see him in this condition…despising it, even.
His eyes were beginning to open now. He raised the hand she held to, touching it to her cheek. “I have never been so disappointed, nor so certain that fate has set her face against me. It is not meant for me to be happy.”
“You mustn’t believe such things.”
“Perhaps,” he slowly continued, “I lost that right many years ago with my tyrannical ways. My…my wicked deeds.”
After hearing him, she glanced up at the maiden nearest her. “Go and seek the physician. Tell him to be quick.”
While the maiden did as asked, she looked up at the second. “Leave us,” she calmly ordered, and when the maiden hesitated to budge, she said it a second time…this time louder. “Leave us!” To this the maiden quickly turned and hasted from the room. Rachel returned her attention to him, her eyes shadowed by utter sadness. “You shouldn’t say such things,” she scolded. “It isn’t so.”
“You did not know me,” he told her, “the horrible man I was.”
“We have all made mistakes. None of them are held eternally against us, not after we’ve changed them.”
“And what were yours?” He asked, his gaze, although sluggish, set upon her. “Tell me, Rachel the Elder, what horrible deeds did you ever commit? And you were so near to making these vows to me and doing away with your calling. Perhaps that is the reason for my downfall this day. It was not meant to be. Or could this merely be coincidence?”
“I don’t believe either of those things.”
“Seeing me in this condition…you will change your mind altogether.”
She shook her head, and would have spoken. But when she parted her lips nothing came out for she heard the voice of that second maiden in the adjoining room, complaining to someone else that she “should not be disturbing him at a time like this”. Rachel was instantly angered by the complaint. Both her heart and her eyes hardened upon hearing it.
“Do not worry, Holly,” she heard Marcus say with a reassuring voice. “It is well.”
With that he came thru the doorway looking as if he’d just arrived from some endeavor with his worn clothes and dusky features—perhaps he had for she had not witnessed his livelihood since the day following the wedding announcement.
She refocused her attention upon Jacob’s pale face, wishing the physician would hurry with his medicine.
“You should rest,” she told him, although in a way fearing if he slept he would never again awaken. The thought caused her heart to sink with a terrible sadness and her eyes to sting with tears.
“Rest,” he repeated. “I will have plenty time to rest after I have gone into the grave, when death has called my name and I’ve fallen into that dark, terrible sleep.”
“You will live,” she assured him, “as you have before.”
“Who knows what awaits a man on the other side.”
&
nbsp; “You needn’t fear death,” she said to him. Her face came closer as she said, “You are not a bad man, nor are you being punished, nor will you die.”
“I was well and then—“
“This is how it comes and goes,” Marcus told her, “without warning.” He came closer, stopping at the foot of the bed. “Another date may be set for the wedding.”
“Another date,” Jacob repeated, closing his eyes as if to block out the very idea.
“You will become all the more ill if you do not adapt to the idea.”
His eyes opened again. “Adapt,” he scowled, reprimanding not Marcus, but the word in itself. He winced painfully. Rachel glanced toward the door, wondering just what in the world was taking the physician so long. But the pain seemed to go as quickly as it’d come. His expression relaxed again. His chest rose and fell while he simply rested. She figured and hoped whatever medicines the physician had gone after would ease his bouts of pain.
“Will the remedy ease the pain?” she asked.
“For a time,” Marcus quietly told her.
She inhaled a deep breath, grieved by the situation altogether. “For how long?” She asked.
“So long as it is needed,” Marcus told her. “It will be administered to him, and then another to help him rest, which has thus far proven the best remedy of all. The first several hours are the worst. But when this stage passes the pain goes with it and he sleeps. The fever will come and go until he is completely well again.”
She understood in a daze, staring at Jacob’s pale face, the circles beneath his eyes and beads of sweat on his forehead. Using the towel she gently wiped them away, her brows drawn together as her mind raced with all sorts of thoughts.
“Another day may be set,” Marcus reminded, as if reading her mind.
“No,” she quietly disagreed with the shake of her head.