Lady Trent

by GinaRJ

  “It isn’t so.”

  “It is…but obviously not the case with you. Now I will ask you once more and once more only…how did you know he would be present?”

  “I told you,” she loudly called out, and then slid down the wall, bowed her head and began to sob.

  He stared down at her a while. He hated it had come to this, but he had no sympathy for her. She was in the proper position, but not exactly the proper place. This woman, he decided, could be the very one to finally give up the answers he’d been wanting for a very long time.

  “Guard!” He called out.

  The guard quickly returned. “Sir?”

  “By the authority of Lord Trent, this woman shall be transported into the Northern Isles. Three men will be sent from the Great City within the next twelve hours. She shall be transferred, and no mention of it shall be made, not even to Lady Trent. I speak this under the authority of Lord Trent himself, whom provides for the treasury at the request of the Lady, but whom may withdraw it if by chance his orders are not followed exactly as I have stated them.”

  “Yes, sir,” he easily obliged.

  Marcus stepped back. Roselyn’s dirty, tear-streaked face tilted upward. “Sir Marcus,” she pleaded.

  He simply looked at her.

  “Sir Marcus.” This time her voice was even louder. Marcus nodded at the guard. He closed the door with an eerie clang, locking it, and the two of them stalked from the cell, the sound of her screaming and crying out to him echoing thru the dark passageways until the final door was closed.

  ******

  Later that evening, he was back in the Great City. Linus who kept charge of the horses took his horse for him, happy to see him again. The lad looked up to him as son would a father. It made him think of being a father…how well of one he would be. He would train up fine sons and elegant, strong daughters. His would be a perfect family. All except for one thing. He would not love his wife. Perhaps in time he would learn.

  Two maidens, Adelle and Tressa, saw to it a bath was drawn for him. The palace was very quiet this time of night, and he could not help but visualize Rachel, although where he did not know. In her own bed? In Jacob’s?

  He shook the thoughts away, thinking about Patrice, and then his soon to be engagement, the announcement of which he planned to make the next morning.

  It was about the eighth hour of morning. Percival explained that Jacob was dining at his table, preparing for a venture of some sort. The guards stepped aside when he came upon the double doors. He instantly heard the sound of laughter as he came thru them—Rachel giggling about something or another. He hadn’t expected to see her. At this hour Jacob normally dined alone, simply to think over whatever matters would occupy him for the day.

  “Well, I see you have returned.” He extended a hand to the seat at the direct left of his which Marcus did not hesitate to take. “I do not mean to intrude,” he said, casting Rachel a short glance. She didn’t look at him at all, but focused upon using a knife to cut something on her plate.

  “You are always welcome, Marcus. You know this. And I know Rachel does not mind.”

  “Of course not,” she agreed, looking up at him with such a good-natured expression upon that beautiful face of hers. Such a beautiful little performer she was. “I imagine he must be hungry,” she went on to say. “After all, you did return late…past midnight. My handmaiden noted so. To the best of her knowledge you did not request anything to eat.”

  “At that point I was too tired to eat,” he said, working his way around her sarcastic comments.

  “Where did you leave off too?” Jacob probed. “You departed without a word and three days have passed.”

  “I was away tending to a personal affair,” he said, accepting the plate that was set before him, although without any kind of appetite.

  “Nothing serious, I hope.”

  “No,” he insisted, “not terribly.” The servant came near. “I’ll have wine,” he ordered. He could see they were having the same. Not that this was uncommon; the wine with the least effect was served at such an hour. No chance of becoming besides oneself, no, not even with several glasses.

  “There is a reason I sought you out at this hour,” he told Jacob. “I have some news.”

  Jacob swallowed a drink from his chalice and set it down. “Speaking of news…Rachel was telling me about this, um, sudden disappearance of her handmaiden while in Orland. Do you know anything about this?”

  “I think she, herself, could attest to the maiden’s peculiar behavior. Who is to say she did not simply make herself available to some other cause. She was nowhere in the manor house, nor could she be located amongst any of the people there.”

  “Well, so long as no mischief befell her. If she did, perchance, make herself available to some other cause, whatever that may be, so be it. But she should be accounted for. I imagine I will hear word of her whereabouts at some point in time…if she by chance relocates herself and it eventually becomes known that she departed without either command or explanation. I will be notified to answer whether she may have perchance escaped any punishment due her in the case a crime was committed.” He looked up at Rachel. “Peculiar behavior? You should have made a complaint.”

  She had swallowed a drink of wine, and audibly, although quietly, cleared her throat. “I merely overlooked her, milord. But I suppose it is well that she is gone. I only hope she was safe in departing and not mishandled in any way.”

  “Word will eventually come around of her whereabouts.” He took a bite from his fork, lowered it and thought for a moment. “What is this news you have?”

  Marcus stared at his goblet, toying with its stem with his long, lean fingers. During the silence, without even looking at the man, he could see Jacob’s brows drawing together…see his lips pressing with a frown.

  “Well?” He urged. “I had hoped the report would be a good one. Judging by your expression it is not.”

  “It is, yes, but in a way I am afraid it may not be all around.”

  “You needn’t keep me waiting any longer. Say what you must.”

  Marcus leaned back in his chair. “It is well,” he told him, “Although it will change things, this turn of events, in such a way that must be adapted to.”

  “Well?” Jacob seriously urged when he paused a second time.

  “I am engaged to be wed,” he told him, “to Elizabeth of Wescott.”

  “Engaged,” Jacob repeated after him. A deep grin touched his lips. “I would call that good news.” He looked at Rachel. “Did you hear that? Marcus is engaged to be wed.” He transferred his gaze back to Marcus. “Congratulations, my friend. She is quite beautiful, and it is well known that her sisters, like their mother, upon wedding produced fine, strong sons for their husbands.” He raised a hand to slowly caress his chin. “When did this come about?”

  “It was proposed the beginning of the year. I had declined, and then ignored it altogether. I recently accepted. The wedding will be early Fall.”

  “This is very good news, Marcus. After all, life does pass so quickly. A man needn’t refuse marriage past the age of thirty-five. You have travelled the world and certainly done your part, paid your dues. To settle and become a family man…this I find a reasonable and valuable decision.” He focused upon Rachel. “Isn’t that good news.”

  “Yes,” she agreed. “It is good news.” She took up her glass and raised it in the air to propose a toast. “To love,” she said, peering into Marcus’s eyes, “and many years of it.”

  Together they drank. Marcus knew, of course, that she was being sarcastic. What else? For to propose a toast to love after he had admitted he did not love Elizabeth in the slightest…well, what other motives could she have for proposing to the very thing he’d denied? And that gleam in her eyes…it was all so obvious to him that she resented him. For what cause? Did she expect he should be single for the sake of the secret lusts between them? Lust. Merely lust. Lust that could never be acted upon. Yes, there was m
ore basis for this resentment than her concern for her husband. It was quite obvious to him, even now as she peered at him from over the rim of her glass, as if caring not that she could be spotted at any given time.

  But it would not be evident to Jacob, for the expression upon her face was a simple one. Marcus would not have imagined she could do so well at pretending to be something she was not…which at this moment was at complete ease. She was not content with this news and he knew it.

  “Tell me, my friend, where will you settle? Wescott? Port Quill? Perhaps Harvard Plains? It is my understanding the emperor wishes to soon appoint a noble over the northern portions of the Western Commons.”

  “Something else I wished to speak to you about. While I was away, I made arrangements and orders to begin construction for a manor house, as large and decent as can possibly be built in such a short span of time. As we speak, the process is under way. In the future, I will plan for something nobler. Maybe a castle. The castle of Emwark has always intrigued me.”

  “Ah, Emwark, yes. Rumored to be even finer than this.” He extended his arms in reference to the palace. “Elizabeth Wescott is certainly accustomed to fine things, although not so fine as a place of this size let alone one the size of Emwark’s palace. Earl Wescott shall be pleased to see his daughter so well kept. She is very dear to him, being the youngest of the daughters and of all his children.” He chuckled. “All twelve of them. I doubt he has a clue what fine things you have in mind, although I am certain he, as we all, are well aware that you, Sir Marcus, bare the potential of becoming what I, myself, have become…the most noblest noble in all New Ebony.”

  Marcus could not help but grin, for it was not like the man to brag in the slightest, no, not since his change. It was actually quite refreshing to hear him giving himself such credit, professing for himself what he truly was, which was just as he had stated.

  “So tell me, my friend, where will this manor house be constructed?”

  “The Southern Plains,” he quickly replied, for he had tired of falling silent in order to put off speaking the truth to spare the man’s feelings. No sense prolonging these obligatory details.

  “The Southern Plains?” Jacob’s brows instantly drew together.

  “Quite near the border of the Commons.”

  “I see.” He was obviously disappointed.

  Marcus inhaled a deep, weary breath of air, proceeding with an explanation. “I have a reasonable amount of land there, good land, rich enough to attract planters and sharecroppers and herdsmen. The pastures and fields are perfect for the raising of animals. Tradesmen would subsequently follow.”

  “The Southern Plains,” Jacob repeated once more, his very serious expression focused upon his plate, which he had hardly touched. “Well, then, it seems you have given this a great deal of thought. I imagine your presence will be required there. And with the, um, distance I imagine you will have little time to travel, except it be for some pertinent occasion, such as is the case with myself.”

  Marcus could not speak at all. His heart went out to the man. His silence answered for him.

  “I see. Well, then, I will require a new man to handle a portion of the matters I have entrusted to you over the years, or perhaps handle them on my own.”

  There was a space of silence. Marcus’s heart fell, and it was obvious Rachel’s did as well as she gaped sadly upon Jacob’s countenance.

  “I have a man who may be trusted,” Marcus came to say.

  Jacob gave his head a shake. “No, no,” he corrected. “I cannot simply turn these matters over to just any man. I am not at ease even thinking about it.” With that, he scooted back his chair and stood, taking his chalice with him. “I don’t suppose I had thought about this,” he slowly replied. “I had supposed you would give me some warning further ahead of time. This is sudden. I imagine your attention will be required during the building of this…manor house.”

  Again, Marcus said nothing. And after a generous length of silence, the only sound to break it was that of Jacob’s boots as he made his way across the floor and from the room.

  And there was silence, a deadly silence while Marcus and Rachel both stared down at their plates.

  ******

  She felt as if she was being torn apart from the inside out, torn between these two men. Jacob’s pain—how she felt it!

  She lifted her gaze to see Marcus simply toying with the stem of his chalice, his expression very blank and unreadable. She inhaled a very deep breath. “I hope you are satisfied, Sir Marcus.”

  His gaze snapped over to meet hers. “Satisfied?” His expression proved how very perturbed he had become with her. “If you suppose so, then I imagine you know absolutely nothing about the man I am. One thing is certain. You know absolutely nothing about the friendship between he and I. It has been fifteen years. Fifteen years.” He barely shook his head. “Do not even insinuate that I am satisfied.”

  “The building of this manor house…can it not be accomplished on its own?” She leaned forward so that only he could hear. “Any man whose trade is to build can do so without incessant observation. All you need do is produce a replica of whatever it is you desire to be built which may be followed.”

  “I have produced such a replica,” he slowly and firmly informed. It seemed as if he was about to lose all patience and his temper with it.

  “Then it can be properly replicated. If you are so wise a man as Jacob claims you to be, surely you are wise enough to place such matters into the hands of a man who is equally as wise in his drudgeries as you are known to be in yours. You must only occasionally see to the affairs of these undertakings, and at least give Jacob a space of time to adjust to this sudden change of events. Must you tear his heart into pieces by departing with such short notice?”

  “I have explained these things to you,” he loudly and angrily threw at her, catching them both off guard. He took a quick hold of his temper, and did speak quieter the next time. “You should be well aware according to my confessions that I have no other choice.”

  “I understand, Marcus, I understand well. But even I can put my sentiments aside for the sake of his, which are perhaps stronger than yours and mine combined.”

  He glanced at her, appearing very tired and worn of a sudden. And he said nothing while he continued to toy with the stem of his glass.

  “You cannot abandon him,” she said, refusing to let him shrink away from the hurt he would surely cause, and already had.

  “I am not abandoning him,” he slowly and quietly corrected, his eyes upon the movements of his fingers as he ran then slowly along the stem of his chalice. Then he shook his head and suddenly lifted the chalice, swallowing its contents. He lowered it with a loud thump and simply stared upon it, leaning back in his seat, folding his arms against his chest. “I am first of all abandoning the only life I have ever known.”

  She suddenly felt horrible bad for him, for in truth she knew very little about him. All sorts of questions passed through her mind. Who had raised him? How had they raised him? How had he acquired his own trade, if one could call it that? And at what age? For how how long? These were very fleeting questions.

  “Secondly,” he continued, “the trouble I am capable of causing here.”

  Again there was silence, and just as those fleeting thoughts, various emotions coursed through her in speedy fashion. Her heart palpitated. Her blood crashed thru her veins. Her thoughts went in all directions, and she was certain her mind would lose control and stop working altogether.

  “You needn’t suffer because of this,” she heard him say, and her eyes snapped to him.

  “I needn’t suffer,” she mocked, shook her head and almost laughed. “How can I help it? To not suffer would be just the same as to not care.”

  “Do you care?”

  “You know I do.”

  “For Jacob, yes, and yourself.”

  “I care about what he cares about,” she said, which almost brought a grin to his lips. He almost sh
ook his head and it appeared he would stand.

  She leaned forward to quietly say, “Do not take me wrong, Sir Marcus, or misconstrue the meaning behind these words. But I beg you, please, do not depart under these terms. Stay and spare him this sudden pain which was obvious to both you and I. Stay and allow him a space of time to adhere and to make his changes, even in his heart which may very well fail him because of you.”

  He again toyed with the stem of his chalice, and then leaned forward, stood up, and without so much as a glance departed the room leaving her alone to blink back tears and order the servant who shortly after appeared to bring in the better wine.

  ******

  Jacob had found solace in his private chamber, the outer room from where he peered out the windows overlooking the city and the courtyard. He replayed Marcus’s words, called himself a fool for having not thought this far ahead, and rebuked himself for having relied upon any one man alone to handle his personal and political affairs.

  Marcus had spent the past fifteen years overlooking specific deeds in his stead. But he did not operate solely for his sake alone, but for the Higher Nobles, the emperor, nobles of the least significance, the common people…for New Ebony as a whole.

  Marcus had learned somehow at a young age to pursue and suggest and arrange peace amongst the realms and their rulers…to use methods that only he could execute, even if he specifically ordered a man on exactly what to say or do in his stead…such a feat could not be successfully accomplished by anyone else. Yes, Marcus had his own way about dealing with the affairs of the people as a whole. He could maneuver situations, even dozens at a time, and even manipulate them in such a way as to keep peace where peace would otherwise be impossible, or even in danger of extinction.

  In Jacob’s mind, Marcus was a political genius.

  For him to withdraw, even from the matters that he and Marcus together handled as a team…if they were to withdraw, what would become of so many various issues? These issues of peace would suffer slack and even termination. And if Marcus withdrew altogether from his toils, which were likely more numerous than any man could imagine, the state of the realms would suffer. The nobles would suffer conflict, and war amongst themselves…the emperor would suffer and be in danger from various angles…the nobles, rulers overseas—particularly the king of Roark.