by GinaRJ
“I noticed you and Gerald Hinson spending a great deal of time together,” she said to the younger of the two, Mary, who had yet to marry. In fact, she had yet to do anything at all with herself since becoming of age. “During last eve’s festivities and the ones before.”
“She’s in love,” the other sister, Annabelle, said.
“I am not,” she frankly argued. “He and I are…well, we just take to one another. He has travelled some, and I love hearing stories from his travels.”
This made Rachel think of Marcus. Off in the distance he’d stopped his tall, black steed and simply stared toward that direction.
“Are you always guarded?” Mary asked, also casting her eyes toward his direction.
“Most of the time.”
“Isn’t it irritating?” Annabelle wondered. “You were such a little hermit at times, hiding yourself in the chapel. Do they go there as well to watch you?”
Come to think of it, she rarely ever visited the chapel at all these days.
“Sometimes I slip away unnoticed,” she commented. “This isn’t so great a deal, being guarded; it just takes time adjusting.”
“You look to have gotten used to it easily,” said Mary. She cocked her pale, thin face to the side. “How did you get to be so beautiful?”
“I always was,” she said, putting her chin in the air. “You just didn’t notice.”
Annabelle nudged her shoulder. “They look at you as if imagining what you may look like naked.”
“Oh, Annabelle,” she scolded, but then smiled at her sister’s train of thought.
“Once before she would have slapped you for saying that,” said Mary.
“Maybe scold her,” she corrected. “None of you were ever stricken, even when it was in my power to do it.”
“The guards are handsome,” said Annabelle.
“Especially the one,” said the other, and then, “This husband of yours…this Jacob Trent, is he handsome?”
“He is old,” Annabelle commented.
“Which makes him all the more distinguished and…” she smiled up at the sky, “…quite the lover.”
“My, my sister, but this marriage has loosed your tongue.”
They all laughed, thinking the same kinds of thoughts, ones of romance and of love and of intimacy. But then they made mention of the many messages that had come to Agatha, who must have forgotten or not thought to mention herself…ones from their siblings who’d settled in other places.
“We should go and ask to see them,” Mary insisted, and Rachel agreed. She loved her siblings more than anything in the world…well, almost anything. She did miss them all and wished she had more opportunity to see them all. Perhaps in time…perhaps now that she’d gotten better acquainted with New Ebony and its domiciles. It would be so easy to seek their exact locations and go to them. Yes, she decided. She would do this in time.
Of course Agatha insisted upon reading the letters out loud. She had such a way about telling a story, which is what these letters actually seemed to be. Miniature little stories. Although aged, the elder still had her sight. She did, however, require the use of a magnifying glass which upon being occasionally raised higher when the elder looked up became a very amusing sight. It made her one eye so big and round. Rachel and her sisters smiled between themselves, giggling quietly so as to not be heard. She felt like a youngster all over again.
She learned by way the letter that two of her brothers were officially husbands and fathers, her sister was also married but had yet to bare any children, and the other brother had decided to become a skilled swordsman.
“How exciting!” said Mary.
“I don’t think it is,” Rachel quietly said, more to herself than anything. “Thomas…with this talk of…” She stopped, not wanting to be heard making mention of the potential war between Roark and New Ebony.
“Talk of what, my dear?” Agatha asked.
She hesitated a moment. The three of them peered at her, waiting. “Well, of war,” she said despite an urge to bite her tongue.
“War?” Mary’s brows rose and she stared from Agatha to Annabelle to see their reactions before gaping frightened-like upon her. “There can’t be a war.”
“And our dear old emperor is too old to fend for us,” Annabelle commented.
Rachel raised her chin to defend, “He is well enough,” she claimed, “Well enough to keep our nobles on his side.” She looked at Agatha whose head had bowed, as if in slumber.
“Sister Agatha,” she called and the elder raised her eyes thus proving she had not dozed off but was merely considering this news. Rachel frowned at the expression on her face. “What is it?”
“Some or even most of the nobles,” she commented. “But not all. Never all. There are always the bad amongst the good.”
“I would hate to see Thomas get caught up in a war with the king of Roark. I hear he’s such a horrible little man,” said Mary.
“Thomas has always been a different sort of child,” Agatha reminded. “He’s strong and able to fend for himself. Twas why he went away.”
“To Emwark,” Annabelle commented.
“Emwark?” Rachel frowned upon them. “He is in Emwark?”
“So it says.” She referred to the letter.
“But he had gone into the Northern Isles to—“
“—to be trained, my dear,” said Agatha. “Now he is trained,” she smiled thoughtfully, “to become this man of valor he so desires. Tis no difference than you, my dear, becoming a vestal, or Annabelle a seamstress and then a wife, and of Mary here, well, dear child, mayhap you shall one day wed this prince charming of yours.”
Mary’s cheeks blushed and she quickly went about collecting their empty teacups. Rachel considered Agatha’s words. So true what she’d said. No matter what one chose to be or do…all positions worked together some way or another. But the idea of her brother getting caught up in a war. She decided to contact him as soon as possible. If he was going to be part of an army, Jacob’s would be the best. She was sure of that.
******
Days passed, and a total of two weeks. It went by so very fast, but she found herself missing her husband, and although enjoying her visit, she went out in search of Marty and Marcus. Not a difficult task. They were always close at hand, whether separately or together. She saw them in the distance from Agatha’s house and started toward them. Marcus, seeing how she was approaching them, guided his horse forward.
“Summon the guards together,” she told him. “Send one out to fetch those who have traveled to the Isles so that we may begin our journey home.” Home. Yes, it was home now, and she was more than content with that. “After we have all been accounted for, we will go.”
Marcus glanced at Marty, giving him permission to begin gathering the guards. It was something she had grown accustomed to, so many people simply doing what she bid. She’d never been one to require much of anyone. But casting orders was no longer a difficult task; it had actually become quite natural to her. She began walking away, and could feel his piercing gaze upon her back. She ignored it best she could. Her steps took her toward a place she had yet to visit…one specific chapel, and the room she’d called home.
It was like some abandoned shack now, she observed, obviously never used anymore. She turned the knob to find the door was unlocked and slipped inside. Upon viewing the scene, a sharp breath caught in her lungs, and she raised a hand to her mouth. The room was so tiny, but still so tidy, just as she’d kept it. It was simple and modest, just as her clothing in those days. She observed its furnishings—three simple pieces: a small bed, which was still dressed, covered by the worn quilt her mother had made for her, a small desk and a chair. The book containing the Oracles yet lied open upon the desk…the same page where she had left it, she presumed.
Tears filled her eyes. She nearly gasped. Inhaling a deep breath she held back tears that threatened to break loose and never be stopped. Easing down, she sat on the edge of the bed and slumped
. She fidgeted with her fingertips, looking down, recalling the scene in which she sat but refusing to look directly at it. For a while she sat there in that same position until finally gathering her wits, her emotions together and lifting her head. Memories surfaced. Not many, for few had ever taken place in this room. She could see herself sitting at the desk in her modest attire, studying the Oracles. She could see herself kneeling beside of the bed, saying her prayers. She could see herself sound asleep, dreaming of a deity she’d come to love with all her heart and soul, more than anything else in the world…one she’d forgotten with time.
She glanced over at the door leading into the chapel, one she’d walked thru many a time, either to enter or exit…how many times? Hundreds, she could imagine. She stood, making her way to that door. As hesitantly as the first, she reached up and turned the knob, opening the door. Slow steps led her down a very short hallway and into the chapel.
It was empty now. In times past, rarely had she found it so. There’d always been someone there, especially in the case of death when the citizens would come together to console the brokenhearted ones, and to seek healing for their heart. She had always comforted them.
Now the room was empty and quiet. She made her way to the altar. It was not a far walk. And she found herself easing down to sit, and then with her head bowed and the tips of fingers and thumb to throbbing temples she began to cry.
It was short lived, this spell of weeping. She raised her head, her eyes brimming with tears that just stayed there, and she thought of home again. Her new home. Jacob, her love. The palace staff whom she’d grown quite attached to. Father Nelson and his brilliant sanctuary. She supposed there came a time in everyone’s life when it was simply time to move on.
Sniffing back the remainder of her tears, she left the chapel by way the front doors, closing them securely behind her. She expected to find Marcus somewhere in the distance, but he was nowhere to be seen.
“It will take time,” had been the start of his last words to her, and she’d wondered if he ever smiled anymore, or if he even liked her anymore for that matter. “We’ll leave early morning. By then full preparations will be made. I will send someone to ride ahead of us and make it known to the nobles that you are on your way back so that they will be expecting you, and also a message to Jacob.”
“Very well,” she’d agreed, and nothing else was said between them. Not then. Not the next few days. Not the morning she was to leave. She said her goodbyes to everyone, and departed, the residents waving and she returning the wave until they were no longer in sight. She felt a sense of sadness, but then of joy. Home. Soon she would be home. And right now that was all that really mattered to her.
******
Marcus felt a great amount of relief, but was not prepared to fully relax. He’d gotten her safely there, had saw to a safe visit, and now he was having her safely returned.
One more week, he thought after the first had passed. They’d spent a night in Tarot and near Harvard Plain. Now the next stop: Rylan, which was nearly a two day journey by carriage. He dreaded passing through Ebbs Valley. But it was unavoidable, just like it’d been before. A caravan of this size…well, there was no other way.
Even along the way to Westerly, especially coming through the Valley, he’d had a peculiar feeling, as if they were being watched. This time, he moved the position of the guards, spreading them out more, further from the caravan.
Already the sun was sinking down into the far Western sky. Soon it would be dark. He wished they’d moved faster earlier in the day. He did not like being so deep in the valley this time of evening.
But all would be well, he told himself. Rachel would return home to Jacob safe and sound. And then…well, he would consider his future life. For now, nothing else mattered—nothing besides the damsel in the carriage...the noble one.
Tilly and Zaria had earlier in the day joined Rachel in her carriage. Perhaps she’d become lonely. He was glad she’d taken to the two maidservants so well. Tilly was most understandable in the beginning. As for Zaria, well, he would have himself chosen someone else to tend to her thinking she would be offended by the damsel. But such had not been the case. In fact, she seemed to be drawn more to her than Tilly, not that it was overly apparent. Apparent to him. Then again, a lot of things were…more than she knew.
Yes, he understood Rachel Trent…more than she’d ever know or even wanted to realize. More than he’d expected to. Then again, all along he’d felt some sort of connection to her, one that’d spiraled into a horrible lust that he’d tired of subduing. In the future it would become easier…after he married. Zaria made it easier. He’d come to notice her more often, having been placed in Rachel’s care. She was close at hand and certainly helped to ease his desires. But when it came down to it, he would never be able to stop imagining making love to Rachel the Elder.
He almost closed his eyes for a moment, but his heart told him not to. Too much chance of maybe dozing off. He could not afford it. He hadn’t had an actual decent night’s rest since he could remember. If not for strong drink, which for the sake of his pounding heart he wished he had now, he would not have slept at all in a great while.
Up ahead, he noticed Marty slowing his steed. The two of them had been exchanging positions on and off, going from front to back in intervals. Being in front, the slowing of his horse slowed them all down, except for those who travelled alongside to the left and the right in the far distance.
Marcus’s gaze followed the direction of his. Marty had tilted his head back as if to stare way above at the cliff surrounding and overlooking the valley. Marcus’s eyes followed the direction of his gaze. If not mistaken he saw a man on horseback, and then another and another.
His heart started to race. His eyes skimmed the entire area above the valley. He turned his head this way and that, spotting men in all different directions. Atop the mountain above the valley there were lots of men on horseback, all facing their direction, a number he didn’t bother considering for whether one or dozens, this was alarming.
He cast his eyes over the guards. Could they not see this? Was he imagining it?
No, not at all. And as these men began to move from their positions, he rode up ahead, waving his arms and stopping them. They, in turn, gave attendance to those men on horseback who had suddenly decided to make themselves much known. One after another they drew their weapons. A fight was so close to breaking out.
******
Rachel, Tilly and Zaria sat holding to their seats as the carriage jostled before coming to an instant halt. They took turns eyeballing one another. “What’s happening?” Rachel asked, seeing as to how the carriage had stopped in the middle of nowhere. There was this eerie feel in the air, and some very eerie sounds coming from outside the carriage.
She pushed the door opened. Tilly took hold of her arm to stop her. She yanked free, clamoring out of the vehicle, Zaria following behind. Then the commotion was very evident. Lots and lots of commotion. All she saw were horses and riders coming and going in all directions, and swarms of dust all around.
“Get back into the carriage!” She heard the shout from one of the guards, and then another who rode toward her. “Back into the carriage!” he demanded, but she did not take instant heed, but turned this way and that while men on horseback descended the mountainside at a very fast speed.
She swung in all directions. They were everywhere.
Marcus, she thought and then whispered, “Marcus.” She turned this way and that, searching for him, and while the guards scattered in all directions as if in battle, she spotted him riding toward her.
“Get in the carriage!” He demanded.
“What’s happening?”
“Just do it!”
“What is happening?”
He had nodded at the guard who’d previously ordered her. He instantly dismounted and took hold of her arm. And then the driver of the carriage who’d also drawn a weapon. Yes, even the escorts were skilled for battle. Jacob
would have it no other way.
“Stay with her!” Marcus ordered. “Watch her!” he said even louder, taking note of the intruders who had fast come upon them. The team of horses that’d pulled the carriage became uneasy with the ruckus and began to prance left and right. One of them reared, followed by the other.
“Loose the horses!” He commanded the two of them. He glanced at Rachel who attempted to free herself and then at the faces of the two men. “If any harm befalls her, it will be upon your heads.”
With that, he was gone.
CHAPTER TWENTY
The ground was now covered with bodies and blood and weapons that’d fallen from limp, lifeless hands. Marcus dodged the horrible mounds here and there, wondering in fleeting intervals which men were his and which belonged to what now seemed an obvious fierce enemy. He rode hard back to the carriage, hoping, praying to God she would be there.
Upon reaching the vehicle whose horses had, indeed, been detached, he dismounted his horse and slung the door opened. His heart stopped beating altogether. He stopped breathing, taking hold of one slouched female form by the back of her dress. Tilly had been struck in the shoulder and looked to be barely alive.
His chest began to rise and fall very quickly. He backed up, looked around in all directions. Not a soul in sight. Just he and this maiden, barely alive.
“Sir Marcus,” she quietly pled. Would she live, and where was everyone…anyone at all?
He heard hooves pounding against the ground. One by one others joined him. Marty being one, Kyle and Andrew. The carriage escort came riding toward them. Had he actually survived? But how? He’d been left in charge of Rachel? Why hadn’t he stayed with her? Why was she not there? Where in God’s name was she?