Red Deception
By
J.C. Murtagh
Copyright © 2011 by J.C. Murtagh
All Rights Reserved.
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and
dialogues are products of the author’s imagination and are
not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events
or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
To my lifelong best friends, Amber and Michelle.
Thank you for being my biggest fans
and always believing in me.
Acknowledgements
I want to thank my editor, Charity Heller, from the Mighty Pen who made this book shine with her editing expertise.
Chapter 1
Tears of anger ran down Judith’s grimy cheeks. She swallowed the searing pain that burned her left cheek then turned her attention to the horizon, where the sun crested the foggy mountains to the east.
Tracing her finger over the dusty windowpane, she fell transfixed on Blacwin manor, which crowned the dark pines in the distance.
“Judith!” called her mother-in-law, Gertrude. “Are you still up there?”
The question made Judith seethe. Reluctantly, she turned away from the window and looked around the pitifully small loft space where she slept each night with her husband and son. A broken trunk and a hay bed were the only furnishings in the room.
She climbed down the ladder to the room below and found Gertrude sweeping up ash from the previous night’s fire.
She glared at Judith from across the soot-clouded room.
“Did you do what I told you?” she asked, wiping her hands on her apron.
“I had planned to wash the floors when you finish sweeping.”
Fear seized Judith’s heart as two meaty hands grasped her shoulders from behind.
“Get out of my way!” her father-in-law Bart, bellowed, and shoved her into the nearest wall.
The foul stench of his breath clouded Judith’s lungs and she covered her head, anticipating another strike. Her tender cheek was a burning reminder of his last assault on her that morning for letting two eggs roll off the counter while she was preparing the morning meal.
He stalked past her like a rabid bear and grabbed the pitcher of warm ale off the counter. She refrained from grimacing as the pale liquid dribbled down his chin into his flea-infested beard.
“Fetch some water, Judith. The floor isn’t going to wash itself,” her mother-in-law said.
Judith walked to the front door and pushed it open, relishing the warm sunlight that greeted her. She grabbed the bucket on the doorstep and looked up to see her son running toward her with a fist full of fresh flowers.
“Mummy!” he cried, his mess of blond hair bouncing with every step.
“What have you got there, Sam?” she asked with a smile.
“Wildflowers!”
Her husband Garreth followed behind him, carrying an axe over his shoulder.
“Go show your grand-mum, and she will put them in some water,” Judith urged, sending her rosy-cheeked son past her.
“Where are you off to?” Garreth asked once he was toe to toe with her.
“To fetch some water to wash the floor,” Judith answered, clinging to the bucket handle with both hands.
“Make sure there isn’t a toad in it this time. My father nearly removed your head.”
Judith smirked. “I told you before, that was your son’s doing.”
“I think you did it on purpose. I know you spite my parents, but they mean well.”
Judith looked past him, watching a swarm of flies buzz around the pigsty.
He took her shoulder. “I know this is not the life I promised, but we have no other choice, Judith. One day I will rebuild us our own home.”
The same story, just a different day, Judith thought.
He kissed her cheek. “I promise you.”
She brushed past him. “I need to fetch the water.”
Judith took the longer route through the woods. She swung the bucket with each step and closed her eyes. The birds’ chirping combined with the whistling wind, put her mind at ease. She ignored the mud that sucked at the bottom of her thin boots and splashed her tawny wool dress.
She found the familiar stream over-flowing due to a recent rainstorm and could not resist visiting her favorite spot near the water, a large boulder at the stream’s edge.
She settled on the boulder and leaned over the stream. She cupped her hands, dipped them into the cool water, and rinsed the grime from her face. She peered down at her reflection in the rippling water and traced her dripping fingertips over her tender cheek, which would likely bruise by nightfall.
Judith often wondered what would have happened if she had never married Garreth Timbolt. She and her parents had been in a dire situation, having neither coin nor food. She had been at the peak of womanhood, ready to become a bride, and they wanted a better life for her.
Garreth, who was fifteen years her senior, welcomed the marriage and promised her a good life. In return, she had to leave behind her family and the village she loved. The memory of her parents weeping as they said their goodbyes still brought her remorse.
Garreth treated her kindly in the beginning and their love for one another bloomed. She would wake with his kiss on her lips every morning and as soon as she found out she was expecting their son, Garreth informed everyone he knew.
Two short years after she took Garreth’s name, the beautiful cottage he built for them burned to the ground. The cottage had collapsed onto itself, scattering orange cinders into the cold black night. Moving to Caldwell to live with his parents was their only hope after every possession they had turned to ash…
Her thoughts were interrupted when she noticed a bright red heap lying in the tall grass across the stream. She stood up on the boulder for a better look; perhaps it was a skinned animal left to rot.
Curiosity piqued, she gathered her long dark hair over her shoulder and lifted her dress to make the short leap across the stream.
She approached it with hesitation. As she drew closer, she noticed it was not an animal at all, but a woman lying face down, wearing a red cloak.
Judith clasped her throat and looked around to see if there was any evidence of an attack. Nothing seemed out of place as far as she could see. She circled the female with cautious steps, wondering if she might be asleep.
“Hello?” Judith called.
There was no reply.
She knelt beside the woman and gently pulled the hood of the cloak back to see a sea of thick black hair resembling her own falling over alabaster skin. She realized the woman was not asleep—she was dead.
She squelched a scream and backed away. Her foot brushed a parchment rolled up in the woman’s stiff fingers. She removed it and read elegant script as best she could.
Dear Mother and Father,
By the time this reaches you, I will be with God. I warned you that if you should force me to marry Baron Blacwin, I will end my life before I have the chance to meet his cold black eyes or live to suffer his beastly demeanor. Therefore, it shall be. With this poison, I am free.
Your loving daughter,
Lora Noire of Wilshire
Judith read the script several times, her heart aching for the young maiden. She could imagine the despair the girl felt; death’s release had crossed her own mind many times. She had never met Baron Blacwin, but she had heard stories about him. They said he had hair and eyes that rivaled the darkest night and his face was as sour as his disposition. Tales stated that he transformed into a bat at night and flew around Caldwell village, attacking merchants who were not honest with their shillings.
My own life is much worse than this prim
maiden’s was, Judith thought. I would be honored to marry the baron. All of my problems would be just a memory.
Her fingers traced the velvet edge of the blood-red cloak, and her gaze moved over the girl’s mess of raven hair.
She looks so much like me. I wonder if we could be mistaken for one another. Judith mused.
She reprimanded herself for thinking such a thought. She knew she should alert someone and cease her useless daydreaming.
She stood up to head for the village, but her attention again wandered back to the lifeless corpse.
She touched own cheek, re-living the moment her father-in-law’s thick palm hit her so hard she saw flickers of light. Could I be Lora Noire? If only for a day…?
Her heart began to race as she looked around the quiet clearing. Without another moment of hesitation, she rushed back to the body of Lora Noire and knelt beside her.
“Forgive me, my lady,” she whispered as her trembling hands undressed the corpse.
Within moments, she had traded her itchy wool dress for Lora’s beautiful red gown and matching velvet cloak. The dress fit her snugly on her bosom and waist, but it would have to do.
Checking her appearance in the stream water, Judith could barely believe her eyes. She was transformed from a poor peasant to a lady.
She wasted no time redressing Lora’s corpse in her own faded rags and dragging her away from the clearing.
She left the body in the shaded woods, beneath a tall pine. She swallowed her guilt, posed Lora’s hands over her abdomen, and tucked some wildflowers into her stiff fingers. The ensemble was complete.
If she looked quickly enough, Judith swore she could see herself laying there.
A chill coursed through her, and she fled out of the woods into the sunlight.
Just as she pulled the hood of her cloak up, a voice call out behind her.
“Lady Noire!”
She turned around to see a man striding towards her through the tall grass.
She pulled the cloak down further over her head and lowered her gaze to the ground.
“My lady, we have been searching for you all morning! Where have you been? Did that moment of fresh air you needed turn into a stroll in the wood?”
Judith could barely hear the question over the sound of her own heart beating in her ears. She nodded, staring at the ground.
“Come along. The baron is waiting. We do not want to keep him. They say he has a nasty temper.”
The man put his frail hand on shoulder and led her away from the stream toward the road. A beautiful carriage with two grey horses awaited them. The carriage door swung open for her, and the driver assisted her inside. She took her seat to the right, and the man who had found her in the woods sat across from her.
She peeked out from below her hood to watch him remove a cloth from his pocket and dab sweat from his balding head, mottled from age.
The carriage lurched forward suddenly, causing her to almost fall off the seat. She squealed and clung to the window curtain.
The man stared at her with a perplexed expression. “Are you well, Lady Noire?”
She nodded, afraid to speak in fear she might give herself away. She forced her fingers to release the silk curtain before she tore it down.
“I know your upset about the arrangement. Your father just wants what is best for you.”
Judith kept her silence, clinging to the seat in unease.
“Lady Noire, your hands are filthy. Whatever were you doing?”
Judith glanced down at her palms coated in grime and shrugged in response.
“It would be best if you clean them before we reach the manor.”
He held out the cloth to her.
She hesitated before taking it and rubbing the dirt from her palms and fingers.
“Your hands look swollen,” he noted.
She knew her hands were fuller than Lora’s were.
She ignored his comment, keeping her head bowed as she worked the dirt out from between her fingers. She could scarcely believe where she was and what she was doing. She tried to stop her hands from trembling but it was no use. What would she say if she was discovered? Her rash decision had her stomach twisted as tight as a rope. She knew when she did not return to the cottage they would look for her. The thought of Sam worrying for her nauseated her with guilt, but it was too late to turn back…
Once finished, she handed the cloth back.
He took it and tossed it out the carriage window.
“You are certain you’re fine? You have not said two words since I found you.”
She nodded.
“Very well.” He groaned and leaned back on the seat. “Wake me when we arrive. Searching for you all morning has left me worn.”
She folded her hands in her lap, glad to be free of his inquisition. Not another word was shared between them rest of the ride.
Chapter 2
It was dusk when the carriage came to a halt. Judith peeked out of the carriage window, where a perfect view of the baron’s grey stone manor greeted her.
It was a breath taking sight. So many nights she had watched this ominous manor from her own little window, its roof tops illuminated in moonlight, its flickering windows beckoning her.
The carriage door swung open and the driver’s hand guided her out.
Judith could see the orange flicker of hearth light in every window. Two somber guards with dark stares awaited their arrival at the gate. Each held a gold-tipped spear in his left hand.
The man whom she had ridden with spoke for them. “This is Lady Lora Noire of Wilshire, and I am Lyle Barnsby, a hired hand of the Noire family.”
“Welcome to Blacwin Manor,” the guard on the left replied, and the iron gates opened to welcome them inside.
The manor grew more intimidating as they passed between two gargoyle statues. Judith did not question Lora Noire’s apprehension any longer. A thought occurred to her: Had Lora and Baron Blacwin met before?
“Have I met Baron Blacwin?” she asked Lyle.
He paused. “I am not certain. You cannot recall if you have met him?”
“I cannot.”
“I am sure you would recall his presence if you two had met. It would be frightfully embarrassing if you have forgotten your meeting.”
Her steps became hesitated, but he urged her along with a hand on her shoulder. The thick summer air became harder to breathe with every step she took toward the immense oak doors that felt like a monsters maw, waiting to swallow her.
A female servant came out to greet them.
“Good evening, and welcome to Blacwin manor. You must be Lady Noire. We have been expecting you.”
Judith simply bowed her head, choked with fear.
Lyle cleared his throat. “Yes, this is Lady Lora Noire. You must excuse her manners; the ride has left her worn. I am Lyle Barnsby, her hired hand for the journey. She has some trunks on the carriage, if you would be so kind as to assist us in bringing them to her room.”
“Yes, of course. We will have someone to fetch them right away. Lady Noire, let me take your cloak,” she offered, holding out her hands.
“No,” Judith said, pulling the red cloak around her shoulders and stepping out of reach.
“My Lady Noire, what has gotten into you?” Lyle questioned.
“I would like to leave my cloak on, please. I am afraid I may have caught a chill.”
“A chill? We should get her to her room immediately. A change of clothes will do her good,” Lyle said.
“Of course,” the servant said. “Come along, Lady Noire. We have a hearth burning in your guest room.”
“Lady Noire, I will give your regards to your father,” Lyle called from the doorway as she was led into the dark manor.
He disappeared behind the tall manor doors.
Judith’s heart hammered in her ears as she was led through the foreboding manor. Thick drapes covered most of the windows, shunning any light of day. Paintings lined the walls with gruesome figures that wa
tched her with cold stares as if they knew her secret. She balled the cloak into her fists and closed her eyes, listening to her echoed her footfalls on the elegant marble floors that made the manor feel more like a mausoleum. She finally arrived in an empty feast hall.
An elegant long table that could seat at least thirty guests sat in the center of the room. At the far end of the hall, a hearth beckoned them with warmth, its face decorated with weaponry. Taxidermy trophies of all species imaginable stared down at her from every wall. Elaborate tapestries told stories of hunts, feasting, and war.
“Are you hungry, Lady Noire? We have prepared a supper in your name. Do you wish for some warm cider to remove your chill?”
“No, thank you.”
“Very well. This way to your room.”
The servant led her through another series of sinister corridors and up a flight of winding stairs. They paused before large double doors carved with mirrored images of stags rearing up. She produced a key from the pocket of her dress and unlocked the door. Warmth rushed out to greet them. Judith could not wipe the look of awe from her face as she stared at the most immaculate room she had ever seen. A fire burned in the hearth, as promised. An immense dark wood four-poster canopy bed loomed in the far corner. The bedding looked soft and wonderful, made of red damask silk reserved for royalty.
“May I take your cloak now, Lady Noire?”
Judith untied the cloak, let it slip from her shoulders, and crossed her arms, feeling as if the truth of her identity were written all over her.
“Is there anything more I can do for you, Lady Noire?” the servant asked.
“No, thank you,” Judith replied, stepping further into the room, admiring the sheer size of it.
“I will leave you to rest, then. We will fetch you for supper.”
Judith waited until the doors closed before she walked to the bed and brushed her fingertips over the luxurious linens. The coverlet was double-stitched to keep the cold out on a winter night. A black bear hide lay folded at the foot of the bed for extra warmth. Tears of joy burned Judith’s eyes. The room was truly something out of a dream.
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