“Me master is in the rectory, sir. He’ll join ye when it’s time.”
Avery straightened himself, wondering if he should take offense, for the servant’s tone was tinged with a bluntness that dismissed the possibility of the future father-in-law joining his lordship. The mayor would clearly have to bide his time if he wanted his curiosity appeased.
The front door came slowly open, and Farrell made his way inside, holding his head carefully upright, as if he feared it would fall off. He eased himself into one of the back pews and closed his eyes. There he would remain, hopefully undisturbed, until the service was over.
Erienne moved on to the front bench, her own back ramrod stiff. Her life, as she knew it, was about to come to an end, and she felt very much like a felon who was readying himself for the final event at Triple Tree and wondering if the noose would be the end of his sufferings or if there were truly a hell beyond. With trembling limbs, she sank to the seat and sat quietly alone in her misery, having no doubt that her father would inform her when the affair was to begin.
The Reverend Miller seemed unconcerned with the groom’s absence as he prepared the documents, inspected the wording, and placed his seal and signature on the banns. Thornton Jagger scrawled his name with a flair, identifying himself as a witness, then her father bent low over the parchment and carefully penned his own beneath the barrister’s. Beckoned to the fore and handed the quill, Erienne endured the moment and masked her trepidations by an extreme effort of will. Though the documents blurred before her eyes, the only hint of her agitation was a rapidly pulsing vein that throbbed in her neck just below a finely shaped ear.
The proceedings dragged to a halt when the prospective bridegroom failed to join them. Avery grew vexed with the waiting and questioned sharply, “Well, is his lordship comin’ out o’ his hole? Or did he intend for his barrister ter conduct the affair again?”
Reverend Miller hastened to allay his fears. “I’m sure Lord Saxton will want to speak the vows for himself, sir. I’ll send his man for him now.”
The clergyman gestured to Bundy, and the servant hurried along a dark hall through an alcove at its end. He disappeared through the arched opening, and an eternity meandered past before footsteps were heard again in the corridor. This time they were odd ones. A thump, and then a scrape, like the sound of a step and then something being pulled or dragged. As Erienne listened, the words of the crowd tore through her memory.
Crippled! Hideously scarred!
The haunting echo of the footsteps died away as Lord Saxton’s form came partly into view, at first only a black shape with a flowing cloak covering most of his body. The upper part of his body remained obscured in the darkness of the hall, but when he passed where the light was better, Erienne gasped as she saw the reason why he moved with an odd, twisting motion. The boot of his right leg bore a thick, heavy, wedge-shaped sole, as if for the purpose of straightening a clubbed or twisted foot. After each step he took, the weighted foot was dragged sideways to meet the other.
Erienne’s mind froze, and she stared in congealed horror. She was so cold and scared and so utterly unnerved that she knew she could not have moved a muscle to flee had the opportunity presented itself. She waited as one transfixed, not knowing what to expect of the rest of him. Almost reluctantly she raised her gaze, and when the candlelight finally touched his full form, Erienne’s knees nearly buckled beneath her. What she saw was more frightening than anything she had ever imagined or even tried to prepare herself for.
Lord Saxton’s face and head were completely covered by a black leather helm. Two slitted holes had been cut for the eyes, two tiny ones for his nostrils, and a row of small, square openings formed a mouth for the mask. It was a neatly stitched creation that had been shaped to fit over his head without giving any hint of the features beneath. Even the eyes were hidden in the shadowed depth of the slashed openings.
Erienne’s shock was great, and it was through a numbed sense of awareness that she noticed other details about him. Except for a white shirt, he was dressed entirely in black. Leather gloves of the same hue covered his hands, and he gripped a heavy, silver-handled cane. Beneath the cloak his shoulders seemed thick and broad. The left one rose slightly higher than the other, whether from deformity or because of the unbalanced gait she could not rightly determine. In all, he presented a most fearsome mien for a young bride seeing her future husband for the first time.
He halted before them and bowed stiffly. “Miss Fleming.” His voice sounded hollow and distant, while his breath hissed eerily through the openings of the mask. He half turned to acknowledge her father with a brief nod of greeting. “Mayor.”
Avery managed to close his mouth and gave an indistinct nod. “Lor…Lord Saxton.”
The masked one returned his full attention to Erienne. “I must beg your pardon for my appearance. Once I was like any other man, straight and strong, but I fell to misfortune when a fire scarred me. Now dogs bark at my heels, and I frighten children, thus I wear the mask. The rest of me is as you see it. Perhaps you can understand why I have preferred to remain unseen and why I have conducted my affairs through an agent. However, this was one occasion that I could hardly ignore. Having seen you in my home and being presented with the opportunity to make you my wife, I hastened to make the arrangements. Now it is your choice to make.” He eyed her closely as he waited for comment, but none came. “Do you stand by your father’s words? Will you accept me as your husband?”
Erienne was reminded of the notice she had given her father, vowing to leave his house for good. She did not believe he would welcome her back if it meant that he had to return the funds to Lord Saxton. It seemed that she had no other option, and her voice was ragged and strained as she replied, “Aye, my lord. I stand by my father’s words.”
“Well then, let’s be about it.” Avery had recovered his aplomb and was impatient to be on with the affair before the man changed his mind. “We’ve wasted precious time as it is.”
Her father’s fawning eagerness tore at Erienne like the knotted ends of a cat-o’-nine, destroying the last vestige of respect she had for him. The fact that he could so casually commit her to what promised to be a life of horror seethed like a slavering fiend within her bosom. She resolved to give him no more than the barest homage due a parent, and if it should be that she would never see him again, then that too she could accept. He had used her and Farrell ruthlessly for his own purpose and shown no compassion when it had become apparent that she would be bound in wedlock to this twisted, misshapen caricature of a man who waited at her side. Henceforth, he would be hardly more than a stranger to her.
As the ceremony was conducted, Erienne stood beside the cripple, feeling dwarfed by his presence. In muted, trembling tones, she replied to the questions Reverend Miller presented to her. The hollow-voiced answer of Lord Saxton echoed hauntingly in the stillness as he, too, was asked in rote if he would give his troth toward this marriage. The last tremulous ray of hope that she would somehow be saved from this nightmare was snuffed out as the vows were finalized. A heavy black gloom closed tightly about her, stifling her very breath. She stared at the well-worn stone of the chapel floor until gloved fingers brushed her arm, breaking her trance and drawing a small, startled gasp from her. She lifted her head to look with widened eyes into the mask.
“The ring, Erienne! Take the ring!” her father urged from behind her, and numbly Erienne gazed down to see that the black-leathered fingers were holding a massive, jeweled ring, the value of which she could not even imagine. Avery was nearly panting in eagerness as he watched the ring being placed on her finger, but Erienne was too deeply distracted by the almost reptilian coolness of the hands that performed the deed to notice or even care about her new possession.
In too brief a time it was done. She had become the wife of the dreadful Lord Saxton, yet she wondered how she could bear to live when every moment of her life would be a nightmare. How could it not be when she would be bound to a being who
looked like he had crawled from the pits of hell?
In a great show of affection, Avery turned his daughter to face him and kissed her on the cheek, then enthusiastically took her hand to view the costly bauble. Pure greed glittered in his eyes almost as brightly as the stones that encrusted the ring, and for a naked moment his smile betrayed the workings of his grasping mind. If somehow he could entice Erienne back home and weave a story to tell his lordship about how she was grieving about leaving her kin, there would be more of a chance that her husband would invite the whole family to live at the manor. Once in the home, it was only a step farther into the man’s coffer.
Avery smoothed his manner and put a worrisome frown on his face before sidling toward his new son-in-law. “I’m thinkin’ me daughter will be wantin’ ter come home for the last o’ her belongin’s, milord.”
“There’ll be no need for that.” The rasping syllables sighed from the mask. “She will have everything she needs at the manor.”
“But the girl has packed precious few o’ her clothes.” Avery indicated her small satchel as he told the lie. “Hardly a token ter wear.”
“Clothes will be provided for her at Saxton Hall. Others may be purchased as she desires them.”
“Ye’ll deny me a last few hours with me daughter?” Avery pressed on foolishly. “I’ve been a right good father, ye know, not likin’ what I’ve had ter do for her own good, but still committed ter seein’ her properly wed ter a man what’ll take care o’ her…and her family.”
The blank, featureless face of leather turned squarely toward Avery, and the glimmer behind the eyeholes bore into him with a hard, penetrating coldness. The mayor’s spine prickled as tiny barbs of fear set themselves against it, and his bravado dwindled swiftly.
“You have been paid well for your daughter.” The sibilant voice was curt and frigid. “There’ll be no more haggling. The bargain has been struck, and you’ll get nothing more from me. Now begone with you before I decide the bargain has been ill met.”
Avery stumbled back with slackened jaw at being so boldly threatened and wasted no moment departing. Snatching up his tricorn and jamming it on his head, he hurried up the aisle and in a loud voice roused his son from his dozing. Oblivious to everything that had occurred, Farrell stumbled after him, and the mayor made his exit without so much as a word of farewell to his daughter.
The slamming of the heavy door reverberated through Erienne’s consciousness. It clearly marked the ending of a way of life she had known since her mother died, yet at the present moment she felt no loss or grief, only an aching dread of what tomorrow would bring.
Rousing to awareness, she saw the large, dark shape of her husband limping away from her up the aisle. Thornton Jagger stood beside her, plucking at her sleeve.
“Lord Saxton wishes to leave now, madam. Are you ready?”
Erienne gave a brief, indifferent nod, donned her cloak, and allowed the barrister to escort her on his arm. She was outwardly meek but inwardly so torn with despair and hopelessness that she could set herself to no path of resistance. The servant, Bundy, trailed them, and when they reached the carriage, she found Lord Saxton already seated within. She was relieved that he had not provided room for her beside him. He sat in the middle of the seat, his hands braced on the head of his cane, his knees spread, and the grotesque boot with the thick sole stretched out to the side in full view.
Accepting Mr. Jagger’s assistance, Erienne climbed into the velvet-lined interior. Wary of her new husband’s awesome presence, she sank to the cushioned seat opposite him and for a moment adjusted her skirts and cloak in an effort to avoid meeting his gaze.
Bundy hauled himself to the top of the coach and settled beside the driver. The carriage began to move away from the church, and Erienne gave a last, uncertain glance toward the small stone edifice. Thornton Jagger stood where she had left him, and the sight of his solitary figure reminded her of her own feelings of dejection. Despite her husband’s presence, she was completely alone and forlorn.
Her despair must have shown, for Lord Saxton deemed to break his stoical silence.
“Take heart, madam. Reverend Miller has enough experience to know the difference between the last rites and a wedding ceremony. This coach is not taking you to hell…” He gave the smallest of shrugs as he added, “Or to heaven, for that matter.”
The leather helm lent his voice a lisping, unnatural quality, and only the occasional glint of reflected light deep within the eyeholes assured her that there was indeed a man inside the mask. By his statement she could guess that he was aware of his appearance and perhaps understood to some degree her trepidation, if not her revulsion.
The ride from the church dragged on in painful, unbroken silence. Erienne could not trust herself to speak for fear she would give way to her emotions and sob out her anguish. She was utterly terrified of this masked man who was now her husband, and she was not at all sure their destination was not to some hellish place. The chiding thought kept running through her mind. How could she have been so haughty to reject Christopher Seton or even the other suitors who had offered her marriage? However detestable he was or unhandsome they had been, any of them would have been more acceptable to her than this hooded creature who watched her like a hungry hawk. He was the epitome of her worst nightmare, and having been snared in his sharp talons, she was tender bait for the devouring.
The carriage bumped along a winding stretch of rutted road, and for a brief time Erienne’s plight was pushed to the back of her mind as she struggled to keep her seat and thus maintain her dignity. Lord Saxton swayed easily with the rocking motion of the conveyance and seemed undisturbed by the rough going. She envied him his poise as she braced against the sudden dips and plunges. The hood of her cloak fell away, and her hair tumbled free of its simple ties, falling around her shoulders in shimmering dark waves, but she had no calm moment wherein she could repair her appearance.
Finally the jostling eased, and she reached up to recoil her hair, but with a flick of his hand Lord Saxton halted her. Slowly Erienne lowered her arms, and for the rest of the journey sat tense and ill at ease beneath that unwavering perusal. The unblinking mask gave her no hint of just how closely her husband watched her. It was an endless ride to the unknown, and time dragged by in painful agony.
As they neared Saxton Hall the road traced the crest of a hill for a space of time, and Erienne gazed out upon the land she would soon come to know. An aura of rosy light had settled upon the western sky with the advent of dusk, and in the distance the dark silhouette of the manor stood in stark contrast against the soft, billowing pink clouds that clustered close over the horizon. Well beyond it, a narrow strip of the sea gleamed like a sapphire jewel wedged between the hills.
The conveyance dipped down into the valley, carrying them closer to that crypt which was certain to become her prison. Her dread formed into an icy lump in the pit of her stomach, and no amount of prayerful entreaties could ease her trepidations. She was locked in the grip of total horror, and there was no escape.
All too quickly for her peace of mind the carriage was pulling to a halt before the tower entry. Erienne waited in apprehension as Lord Saxton climbed down. She could not bear the thought of being touched by those smoothly gloved and impersonal hands again, yet she could think of no tactical way of refusing his assistance from the carriage. When he turned back, a cold, shivering shudder swept through her, and she tried to brace herself. The gloved hand raised but it was to make a quick gesture to the footman. The young man hastened to the door and offered up his hand. Erienne almost sighed with relief as she accepted the substitution. She was confused at the clemency shown by her husband and wondered if he actually knew how she loathed his touch. Or was this just a glimpse of a coldly calculating character?
Stepping to the ground, she paused beside him while the footman ran ahead to open the front door. As much as she dared, Erienne kept her gaze averted from her husband until he spoke.
“Not being ligh
t of foot, madam, I would prefer to follow you.” He lifted a hand in an invitation for her to precede him.
Erienne needed no other encouragement to hurry up the path away from him. She tried to ignore the sound of his dragging foot, but the thunder of a stampeding horde could not have drowned out that fearsome scrape…clop…scrape…clop.
Mrs. Kendall waited with the butler, Paine, inside the door, and her beaming face momentarily quelled Erienne’s anxieties. Enthusiastically beckoned in, Erienne moved past the footman and butler and followed the housekeeper across the tower entry while Paine held the door for his master. Upon entering the great hall, Erienne paused in surprise. Absent were the dust-laden, grayish shrouds that had covered the furnishings. The hall had undergone a thorough cleaning from the stone floor to the higher arches of the oaken beams that bridged the ceiling. For the first time Erienne realized the towering walls were hung with tapestries, shields, and other trappings of ancient chivalry. A crackling fire burned in the huge stone hearth, casting a warm glow about the room. A small grouping of chairs sat before it on a large area rug. Nearer the kitchen, massive, straight-backed chairs, their seats cushioned and covered with deep green velvet, were gathered in precise order around a long trestle table. In the darker corners, stout candles burned on the branches of candelabrums that stood to the floor on their own heavy bases. Their tiny, flickering flames combined with the firelight to provide a welcoming warmth while holding back the ever-deepening shadows of night.
A Rose in Winter Page 19