TWO #3
“What are you doing out of bed this late?” I try to act calm. It’s been a wild night, rendering me a nervous wreck. Smiling at her, I hope she doesn’t recognise my lack of sincerity, or worse, my attempt to hide what I’ve been up to.
“He is the help, Bryn. Ashglo’s do not frolic with the help.
” I roll my eyes at her comment. At sixteen years old, she already sounds like my stepmother.
Her eyes widen, but I wrap my arm around her shoulders.
She’s shorter than I am and feels fragile in my arms. Despite my father’s tall and strong stature, he’s sired three daughters, all slight and finely built, the youngest, a mere four years old and prone to illness.
Perhaps it’s a mercy that he never sired a son.
Girls get away with being delicate. They don’t grant boys the same leniency.
Social acceptances are rarely fair and without cruelty.
Why can’t a strong woman lead? Why is a sickly boy easily discarded?
And why can’t women wear pants?! Women aren’t only meant for breeding alone; we can do so much more. Should do so much more.
“He’s my friend,” I answer, unsure of my words as I speak them. We’ve never labelled what we are to each other.
“One that spends midnight hours with his arm around your waist? I saw the way he looks at you.” She gives me a sideways glance.
“I promise you; we are only friends.” The truth is that I’m not sure what we are.
“Good!” She smiles, seemingly satisfied with my answer.
Lanterns glow from the end of the passage, lighting our way as we continue toward the stairs and ultimately our rooms. I stay behind her, hiding the waterlogged hem of my navy-blue dress.
The material is cold against my legs as I walk, a stark reminder of where I’ve been.
The shuffling of our slippers echoes through the barren space.
Laoise takes her lantern from the small round table at the end of the passage and immediately halts, studying me.
Her jaw drops as her eyes roam down my body.
I shift my weight from one foot to the other, aware of the mud on my skirt.
Aware of the way it may look and the conversation we just finished.
Aware that the mud stretches well beyond the hem, as if I had lain flat on the ground.
“Bryn…” My name on her lips comes as a gasp.
“What?” I frown. “I fell.” It sounds unbelievable even to me.
“It looks like you…” She gasps again. “Father is going to… We need to get you to your room.” She grabs my hand, and a smile tugs at my lips. Laoise may be my half-sister, but at this moment, I love her with my whole heart.
A mumbling of voices sound from the hall ahead.
I squeeze Laoise’s hand, telling her to wait.
I can’t make out the sources, but I hear enough to know they belong to two men.
The deep, rumbling baritone of one alludes as much, and the low response of the second confirms it as my curiosity gets the better of me.
Laoise ignores my plea and frees her lace-cuffed hand from mine, tilting back the glass cover of her lantern to blow out its flame. Her smile spreads as the light dims—such a fearless little thing. But then again, she’s never been at the receiving end of my stepmother’s wrath. Not the way I have.
Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath. She rounds the corner, and I follow, ignoring the hesitation in my steps.
I watch the delicate lace hem of her white night robe sweep over the floor like a gentle breeze.
Her steps are soft, barely a whisper. The voices ahead grow louder, belonging to my father and someone I don’t recognise.
I frown, concentrating on their conversation, but their exact words are lost in the distance between us.
We make our way to the stairs, keeping to the wall. Another few feet and we’ll be safe from being seen. The light from the crystal chandelier at the far end of the foyer doesn’t stretch all the way to our wall, so we are still hidden in the shadows, even though they aren’t.
Next to my father stands an exceptionally tall man.
He must be six foot six at least, with broad, muscular shoulders beneath an expertly-tailored black coat.
Even from here, it’s impossible to miss the scowl shaping his brows, promising nothing but danger.
His hair is pulled back and tied at the nape of his neck, leaving dampened strands to fall over his face.
Towering over my father, he looks strong enough to snap a fully grown man’s neck in two.
With his bare hands. While reading a book.
My hand touches the carved mahogany balustrade, as smooth as glass beneath my palm, and I pause.
Laoise continues up the stairs while my eyes linger on the stranger as I slowly ascend.
He turns, snapping his gaze to mine. My heart stops dead in its tracks as he narrows his eyes at me, as if he knew I was here all along.
The scowl on his face tells me two things: My presence annoys him, and I will pay for my intrusion.