Chapter Seven - Blackthorn Hall #3
“Within reason,” came Dorian’s rumbling tone.
Again, there was another chorus of tuts and sighs.
It should have been amusing. It should have eased her to see how they did not seem to fear their master.
However, she could not forget the sight of him in that courtyard, holding her cousins broken body.
Exhaustion had set in since the carriage, the fire that had risen in her all but burned out by the time they reached the mansion, all she wanted to do was collapse, to sleep, to forget.
“We have your rooms all prepared my lady,” said Mrs Hawthorn kindly, and Rosamund wondered if perhaps she looked as tired as she felt, “Elira can show you to them.”
The young woman nodded enthusiastically and moved towards the grand staircase, but Dorian held up a hand. She immediately scurried back towards the line as he descended.
“Before that,” said Dorian as he locked eyes with Rosamund, “there are some ground rules here at Blackthorn Hall. I expect you to follow them during your stay.”
“Rules?”
“Yes. Rules,” repeated Dorian firmly “you may not travel beyond the grounds of Blackthorn Hall.”
“What?” she said with a frown, tired frustration building within her, “Can I not go into the town?”
“No,” he said firmly, “you are free to explore the grounds of the hall, but you are to go no further beyond the wall.”
“What about elsewhere in the city?” she said with a frustrated sigh.
“Not without an escort, and only when there is reason to do so.”
“Such as?”
“Whatever I determine as reasonable,” he said and she laughed bitterly, ignoring the widening eyes of the line of servants.
“So, I am to be a prisoner?” she said crossing towards him, craning her neck to look up at him, “Just like my brothers in the tower.”
“Trust me, your tower will be much more luxurious than theirs,” he sneered at her.
“Doesn’t look like it to me,” she hissed and gestured to the bare walls around them, though a pang of guilt and worry for her brothers coursed through her.
I will not be trapped in this misery of a house.
“One more thing,” he continued.
“Oh, just one?” she mocked, she could feel her heart racing as he towered over her.
Why was she doing this? This man had just helped execute her cousin.
Why am I provoking him?
“You are forbidden from entering the North Tower,” he commanded.
“What’s in the North Tower?” she asked despite herself.
“These are my rooms, and you will respect that,” he said firmly through gritted teeth.
Another bitter laugh rose up, “I can think of no reason why I would ever find myself there. You made that very clear.”
There was a flash of something in his eyes, so quick that she missed it.
His normal icy aura had been inflamed, and she could feel the heat rising between them.
She knew she was burning herself out with this.
She knew that every emotion of the day was finally being let loose.
She should bottle it, not let him see it, just as he had told her in the carriage, they would look for any weakness.
Even him. Especially him. But she could not help it, she needed to let it out and who better than him.
As each of them seethed, the servants stood nervously to the side.
Eventually Dorian took a step back, his chest rising and falling as quickly as her own.
Without another word he turned on his heel and stormed up the stairs.
At a loss Rosamund turned to the line of servants, and in a fraught voice, more strained than she would like, asked, “Where are my rooms?”
All of them looked at her hesitantly until Mrs Hawthorn said, “The East Tower my lady. Elira,” she gave the girl a nudge, “take Lady Rosamund to her room. Will you be wanting sup-.”
“No thank you,” she snapped as she gestured for Elira to lead the way.
The young woman rushed forwards and headed up the staircase.
Rather than follow Dorian up the centre staircase, Elira turned right towards a further spiral staircase.
Rosamund followed her, heat rolling off her as she vibrated with anger.
There were various doors on their way up the tower, but Rosamund did not pay them any attention.
She was trapped. A prisoner, just like her brothers.
Her brothers who may one day receive the same fate as her poor cousin.
They arrived at a grand ivory door; unlike the rest of the hall it had been inlaid with a gold vine pattern. Elira revealed the large room beyond with a flourish, but Rosamund took no note of it as she stepped in and turned to close the door.
“D-d-do y-,” Elira started to say, but Rosamund interrupted.
“No thank you, I wish to be left alone,” she said, and slammed the door.
Turning around she slid down to the floor and finally let the tears wash over her.
She screamed into her hand, desperate to rid herself of this storm inside her.
She howled for everything that had happened.
For the death of her cousin, the loss of her sister, the pain her brothers continued to endure, and for everything that lay ahead of them.