Disclaimer: I do not Turn. Enjoy the chapter anyway!
Once upon a time, in a faraway land (Well at least far from the colonies) a young very rich Lord, first in line for his kingdom's throne by his marriage to his young King's only sister, lived in a shining huge estate. Although he had everything his heart desired, the Lord was arrogant, spoiled, selfish, and very evil. Viciously clawing his way to the top from extreme poverty where he was a bastard born son of a tavern wench with no surname and calling himself 'Simcoe', he was one the King's finest decorated soldiers winning one war after another. He delighted in ruthlessly torturing and killing all he deemed an enemy on the battlefield even if they had surrendered beforehand. Once he executed his own men for showing mercy upon wounded young soldiers as an example to all those who would defy his orders. He also enjoyed raping unwilling young beautiful girls who caught his attention, a few times with their husbands watching helplessly under sword point as he had his way with them. An avid supporter of the slave trade, he was known to hang the bodies of mutilated, murdered men, women, and even children upon his vast grounds to show the others what would happen if their master's orders weren't obeyed.
His name was John Simcoe but everyone knew him as 'The Beast'.
But then, one late winter's night, three gorgeous prostitutes caught his eye coming from the King's annual New Year's Eve ball. Seducing him with their pouty lips, large bosoms and wide hips, he immediately took them home for what he thought would be the best night of his life.
It turned out to be the worst...and the last.
When dawn came the next day they found his mutiliated body hanging from the top of the large gates of his home, his blood dripping down in rivers along his pathway. The people who worked his estate were spirited away, including the slaves, and the only living person left in the estate was his pregnant princess widow who claimed until the moment she breathed her last that she was drugged when her husband was being murdered. And edged in Simcoe's blood along his home in very large print were three curses, each in different handwriting suggesting that each of the prostitutes wrote one each.
The first curse was to his bloodline, no more than one son would a Simcoe have.
The second curse was their longevity, a Simcoe would never live past his thirtieth birthday.
The third and final curse was the end of the Simcoe line, by the sixteenth heir his death would end it.
There was only one way to end the curses, a very simple way, a Simcoe must learn to show love, kindness, mercy, and compassion. They must treat everyone with respect despite color, gender, country, or status. Judging someone on their character, not how much wealth they possessed or influence they had. And most importantly no more raping, no more mutilating, no more murdering for some twisted sick delight of it.
And no more keeping slaves ever. Workers must be paid fair livable wages with days off for their own family time.
It was the key to the end of the cursed line and unfortunately no heed of it was taken. Centuries passed with one Simcoe dropping dead after another, the curses still stood firm no matter how many shamans were paid to undo it, and still no lessons were learned, no call was heeded.
Until finally in a little backwater town called Setauket Lieutenant John Graves Simcoe, the sixteenth to his line and the throne of England, met and fell in love with Bella, the bastard daughter of a Spanish prostitute and former slave.
Author's Note: Reviews please!
