A Hundred Nights
Hermione feared for her life. The bumps on the way to Rivenspell Hold barely shook her in the cart but she knew that once she was with the Liard Malfoy she was truly in danger. Her father and the old Liard were friends and after the older man had died, Draconis his heir had tried his damnest to break the marriage contract struck between the two friends for their progenies.
Hermione didn't want to marry him either; a rough barbarian with no regard to culture or societal norms held no appeal for her, a gently bred lady who had grown up within the confines of a country home just outside London in Cheswick County. Hermione had no interest in the ton or the season, instead she preferred books and her own company but she knew that Draconis had no use for an educated wife, one lacking in certain physical attributes that appealed to men. Her brain meant nothing to him, nor did the friendship her father and his shared.
But he had no choice but to take her in, she was fleeing the rampage caused by the forces if Henry IV's men who were taking down any man, woman or child who dared defy them and their sovereign and her father an outspoken supporter of Richard the Lionhearted was on their list. She had been packed away in the middle of the night and put into a coach travelling towards Scotland.
Rivenspell was in the northern reaches, an isolated isle. Her father told her it was the most beautiful land he had seen but she feared she wasn't going to survive long enough to explore any of it. Not if Draconis had anything to do with it. Out of the cauldron and into the fire she thought with a wry smile.
It was a well-known fact that Draconis Avery MacMhoair the seventh heir to the MacMhoair clan was as hard and unrelenting as the snowcapped mountains that surrounded his home and as vicious and unrelenting as the foul predators that haunted his home. Having fought in the Clan Wars before being deployed to Morocco and Tanzania Draconis was a feared and revered presence in the Highlands. His fierce defense and legendry skills with a longbow and sword were spoken about in myths with a mix of awe and fear. Hermione had never seen him but she knew that her husband to be was in love with another woman.
Winona of the Lowlands; a woman suited for him, one who rode like the wind, who could shoot a man dead and who could bear him enough children to keep the MacMhoair clan alive. She was as beautiful as the fey and he worshipped at her feet, they had told her. Hermione was a poor replacement, her health was precarious at best and she feared she had nothing more to offer him then her knowledge, gleaned from the endless books she had read.
She would end up dead; Draconis didn't seem like a man who held much stock in promises. She would be the proverbial wife of Bluebeard but her thoughts were interrupted by the harsh sound of the cart's axel breaking.
"Halt!" came a voice, one with a thick Scottish brogue, "These are the lands of the Clan MacMhoair, who be you? Declare yourselves or be shot."
The driver of the cart, a thin old man patiently held out a hand before descending, "We are carrying our lady to your Liard. There is no need to shoot."
A deeper, more dangerous voice broke in, "And who, old man is this lady you are carrying to me?"
Hermione's heart shook violently and her soft mouth trembled, he was here! Draconis! She had no time to prepare her defense!
"The little lady, Hermione of the house Granger, my lord… your betrothed."
A sharp laugh could be heard after the old man pronounced who it was inside the carriage, "That sickly creature is no betrothed of mine, not if I can have anything to do with it." said the same deep voice, ringing harshly inside Hermione's mind and before she could stop herself she was lifting the flap and giving the tall man a haughty glare.
"Well I wouldn't be here either, if I had any say in it, Liard MacMhoair! Rest assured this is no pleasant prospect for me either." She said coldly, soothing down her veil, "Your uncouth barbarian ways hold no appeal for me!" she said angrily.
The man in front of her studied her through her outburst with amusement, looking down upon her from his far superior height; the cold northern wind blew the strands of his hair those of which weren't tamed by the ruthless leather thong that held them at the base of his neck. His face wasn't beautiful, not the way the men's faces in the ton were. No, his face had character… a harsh scar marred its right side and his sullen, sensual mouth was smirked in casual amusement but what really struck Hermione was the coldness reflected in his icy blue eyes, the color of a calm lake; devoid of all emotion. Atop his large Arabian stallion he looked cold, unapproachable. His muscular arms hard and scarred from years of working with vicious weapons and the rest of him was equally daunting; muscular and strong. Fearsome indeed thought Hermione with a shudder.
"So the kitten has claws." He mused before gracefully unmounting, "What are you doing here, little one? The North is no place for little tea roses, especially not ones with weak lungs like yours."
"Father sent me, my lord MacMhoair. The house was taken last night." She said quietly, "I doubt any one survived."
"Damn that son of a bitch Henry." He swore under his breath, "Why aren't you grieving, little girl? Was your precious Papa wearing on your nerves?" he said mockingly.
"What is to grieve when I know I shall join him soon enough." She said with spirit.
He gave her a vicious smile, one that promised retribution later.
"Come Douglas, it seems Rivenspell had guests. Lead them home, I'm sure the lady is dying for some warmth." He said, turning his stallion around, throwing a cruel smile at Hermione.
….
"Don't take this gesture of kindness as something it isn't, little rose." Said the blond man seated in front of Hermione, "I don't mean to wed you, contract or no contract."
"The only way you can escape it is by my death."
"That can be arranged." He said coldly.
"I have no doubt." She replied calmly.
"You know I mean to wed another, that my heart belongs to her."
"I have heard of the beautiful Winona, my lord. No doubt you shall make an excellent marriage." Hermione's face was of absolute calm.
"Have you no instinct of self-preservation!?" he burst out angrily, "I tell you that I may have to kill you and you tell me how beautiful you find the woman I have been fucking!"
"I knew from the moment my father told me I was to be sent here my death was inevitable." She replied.
"I don't kill innocents." He said coldly, "No matter what kind of man you think I am I don't kill innocents but I won't put up with you here. I will be bringing Winona here soon and I want you gone from this house by then."
"I will need a bit of time." She said softly, "I will need to contact someone, anyone to help me, won't you let me stay till then?" she beseeched softly.
"What can you offer me for my benevolence?" he replied cruelly.
"I know you couldn't possibly want my body, weak as I am." She said thoughtfully, "The only thing I can offer you, my lord are stories."
"Stories." He scoffed, "I have no use for stories."
"That is all I can give you, lord. A story for everyday I spend here, my payment." She said softly, "We could begin with today."
Draconis leaned forward… intrigued by the prospect. The young woman who sat in front of him was deathly serious, her delicate little face reflected that. "A story, for everyday I allow you to stay in the Keep?"
She nodded.
"And if I get bored?" he drawled slowly.
"You can throw me out." She said solemnly.
"My-my little tea rose, what an interesting little prospect, color me intrigued."
"Would you like to hear a story now, my lord?" she whispered, her eyes dancing away from his searching gaze.
"Tell me one, little rose… consider the sand tipped."
The warmth of parlor had lulled Hermione into a sense of pseudo calm; the firelights flickered over her delicate face as she made her payment, "Once upon a time." She began,
"In the fey hills where the Sidhe live ventured a young man. He played the pipes of Pan and his hair fell in red ringlets around his face, for years the young man had wandered from village to village playing the pipes of Pan; enchanting men, women and children alike. He didn't know he had stumbled upon the Summer court of the Seelie and so unaware of Titania and Oberon holding counsel with all their monsters in tow he began to play his wicked pipes. Titania was furious that someone had interrupted her court and so she drifted out to see who the wicked perpetrator was and as she drew closer and closer, her delicate feet could not help but move to the exquisite sound of his pipes. The man was unaware of the Queen who drifted closer and closer… her shimmering green wings glittering golden with delight. Such music! Such music she had never heard! A human who created music that was akin to magic. 'Young man!' she whispered, drawing closer and closer to him, 'Young man, what compels you to make such beautiful, delightful music?' and the young man opened his eyes, there in front of him stood the most breathtaking creature! His eyes deceived him! Such beauty couldn't exist, surely!? 'Please don't stop playing.' She pleaded in her tinkering voice and so he played and for days after he returned, again and again to where he first met the Queen and she would always wait… falling deeper and deeper in love with him as the days passed. All was well until one day Oberon, suspicious and jealous; fueled by evil Mab's lies followed Titania out into the green. Where he came across his beautiful queen with her head resting upon the mortal's lap. In a jealous rage Oberon struck! The Pan pipe's snapped in two, their beautiful music ending on a broken note. 'What have you done oh husband mine!?' cried the queen, 'Such destruction within you, such hate?!' he called her a whore! 'Be grateful Titania.' He cried, 'Be grateful I do not cut of your lovers head.' In a rage the mortal lunged! And Oberon drew his sword and off came the mortal's head! 'No!' cried Titania, 'No, my beautiful Robin!' and days after Oberon left, beautiful Titania's tears stained the ground where Robin Goodfellow's blood had soaked into the grass until on the eighth day a soft voice called to the beautiful sobbing queen, 'Fear not my beautiful love, for Puck will always be by your side.' And from the very ground where his blood had quenched the thirst of the earth emerged the red-headed mortal, a mortal no more. 'Now and forever I will remain by your side.'"
She finished, her eyes shimmering with love for the story.
"Is that how you hope to be loved, little tea rose?" came the mocking question.
"Someday I may be." She said defiantly.
"Come little rose, I have no wish to fight after that story. It's time you went to bed." He rose, leading her up the stairs and to her chambers.
"May I… may I have some ink and paper?" She said with quite dignity, "To write to my aunt."
"Anything that gets you away from here faster." He said with a cruel smile. Hermione wanted to gouge his eyes out but she remained mum, it wouldn't do her any good to fight him while she was still dependent on his kindness.
"Good night little rose." He said carelessly, "I look forward to what you have for me tomorrow."
…..
"Tell me a story about hell." He said unexpectedly, a week had passed since Hermione had been at the Keep and it was the first time he had asked her for a specific kind of 'payment'. His behavior towards her had remained the same; cold, taunting and sometimes outright cruel. Even his own people were shocked.
"Firm he might be, aye. But I've never seen him treat a lass the way he does you, sweet." The older Gamekeeper had told her one day when Draconis had ridden up on his stallion when Hermione was out for a walk in the garden and demanded she return to the Keep. He wouldn't get rewarded if he sent her aunt a corpse he had told her with cold amusement; it had taken all of Hermione's ability to keep the tears at bay. She wasn't one to cry but Draconis made her feel stupid and childish and she didn't like the feeling.
Most of the serfs and servants in Rivenspell had been there for years and remembered her father bringing her as a chubby cheeked toddler after the death of her mother. They found her a delight, a gentle girl, much protected by her precious Papa and sweet-natured. She wasn't used to the weather or the harsh conditions and Draconis took great pleasure in reminding her of that fact.
Tonight she was confined to her bed chamber; her weak lungs were giving her trouble and she looked incredibly fragile in the large bed; a simple silk shawl thrown over her slender shoulders.
Draconis had come to her room, remarking how she looked like a lost child swallowed up in a sea of fur.
"I am not a child!" she said hotly, "I am nineteen years old."
"A babe compared to me, little one." He teased, "I am twenty five."
But his request had thrown her, a story about hell… what a curious thing to ask.
"I might know one." She said hesitantly.
"So…don't tell me you're scared, little rose. I promise I'll protect you if it comes to haunt you at night." He taunted.
"The only thing I fear is you." she whispered under her breath.
His eyes narrowed but he let it slip.
"Once upon a time." She began, "A man lived as he pleased; he stole, he drank, he gambled, he was an opium addict, his sins were many and his good deeds none and so one day in a dream God asked him if he didn't fear hell. He replied by saying that there was only one life granted to man and he wanted to live it as he pleased. Seeking pleasure. Hedonism."
"A man after my own heart." Smirked Draconis.
Hermione glared at him before continuing, "So God asked him if he would like to visit the place where his soul would rest if he continued to live the way he did. Since he had nothing to lose he agreed. The first place God took him was Niflheim, a freezing wasteland where the ice blackened his fingers and toes until they fell off. Next he was taken towards the river Tuoni itself, which was filled with poisonous snakes and the stubs of his feet were bitten vicious until the blackish poison spread up his legs, carrying excruciating pain. After which screaming and kicking he was carried down into the abyss where each layer of hell served judgment upon various crimes. 'You shall live.' God informed him, 'Among the gluttons and addicts, forced to remain in a disgusting slime or among the frauds where sinners have their heads twisted backwards and are whipped by demons, submerged in feces, burned on the soles of their feet, placed in a boiling lake, bitten by snakes, dismembered, and diseased. Where the Rivers of pain and agony, of memory and wordless fear will flow over your sinful soul' the man screamed and screamed until he was awoken by the proprietress of the tavern he was living in. Babbling incoherently he managed to drag himself away from the den of sin in which he had been living."
"Stop." Said Draconis, "I don't need to hear anymore." He said before getting up and walking out of Hermione's room abruptly.
Hermione puzzled over his reaction until she fell asleep, unable to understand why Draconis would want a story about Hell.
Maybe she thought sleepily he wanted to know what to expect beforehand.
….
She kept busy, keeping hope that soon the revolution in England would end and her aunt would come to fetch her. In her letters her aunt had told her that it was dangerous for Hermione to travel, all sympathizers were being found and hanged. It seemed that Hermione's own father had escaped. Hermione felt her heart grow light with gladness but fear for relatives and those close to her was still weighing her down.
On the other hand she was beginning to understand bits and pieces of Draconis. He was damaged man, a man who held faith in none except himself. She felt sorry for him but she envied the woman he loved for Draconis loved like he fought… fiercely. She had only heard him speak of his Winona once; she wasn't privy to his private thoughts usually.
No, she had heard him talked about his Winona only when he was drunk. Hermione had felt wicked for days after when she remembered how he talked about her silken breasts and her sweet thighs but she wondered what it would be like, to be wanted by someone… anyone like that. To hold that kind of influence on their person. She must be an incredible lady, thought Hermione with a sigh, to snare the heart of man like Draconis. A man so fearfully strong; both in body and spirit. He was so forceful; sometimes Hermione felt like the delicate tea roses he called her, like with a fierce northern wind she would fly away.
Her fear had abated but it had been replaced by something much more dangerous … desire. She felt hungry for more of him; she wanted to see more, to know more, to feel more. He rarely touched her but whenever he did she felt a bolt of pure pleasure shoot through her. She couldn't understand this hunger; especially for someone she had been so vocal about hating.
He made her furious most time, he was a highhanded, male chauvinist who believed her to be a silly little girl who was both weak of body and heart but other times, rare times when he wasn't taunting her or being cruel she could see the real bits of Draconis, the bits that she hungered for. He was taciturn and not at all forthcoming about anything in his life but whatever he told her; the stories of lions in Tanzania and bright Moroccan souks or even his time in war she lapped up with greedy pleasure. She was slowly chipping away the mask that hid his true face.
And till now he had not missed a single story night with her, sometimes he stayed behind and discussed them with her. She would treasure these conversations with him like a miser treasures gold ingots. It had been seven weeks, seven weeks and 49 stories and tonight she would tell him the fiftieth story, a love story. She hadn't told a love story since her first night and tonight she would share one of her favorite ones with him.
"Are you ready, my lord MacMhoair?" she asked softly as Draconis entered the warm solar, "I have a special story for you tonight."
Draconis smiled briefly before studying the delicate girl seated in front of him in a large cushioned chair that nearly engulfed her little body.
"What is this one about, little one?" he enquired, taking a seat on the ottoman near her feet.
"Love." She replied simply before continuing. "Once upon a time." She began, "The King Shahryar every day would marry a new virgin, and after doing so would dispatch the previous day's wife to be beheaded. This was done in anger, having found out that his first wife was unfaithful to him. He had killed a thousand such women by the time he was introduced to Scheherazade, the vizier's daughter. Scheherazade had perused the books, annals and legends of preceding Kings, and the stories, examples and instances of bygone men and things; indeed it was said that she had collected a thousand books of histories relating to antique races and departed rulers. She had perused the works of the poets and knew them by heart; she had studied philosophy and the sciences, arts and accomplishments; and she was pleasant and polite, wise and witty, well read and well bred. She had beautiful midnight hair and soft golden eyes and a voice like the sunset, vivid and beautiful. Against her father's wishes, Scheherazade volunteered to spend one night with the king. Once in the king's chambers, Scheherazade asked if she might bid one last farewell to her beloved sister, Dinarzade, who had secretly been prepared to ask Scheherazade to tell a story during the long night. The king lay awake and listened with awe as Scheherazade told her first story. The night passed by, and Scheherazade stopped in the middle of the story. The king asked her to finish, but Scheherazade said there was no time, as dawn was breaking. So, the king spared her life for one day to finish the story the next night. The next night, Scheherazade finished the story and then began a second, even more exciting tale which she again stopped halfway through at dawn. Again, the king spared her life for one more day to finish the second story. And so the King kept Scheherazade alive day by day, as he eagerly anticipated the finishing of the previous night's story. At the end of a thousand and one nights, and a thousand stories, Scheherazade told the king that she had no more tales to tell him. During these thousand and one nights, the king had fallen in love with Scheherazade, and spared her life, and made her his queen." She finished her liquid brown eyes meeting his for the first time in the evening.
"Do you expect me to fall in love with you the same way, little rose?" he whispered.
"You wouldn't." she whispered back. "Falling in love requires a heart, my lord."
"Don't look at me with those wounded fawn eyes of yours." He groaned, "There is only so much a man can take."
"Of what my lord." She asked innocently.
"Of temptation, little one." He said before standing up and pulling her close, Hermione went silently, her small white hand held within his rough large one. Slowly he bent and brushed his lips softly over her own, like a phantom moth's wing Hermione thought in a daze.
"Come closer, sweet thing." He murmured, pressing one large hand on her back, coxing her closer to him.
"You shouldn't." she whispered against his mouth.
"But you want me to."
"What I want is of no consequence, Draconis… my lord MacMhoair."
"What if I said I want it too?"
"I would commend you on being an excellent liar." She breathed.
"Ah, little tea rose… be careful, this north wind is too rough for you." he laughed finally, letting her go, "Hurry along now otherwise I might be tempted to blow you away."
"Promise me something Draconis?" she said softly.
"I would give you just about anything right now." He said with a smile.
"I beg of you, don't be cruel to me because of this tomorrow."
"Never." He said with a tender smile, brushing a wayward strand of chestnut hair away from her flushed face. "Not about this."
"Thank you." she whispered with a longing smile in his direction before going towards her chambers.
Draconis watched as the little fey of a girl flitted away from him and sighed wistfully.
…..
This is a small little story that I don't plan to do more than a few chapters. Please do review it was hard to write!