Lorna Doone: Two Sides Of A Coin
Lorna felt a shiver of apprehension as she and Carver rode into the Doone Valley. The familiar sight of the roughly hewn wooden houses and thatched roofs sent a ripple of dread down her spine.
Had she done the right thing, in returning with Carver?
Perhaps sensing Lorna's nervousness, Carver's arm tightened around her waist, as they halted outside the main house. Taking a deep breath, trying to breathe through the vice crushing her lungs, Lorna could feel the eyes of the assembling Doones on her face. Setting her jaw, she determined to ignore them, as Carver dismounted and reached up for her.
Fighting down her panic, Lorna focussed on the strong planes of his face, his dark eyes, allowed the familiar paralysis he could invoke to take over, as his arm twined around her waist.
The cold wind whipped through the valley, Lorna's mud-splattered skirts doing nothing to shield her from the chill ice that swept her skin, raising goosebumps over her flesh. Carver's strong arm pulled her from the saddle, cradling her against his chest until her feet touched the ground. His lips brushed her ear, sending a slight shiver down Lorna's spine.
"I won't let anyone harm you, Lorna. Don't be afraid," he breathed in her ear, her waist still entwined with his arm. Lorna pushed away her unease at his words, knowing that once she was Carver's wife, the same protection and respect she'd received when Ensor was alive would shield her from Carver's thugs. The main doors opened, and the Counsellor, Carver's father, strode out.
"I'm not afraid," Lorna murmured, almost defiantly to Carver's ears, as she stepped out of his encircling arm and glided forward. The Counsellor's cold eyes raked over her face, before he jogged down the steps in front of her.
"Welcome home, Lorna," he inclined his head. Lorna met his eyes but didn't reply, as she swept past him into the house. The Counsellor turned his head to watch after Lorna, before meeting the eyes of his son, as a boy scurried forward to take Carver's horse.
Carver met his father's eyes steadily before moving past him. "Begin preparations. We will marry tomorrow," he barked over his shoulder.
The Counsellor fell in behind his son, as a cacophony of excited whispers broke out behind them.
"What of the Ridds? The boy will not let Lorna go easily; he is a threat," he commented curiously. Carver's face hardened, as he entered the smoky hall of the Doones.
"Nothing. We will do nothing. Tomorrow Lorna will be mine, and that will be the end of it," Carver replied tersely, unbuckling his sword and pistol and lounging in the chair of the Lord of the Doones.
"Nothing? The last attack was ill-advised at best, but now Ridd will not let this be. He will come for her, just as he did before. You are not married yet, and I don't think Lorna is as loyal to you as you think," the Counsellor said gravely. Carver directed a searing glare at his father, before shrugging nonchalantly.
"We'll place more guards around the hall. If Ridd does try to come back, he'll be dead by sunrise," Carver muttered coldly.
"Lorna left us once. If he makes it through, she will do it again," the Counsellor warned him. Carver shook his head dismissively.
"Not this time. I'll make sure of that," he muttered again, sending his father a disparaging glance, before rising from his seat. "How many wounded from last night's attack?" he asked, already striding out of the hall, his father by his side.
"Five men at least. You should've taken twenty men, if you wished to take her by force, but it seems you did not need to after all," the Counsellor commented, a shrewd gleam entering his eye. Carver did not acknowledge it.
Outside, in-between two cottages, was the area where the injured and dying men lay on stretchers in the open air, whilst the women tended to them. As Carver crossed to one of his men, taking his hand as the man cried out in pain whilst a woman cauterised a gunshot wound on his thigh, the Counsellor kept by his side.
"Why didn't you just take twenty men back, and annihilate the farm?" he asked, as Carver focussed on the injured man clinging to his hand. "It's not like you to show clemency when you see yourself wronged."
"Because….I promised Lorna I would not harm them, if she came with me," Carver replied finally, his speech stilted and awkward.
"Sentimental fool!" the Counsellor snorted derisively, shaking his old grey head. With a growl of impatience, Carver released his dying soldier's hand and pulled his dagger from its sheath. In one graceful movement, Carver held it up to his father's throat.
"Be very careful old man. Remember to whom you speak!" he snarled through gritted teeth. A moment later, he released the Counsellor and stalked away.
Carver's father chuckled to himself, as he watched his son walk away into the mist.
"You're cleverer than I expected, boy," he muttered, before turning away himself to oversee the preparations for the wedding.