Ingrid was not aware of how tightly she was clutching onto Roul's shirt until she glanced down and saw how white her knuckles were. Surely, he must have felt her nails digging into his sides. Regardless of whether he felt it or not, he made no comment. The young hearth keep caught a glimpse of the Frollo estate, and she could not help but let out a tiny gasp. The sentry heard and let out a dark chuckle at the girl's awestruck manner. The castle walls were the strongest thing for miles around, Ingrid knew. Yet when she looked carefully, she noticed the stones. The fortress was built of stones of varying shapes and sizes, each one unique. From a distance, the place was uniform gray, but as they got closer and approached the gates, the stones were a mosaic of humble rocks, each of them nobody would think anything of if they were found loose by the roadside. But together, they created a magnificent castle, the crown of the landscape and the protector of the people. At least, that's what Ingrid liked to think.
Roul glanced back at the girl and suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. "Don't even think of doing it, girl," he muttered darkly.
Ingrid blushed, the heat rising her cheeks. "I—I wasn't," she mumbled, embarrassed that he'd caught on to her thoughts.
"The place is a fortress, milady. You would not get a hundred feet into the woods before the master would send a team of men and his best hounds after you. There is no leaving this place." The Frollo estate was more ancient than any bone left in the soil. The once smooth rock was pitted and scarred. They passed by a frail old man, the groundskeeper, who smirked when he saw Ingrid and Roul. Ingrid met the old man's gaze and gaped. This old man of the hell knows how fleeting time is, she thought. How soon the present becomes the past and the important becomes the irrelevant, she mused. Young Ingrid had to crane her neck to see everything; the lands surrounding the castle seemed to stretch on for an eternity. In this hallowed and ancient site, the trees have seen the centuries blow past in the winds of each season and witnessed the folly of the Frollo family's struggles, as well as their triumphs. The walls stood mute, water awaited the call of the wind to ruffle and move as molten grass of the deepest green.
The gray stones of the castle rose from the land, unapologetic and bold to defy entrance and protect what had been entrusted to their care. Below, the uneven patches of grass were arrowheads of old, and the hilts of broken swords and armor that had failed to protect. A memorial, thought Ingrid sadly.
Ingrid's thoughts were interrupted as Roul yanked on the horse's reigns and brought the steed to a stop in front of a familiar face.
"Oh, thank the Lord," murmured Ingrid under her breath. "It's so good to see you, Uncle Marcus!" she chirped, perking up at the sight of her beloved uncle standing guard outside the gates. Finally, someone she trusted and loved. "How is Aunt Helen?"
Her uncle looked surprised to see her. "Ingrid! She's well," he said a note of surprise in his tone that was immediately replaced with suspicion. "What are you doing here, and with Roul, of all people? Roul," he snapped playfully, shaking his head. "I told you, stay away from my family; can't you see my niece is too good for the likes of you? She would never bed you, so wipe that smug smirk off your face, before I take it from you." Chuckling, he turned back to Ingrid, his playful grin faltering. "I thought you'd be back at the inn, unless…" Marcus Damas's gaze met Roul's, who gave a curt solemn nod. "Oh, no," he groaned, sounding wary. "Roul, no! Not her! Pick someone else, anyone else for this job! I will not have my niece in danger, goddamn it! She—she's not like my Sophia, she doesn't have quite the training my daughter does, she won't even last a month in this place, Roul!" he shouted, his face reddening as the knight's temper threatened to implode. "I forbid this! What the hell were you thinking? No, let me answer that for you. You weren't! Turn around," Marcus snarled through clenched teeth. "Turn the bloody horse around right now and take her back home. Right now, Roul!"
Roul opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by the arrival of a young man several years older than Ingrid's age, looking to be in his late twenties, with a thick mop of brown hair and a grave expression on his face. He held his hand tenderly and his face contorted into a scowl when the man's gaze landed on Roul. His eyes drifted to Ingrid, where his gaze lingered longer than she would have liked, but she bit back her retort.
Ingrid hopped off the horse without waiting to take Roul's hand, who was looking a little disgruntled at her refusal of his hand, but, ever the gentleman that he was, did not comment on it. "Uncle," she whispered, hoping that her voice was calm, despite the fear that was currently coursing through her veins. "This is my choice. You know how much Papa and Mama are struggling. If I can do this for Roul, I will be saving your brother from financial ruin. It isn't a permanent solution, just until the debt is paid," she said, speaking louder. "This is my decision, Uncle."
Her uncle regarded her in silence for a moment before letting out a deflated sigh and clapping his niece on the shoulder. "You're a Damas, Ingrid. I know better than to argue with the women in my family. Arguing with you, Sophia, or my Helen never ends well," he chuckled. He held her at arm's length for a moment, and studied the details of his niece's face, and her eyes. "So like my Sophia you are, Ingrid. There's hope for you."
Ingrid smiled, hoping her smile reached her eyes. Her uncle was not a force to be reckoned with. It was in humanity's darkest moments that the soul would shine brightly, and that is what made her uncle a knight—that men like Marcus Damas would be their guides even when cruelty was not seen as stupid or wrong anymore. Marcus was the sort of man who rode into battle when the rest could not find their way to nobility, when bravery was but a mere whisper of the past. Marcus had his shining armor and the most glorious stubbornness to stand up for what he believed was right. Therefore, she never saw her uncle as a mere mortal man. To her, he was practically a god, the one who took the tongues of tyranny and rammed them back down the enemy's throat, leaving them to painfully choke to death.
"She's strong," offered Roul thickly, almost sounding angry with Marcus. The sentry wordlessly handed off the reigns of his horse to Tristan. The squire blushed and gawked at Roul, who grew annoyed. "Ingrid has a strong spirit and a kind heart. I would not have suggested this to your niece if I did not think she could handle it. Something tells me she will thrive here, Marcus."
Tristan, momentarily forgetting his place, stepped forward into the light, holding a flaming torch close to Ingrid's face, who flinched and recoiled slightly at the uncomfortableness of being so close to the flames. He squinted his eyes and broke into a wide Cheshire cat grin that made Ingrid feel uneasy.
"She's quite pretty, master," he said, speaking to both Roul and Marcus. "Is she here as a candidate for the open position for the kitchen girl?" he asked, glancing up at Marcus, who glowered at the younger man. Tristan, to Ingrid's surprise, brought the torch closer, allowing Ingrid to smell the beginnings of a few strands of her hair burning. "Oh, she's a beauty, this one is!" he complimented cheerily. "The master typically prefers women with blonde hair, though, doesn't he?" he inquired, looking to Roul for confirmation. "Jehan sure has a way with women. A very strange way indeed. Takes a special type to be attracted to your sister," he grumbled, scrunching his nose.
Roul nodded grimly. Tristan seemed to take that as a sign to continue, either not noticing or ignoring Ingrid's growing discomfort. Tristan continued to prattle on. "Rumor has it the lord sacked the last girl he hired to work for him because the last woman that…tended to his fireplace reminded him too much of the gypsy woman. What did he call her? Florika."
Ingrid, unable to form a coherent response, could only gape at the young, oblivious squire, who did not seem to find anything wrong with the information he was choosing to divulge.
Marcus, noticing his niece's uncomfortable state at the sheer awkwardness of her situation, scowled in annoyance and smacked the squire upside the head.
Tristan muttered a half-hearted apology and fell silent.
"Except that this girl is not a gypsy, nor does she have the other girl's raven locks," spoke up Roul, slightly defensive of Ingrid, and seemed to be completely unfazed by Tristan's outburst.
Sensing the irritation in the Frollo estate's head sentry's tone, Marcus wasted no time. "What are you waiting for, a kiss?" he growled darkly. "Ready the lady's quarters."
Tristan looked quickly from Ingrid to Marcus, suddenly embarrassed. "Y—yes, sir," he mumbled, turning to grab the pack from the horse's saddle, only to fumble it a bit and cause the whole thing to topple to the ground. "Shit!" he swore, panicked, his blue eyes darting back and forth between Ingrid and Marcus. Ingrid and Marcus looked like they were fighting back their urge to break into laughter at the squire's clumsiness. "My—my apologies, milady. It won't happen again."
Marcus groaned, rubbing his temples. "I'm surrounded by idiots, the boy is hopeless," he snapped, but his eyes were twinkling as he turned to his niece and shot Ingrid a brief wink.
Roul stared at the bumbling squire. "How does he not slow you down?" he asked incredulously, shaking his head as the trio watched Tristan struggle to carry in Ingrid's belongings to the servant's quarters in the east wing of the massive fortress.
Marcus Damas sighed. "The boy's a good lad," he muttered, sounding hopeful. "I hold out hope for the kid that he'll grow into a man one of these days. He's almost twenty-seven in a few more months, but…he's got such a ways to go. The poor boy's never even had the pleasure of laying with a pretty woman," he joked, glancing sideways at Ingrid, who burst into a giggling fit.
"What a shame. He's never experienced the love of a good woman?" she grinned, enveloping her uncle in a tight hug. "It's quite a disappointment, Uncle; the man's handsome enough and seems to have a good heart. What's wrong with his arm and his leg?" she questioned suddenly as she watched Tristan's figure retreat into the wide double doors of the estate. She frowned as she noticed of his hands was practically useless, and he walked with a slight limp, as if it was the result of a war injury, almost like he walked with a gait, like one leg happened to be shorter.
Marcus let out a guttural grunt and shook his head. "Never you mind that, Ingrid. It's a story for another time, perhaps tomorrow over supper. The boy's a bumbling fool, but if I have it my way, Tristan will be a man before the year is up, you'll see."
Roul rolled his eyes. "How do you plan to accomplish that?"
The knight had such a devilish smirk on his face that Roul began to wonder if he should regret asking such a question. The middle-aged knight let out a deep booming laugh and took a minute to compose himself before answering the sentry's question. "The boy's developed a rather interesting crush on the woman of the house," he chuckled darkly. "I know, I know, ridiculous, right? Not much I can do for the boy in that regard, but I am tired of seeing the dopey-eyed look in his eyes when he thinks I'm not watching. However, I saw the way he looked at Madellaine at Claude's funeral. The boy is smitten enough, for sure. Rumor has it Valmont has a girl at his establishment that looks just like her, same hair and everything. I am thinking his hard work deserves a reward, wouldn't you say, Ingrid? Roul?" he asked teasingly.
"I'd say," sighed Roul, not giving Ingrid a chance to respond, grabbing Ingrid's arm without waiting to be asked and beginning to steer her towards a side door of the estate. "Marcus," he said cordially. "If we are lucky, we'll see you soon, yes?"
Marcus nodded, his teasing manner set aside. "Take care of her. If anything happens to my niece because of this harebrained scheme of yours, boy, you'll have me to answer to, got that?"
Roul nodded, not saying a word. He did not need to. Marcus stepped aside to let the two of them pass and gave a curt nod to Ingrid, who returned the gesture and hoped that it was sincere.
"Oh, Uncle!" she called back almost as an afterthought. "Your squire, the—the young man, Tristan, is it?" she questioned.
"Yes, dear," said Marcus, looking surprised. "What about him?"
"Go easy on the lad," she cautioned. "He might be by your standards a bumbling idiot, but he seems kind enough. It would be a pity to be too hard on him until he reaches his breaking point. There's only so much scorn and ridicule a man can take." She glanced at the young squire, his silhouette retreating deeper into the castle, quirking her brow his way. She chuckled lightly. "Besides, Uncle, it's going to take more than one brothel visit and the poor boy dipping his wick to cure him of that poison."
Roul's face drained of color and he immediately pulled her aside once they reached the inside of the estate and were no longer within earshot of Marcus, whose laughter could still be heard from outside. The sentry did not wait before he shoved Ingrid up against the wall, hard enough to bruise. Ingrid flinched but did not back down from his gaze.
"What the hell do you think you're doing? You'll lose your tongue with that kind of talk around here! Shut your mouth and keep quiet!" he hissed, regarding the young hearth keeper with equal parts admiration and scorn. "Look," he urged cautiously, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes to control his temper. "Milady Ingrid, you must take better care of the things you say here. The walls have ears and eyes everywhere, you get my meaning?" he snarled through clenched teeth. "I admit that I don't know what it was like for you in the tavern. You might have been able to get away with mouthing off to the men in the inn when they got a little too much to handle and could handle being mocked, but here…" He paused, his expression pained. "Here, milady, it is very different. You are about to enter a world where such behavior is looked down upon and viewed as treason. Do you understand what I am trying to tell you, girl?"
"Yes," she replied defensively, not sparing Roul a glance. "I just was offering a friendly piece of advice to my uncle, sire. Nothing more, nothing less than that. That's all there is, m' lord."
Roul sighed and scoffed, relinquishing his grip on the young woman's shoulders. She was an intelligent, beautiful woman. The woman before him may be clever and smart, but that would not do her any good in her new position. Ingrid would have to be clever, but in a different kind of way, one that was probably foreign to her. Unfortunately, Roul was being to suspect that she did not have the capacity to do so and was starting to regret it. "It would be a shame to see a beauty like you waste away in a place like this," he said, not realizing he'd spoken it aloud until he caught her staring at him in a new light, almost as if…as if she found him to be a fascinating creature in some kind of zoo.
A teasing, playful sheen entered her brown eyes and for a moment, Roul found himself being sucked into her gaze. Her hazel eyes were a melt of autumn tones, fending off the winter frost. Freckles, light, delicate, sprinkled softly on her cheeks. The hearth keep's light brown hair refracted the torch's gentle light, penetrating its smooth layers. She was a Goddess on Earth, a blooming flower among the leaves, and she was so noble. Her nobility is very well the thing that might kill her, his voice warned him, reminding him that it would not do to become attached to this girl, but Roul realized with a slightly sinking heart that, like it or not, it was happening to him already. He swallowed hard and fought back the vortex of dark thoughts that were growing in his mind. How easy it would be to take this girl away somewhere from the cruelties of the world they lived in, and keep her for himself, but Roul was watched closely by Jehan, and he could not risk endangering her life in such a foolish, selfish way.
Roul let out a breath he did not realize he had been holding and sighed. "I didn't meant to snap at you, I just…I'd rather not get on Marcus's bad side and have any harm come to you, yes? You must listen to me carefully, Ingrid. Under no circumstances whatsoever is there to be any negative talk regarding the young lord or his…methods. The same goes for the way he tends to run things around here. Nod your head if you understand, girl."
She nodded, though there was no mistaking the teasing gleam in those eyes of hers. Finally she spoke. "How long will it take until we find the answers we need?"
Roul stared at Ingrid, not expecting her to have asked such a question. For perhaps the first time in his life, he did not have a straight answer. "That I cannot say, mademoiselle," he answered, with some amount of difficulty, a muscle in his jaw twitching involuntarily. "Depending on your ability to keep your comments to yourself and your head down low," he muttered darkly. "And it will depend on how well you do here. As a kitchen girl, it will perhaps take a lifetime, but should you be successful and rise up within the ranks, it will take less. And believe you me, girl, when you do, I will know about it."
Ingrid nodded, finally coming to terms with why the sentry had been so adamant that she learn to behave the way the castle expected her to. It was not just about not losing this new job. It was also about making sure she did not have to stay forever.
Roul noticed her crestfallen expression and smiled. Ingrid stared, unable to help it. Oh, she knew she was gawking, but with a smile like that, how could she not? His soft lips had stretched into a smile, but it did not quite reach his eyes. They were lit with sadness, and the forced expression of the contrary on his mouth would have looked comical to her if it didn't make her heart feel heavy. For a few moments, she stared at the man; almost sure his expression mirrored hers. It broke her heart. She didn't want him to leave her alone in this horrid place. Ingrid didn't want to turn into a random image that floated in the pool of his memory. She didn't want to be the smile that squeezed his chest somewhere far away. She didn't want him to leave her. She wanted him and his smile to stay, but he couldn't do it.
"This way," he urged, breaking the tension at last, taking her by her arm and leading her up a spiral staircase, gesturing towards the first door on the left. "I cannot follow you. The master's Head of House, a man by the name of Victor, will…conduct your…interview," he said at last, sounding thoroughly disgruntled. "You will do well, of that I am sure," he said reassuringly. "You are not alone in this, milady. You will have me," he added, a note of pride in his voice that she almost rolled her eyes at. "And you have your uncle and aunt here, which I am sure is a comfort to you," he said understandingly. "Good luck."
Ingrid gave a curt nod and a tight smile before following another servant up the stairs towards the Head of House's study. She was left with the funny feeling of something warm spreading throughout the pits of her stomach and all the way up to the tips of her fingers. She didn't know why Roul had gone out of his way to help her, but all the while, she was grateful that he had.
"Thank you," she murmured softly before turning away. As she climbed the steps to the man's office, she felt her face go ashen and her hands clammy. She was nervous, she realized, and she was not quite sure how she felt about it. The dread crept over her like an icy chill, numbing her brain and body, her limbs now following the servant in front of her of their own accord, no longer taking directions from her mind. In this frozen state, Ingrid's mind only offered her one thought. It is today. The day the rest of her life would change forever. There was no avoiding it, and she felt as though she were a cow being herded towards slaughter, the only difference being the cow did not know where it was going, and Ingrid did. Nevertheless, she had to be strong. The only way out of this mess was to help Roul find the will, and then she could go home to her parents, and back to her simple life. Now…her life was anything but simple. Far from it.
Things for the poor hearth keeper were about to get much more complicated…