"A shadow lies amongst you to defy the future cast..." - (Smashing Pumpkins, The End Is The Beginning Is The End)
by Jessica French (Midnite363@aol.com)
Later that night, Shannon sat beside Damon in the dining hall, laughing over goblets of French wine. Gretchen sat across from them seething. Her own glass remaining full and untouched.
"....and then I said, 'Your Lordship I hardly think courting your daughter in means for a duel.'"
The table erupted in laughter, men hitting the table with dirks, goblets and fist, the women tittering behind their hands or laughing along with the men, in whoops of howls. Shannon turned her eyes to Damon, taking in the way his face shined when he laughed and the way his dark hair fell slightly into his eyes. He didn't laugh like the other men. While the clan Drake was loud and rough, Damon laughed softly almost to himself.
His eyes met hers, a slight smirk playing on his lips, he winked and turned back to the table.
Shannon looked down at her plate and briefly went over the highlights of the day in her mind. She and Damon had rode to one of the many open fields that scattered the Drake lands. Shannon had hoped that he would take advantage of the seclusion and attempt to kiss her. She would refuse, of course, but it would be fun to see him try. But he hadn't.
They talked. Talked about his travels around the world and growing up in Italy. They talked of her cousin Gretchen, a lot to Shannon's great disappointment. She had been pleasant though and replied to one of his questions, "I'll mention your name. She will be delighted to hear that she was in your thoughts this afternoon." Damon had only laughed and shook his head.
When they had returned to the castle, they had parted to dress for dinner. Shannon's maid had dressed her in one of the maroon dresses she was so fond of, and done her hair up in a graceful sweep to the atop her head. Shannon had thought the hair silly, but when Damon had seen it he complimented her on her rare beauty.
Damon had been friendly all day, treating her like a close friend or perhaps even a sister, but nothing like a love interest. Gretchen's seething were futile, wasted energy on a cause long put to rest. It was obvious by the day's conversation that Damon fancied Gretchen to Shannon. Shannon pondered on this thought.
A clatter shattered Shannon's thoughts, her head jerked up, and had only an instant notice before a wave of French wine spilled into her lap. She jumped back and out of her chair, but the damage had been done. A dark red liquid stained the lap of her dress. Her head snapped up to see the idiot that had been so clumsy and met Gretchen's eyes. Smugness hid behind the mask of regret and sorrow, an empty goblet in her hand, dripping with the very liquid that soaked her lap. "Gretchen..." she began, soft rage playing on the edges of her voice.
Damon stepped up, cupping Shannon's elbow in his palm and murmuring, "Now, now it would not be wise for one to lose ones temper over a little spilled wine."
Shannon turned her eyes on him, still dabbing at the puddle in her skirts vainly. "I am hardly presentable now." She turned, pulling away from Damon and going to the staircase for the west wing, but not before setting her eyes on Gretchen in, what she hoped, was a death glare. Instead of the withering she had hoped for, she was quickly put out as Damon cupped Gretchen's elbow, much like he had Shannon's.
Instead of murmuring in her ear though, he turned her towards the gardens, leaving Shannon, once again alone on the staircase.