Chapter 13- A Terrified Scream

I'm sorry, Lilaith. I've never met anyone who wasn't an adult (and I'm assuming that you're not, 'cause (no offence) that would be more than a little odd) that liked oatmeal raisin...my humblest apologies. And I hope that you and your sibs enjoy many batches of freshly baked oatmeal raisin cookies in the future. Thanks for telling me you're reading...even if you don't say anything incredibly uplifting and constructive to say, and thanks for takin' the time to review this time...VERY (times a million and one) much appreciated.

Chrischelle...yes, yes, BIG box. Lord Antony Dewhurst...her admirer.... I KNOW!!!!! I love him...he's great! But I'm disappointed, mi amiga, no comment on Hinda? Yona? Hershel? sighs But, I must thank you for reviewing...luv ya.

All: I entreat you to (please, please) comment on the story...it's something that all of you (lovely) reviewers need to remember....doesn't anyone care about Hinda? Hershel? Mier's silence?!? Aaaaaarrrggggggg! sighs sadly I still luv you all for reading...even all you no-shows. Uhhhhh...Chrischelle? Can I have my leg back?

My apologies for not updating. My weeks are busy around this time of year, and my computer is really acting up. It takes a good two or three minutes of steady typing for it to appear on the screen. It happens all at once and is really quite amusing, however, it takes forever to correct grammar and spelling and suchlike.

And as the wise pyrite-chan says, "Even though I have all the time in the world, I can't bring myself to actually write" Anyway, sorry.


Yona slipped off the palace grounds easily. The embarrassingly unbothered jaunt off the grounds made Yona uncomfortable. 'There should be some guards...sentries...anyone.' But despite Yona's musings, there were no soldiers, guards, sentries or anysuch on the ramparts.

Yona sleuthed through the Royal Forest, and to a small neighbouring village, on the outskirts of which, a small cottage presided in a tiny clearing that wasn't really that clear. The 'clearing' had bushes of holly and heather, and pinecones from the towering pinetrees were scattered across the sharp grass. The branches and leaves from the last storm still lay strewn about, and a few yellow weeds were making their brief and usually unwanted appearance.

The cottage itself was tiny. 'More a hut than anything else,' Yona thought, surveying it with disliked pronounced clearly on Yona's slight frame. The figure in black's arms were crossed and their posture rigid in the gentle breeze.

The cottage was made of bricks, originally, but had been renovated and fixed-up so many times that that fact was hardly distinguishable. The outer walls had been painted white, but the elements and lack of cleaning had dulled it to a more natural shade of cream. The creeper vines had snaked their way up to the thatched roof and were currently working on the problem of growing on the thatch. The small plot of cultivated earth was situated directly infront of the creaking (Yona knew from experience) wooden door and seemed to be guarding the door from entrance. The two windows in the front of the building were quite small and the wooden shutters gave the whole cottage a picture of desolation.

Yona pursed their lips and picked their way round the back of the cottage, where an old brown nag was kept in the shack that some misguided person had deemed a stable. The shadowed figure grabbed a handful of horse feed from the sealed container and placed it in the nag's trough. The horse looked at the person quizzically before burying it's snout in the trough.

Yona stood beside the creature for a few minutes, glaring at the wizened backside of the cottage. It was just as unkept as the front, though there was no plot of earth that indicated planted growth. Quite suddenly the darkly clad figure stiffened and turned to face the woods. The woods were actually the Royal Forest, but it was hardly seen as that by any who had lived in the area long enough to count. A sweet singing was coming from the forest, and the sound of instruments.

Yona listened closely. 'Yes, a fiddle, a lute? No, no, a harp...no harp. A mandolin. Perhaps a wind instrument...a flute, a piccolo? Neither, it sounds less sharp. Ah! The mellow and inviting sound of a wooded pipe.' All playing together, accentuated by the sharp jangling of a tambourine. Yona glanced back at the cottage, knowing full well of the commitment that awaited them there. Making a quick decision, Yona began to follow the music, deep into the woods.
From a hole in the back window shutter, an eye blinked as Yona left. The eye narrowed in displeasure. Yona's report was due. Yona had come, but had left. Why? The owner of the eye pulled away from the window shutter. Straightening, the person lifted slim fingers to their face, smoothing the eyebrows that were arched in anger. Perhaps Yona forgot something. But no, the way the shadowed figure had stopped to listen or smell, or something.

"Yona needs to understand this," the waiting man thought. "That while in my service, people obey me, and that includes meeting times and places. I am very displeased." The man walked around the room, flexing his long fingers in agitation. He narrowed his murky brown eyes. 'This little scampering had better be worth it. Or else Yona will regret my being left here.' The man turned swiftly, his blue cape whirling after him.
Abby and Keosha reached their rooms without any troubles other than the ones they were wrestling with mentally. Keosha closed the door after Abigail. She watched as Abby strode into her room and shut the door, firmly. Keosha pursed her lips as she heard the creak of a bed that has had a body collapse on it. She paused before writing a quick note to Abby, informing her that she would be in the servants' quarters and to ring the bell by the door if needed.

She placed it on the small table by the door where she hoped Abby would see it and left, praying to the Mother Goddess that her friendship was not being destroyed.
A traveller in the courtyard dismounted and sighed. His mind was wrapped up in his visit to one of the outer provinces. A groom rushed forward to take the reins to lead his horse away. He nodded his thanks absently and began to make his way into the castle. He glanced up at the gloomy castle around him and shook his head, his chocolate brown hair falling into his handsomely cut face. 'Why is it, that our King is truly rich beyond compare, but cannot even maintain a relatively respectable castle.'

A sigh escaped his slim lips and he rubbed the back of his hand across his face, as a gesture of exhaustion. He trudged through the castle, his cloak billowing behind him. Gorison, the unofficial greeter smiled at him as he inquired after his journey.

After exchanging pleasantries with the servant, the nobleman headed up to his usual room, where he happily exchanged his mud-spattered clothes for others and laid the former out for the laundry servants to wash. Because he had sent no word of his arrival, no one had been in his rooms to build up the fires. ' Not a problem,' he thought as he knelt infront of the hearth in the bedchamber, 'I build my own fires while travelling, I'm not above it here.'

The man admitted the servants carrying his trunks, but brushed aside their offers to unpack for him.

Lying in his bed, the man went over the latest in marriage engagements. The Baron John of Lelly's Brook had betrothed his only daughter to a man twice her age, and even older than himself. It was a common practice, and a few of the nobleman's father's friends had wives half their age...or more.

But just because his Father's friends did it didn't mean he approved. Now, putting aside that an elderly nobleman could hardly satisfy a young woman's thirst for romance and adventure, there was always an exchange of lands involved. The girl's dowries were large as it was...but the perspective groom just happened to put some lands up for sale...very discreetly, of course and that just happened to be snapped up by the soon-to-be bride's father.... how convenient. The business of noble marriages was a nasty and dishonest business.

The man shook his head and thought of the last time he had seen the Baron's daughter. She was blonde, as he recalled. Green eyes? No, blue eyes, yes, darker blue. A nice figure, and kind aswell. A handsome young lady by all accounts. And now this. She had a happy spirit, as his sister had commented after visiting. Would the girl's spirit be crushed at the thought of marriage to a man so much older and so hardened. The man was not only known for his monetary exploits, but those involving women aswell.

For, this man thought, her future husband would no doubt want to take her as soon as possible. Which most likely left the girl little or no time to adjust to her new role as a married woman.

The girl in question was the future Baroness Sophia of Lelly's Brook. And the groom? Ah, the groom was the Earl of Mattensworth, one of the most respected noblemen in business in the whole of Arulanthu. The young man on the bed pursed his lips slightly. 'Perhaps 'respect' is not quite the word. Fear, yes, fear. He is one of the most feared noblemen in Arulanthu.'

But thinking of the Earl only made this young man think of his daughter, which was the subject he had been thinking on for most of his journey. His daughter, whom he had met but once. 'And that was not nearly enough to satisfy.' The man's eyes sparkled and the golden flecks in the irises became more prominent as he recalled her vivid multi-coloured eyes and her full, sensuous mouth. She was well proportioned. Such a tiny waist which seemed almost unable to hold up her larger chest area. The man shook his head as if to clear any indecent thoughts.

Sitting up, the nobleman clenched his jaws together and prayed intensely to the father-god Solaro to banished these unfaithful thoughts that, like his memories of the Lady Abigail, seemed to danced lightly into his mind...and in his mind, her eyes consumed him.


Abby stared up at the ceiling of her room, studying the painting that graced it. The paintings portrayed a group of women sewing, embroidering and engaging in other domestic lady's arts in clusters. She mentally shuddered at the thought of such 'arts'. The noblewoman stopped actually seeing the painted people as she thought of her lack of caring where her friend was concerned.

She blinked back sudden tears and bit her bottom lip. 'Why am I so thoughtless? Have I always been so?" She sighed and brushed her tears away. ' Am I such a lousy friend? Mayhap Sophia and I don't actually know each other either...Sophia!' She sat upright with the force of a crossbow. Her eyes were open wide, the irises of violet-grey enormous.

It had been three days since she'd received Sophia's letter! And she hadn't bothered responding. 'That's three days, so if I had written back that day, my letter would have been there tomorrow,' she thought, calculating mentally. 'Except I didn't. And a letter won't be getting there for another four days. That's more than a week after she wrote!' She sighed with self-annoyance. 'I'm such a pox-marked cow.' She thought as she fell back onto the bed again, feeling that it would do more for her if it were made of the hardest stone ever found. She sighed again, thinking that she was running out of sighs. ' I'll do better. I'll go the palace's temple area to pray to the Goddess.' She got up, then tripped on her skirts. She landed with an undignified thud.

Abby gasped in pain. She groped the thick rug; feeling like her right leg was being ripped off by some sort of beast with dull fangs. She twisted her body, trying to catch a glimpse of her leg. She stared at the metal spikes that were penetrated her flesh. The spikes fallen from the underside of her bed, and were slowly moving down towards her ankle. But slowly...ever so slowly. Abby lost her normal resolve and calm.

Eyes wide as coins, she screamed the terrified scream of a petrified female.
oooookey dokey. Please review...and if you haven't ever reviewed before and have read my story, please but click that pretty little button below just to say 'hi' and that you ARE reading it.... it's much appreciated. Thank you,

Galadvende