CHAPTER THREE - YORKSHIRE, JUNE-SEPTEMBER 1468
I hate him.
It was all Marion could do, all she could say each and every day to keep herself from saying something else that she would later regret even more than her hatred of him. It seemed he was always there, surprising them with a sudden knock at the door, a bright smile on his face. He came laden with gifts; jewels for Katherine and Isolde, and a limited amount of toys for Marion. He claimed that he was traveling around a lot on orders from the Earl of Warwick, and his older brother, the King, and Katherine and Isolde believed him. They were foolish enough to believe him! They thought it simply grand that he gave them such special attention. Marion, however, thought that the Duke of Gloucester was a pest.
She hated the way he looked at her sister. When his dark blue eyes met Katherine's pale ones, they were filled with love and a possessiveness that made Marion's skin crawl. It was bad enough that Kate reacted to those eyes, by blushing and giggling like a girl, but it seemed to get worse with every visit. One time, Marion spied them kissing in the garden, behind a big oak tree that she used to play around. She had half a mind to run and tell Isolde, but thought better of it. There was no reason to make the woman angrier than she already was.
The day Marion had left for Middleham, Isolde had been kind to her. The day she returned with Richard of Gloucester, the woman had been in a murderous rage. Marion had walked on thin ice ever since; not eating with the family, confined to her small bedchamber as much as possible, and doing chores that were far too difficult for a girl her age. And with each time Gloucester came to visit, Marion would get herself into more and more trouble. It was not her fault that he was so insufferable and annoying, he just was.
"I don't want your toys!" Marion shouted one day, using both small hands to push various tops, balls and figures of knights and maids off the small table, which the arrogant fifteen-nearly-sixteen-year-old Duke had placed in front of her.
"How dare you be so rude to our guest?" Isolde snarled from her place at the back of the room. "Apologise, now!"
"No! I shan't! I don't want his toys! I want him to go away, and leave us alone!"
"Very well then!" with that, the woman grabbed Marion, dragging her to the kitchens. A large knife was brandished at the girl's head, and as Marion writhed and sobbed, the woman cut off her hair, leaving her looking like a ratty stable boy.
"You were born without virtue, and continue to show it to the Duke. So, you can show it to the world by wearing your hair like a whore! Like your whore mother!"
The next time Gloucester saw her, his eyes widened in shock at seeing her looking like a raggedy boy. But then he had laughed – laughed! - and Kate had led him away. Later that day, Marion had been set to work stoking the kitchen fire, making sure it stayed lit, as it was an important feast day soon, and Gloucester had given the small family venison to eat for it. With hands too small to hold onto the large logs used to kindle the fire, Marion had dropped one, burning her hands in the process. Kate had heard her cries, and rushed to help her, ushering her into her bedchamber, so that she might try to treat her little sister's minor burn wounds. Gloucester had been there too, and a small spot of red on Kate's white bed linens had not escaped the notice of Marion's sharp eyes.
"What is that, Katie?"
"What is what?" the older Morton asked, as she rubbed aloe vera leaves over her sister's hands.
"That red spot on your bedsheets. And why is your bed unmade? I made it up this morn... 'twas one of my chores."
Gloucester hastily left the room, closing the door with a resounding bang behind him, while Kate dropped the aloe leaves and rushed to pull the covers up to her pillows, her face as red as the stain on her bedsheets.
On another occasion, Marion – as punishment for "insulting" their esteemed guest when he had offered her a doll – had gone for days without a meal. Out of desperation and hunger, the small girl had risen before the dawn and sneaked to the kitchens, steeling over to the wooden grain ark in the far corner, not far from the fire with its huge black cauldron hanging from a hook. Relieved that none of the servants who slept on the same floor of the house as she had been woken from her movements, Marion used her right hand to prop open the heavy wooden lid, while her left hand shoveled crisp golden grains into her waiting mouth. The moment of peace was broken by the door to the kitchens slamming open, and brisk footsteps clicking on the few stone steps that led to the dim kitchen. When Marion turned, she saw Isolde standing there, her face purple with rage.
"Caught you," the woman growled.
Marion swallowed her mouthful of wheat, before stammering: "I'm sorry, Lady."
"Nay, you have no sorrow for the crime you've committed, you wretch! Why do you steal from my grain stores?"
"I was hungry..."
"That is no excuse!" Isolde raged, grabbing Marion by the right ear and dragging her out of the kitchens, into the narrow corridor where the servants' quarters was. At the far end of that corridor, were two sets of stairs. One, let up to Katherine's chambers, and to another narrow hall that ambled into the main part of the house. The other set of stairs, around a slight bend, led to what had once been a storeroom. It was a small, slightly rounded yet tall stone building with a thatched roof and no windows. The walls were still lined with shelves, but a makeshift bed had been shoved into the main part of the room, with Marion's old cradle. Isolde was dragging the struggling, crying child to her bitterly dark and cold prison.
"For your most recent transgression, you'll not have any meals for a week!"
Marion froze in horror, her heels digging into the stone floor. On impulse, she elbowed Isolde in the belly, and ran towards the stairs that led to Kate's chambers.
"Kate!" she screamed. "Kate, help! Kate!"
From the top of the stairs, Marion could dimly hear giggling. Kate found something dreadfully funny, what, Marion could not guess, but instinct told her that her sister was not alone this day. The small girl's instinct was proven correct after she cried out for her sister again, upon seeing Isolde's renewed advance towards her person. Kate came rushing down the stairs, blonde curls a mess, cheeks flushed, and the left sleeve of her gown hanging askew. Moments later, the Duke of Gloucester poked his dark head around a bend in the wall, blue eyes wide.
"Kate!" Marion cried shrilly, as Isolde grabbed her by the arm, yanking her back.
"Mother, what is going on here?" the older Morton girl gasped, as Gloucester followed her down the winding stairs.
"I caught this wretch stealing grain from the grain ark."
"Oh Marion, how could you?"
"I was hungry!" Marion said indignantly, stamping her small feet.
"How? How could you be hungry little sister?"
"Well, 'tis simple, Kate. I don't eat with you and Lady Isolde, so you wouldn't know how hungry I always am."
Kate's eyes widened as she stared at Marion. Marion stared angrily back, hot tears burning at the backs of her eyes.
"Mother, what do you intend to do with Marion?"
"Take her to her chamber and keep her there, so her shameful presence does not continue to bombard the presence of the Duke."
"Kate, please..." Marion whispered, staring desperately at her sister.
Kate's pale blue eyes met her sister's slightly green hued ones, her mouth drawing into a thin line. Marion may have been young, and not known her prayers, but she knew that God was responsible for all things good, so she prayed to Him to help her now, to let her sister help her.
Miraculously, her prayers were answered.
"Let me take her, Mother, to her chambers. She has been punished enough by being shamed time and time again in front of Dickon. Let this be the last, and then let the Duke take her to her chambers and be the one to lock her in."
It was harsh, and very similar to what Isolde had proposed, but Marion was hopeful that Gloucester would not beat her as Isolde often did. The Duke himself nodded his head, before striding down the stairs towards Kate, as the older Morton girl grabbed Marion by the arm and pulled her towards the small flight of stairs that led to Marion's old storeroom bedchamber. When Gloucester saw where the little girl slept, he appeared to be horrified – at least, that's what Marion thought the widening of his eyes meant. But instead of doing anything about it, or saying anything, he simply sighed, pushed her into the room, placed a hand on Kate's shoulder, and closed the door with a sharp snap. Well, Marion could be glad that at least he was gone for a while.
The Duke's presence only made everything in her life worse. Marion was a possessive little girl and wanted to protect her sister. From this arrogant, annoying and sneaky man. Kate had been a part of her life since before she could remember, and no one - not even the Duke of Gloucester - was going to change that.