Author's Notes:
Just a reminder that this ISN'T a romance story. It's a dark fic. That = not happy, not romantic. Just FYI.
~.~.~.~.~
Hermione's knees shake so hard, she is forced to sit down in a rush before they give out completely. Her bottom connects heavily with the wooden stool that Ginevra quickly scoots into place behind her. If not for that, she'd be sprawled all over the floor in a disgraceful heap.
"It is a jest, surely." Her disbelief is edged with panic. "It must be! I beg of you, tell me true!"
A glance at her mother's tight mouth and rigid stance articulates without words to Hermione that the explanation of what awaits her this night has not been exaggerated in the slightest, and that no, she will receive no consolation in the face of such shocking, depraved news from the woman she calls 'mother'.
Eleanora Granger does not now, nor most likely ever will, offer her daughter defence or comfort from the blows she will take in life. She is like Queen Hera in her dealings—a stern mistress, critical, haughty, and ever seeking an opportunity for greater glory for herself and her household, no matter the cost. How Richard Granger, a kindly and even-tempered man of God, ever fell in love with such an ambitious, cruel woman is beyond Hermione's ken.
"'Tis no jest, my culver," Lady Weasley gently informs her, tenderly brushing back a stray curl from Hermione's cheek, tucking it under her wimple. "Droit du seigneur is a long-held and respected Norman tradition. The first Weasley heir on these shores was borne of such custom, in fact, held in the arms of William the Bastard, hisself. Such breeding strengthens a family's blood, and think, darling mine—your child will be the Baron's own issue."
"A bastard as well!" Hermione hisses.
Lady Weasley shakes her head. "Ronald will claim the siring. The child need never know."
"I will know! I will feel the chronic prick of betraying my vows to the grave!" She stands, beginning a bout of nervous pacing the length of the room. "Dear Lord Above, do you not hear yourself speak! You sanction adultery! 'Tis against the law...and a sin!" She whirls on her mother then, her wrath a terrible weight about her neck, burning her mouth. "I know you do not love me, Madam Mother. I have long ago accepted such a certainty. That you would see the King's law destroy my body is not such a shocking thing to me. That you wish for my eternal soul to burn in Hades, however, is...and all for your damnable political ambitions!"
Her mother's palm connects with her cheek, signalling a loud crack through the room. It stumbles Hermione back a step, and she gapes at the woman who has birthed her, having made the mistake of underestimating her mother's restraint.
Lady Weasley hurriedly rushes between them, her formidable form a solid barrier to any further violence. "My sweetling, the Baron is the law here," she explains, soothing her with a kind touch and leading her towards a seat by the window. "And it be that the Bishop of Exeter recognises Droit du seigneur as well." She takes Hermione's hands in her own meaty hold and kisses her knuckles. "There will be no punishment for complying to yer lord's wishes."
Hateful tears are as a deluge before her eyes. "I cannot do this to mine husband. I cannot!"
"'Tis a lord's right to command it," her mother-in-law reminds.
"And a woman's place to obey," her own mother adds.
Hermione shudders at the word, and Eleanora appears almost triumphant that she can elicit such a reaction from her daughter. There is a feverish gleam in her eye as well—one that tells Hermione that her mother understands the great benefits she will experience should Hermione conceive a child tonight: a permanent apartment within the castle, access to finer food and company and possessions, and required respect from the village women, at least in deed.
There comes a light, courteous rapping upon the door. Lady Weasley straightens, and begins herding her daughter towards the door. "Come, dearest ladies, we should withdraw so mine son might have a moment alone with his new bride."
Ginevra gives her a small, encouraging smile and wave as she is shoved out the door in front of her mother. Eleanora does not glance back once as she heads out as well. Hermione feels the familiar stab of disappointment where her mother is concerned.
There is no more time to think such on such a pitiable relationship, however, as Ronald enters and closes the door behind him. He does not approach, instead leans against the door as if overcome by some terrible emotion.
"Will you say nothing, then, to stop this madness?" she asks when there is a long patch of silence to rest between them.
He groans and puts a hand over his eyes, tilting his head towards the sky. "What can I do, beloved? He is mine brother and keeper and lord, and he has set his sights to this, determined for a strong son."
"I was told any child conceived from this…devilish matter…would n'er know the circumstances of this night. William cannot claim him—"
"He will," Ronald states, very assured. "If it be male, he will. He needs an heir should Louis die."
Everyone knows William's heir is a weakling child, borne of a sickly mother. All are unsure if he will survive his first year or not.
"You cannot do this," Hermione hisses, and her hands tangle up in the sides of her chemise in a white-knuckle grip to keep her limbs from lashing out in anger. "I am your wife!"
Ronald flinches, turning his head away. "Do not scream. My head…"
She stands, appalled as a suspicion creeps forward into her mind. "You are in your cups!"
He says nothing, just grips the side of his skull.
Her ire burns hotter than even when she'd confronted her mother. "You dare to drink yourself into a scrum while sending me to your brother's bed on our wedding night without such benefit? Will you spare me no pain?"
His fist slams into the door, rattling it. "Enough, Hermione! I want this no more than you."
She barks a bitter laugh. "I doubt that very much. 'Twill not be your body he breaches, your innocence he claims!"
"No, 'twill be my heart he tears from me instead!" he shouts, gripping the area over his left breast with a clutching hand.
There is no hiding her sobs behind her hand. She has no pride left to protect. "I will beg you on bended knee, if you wish. Ask your brother not to invoke his rights this night. Allow me to be only yours."
Because she knows that if William Weasley touches her, she will not be the same woman e'erafter. She fears her sweet, pure love for Ronald will fade, to be consumed by her lust for a man not her husband. She fears it as much as she fears the terrible Lord of Night.
Ronald's chest pumps as if he has just run a great distance. "I will not be allowed to go with Devon to Rome should I convince you against this course of action."
Hermione's knees tremble again and she sits back down on her vacated seat, the import of her husband's revelation a striking blow. If Ronald is disallowed the opportunity to accompany his liege lord to visit the Holy See, his chances of becoming a full-fledged knight will be extinguished. He will n'er be allowed to hold a position of authority within any household. This is his journey to manhood, his one chance to earn his reputation to soldier and to establish himself an accomplished aide, just as his elder brothers have all done. Without Devon's sponsorship, he will never be knighted.
"He would take this from you, his own brother…just to have me?"
"Aye, that and more." Ronald looks at her then, and she can see the strain around his eyes and mouth. He is profoundly unhappy with this choice. "He has confided in me that he intends to remain unwed. For how long, I know not, but what is clear to me is this: he would have taken you for wife had you not insisted upon me to your father. As he cannot have you as such now, he will instead breed you, to secure his line and to slake his lust for you."
Her arms wrapped around her middle do not cease Hermione's shivering, and her dread threatens to make her ill. "This scheme…'tis sinful," she whispers, closing her eyes to the tears that bead along her lashes and down her cheeks. "My soul will burn in the fires of eternity for this."
"Nay, love," Ronald attempts to comfort her, crossing the distance and taking her into his arms once again. "You are an innocent doe, and I the villain in this tale."
They whisper quietly to each other then, speaking of wishes and apologies and begging forgiveness from the other. Hermione comes to accept in those moments that, as a woman, she will never have much of a say in her life's course. On this night, held as she is under the sway of a Samhain moon, there be no exception to that rule.
William does not bother to knock as he enters her chambers as they approach the witching hour. Of a sudden, Ronald's bones become brittle under her hands, and his body quivers along with hers. He trades silent glares with his brother for a long moment, but in the end, there is no choice and he lowers his sight to the floor. He surrenders to his familial duty with a mournful sigh.
A small sacrifice for a greater life, Hermione tells herself.
"Perhaps once is all he will need to be appeased, and we may live on in peace," she quietly offers her husband, attempting to comfort and instill courage in him as they head to the door together, hand-in-hand, as they have e'er walked.
Ronald says nothing, but he does grab her and plants a rough kiss upon her mouth just before he leaves her to her fate. She feels the hot splash of his regret drip from his lashes onto her cheek. Hers will not be the only ruin this night, she now kens; against his will, her husband will lose the chance to deflower his new wife, to instruct her in the etiquette of love, and to be the first man to fill her with his seed and complete her. Instead, he must suffer his heartless brother ploughing her field and reaping her harvest within a nine-month.
She is heartbroken for them both.
She whimpers as he hastens away, shoving past his eldest sibling, whose bigger frame is unmoved by the disturbance.
When Ronald's footsteps recede and the door is closed and the bolt thrown, she backs away on hasty feet, praying her quickened heart will stop between one beat and the next and spare her the coming humiliation. "I will pray three times a day to the Virgin Mother and all the Saints to bless you and your heir with long life and health, m'lord," she hastily bargains, hoping to appeal to the Baron's Christian duty, his honour, and his greed all at once. "An' I will burn incense and make a relief of the marriage gifts unto your household. This I do swear!"
He turns the power of his burning blue gaze upon her, and her body flushes with awareness once more.
"I thank you for your charitable prayers and accept your offering," he replies, perfunctory and polite…and utterly without feeling.
Loosening the ties on his collar, he steps towards her, his course clear. There will be no respite for her, not this night.
"I beg of you, m'lord, this need not be!"
William has a wolf's smile, as if he has scented her response to his undivided attention. It makes her doe's heart quake.
"I am afraid it does."
TO BE CONTINUED...
Author's Notes:
Please review!