Dare To Heir
Chapter 6
Orlaith stabbed at the tender, perfectly steamed asparagus with her elegantly engraved silver fork. It went against the grain of good manners as she was more or less attacking the defenseless vegetable. There was something strange going on here. Something felt… off. Her son was far too quiet, too composed, too… something! She could not place her finger on it, and it was aggravating her to no end. She was surreptitiously watching Jareth beneath the thick fall of her lashes noting his paler than usual complexion. Although pale and chalky, a dark red flush sat on the skin of his high cheekbones. That, in conjunction with the glassy look to his eyes, was cause for concern. Clearly off, she decided. Was her son ill? It was rare for one of their race to become so.
Whilst it was true that to the eyes of others, the race of the Fae looked as fragile and as beautiful as the bone china set on the table before her, it was a deceptive illusion. Humans, she scoffed to herself, were the most idiotic mortals she had ever had the misfortune to come across face-to-face. They were all silly creatures, the females in particular who wove their obnoxious dreams of handsome princes. Fantasies which would, of course, never see the light of day. She knew of Fae folk who would occasionally dally with the humans, but only for a moment's pleasure. Mortals were not for marrying. Orlaith shuddered at the very idea. Being bound and hung over his son's Bog of Eternal Stench would be preferable.
Raising her wine-filled goblet to her lips, Orlaith was once again reminded as to why Giselle was all that a mother-in-law could desire. She was a rare beauty even amongst their kind who was renowned for their loveliness. Giselle had been brought up to be a lady of the highest standard as was befitting a woman of royal heritage. Slight though that royal lineage might be, it was enough to satisfy Orlaith. Add to the fact that she came from a fine family - rich in its' own right - made for other benefits to be sure, but not a necessity. Jareth had riches twice over to that of Giselle's family. However, more than all of these fine attributes put together she was highly prized for the power which flowed through the veins beneath the whiteness of her skin.
Still, the gaiety which Giselle was wont to shower upon her dinner guests was sorely lacking this evening, which was a surprise in and of itself. If anything, Giselle was often prone to rather overdo proceedings to the point of extravagance. Once or twice she had bordered on distasteful. Yet, somehow or other Giselle would manage to reign it in, and all the lavishness became quite entertaining.
No doubt Giselle still mourned the loss of the child, something which would account for her abysmal skills of hostess. Orlaith sighed deeply. It had indeed been a blow to the family. Orlaith, herself, had shed more than a few tears over the entire situation. Aelfric had taken the news most dreadfully, and had locked himself away in his private study for hours seeing no one, including her.
Jareth was so much like his father. Both were men of deep, hidden emotions. Seeking council and solace from others was not in their nature. Jareth also had the look of his father; both Fae men being taller than average with thick, luxurious white-gold hair. Her husband - when he was a younger – had worn his hair in much the same manner as Jareth. Now, he kept his lovely locks closely cropped to his head. It had taken Orlaith quite some time to accustom herself to the change, but Aelfric had decided that it would be much more dignified than the wild mane he once had. Orlaith was well aware that there were many ladies would wish to replace her. None could take up the mantel of Queen; that was hers alone. Still, none would balk at obtaining the title of concubine to the king. Thankfully, Aelfric chose not to indulge in that disgusting custom. Orlaith found it degrading and abhorrent.
The High King's brother, on the other hand, had no such qualms. Bare months had passed after his wedding before he had taken not one but two of his wife's ladies-in-waiting as his lovers. Neither of which, had yet borne him a child, Orlaith thought with spiteful satisfaction. Kalea was a child-hood friend; they had practically been raised together as sisters, and there remained a close bond between them even unto adulthood. Orlaith had not been in favor of her friends' marriage, but could do nothing other than watch in despair as Kalea pledged herself to the despicable man. He had brought her gentle friend nothing other than heartache and for that Orlaith held him in the deepest contempt. She forced herself to look in Raedeltf's direction and found his eyes already focused on her. It was disconcerting, the manner in which he stared. Though he was just as handsome as her son and husband, it was a cold, cruel beauty and well she knew it.
There had been a time, before Jareth's birth, when Raedeltf had encouraged Aelfric to take Raedeltf's young niece as his concubine. Her husband had refused and yet his brother had persisted in his plan knowing full well how it had pained her. It was a great relief when Orlaith found herself pregnant. The look of unadulterated wonder and joy in her husbands' eyes when she had proudly announced her happy condition was a moment that would live on in her memory forever.
Sadly, Kalea had not been so fortunate. If the words of the ladies who attended to the High Queen were anything to go by, Raedeltf was well on his way to acquiring a third woman upon which to force his attentions; an unfortunate state of affairs to be sure. How did her friend endure her lout of a husbands' behavior?
Orlaith returned her brother-in-laws stare, refusing to flinch under his scrutiny. He seemed to find this amusing for his lips twisted into a satisfied smirk and Orlaith was horrified to realize just where she had seen a similar expression; on the face of her own son. It took every ounce of discipline to keep her face passive at her discovery. She would not give him the satisfaction of viewing her distress. They are family Orlaith quickly reminded herself. It was not in the least unusual for a nephew to also take on the characteristics her husbands' brother. Not in the least unusual, Orlaith felt comfort in her rationalization. Jareth was not like Raedeltf!
It was true Jareth was prideful, as was all of the High Kings family, but Jareth was not a callous man nor was he cruel. His treatment of the goblins was not a reliable barometer. The little beasts were in need of a firm hand, and actually thrived on Jareths' kicks and insults. Orlaith did not quite understand the concept, but the devotion the goblins showed to Jareth was without question. It was obvious that they adored him.
Willum was worried. The High King and Queen were watching Jareth and Giselle like hawks, and it was highly disturbing. On one hand, Willum could understand the intensity of their stares for Jareth was behaving oddly. More oddly than usual, Willum corrected himself. Giselle appeared to be faring no better. From where he sat, he could see that she was twisting and turning her napkin into knots. Normally, Giselle was the epitome of proper etiquette, so her actions were a bit baffling. In fact, the entire occupants of the food-laden table appeared to be lacking in good manners this evening. Conversation had been minimal even though the meal was almost completed.
Willum dipped the tips of his fingers into the small bowl of water to cleanse them of the lingering residue from the succulent geese. Marta had outdone herself the food had been flawless. He returned the bowl to Bebbin, the serving maid while she in turn passed him a small square towel to dry his fingers. He observed that the hostess and the guests were following suit. Jareth, to his surprise, was not. His plate – which looked as if it had been untouched – still sat in front of him. It was customary to wait for a nod from the host before the removal of dinnerware. Jareth had made no move to do so. Why?
Willum fixed his gaze firmly on Jareths' face. With a start, he realized just how unwell his lord looked. Jareths' head had begun to bob up and down as if he were struggling to remain conscious. It did not take long for him to come to the conclusion that it was not sleep that Jareth was attempting to fight off. Willum rose hurriedly to his feet. Terror made him move swiftly along the length of the table; ignoring the shocked gasps which precipitated his actions. His only thought was to get to the king. He was just about to Jareths' side when Jareth let out a loud groan and tumbled off the side of his chair. Willum leapt the last few feet to grab the king just before his head could bash against the stone floor.
Gideon didn't know the last time he'd been this scared. Out of the corner of his eye he watched Sarah fall face first, hitting the floor with a loud thump. He sprinted to where she lay and noticed that a small pool of blood had begun a slow, steady descent from the corner of her mouth. Heart pounding, he gingerly turned her so that she was on her back. He gasped at the sight of her, and his tortured groan echoed off the walls in the office. Had she broken her nose? He didn't think so. It didn't look as if it were at an awkward angle or anything. Surely, if it were broken, he'd be able to tell.
He gently brushed a thick strand of hair back from covering part of her face. Yes, there was definitely blood around the mouth. He carefully pushed her head to one side so she wouldn't choke on any of it while he continued his examination. He could tell from the rise and fall of her chest that she was still breathing. Okay. Excellent. There was a large bruise beginning to form on one of her cheekbones and a nasty looking brush burn on her nose and chin. She must have scraped them on the carpet. Her knees were also rubbed raw. She had been wearing those hideous crocs again, and when she'd toppled over she'd lost one of her shoes. Her foot looked vulnerable in its nakedness. She was always claiming those nasty things were comfortable and were a great support for her lower back. Gideon just thought she wore them to irritate his sensibilities and told her so. She'd laughed and teasingly informed him that not everything was about him.
"Sarah! Sarah, wake up, love." He placed a hand on her forehead and quickly pulled it back. My God! She was burning up!
He grabbed the phone from the desk and punched in 911 as fast as his shaky, numb fingers would allow. In a barely coherent voice, he gave the dispatcher his name, address, telephone number and all he knew concerning Sarah and what had happened. Everything he said sounded as if it had come out of his mouth a garbled mess. Maybe the dispatcher was used to that because she seemed to have understood him fine. It was a relief when she told him that an ambulance was on the way. Gideon, eyes glued to Sarah's unconscious and battered face held her hand and prayed. It was something he hadn't done since he was a kid, but he prayed now, prayed with all that he had. Gideon gave a choked sob. Please, he begged, please be okay!