𝐋𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐋𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐄𝐒

Chapter 11

IT WAS HIM. LADY ARAMINA EMBRY pressed herself against the wall that she had her back to. She felt the cool flush of the wall on her skin. A breath of relief escaped her then, as she watched her dark haired, grey eyed, guard enter the room slowly. 

He shouldn't feel so harmless— he was in part to blame for her captivity. If, and when she was rescued, he'd serve time in jail just like his other conspirators. Then why did he feel like he could, but wouldn't hurt a fly? 

Why did his eyes seem to flitter to avoid her own when she ventured to catch his gaze? She wouldn't talk, she knew that. It seemed a necessary feat, to converse with one of your captors— inquire of them the darkest questions that spurted from one's current predicament, regardless or not they answer. But Aramina Embry couldn't find the strength to. 

He ventured near, his eyes fixed on the cold ground, avoiding Aramina's prying and curious ones seeking him out in the semi darkness of this captivity. He fixed a plate of food by her bound feet. Then he turned to take his leave, to be gone until however long it took for him to make his dutiful return. 

"Wait," Aramina called out, torn by desperation. He stilled as her voice reverberated silently around. 

"Will you tell me how long I am meant to be held?" She managed, civility difficult to grasp considering her current predicament, but Aramina was nothing if she wasn't civil. 

Slowly, but surely, he turned around and met her eyes. They were indeed a shade of grey Aramina didn't really suppose existed. Bits of his hair fell into his eyes, masking them a little from her brave gaze. 

"Until the master says so." 

She gasped in shock. His voice was rusty, rough. Like the sound the library door made at her cousin Jack's estate. But somehow, she found it pleasant. A breath of fresh air that she hadn't felt in days. A curious urge to hear him say her name washed over her. What would Aramina sound like on his lips?  

His answer should've been disappointing, aggravating, but it felt merely inconvenient. Because Aramina was, despite being bound, her wealth targeted by a vicious uncle, and her life at stake, focused currently on the dull glint in this man's eyes and his peculiar voice.  

Quickly spinning out her next course of action in her mind, Aramina sighed theatrically.

"Uncle Thomas has always been indecisive."

She looked away, carefully positioning the man in her periphery to catch an elicited reaction if there was any to be had. Aramina knew she had no enemy other than Thomas Cranmer, but at least confirming a definite suspicion was some relief. 

Sure as the sky, the man fidgeted at the words. Uncomfortable perhaps, of hearing his master being called uncle, confirming her suspicion.  

"What is your name?" She asked then, and if she shut her eyes, she could imagine that she was at one of her social engagements, asking a new acquaintance their name— of course if formal introductions hadn't been made by a mutual. Aramina could only imagine what her mother would think of this undignified secret behaviour of hers, wherever she was. 

The man gazed at her, as though she had spoken in a language he couldn't understand. Then, breaking away the eye contact, he ran a shaky hand through his hair, a loud sigh escaping his lips. Aramina wished his mask would fall, so she could see his face. Her mind painted a picture of how it would look like, but she wanted her eyes to be able to do so too. 

"I'm not supposed to—," He started and broke off, his voice a creaky hinge that she wanted to keep listening to. Her friends would be appalled by his voice, Jack would be astounded, her mother and aunt would bid him to remain quiet. But Aramina wanted to hear to him sing.