All Rights Reserved © 2012 Emmy Alexander
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The eyes that stared shrewdly at him foretold a certain peril; one that perhaps in that altering moment, he should have heeded-but there was no undoing its happening.
The frail and slight figure garbed in her velvet cloak wagged a condemning finger, weaving her curse, muttering the gilded words that forever damned him.
The resounding growl of thunder pulled Don Rossetti from his brooding thoughts and momentarily he’d forgotten the here and now. His senses pulled away from his lamenting notions as the pelt of rain resonated from outside, growing increasingly torrent. The room in which he occupied was despondently fitting-cold, stone walls of desolate certainty.
He settled further into the plush seat of which he vacated-his ears straining against the sheets of rain-so absorbed with the inclement storm brewing outside, he hadn’t heard the subtle knock at his door.
“What is it?” he growled gutturally.
The door cracked slightly ajar and his steward Holden, stepped hesitantly into the room. “My apologies, milord to have disturbed you-but there is a man here to see you.” Holden was an old acquaintance with thinning hair and an ever increasing diligence.
Don was slightly taken aback at this news-visitor? He wasn’t a man accustomed to guests, nor was he open to them.
He waved a hand nonchalantly in the air, “Dismiss the man.”
Holden cleared his throat uneasily, “I have milord, he is quite adamant in speaking with you-says it is an imperative matter.”
Don felt his irritation mounting. What fool would dare make demands of him? Perhaps he should make an example of this ignoramus man.
“Show him in.” he exclaimed darkly.
Holden curtsied and dipped from the door.
Giuseppe Duncan felt a sliver of fear snake down his spine as he trailed the old steward that led him to an imposing, large door. The moment he had been dreading-fearing was at hand. Fellow villagers had continuously forewarned him-‘no one sought out the Don’-‘it was insanity’ others whispered amongst one another-but after considering all other alternatives-he could think of none other then this-his lordship had to help him, it was his obligation as thane of the lands to protect the village and its inhabitants, surely the man wasn’t so cruel and ruthless as supposed rumors pegged him to be? He had come all this way in the despicable weather-surely the man would show some empathy?
But any thoughts of compassion he might have had abruptly vanished once the door behind him shut, barricading him inside with the wretched and loathsome Don Rossetti.
Aside from this careening moment, he had never set eyes on the man rumored to be the most vile and extremely shoddy being to inhabit England-in fact, not many had.
Desperate and at his wit’s end, he trekked the perilous, blackish forest and sought the hellish keep that many steered from in certain fear-the looming abode with its stone walls and colorless presence was as equally dark and fearsome as its master.