The Unchaste

A Stag in the Woods.

Delilah kept herself together yet again, though not by restraint but by simple insight that what he just told the gatekeeper was a part of the ruse he had conspired in his head. There was nothing suggestive in his touch or loving in his embrace. It was in a purely practical sense of presentation.

That made it, as a minimum, endurable for her. Reasonable for her, that perhaps_ this was one of the reasons why he had required a feminine counsel afterall.

The coarse janitor suspiciously unchained the bars for them both but he didn’t allow them wandering alone into the Castle acreage. He quickly shackled the metal bars back and gestured the pair to follow him, warning them against meandering anywhere other than where he was taking them.

Lord Richard, meanwhile, had removed his arm from around her person, from her waist but his fingers coiled along her dainty wrist was just as suffocating, like a python winding along its prey’s body. Tight, such that it could have broken her bones.

And cold.

The paved lane through which they spanned the length of that castle was wet from the settling mist, surrounded by a channeled garden and a pond next to it, which though seemed abandoned, attributing to the absence of a single trimmed hedge or even flower bush; grasses were still short, uncoiled and in the blackened looking pond, lilies were still on bloom.

“Tis a herbal garden.” The gatekeeper informed them in an unfriendly voice. “Mind you, most of the foliages growing here are either drugs or death feast. Look at that now! Poison Ivy climbing the wall and that’s the biggest bloom ever.”

Neither answered to that.

The fog was thick, the pathway narrow and tiled and Delilah’s prime focus was not to trip over and land into the murky looking pond water that had a stench yet appalling commencing its stagnancy. The duke, she observed, had a sharp eye fixed on one particular wing of the bleary mansion and he didn’t seem interested in listening all the sentinel had got to say.

They were led to the northern fortress and their escort passed them over to a middle-aged, dour looking nun, reciting her with their former story. The nun eyed Lord Richard for a good long minute before shifting her focus to Delilah.

“Please come this way.” The nun said once she had been acquainted to the whole tale and turned on her heels, making the pair follow her. “Although, sir, I must remind you that this place is not a communal infirmary or local clinic. We treat the lost and insane here. We will provide you temporary accommodation but we cannot provide you ideal harmony.”

“That won’t be a problem.” Richard answered distractedly and again, Delilah saw the calculative glint in his gaze as he looked down at her. “Would it, darling?”

“No.” She answered unemotionally, averting her eyes to the woman ahead. “We are good.”

Admittedly, they were good. So far, that is. But the interior of the castle was unusual. Delilah could wager the castle itself dated back to the dark ages, inspired by Transylvanian architecture from Hungarian and Polish fortresses. For a manor so beautiful, the embellishment inside did little justice to it.

The walls, if not wooden were now gray and yellow from eras of neglect and barren without a single painting or wall curtains lining it. At random intervals, there would be a cross or two, uneven wooden cut-outs, affixed on the walls but otherwise, the groggy, uncarpeted hallways had a harsh looking anciency in it at every turn.