Cinderella

Gerard

Soon, Deirdre got to know what was the punishment for disobeying Quinnelly's and Gotfryd's orders: when she kept attempting to resist, the latter approached her and once again hit her head hard. The vision in front of the girl's eyes blurred and Deirdre fell flat back onto the mow.

"She talks too much," Quinnelly grimaced. "I guess it's good it dawned on me before I committed myself more. Quite pretty she is, though defiant, she might've got me in trouble if she'd got to know what I do."

Gotfryd nudged Deirdre's face with his foot. Her head tilted, inert.

"You must stop hitting her so hard," continued Quinnelly. "Otherwise there'll be nothing left of her, and she must be in a good state if we're to earn anything."

"I'm warning you, Kindler. One more word that makes you sound as if you're in power here," growled Gotfryd, "and I'll beat the hell out of you so that you'll be pouring food into your yap till the end of your days. Understood?"

Quinnelly did not seem to be disturbed by such words, however, he did not speak anymore, despite a rather malicious smile upon his lips. Gotfryd ignored it, though, leaving the small room and taking the candle with him.

The room was once again swallowed by darkness. The smile on Quinnelly's face widened slightly when he gently caressed unconscious Deirdre's head. For a moment it could be thought that he had indeed once had a certain warm affection for her, for he glanced at her with something very much like tenderness.

"Such a pity, Deirdre, that you turned out to be such a bitch," he whispered. "I'd take you home... you'd be living quite comfortably there... for a while... and then, you'd go back to work and perhaps some good sort of a gardener or groom would marry you. But I swear, for a couple of years, you'd be living a fairy-tale. You'd be a true princess." He sighed, then led his fingertip down her cheek. "Yet I'm not used to striving for anyone's favour for but a couple of intoxicating nights. Especially when a woman turns out to be so stubborn. I'm quite sorry that the world has just lost such a pretty gal... but really, you're not the only one."

The corner of his lips twitched slightly, and an odd, sorrowful glint flashed in his eyes; it seemed he truly regretted such an end of this story. The man leant over and gently grazed his lips against Deirdre's forehead, then stood up and returned to the other room where Gotfryd had already sat down.

"You're not gonna get emotional over that whore, are ya, Kindler," Gorfryd raised his brow.

"Oh, come on, I don't care about her at all," answered Quinnelly casually, then sat down. "You know me."

Having received no response, he looked out of the window. Outside, the storm was raging. Just like back then, when he had first entered Poland – he remembered the day perfectly. It had been five years before, right after his elder brother's demise.

He had been but twenty-two back then, and until that time, he had been kept in the dark. He had only known that his family had been very impoverished, even though they had been nobles. At some point, though, his father, the head of the family, had found some way to improve his position and earn some gold. At first, no-one had really known what he had engaged into – the only known thing had been that once in a while, he had been leaving to Poland to "run his business".

It was nothing strange, though; many noble families in Ireland had to save their fortunes in such a way. Men, therefore, engaged into jobs that seemed to be unbecoming of nobles, however, to avoid disgrace, they did that outside the country. Some left for France; others – to Germany; and some to Poland, with which Ireland had a strong partnership, especially with certain principalities.

At first, Ciaran Quinnelly had been running his business on his own, but when his health had begun to fade, he had decided to take his eldest son, Ardal, into his confidence. The youngest stayed at home to take care of his mother and younger sister.