Lair of Beasts [Book I in the Curse Of Blood Saga]

Chapter III - Why me?

"Good. Now begone, you vexing little baggage!"

"Aye, Father."

"Wait!" He halted my progress toward the door and I eyed the exit enviably before I turned to face him, schooling my features into the vacant stare I knew him to prefer. But on the inside, I was not cowed.

Now what did the old goat want? I sighed. The only emotion Edwyn ever stirred in my breast was disgust and contempt — undeniably, not quite the sentiment a daughter should retain for her father.

"I would have you congratulate my lady." He smirked like a cur, but I obeyed diffidently, turning to face Elinor.

"Congratulations, madam." I made to leave and he snarled for me to come back.

"Well?! Care to know why felicitations might be in order?"

I watched as the vein in his forehead almost leapt from his florid temple. He was just about ready to knock me down again. "Aye, Father," said I with impartiality.

He eyed me with growing resentment; he was by now ostensibly fed up of hearing 'aye Father' and had gradually become suspicious that I was merely being impertinent — as opposed to respectful. Truth be known, I did wish to needle him. Mildred was always telling me that I had an unhealthy taste for trouble — she seemed to think that I welcomed it, and perhaps I did. Edwyn used to scare me when I was younger, but I had since learned that his loss of my respect had only fueled my antipathy; and not the fear he had sought to spawn.

"Because she is with child, you beef-witted, misbegotten barnacle!"

I blinked, coming back to myself, and angled a shocked gaze at Elinor who smiled nervously, perhaps even guiltily, while an odd mix of color spread across her jowls as she avoided my gaze. My answering smile was certainly dubious for I was sure I'd not have guessed she was breeding till the day the babe slid out from under her voluminous skirts. Elinor looked perpetually pregnant to me, if I was being honest.

It was certainly peculiar that my father was only now begetting heirs off of her. He had married her only a year after my mother's passing. Scoundrel. Although that was nothing to me now. He was sending me away; practically selling me off. I recalled yesterday's conversation, when I had heard Edwyn pompously crowing to Elinor as we progressed through Heathersea's colossal gates.

Tilly stumbled indolently along the bridge over Shitbrook as I sat, once again, atop Elinor's broad lap. 'Poor Tilly,' I thought as I shook my head and watched, distractedly, as a man halted his cart beside the bridge's stone balustrade and, as we passed him, began shoveling — what looked like — pig leavings into burbling water below. The smell had, however, not deterred my father from taking hearty swigs of the leather drinking flask he carried.

I was contemplating the awful stench of Shitbrook as Edwyn crowed about how much gold Godwin had promised him.

Godwin? My ears perked keenly.

But, to my annoyance, Edwyn ceased his conversation altogether — seemingly lost in thought. However, I did not much like the look of the resulting smile that curled peculiarly about his mouth for it ofttimes boded ill when my father smiled just so.

By the second and last day of our return to Buttongrass Hall, he resumed his boasting of the day before; only this time I paid attention.

"Some new horseflesh is certainly in order, my dear!" said he with a jovial bark of laughter, a dutiful Elinor nodding all the while, as I listened curiously; relieved that his objective, in coming here to Heathersea in the first place, had not been for naught. Buttongrass Hall would thrive a little longer...for the time being at least.