The Lord of Bryn Du

Chapter 12

By the time she and Alys were walking up the gravel path that led to the mansion, Helga had forgotten her worries. She had used a handkerchief to wipe some leftover chocolate from the girl's lips and Alys was chattering happily. She chattered about the town, she chattered about the chocolate, about the cafe, about the square. But most of all, she chattered about Dylan.

Helga found it hard to think about Dylan without also thinking of his brother, and the strange meeting that had taken place between Owain and the other man, the things that had been said, and the things that hadn't been said, but that had been visible in Dylan's eyes. He didn't trust the man, that had been clear, even though apparently, he once had, in the past.

"And he has nice eyes, don't you think?" Alys claimed, waving her little hands. Helga had to laugh at that, "and very nice hair, and don't you think you could marry him and stay here and live close to us?"

Helga wanted to explain to her that it wasn't that easy, and that she was quite sure there was no man she would ever want to marry, and that she had seen and felt and cried too much because of them, but she didn't, because it wasn't something to tell a little girl with her whole life ahead of her, a little girl that still dreamt of princes and fairytale kisses.

She also didn't say anything because for some reason, it seemed unfair to compare Dylan, who had been nothing but friendly and helpful, to the man that had systematically ruined her life, bit by bit. He wasn't like that, not all men were like that, and she told herself that she had to teach herself that, and that Alys would have to know that, too.

"He has very nice eyes," she said, instead, and that was it.

The door of the mansion creaked when it opened, but Helga no longer thought that was ominous. In fact, she realised, she had come to find the whole house a little less spooky than it had been. It was still... cold, there was no mistaking that. It was cold and lonely and the left wing still crept her out when she walked past the closed door and remembered Alys' haunting words but the rest of the house was comfortable.

Wynn didn't like her, she knew that, but she vouched to herself that she would stop pleasing others after she left London. She would make no exception for Wynn. Not even now, not even when Helga spotted her as they stepped inside, the light low and the hallway dark. The blinds had been drawn, she saw, and she wondered why, and she wondered why Wynn fiddled with her apron, why she seemed nervous.

"Hi Wynn," Alys said, oblivious.

"Take her," another voice said.

Helga hadn't even seen him, and a chill crept up her spine. His voice was different than the last time they had talked, and he was sitting in the chair that stood left of the staircase, his hands resting on the arms, and his eyes hard and grey.

"Gerwyn..." much to her surprise, it was Wynn who spoke to him by using his first name. For some reason Helga had thought she would only address him by his title but the way she spoke, even that one single word, it was more like a plea between friends.

"I said take her," Thorne said with a voice that made Helga want to turn around and never return. Alys looked between them, unsure of what was happening, and it brought back memories, so many memories. It reminded Helga of her ex waiting for her by the entrance to the school under the guise of picking her up like a loved one would. But children knew, children always knew, children felt it when something was wrong.

"What's wrong?" Alys asked, voicing the thing she felt.

"Nothing," Thorne said, and it wasn't a very convincing lie.

Alys wobbled on her legs. Helga saw there was a spot of chocolate she had missed and regretted it, instantly. She kept her voice steady, unsure of what was wrong indeed. Had something happened? Had she done wrong?

"Go with Wynn, Alys," she said, "I will be there in a moment."

Alys protested, but just a little. Wynn bribed her with juice and a cookie and Helga was glad for it. Whatever Thorne had to say, he apparently didn't want to do it in front of her, which could hardly mean that it was anything good. She thought of Dylan and the fun they had this afternoon, and she hated that she had to regret it.

The door to the hallway fell shut, leaving her and Thorne in the hall.

"Hello," she said, hating how her voice wavered.

"You took her," he said, and it sounded like an accusation because it was. He didn't stand up from the chair and Helga was glad for it, knowing that she would have cowered if he had. Even now, sitting, meters away from her, she felt the authority that seeped from him and she hated it, hated that men had the power to do this to her, hated her ex and the way he had hurt her, hated that she couldn't put her hands in her side and tell him 'yes, and we had fun'.

"She wanted to go," Helga said instead.

"She wants a lot when the day is long," he said, looking at the window as if it hadn't been boarded, as if he could see out over the field and the marsh, "you had no permission to take her away from the grounds."

"I thought I..."

"I do not think you thought at all," he snapped, and now she did flinch because there was a sharpness in his words that frightened her, because it was hard to keep a straight face when someone got angry, because she didn't think she had done anything wrong. She and Alys had just taken a trip.

"I did," she cleared her throat, "and Wynn said she didn't know where you were so I... it was just a walk to the village."

"I already dealt with Wynn," he said, and something about that made Helga stand a little straighter. If he had hurt her - she might not like Wynn but the girl deserved better - she could give him hell for that, even if she couldn't do it for herself, but before she could speak up he continued, "she should have told you that Alys is to stay here, so it is partly her fault, too."

"It is no one's fault," Helga said. Her own words surprised her.

Thorne's eyes narrowed. Now he did push up.

Helga knew what would come next, she knew he would walk up to her, use his size to intimidate her. Maybe he would shout, maybe he would raise a hand. Maybe he would hit her, because maybe he wasn't anything better than the other men she knew. Maybe she just attracted these types, and maybe...

"She can't leave the mansion," he just said.

The distance between them almost hurt more than a slap might, frightened her more than his height would. He just stood there, away from her, shoulders squared, wearing those ridiculous old-fashioned clothes that didn't look ridiculous on him for some reason. She remembered the softness in his eyes when he had laid his hand upon the cello case, she remembered the low tones that had lulled her to sleep. She remembered how she had wondered if he knew that she loved that kind of music.

His eyes were different, now, and they scared her, even if he apparently tried very hard not to scare her.

"She is a little girl," she said, eventually, when the silence had lasted too long, "she is a little girl and she can't be locked up here. She deserves something else, something more. She deserves to know what the outside world looks like."

"The outside world," Thorne said, and his voice was as low as the lowest string on the cello, "is a cruel, wicked place. We have no home there, we have our home here. The sooner she learns, the less likely she will be hurt."

Helga was silent, and she thought he was done. He straightened his jacket and looked at her, into her. It wasn't at all like how Dylan had looked at her with his nice, bright eyes and his boyish smile. It wasn't even how her ex had looked at her, with dark eyes that held no love, only jealousy. Thorne's eyes were like ice, and Helga couldn't read them, and it frightened her more than all the other men she had met.

The silence stretched out. She thought he was done.

She thought she was done.

But they weren't.

"Of all people," he said, "I thought you would understand. The outside world has hurt you more than most."