December 1369
November had swept through like a sudden gale — I blinked and practically missed December's arrival; but arrive it most certainly did. Time seemed to race along despite my silent prayers to the contrary — as much as I willed it to slow down or, better yet, to cease it's passage altogether, it carried on diametrically in contempt of my wishes.
It would not be long now. My wedding day was fast approaching and most of the wedding guests had already trickled in throughout the first fortnight of this month to spend the longest holiday of the year in the company of the Greybacks and their kin. I could only imagine the heavy drain to Godwin's coffers: having to feed a veritable army of guests for the next month at least.
Only Lucian's uncle was yet to arrive. The Duke had not sent word yet of his pending arrival, although we expected him any day now for the western sky had been steadily darkening by ever greater degrees, like a harbinger of some cataclysm yet to befall us.
For now, Christmas feast preparations were underway at Nørrdragor and the hall was festooned with bright green holme and ivy, anything verdant still found to be growing now that the heavy snow had settled all throughout the countryside. Today, being as it was Christmas eve, the yule log — which was in essence a massive pine trunk — had been brought in and placed within the giant hearth, there to burn relentlessly all through the entire twelve nights of Christmas.
From my soaring espial in the tower, a sanctuary I had come to think of as my personal space, I caught sight of a burgeoning dust cloud that clearly marked the arrival of more bloody guests.
Deciding that it was well past time I left my solitude to join the Greyback ranks in welcome, as was expected of me, I stretched my back and made my way to the door with every intention of pasting a smile over my unenthused expression as I greeted whomever was now come. But, whether to indulge in procrastination or simple to appease my incessant curiosity, I stopt shy of passing through the doorway.
On the vast wall opposite the window the waning orange glow of dusk light illuminated a tapestry that I had always noticed, but never truly considered. It seemed that every tapestry or wall mural that populated Nørrdragor had some sort of meaning; and all of them obscure. The one of the wolf and the children had always bothered me, but this one, of a man and a woman, was, on first glance, innocuous enough.
When first I came to this room, long ago, I had admired the vivid colors of the threads that were so carefully woven into this particular wall-hanging, the artists who had long since plied the needle, certainly a true proficient. The backdrop in the drapery could be no other forest than that of the Redweald that was spread across the undulating hills and valleys that lay just outside this very tower window.
The crimson of the foliage in the embroidered weald lay vibrant behind the two figures that were the focal point of the image. As a child I had often thought this a portrayal of Adam and Eve, for there was indeed a man, a woman, and an apple. However, on deeper reflection, I could not be sure that the fruit was an apple at all, for the shape was too round and the seeds within, displayed inside the severed pith, were unfamiliar to me.
That was not the only discrepancy either. Instead of Eve giving her mate the apple, it was the man, Adam, or so I had always presumed him to be, who proffered the forbidden fruit to her. Was this not then sacrilegious? Was not the artist, by that assumption, a heretic? I could only imagine that if any holy man were to behold this scene, he would indeed demand its instant immolation.
In sooth, if I was being completely honest with myself, I quite liked the piece. I hoped it would never be discovered by a captious clergyman. Because, in this tapestry at least, women were not perceived to be the root of all evil; not the downfall of man; and Eve not the temptress responsible for the ruination of all mankind. It was he, Adam. Or so this tapestry implied...
And why not, indeed! I had never thought ill of my own sex as I had the other. It was not Elinor or Milli that had beat me as a child. It was not Anne that had decided my fate and betrothed me to a perfect stranger. To my way of thinking, it was men that wielded all power over women. And with that power came avarice; and corruption.
But these were the private thoughts of a restive mind, and I always asked God His forgiveness once the priest had delivered his matutinal, dire orations in the chapel each day. I should not question our lot as pawns in a man's world. Would that I was not so damnably curious, but God help me, I always had been and doubtless always would be. Yet I did not believe myself wicked. I bore no ill will to anyone – not even to Edwyn who deserved it most, for I had long since forgiven the man his evils.
Perhaps I had deliberated enough for one day. It was high time I left, lest I give myself a head ague; or incur Godwin's displeasure — he would want me present when these newcomers arrived through the gatehouse.
To that end, I hastened down the staircase and, in a flurry of red silk rushed into my family's midst, Godwin's lips tightening visibly as I took my place — the only indication that he remarked my lateness. But he said not a word and thankfully offered no chastisements.
I therefore stood quietly betwixt Lucian and Anne, who gave my hand a little maternal squeeze. Lucian, however, gave no indication that he even noticed me for his eyes were narrowed at the visitors. To Anne's right stood her husband and beside Godwin was Caine, to his right, as we all watched the abbot, and his retinue of about twenty servants and attendants, most of whom were on foot, enter the bailey.
Carac's arms were folded with annoyance and he gave a grunt of disapprobation. I Leaned a little forward to peer around Lucian's burly frame, trying not to laugh at Carac's sour expression. Who exactly was this new guest to illicit such disgust?
Lucian released a grave sigh which unconsciously inspired me to regard the abbot a little more suspiciously. And when I realized that I was doing that merely based on my betrothal's reaction, I nearly scoffed aloud. When had Lucian's sentiments become so...influential to me. How interesting. And altogether perturbing.
Still and all, I studied the wizened little man who was unmistakably the abbot that Anne had described a while back when I had seen the abbey on the ridge, some miles from Norsvall. His gown was voluminous and his headgear intricate, but I could not, fortunately, see the canker sores and swollen flesh that Anne had alluded to that day — the very afflictions that must surely be hidden beneath his multitudinous layers; however, I had a good imagination.
I felt my lip curl up in disgust and my nose wrinkle distastefully at the thought of what lay beneath the man's robes, but then just as quickly castigated myself for my uncharitable speculation. Lucian, having noticed these thoughts playing across my face, elbowed me gently in the ribs and I raised my gaze, a blush of contrition blasting my cheeks, to see him trying to smother an amused smile beneath his stern countenance. He shook his head imperceptibly, but I took his meaning, though he said naught, ere he fixed his eyes forward once again, having now ascertained for himself that I had schooled my features.
I therefore watched, with purposeful impassivity, as the abbot's servants helped him down from his horse-drawn litter — the two belabored palfreys looking visibly relieved to be rid of his cumbersome weight — and assisted the ungainly elder as he hobbled over toward us. By the time he'd finished uttering the first half of his greeting, my adverse first impression became, unfortunately for him, solidified and inflexible; I no longer felt the churl for my initial, disgusted response to him.
"Good morrow, My Lord Drakkentörn!" said he, sliding his rheumy eyes momentarily over me. After greeting the rest of the clan with imperious condescension, he once again fastened those watery, grey eyes on me; his clammy gaze causing my flesh to crawl insidiously. "And this must be Lucian's young bride?" His voice was weak and nasally, as though his ancient pipes were clogged with mucus. "May God grant you both many vigorous sons..."
I almost did not catch what he said — though I had caught some of the spittle that flew off his rapidly moving tongue — for I was watching his flaccid jowls oscillating as he spoke, instead of considering his words; however, I certainly did not miss him winking lewdly at my fiancé. I vowed, right there and then, that I would curtail, if not refrain from, any further dealings with the odious man.
"Quite so, Prior Mikkel," Lucian responded with icy sarcasm, his lip curling in enmity, as the man continued to leer at me.
I had, by now, become familiar with Lucian's mercurial moods. I recognized his current ire for what it was — barely concealed and showing signs of an impending detonation. Godwin also seemed to deduce the precarious situation for he distracted the abbot with his own dutiful greeting; it would not do to have the old ecclesiastical patriarch offended by his heir so soon in the game.
Lucian was indeed a multifaceted being, a conundrum really. Most days I had not the foggiest notion as to what emotions lay hidden beneath the impassive mask he wore, but some times he was blatantly obvious, especially when he was of a contumelious bent...which he certainly was at this moment.
"Welcome, Good Prior Mikkel." Godwin inclined his head respectfully and Anne conscientiously followed suit, though I suspected she was as disgusted with the little toad as I was.
The abbot began daubing furiously at his damp brow and seeping nose with a monogrammed hanky, as if he had the sweating sickness, and without being conscious of it, I made a moue of disgust and I took another wider step back. Lucian, having seen my reaction, smirked unabashedly despite his father's disapproving frown, but this time seemed almost to silently applaud my involuntary relapse.
The sententious abbot waved a stout little arm vigorously, unaware of aught but that which he had to communicate, still animated in conversation with Godwin; howbeit, I had ceased to listen. He bowed low over Anne's proffered hand and slobbered over it a moment before I was forced to relinquish mine for similar treatment. I almost gagged.
"Damoiselle, a pleasure," rasped the nasty little man as he grasped my palm in his own clammy grip and began peppering my hand with sloppy kisses.
"We are honored that you made the journey, Your Grace," said Anne with a pitiful glance at me.
"Indeed," Lucian seethed. He impaled the abbot with a vitriolic stare which the ecclesiastic seemed insensible to. The abbot continued his stroking of my hand; lavishing it with with his etiolated lips.
Finally, Lucian interceded, pulling me firmly against his side and out of the abbots filthy reach. In this instant at least, I was happily obliged to my betrothed and relieved to be practically fused to his hip.
"Prior..." Godwin extended a graceful, bejeweled hand, indicating that his guest should accompany him inside, "you are, no doubt, tired after your journey and the fires beckon within. Let us tarry out of doors no longer; lest you catch your death."
More's the pity, I thought resentfully. The cold was indeed biting and I felt for certain my lips had already turned blue.
"God reward you, my lord, and gramercy for your good will!" That said, the abbot waddled after Anne and Godwin — the latter shooting his eldest son an impatient glance as he withdrew.
Caine and Lucian shared a meaningful look before Caine headed to the stables and I was left alone with Lucian. He had been avoiding me, I suspected, since that night in the forest almost three weeks ago. Or perhaps, if I was being truthful, I had been the one avoiding him. Either way, we had not been alone since then.
And for good reason. He was too disturbing by half and my body gave an involuntary shiver as he turned to face me, those golden eyes searching mine.
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