Winter descends upon Avonlea, and news of an impending dark war arrives within a letter from her absent father. Greer now faces a tumultuous choice: remain in her war struck village with her secret lover or flee with a wealthy mysterious man for pro...
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"Did you hear? The lord's brought in a woman."
I found myself tucked away in a quiet alcove near the castle's expansive kitchens, hidden from view by a tapestry depicting scenes of knights in battle. I had been roaming the hallways in great boredom when I overheard a conversation in a nearby corner where a pair of laundresses labored over a large wooden tub, their voices hushed yet carrying easily through the cavernous chamber.
"She is no woman." Laughed one of the laundresses, her hands wringing out a sodden linen cloth. "Boney, shy and seems to be afraid of her own shadow."
My gaze fell to my frail arms. I may have missed a few meals since word of the war broke out.
"What's so special about this one, I wonder? We've already got more work than we can handle, what with the extra linens and such."
Surely a few dresses weren't that much?
"Special indeed," mused the first laundress, her voice tinged with bitterness. "She must have some sort of charm to catch the lord's eye. A play thing for the bedroom until he chooses himself a wife."
The other rolled her eyes. "Until then, we've got our work cut out for us, that's for certain."
By that point I was not interested in hearing more of what they had to say. I turned away mind awash with questions. What indeed was so special about me that had warranted the lord's attention? He could not expect to use me for sexual favors as the woman spoke, could he?
"No one compares to Miss Ferlisha." One said lastly before they both walked off with a basket of clothing.
I scoffed, eyes already stinging with tears when another woman walked past, immediately finding me in my defeated position on the ground. She watched me carefully, dressed in the attire of a scullery maid, red hair the colour of carrots tied into a braid and a white disheveled apron around her waist. Without a word, she handed me a handkerchief and looked away, allowing me the grace of wiping my weeping eyes with dignity before she disappeared into the kitchen without a word, leaving me to gather my emotions.
I hated this stupid warfor taking me away from my home. The old fisherman and his wooden raft would have posed a better option than this place, I thought to myself, silently praying for God to forgive me for my ungratefulness. Then the thought of Ash came and fleeted, and I wondered then too what would have transpired had I been kinder to him.
By the time it was evening I had locked myself away in my appointed bedchamber. At the center of my sleeping quarters stood a grand modest bed, its dark wood frame carved with vines and mythical creatures and draped with plush furs.
The room exuded a sense of peaceful isolation, a haven from the chaos that had become my life.
A firm knock on the door made me sit up from my sulking. My heart nearly skipped a beat when Lord Beaumont walked in dressed in a red velvet cloak adorned with badges and a softness in his eyes as he regarded me. "Little lady," he greeted, "I was informed you have not come out for supper, for the third night in a row."
