Word and Deed

Word and Deed

By Rachel Rossano

Published by Rachel Rossano at Smashwords

ISBN: 978-1-4661-8594-4

Copyright 2012 Rachel Rossano

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Word and Deed
is a work of fiction.
Though actual locations may be mentioned, they are used in a
fictitious manner and the events and occurrences were invented in
the mind and imagination of the author. Similarities of characters
to any person, past, present, or future, are coincidental.

Cover by Rachel Rossano

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“You are weak, Verdon. You kill like a
woman!” I glared at my half-brother.

His narrow shoulders tensed. A hush fell over
our late father’s great hall. The dog lying before the hearth
groaned loudly.

Sick with anger and helplessness, I gloried
in his reaction. He condemned me to a living death, marriage to a
man some considered unsettled. Still I could evoke fire in my
frigid sibling. I knew his soft places where the words would sting
most. Rage prodded me on.

“Your mother would writhe in her grave if she
saw the slovenly murderer she brought forth. It would be better for
her if you never lived.”

“Hush, Verity, hush.” My old nurse’s hands
trembled where they gripped my arm. Ealdine served more as a
companion now that I reached adulthood.

She had good reason to cower. My cheek still
stung from Verdon’s last loss of composure. Wisdom urged me to let
go of the burning emotion in my gut. Yet the anger demanded I rant
or sob.

I refused to give Verdon the satisfaction of
tears.

His fingers closed on the hilt of our
father’s sword. My sword. Our father promised it to me, yet Verdon
refused me even that. I unleashed the final blow.

“Our father would rise up and call you coward
for this act. Selling me to a mad man will not silence my
tongue.”

The impact of his fist snapped my head back.
I welcomed the pain. It grounded the anger, distracting me from the
agony in my chest that began with our father’s death. The grief
ached with every breath those moments I missed him most. I was
helpless without Father’s protection, a fact never more clear than
now.

Another blow, this time behind my right ear,
rocked my sense of the earth. The crack of my skull on the stone
echoed, preceding searing pain. A fog blanketed my senses. The hand
I lifted to my scalp came away red.

“Foolish move, Ravenridge.” Sir Hirion’s face
wavered above me. I blinked, but he remained out of focus. “Lord
Silvaticus paid for a living bride, not a corpse. If you wish to
remain in Silvaticus’ favor, she should be well and whole when he
arrives.”

“A fortnight is time enough for her to heal.
I have not left a lasting mark on her features, only her head. He
will see nothing amiss. Now lock her in the tower. I grow weary of
her lies.”

Rough hands lifted me from the floor.
Ealdine’s pleas for caution grew distant as my senses finally
faded.

~~~~~

Dust and taste of mold assaulted my tongue.
The convulsion of my sneeze morphed into a cry of agony. I ached as
though trampled by a horse.

“Hush, love, calm.” Cool hands touched my
face and then stroked my wrists. “Hush. The pain will pass.”

“I …” My attempt to speak grated my throat
raw. Unbidden tears pricked at my eyes. I would not cry. “Wat
…”

A cool, wet rim pressed to my mouth. I drank.
The fluid tasted ill. I would have spit, but I needed the
moisture.

“It rained last night, and I didn’t have a
clean vessel. Your brother allowed you water, but not enough,”
Ealdine explained. She offered the cup again. I drank with
gratitude. Once my thirst was quenched, I pushed it away.

“I was foolish.”

“Child, words spoken in anger are rarely
wise.”

“The apology will hurt my pride thrice the
agony of my headache.”

“Humility takes strength to cultivate.” She
spoke the words of my sire.

“Aye.”

I opened my eyes slowly. The light, filtered
through the lattice over the window, pierced my eyes. I grimaced up
at the wooden ceiling beams.

“The tower again?” I croaked. Only three
months ago I stared up at these beams. Then I gave little thought
to my surroundings, too ill with grief to care. Father newly dead,
Verdon, drunk with power, banished me and my whetted tongue.

Then his marriage plans gained me the
reprieve. Dangling like a lure before all the rich and powerful
nobles, I had smiled and kept my tongue silent. Lords and knights
alike evaluated me with bored or lecherous features. They placed a
price on my hand, womb, and inheritance. Apparently, the last was
the crucial attribute to my new lord and master.

Lord Silvaticus purchased me without
bothering to lay eyes on me. He witnessed instead the perfection of
my land and coveted the strategic value of the cliffs on the
southern coast. He wished to build a fortress. Hardly a flattering
decision.

I dreamed like any other maid of a mate who
loved me in word and deed. The hope poisoned by my brother’s greed
died with the betrothal announcement. I was now the property of
Lord Silvanticus, a man with a heart of ice. All he had to do was
come claim me.

“Your brother decreed you are to speak with
none but me until your husband comes to claim you. I am only to
attend you three hours each day.” Ealdine fussed with my bandage.
My head still throbbed, further reminder to keep my temper before
Verdon.

“Did he ban the garden?”

“Nay, you are allowed exercise within the
walls, but the gate has been barred from without.”

“He wishes me to crave human contact.”

Verdon also knew the chinks in my armor.
After the previous confinement, I sought contact, conversation, and
interaction with others.

“If he wished that, he would have denied you
me also.” Ealdine stroked my forehead, hands soft with age. “Now
sleep. You need rest.”

My skull pulsed in rhythm with my heartbeat.
I closed my eyes and attempted to sleep. I would write my apology
in the morn.

-----

Three days later, I rose from bed. The
afternoon sun shone beyond the lattice, beckoning me. The sight
nurtured an already restless spirit into mobility. I was intent on
a turn in the garden, at least a semblance of freedom for my
tortured soul. My body still ached and sudden changes threw my
balance, but I fixed my purpose and pressed forward.

Ealdine, having used two of the three
allotted hours on breaking fast and serving the midday meal, would
not return until after nightfall. That gave me time to creep down
the stairs to sit in the sun at least.

Walking across the warped floor boards proved
an uneventful task. However, upon opening the door to the sight of
the steep descent to the ground two levels below, my grasp of
balance wavered. I dropped to sit on the doorsill and lowered my
head into my hands.

“Might I assist you?”

I lifted my head and instantly regretted
it.

“Steady, miss, steady. Don’t go toppling on
me. I don’t wish another death on my account.”

I blinked in the sunlight, struggling to
place the source of the voice. Finally, a movement brought my focus
to where the stairs spilled into the garden. He stood, left boot on
the first step. Gaining only an impression of graying brown hair
and sun-browned hands, I lowered my head once again.

“Who are you?” I asked.

“Bryn Wolfe of Ardenstain. And you?”

“I am Verity Favian.”

“Ah, you are the maid in the tower. I was
warned about you.” He stepped off the bottom of the stairs and
leaned against the tower wall, his face still in shadow.

“What warning?”

“’The maid yonder has a shrewish
tongue.’”

“Hardly a warning since I am already
betrothed. If you no wish to listen, you can leave.”

“Ah, so I heard. It is to the Silvaticus, the
crazed.”

Straightening my shoulders, I glared down at
him for a moment. “I will not allow you to speak thus of my
betrothed.”

Surprise brought back his head. He lifted his
face to the sun to peer at me. The light revealed tan skin and a
cloth patch strapped to his face where his left eye should have
been. It was a countenance one would remember. I knew almost every
man in my brother’s service. This scarred man was a stranger.

“You know your husband-to-be then?”

“Nay.”

“Then why prevent me from speech when I speak
truth born of knowledge?”

“It is not fitting to speak thus of others.”
I peered at him from my perch. “You are not of my brother’s
men.”

“Nay, I arrived with the men sent ahead to
prepare the way for Silvaticus.”

My back tingled, suspicion bringing my pride
to bear. “You are here to evaluate the goods,” I accused. “Why else
would you be permitted to speak with me?”

“I was not permitted.”

“Then why are you here?” My head ached. I
normally enjoyed verbal play. Today it made me dizzy.

“At the moment? To offer aid. I spotted you
at the door and witnessed your stagger. I feared you would tumble
down the stairs.”

“Silvaticus would be sorry to lose such
choice coastline,” I observed.

“Nay, I didn’t wish to see you break your
fair neck.”

Contrary to my expectation, he didn’t look at
me as he delivered the sweetened line. Despite the fact I believed
he did not mean them, the words still warmed my cheeks and burned
my ears. What business did a servant have speaking such to a maid?
The answer was none, yet I was pleased.

I brushed aside the notion without much
thought. It was simply the delusions of a woman barren of the hope
of love. Attention starved, I swooned at the smallest turn of a
pleasant phrase.

I intended to give Bryn Wolfe a rebuke only
to find him gone. No sign of him remained. As Ealdine’s voice
called to me from within, I resolved to not mention the
stranger.

I rubbed my throbbing temples. I didn’t
believe I dreamed him, but considering the condition of my head, I
preferred caution.

~~~~~

The next day, I woke to skies heavy with
unshed rain. Ignoring the possibility of a dousing, I escaped bed
yet again. No unsteadiness hindered my descent into the garden this
time. My head ached a little, but I ignored it. I stepped from my
slippers and curled my naked toes in the cool grass. With a languid
sigh, I reveled in the moist earth compressed beneath my feet.

I loved spring, rain, black loam crumbling
between my fingers, and the scent of green life. I breathed deep
and slow. The scents of the wild flora soothed my spirit. The
tower’s original resident, my grandmother, spent hours in the
garden daily until her death when I was twelve. Only God knew when
I would be able to enjoy the sensation of the earth unhindered by
leather again. I shoved the thought aside. Life as Silvaticus’ wife
was a mystery I had no desire to explore.

“Best get inside Maid Favian. You will catch
a sickness from the rain. Silvaticus won’t like that.”

I turned toward the sound of his voice, anger
flaring with the pressure of the frantic heart in my chest. “More
likely I shall die of a fit first if you do that again. You
frightened me out of my wits.”

“Nay, your wits are sound. You are speaking
with me clear enough.”

Today he stood close to the garden wall
opposite the stairs. He wore the attire of a soldier, leather
jerkin over a loose shirt, leggings, and worn boots. His hand
rested on his sword belt, but the scabbard hung empty.