as if she were a spiritless puppet with a fixed smile painted on its face and its strings being manipulated by the man at her side.
Continuing on by a ragged scrap of lackluster resolve, Abrielle traversed the inner courtyard with that same fake smile pasted on her face. The feeling of being emotionally empty inside was almost more than she could bear. Had there been a moment of freedom wherein she could have found a hidden niche, she would have fled to such a place and sobbed out her heart in unrelenting anguish until she had no more tears to spill. Nothing she had ever experienced before had seemed more akin to the horrors of a dark netherworld than the bleak, empty passages of time through which she was now passing, all because she was destined to become the bride of a despicable ogre. Had she been walking a stony path toward an ominous block upon which she’d be required to rest her head and awaiting her there was a hooded executioner clasping an ax, she would have felt no less dismayed.
LATE INTO THE night, Abrielle lay in rigid repose upon a narrow bed in the small room adjoining the chambers her parents were occupying. Staring fixedly at nothing more significant than the silken panels draped around the tester, she found it difficult to even breathe, much less sleep. A morbid heaviness lay over her spirit, a feeling no doubt evoked by the fact that only a few, paltry days separated her from the ceremony that would forever bind her to Desmond de Marlé. Whenever she considered what she would have to submit to in order to fulfill her wifely obligations, it seemed a prelude to another descent into a pit of despair. If not for fear of waking her parents, she would have succumbed to the overwhelming sobs that were threatening to burst free. She had committed herself to a hell on earth by giving her word, and not only would she not take it back, she could not.
Unable to bear the conflict within her, she finally tore herself free from her narrow bed and fled into the outer hall in a burgeoning quest to find absolute solitude for just a few moments so no one would hear the sobs that were threatening to break free and overwhelm her. When she finally halted, she found herself in a corridor leading to the tower stairs. Her nightgown clung to her, and her bare feet were nearly frigid against the stone floor. Her long hair tumbled in wild disarray around her shoulders and over her bosom, providing a mantle of warmth against the chill pervading the hall.
The only light came from the moon shining through a lofty turret. The leaded panes of glass cast their muted colors and reflection upon the stone floor. In spite of her mood of utter hopelessness, Abrielle took comfort in simply being alone in a place where she could cry aloud if need be, and tears were increasingly shed as her wedding day grew closer. Her peace of mind was brief; after only a few moments of solitude she had the uneasy sense that someone was nearby. Alarmed, she peered intently into the surrounding blackness and wonderedwho might be watching. Desmond? Since their arrival, it seemed he was always lurking about, hiding in some nook or cranny…that is, hiding as well as a man of his girth could hide. He was obsessed with spying upon her. ’Twas yet another in an ever-growing list of reasons she prayed God might send a miracle in time to stop the wedding.
Had Desmond followed her tonight, hoping to catch her unaware the way he had at Henry’s castle? Was he so greedy for her flesh he would seek to deny her a few final hours of peace and privacy? Anger and revulsion coursed through her. Of course there was also the possibility it was someone unknown to her skulking in the shadows. It hardly bode well for her future that she could not say whom she would most detest encountering in the middle of the night in this dark isolated corner, her betrothed or a total stranger.
A scraping sound by the tower steps, like
Continuing on by a ragged scrap of lackluster resolve, Abrielle traversed the inner courtyard with that same fake smile pasted on her face. The feeling of being emotionally empty inside was almost more than she could bear. Had there been a moment of freedom wherein she could have found a hidden niche, she would have fled to such a place and sobbed out her heart in unrelenting anguish until she had no more tears to spill. Nothing she had ever experienced before had seemed more akin to the horrors of a dark netherworld than the bleak, empty passages of time through which she was now passing, all because she was destined to become the bride of a despicable ogre. Had she been walking a stony path toward an ominous block upon which she’d be required to rest her head and awaiting her there was a hooded executioner clasping an ax, she would have felt no less dismayed.
LATE INTO THE night, Abrielle lay in rigid repose upon a narrow bed in the small room adjoining the chambers her parents were occupying. Staring fixedly at nothing more significant than the silken panels draped around the tester, she found it difficult to even breathe, much less sleep. A morbid heaviness lay over her spirit, a feeling no doubt evoked by the fact that only a few, paltry days separated her from the ceremony that would forever bind her to Desmond de Marlé. Whenever she considered what she would have to submit to in order to fulfill her wifely obligations, it seemed a prelude to another descent into a pit of despair. If not for fear of waking her parents, she would have succumbed to the overwhelming sobs that were threatening to burst free. She had committed herself to a hell on earth by giving her word, and not only would she not take it back, she could not.
Unable to bear the conflict within her, she finally tore herself free from her narrow bed and fled into the outer hall in a burgeoning quest to find absolute solitude for just a few moments so no one would hear the sobs that were threatening to break free and overwhelm her. When she finally halted, she found herself in a corridor leading to the tower stairs. Her nightgown clung to her, and her bare feet were nearly frigid against the stone floor. Her long hair tumbled in wild disarray around her shoulders and over her bosom, providing a mantle of warmth against the chill pervading the hall.
The only light came from the moon shining through a lofty turret. The leaded panes of glass cast their muted colors and reflection upon the stone floor. In spite of her mood of utter hopelessness, Abrielle took comfort in simply being alone in a place where she could cry aloud if need be, and tears were increasingly shed as her wedding day grew closer. Her peace of mind was brief; after only a few moments of solitude she had the uneasy sense that someone was nearby. Alarmed, she peered intently into the surrounding blackness and wonderedwho might be watching. Desmond? Since their arrival, it seemed he was always lurking about, hiding in some nook or cranny…that is, hiding as well as a man of his girth could hide. He was obsessed with spying upon her. ’Twas yet another in an ever-growing list of reasons she prayed God might send a miracle in time to stop the wedding.
Had Desmond followed her tonight, hoping to catch her unaware the way he had at Henry’s castle? Was he so greedy for her flesh he would seek to deny her a few final hours of peace and privacy? Anger and revulsion coursed through her. Of course there was also the possibility it was someone unknown to her skulking in the shadows. It hardly bode well for her future that she could not say whom she would most detest encountering in the middle of the night in this dark isolated corner, her betrothed or a total stranger.
A scraping sound by the tower steps, like
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