Self Sacrifice. Anya Summers
Mother. I just hope he is handsome.” Elizabeth snorted. “I just hope he is stupid. Now go.” Leora and Leticia quickly quit the room, and Elizabeth turned to Syndra. “You should be happy I am saving you from a life of bowing to a man.”
“Why, so I can bow to you instead?”
“Watch your tongue.” Elizabeth narrowed her eyes. “As I have told you, your shape is not pleasing to a man. You hold too many pounds hostage on your body. Leora will keep our new lord happy, and with any luck, I will keep him under my thumb.”
Syndra waited for her stepmother to keep talking, but she did not. She again cursed her father, though she loved him, for leaving her in this position. When he had fallen ill, he had promised her he would see she was cared for, and would not have to stay with Elizabeth, whom he knew loathed his daughter.
Syndra had hoped that meant he had arranged a marriage, or left her some monies or jewels. Elizabeth had torn the house apart looking for anything of value, and nothing had been found. Syndra knew her father would have kept his word and she had searched as well, to no avail, for the key to end her misery.
Her father had been dead for eight months now, and she had yet to unravel the situation he had left her in when he passed. Part of her wondered if she ever would find anything, or if she were destined to live out her life under the control of a woman who hated her.
When they had received word from the king that he was sending a husband for Syndra, she had been ecstatic—until Elizabeth had slapped her and said Leora would marry the king’s choice, not Syndra.
“No daughter of mine will be put behind you.” The look of pure hatred on her face still made Syndra shiver. “You will end your life as someone’s whore, but you will never be the mistress of this keep. Never.”
Syndra had cried heartily that night, burying her head in Alma’s shoulders as they slept in the rushes. The next morning, burly friends of Elizabeth’s current bedmate had taken Alma away, and she had not seen her friend since. She had no doubt her stepmother would kill Alma if Syndra misbehaved in any way.
Noise drifted up from the courtyard, and Syndra looked toward the window.
“Stay up here,” Elizabeth ordered. “And remember, if you see the new lord, to keep your eyes downcast and your mouth shut.”
She swept from the room and Syndra hurried to the opening, leaning over to watch the proceedings three floors down. There were more than two-dozen men in the courtyard now, all of them milling about and studying the landscape. Two men stood toward the front, talking with Leora, and Syndra knew one of them would be the new lord of Mardoon.
Both of them looked to be large, handsome men. One had dark, shoulder-length hair and massive shoulders. Even from her vantage point, Syndra could tell he was taller than any man she’d ever seen. The other man’s body looked as massive, but he stood a few inches shorter and had lighter, ginger-colored hair.
She fought the need to rush downstairs, to throw herself at their feet and confess all. Only the thought of Alma, locked away somewhere with the threat of death hanging over her head, kept her rooted in place. Elizabeth knew beating Syndra would not produce the results she wanted. She knew Syndra was too strong-willed for that. So, she’d attacked her from a different angle. By putting those she loved in peril.
“Alma,” Syndra whispered, then closed her eyes and said a silent prayer that her friend was at least being fed and given a bit of sunshine every day. When she was done, she opened her eyes and watched as Elizabeth rushed into the scene, dropped into a deep curtsy and took the hand of the dark-haired man.
That would mean he was the new lord, and therefore had dominion over Elizabeth. Syndra smiled at the submissive position Elizabeth was in. It was good for the witch to bow down to someone, to be beholden and answerable for her actions. And while Elizabeth and her daughters were busy with the new lord, Syndra could continue her search, and hopefully find a way out from under Elizabeth’s authority.
“Not too bad,” Patrick whispered to Keran as they made their way inside the keep. “You will not have to keep your eyes closed when you bed her.”
Keran snorted and nodded. Indeed, the woman who had been presented as his bride was pretty enough. Her mother was a shrew, though, that much was certain. Keran could almost imagine her as a snake, slithering on the ground, and causing panic wherever she went. He had to find some way to subtly let her know that he was in charge now, not her.
Her docile curtsey did not fool him in the least. He’d met women like her before, wanting to appear meek, but seeking to control their men. It wouldn’t happen here. The sooner she figured that out, the better.
Inside the great hall, he stopped and examined his new holding.
“We have some rooms for your men in the main house, of course,” Elizabeth said. “But perhaps some of the outlying houses would—”
“Perhaps you should let me worry about that, after we have had a chance to catch our breath. We would like some food, and a little bit of comfort away from the elements.”
“Of course, my lord.” Elizabeth curtsied again, but Keran did not miss the scowl on her face. He knew his arrow had hit home, and was not welcomed.
“Leora, fetch your future husband food and drink.”
Leora dipped low, then scurried from the room. Keran took the time to look around. The rushes appeared to be clean, and the castle at least smelled good. He sniffed his nose and nodded at Patrick.
“It is lavender, milord,” Elizabeth said. “I find it lingers, and leaves a fresh scent.” The room soon filled with servants bearing trays of ale, cheese and bread. Leora rushed in, a tray full of food in her hands. Behind her was a servant with a tray full of large tankards of ale. She offered it to him, and Elizabeth beamed.
Keran smiled at her as he took a healthy bite of bread. He swallowed quickly, then nodded his thanks to her. She really was not so bad, he thought. Maybe this would work. He took another bite, then turned his gaze to Elizabeth.
“I trust you have vacated the main chamber?”
“I have, milord. My daughter can move her things into the room tonight, along with yours, of course. She can take care of you tonight, milord.”
Keran, who had been in the middle of a drink of ale, coughed. The room, which had been buzzing with talk as servants walked about offering food and drink to their new residents, grew quiet.
Keran finished his drink, then licked his lips. “Tonight? You have a priest handy?”
Elizabeth bristled, and he hid a smile. He knew he must marry the girl, but her mother’s push for a bedding made him weary. He would rather take a little while, and allow himself to settle here before he took Leora to wife.
“No, milord. But, since she will be your wife, there is no need to stand on ceremony, do you not agree?”
Keran narrowed his eyes. “You would have me bed your daughter without the sacrament of marriage?”
Something was not right here. Mothers seldom offered their daughters’ maidenheads before marriage. Or perhaps the girl was not a virgin. Maybe she had rutted with a stable hand or two. Maybe Elizabeth thought he would be too weary from travel to notice the lack of blood or the unblocked entrance to her daughter’s womb.
“We are a simple people, milord. Since you will be married anyway, I thought perhaps— ”
“When can the priest be here?” Keran took a longer drink, then locked gazes with Patrick, who lifted his brow in confusion.
“Not for a few weeks, I am sure,” Elizabeth replied. “We had a priest here, but he died, and the king saw fit not to replace him. But, as I said—”
“Then we will wait,” Keran interrupted her. “It will allow your