Title:
Centuries of Blood
Author: S.I.
Hayes
MY REVIEW:
The prose of this book sounds
purposedly old fashioned since the story is taking place in the
1500's, but for me it wasn't working. It sounded forced. The
transitions leave something to be desired. The book was reading like
a list in the beginning. This happened, and then this happened, and
then this happened. Catherine marries Henri but she loves the
vampire Alexandarius. My mind kept wandering while reading this and I
really wanted to skip a lot of it to get to the naughty bits. This
book needs more development. 3 stars.
Blurb:Three
men, a single heart. What's a girl to do? Especially when one of them
has fangs...
16th
Century England. A land at war. It's people fighting, dying for a
king who chases skirts and takes heads on a whim. It is a time of
reformation, of love, lust, betrayal and secrets. Catharine Morrigan
Cecil is but sixteen years old as the tale unfolds, but her soul
screams to be free of Glastonbury. Named for a child lost, she is
chained to a life she doesn't want. Promised to a man whose ways
foretell an unhappy life while still in love with another who will
not fight for her.
Left
rejected, in a reach for freedom she runs. Finding a mysterious town
with an even more mysterious stranger. Alexandarious (Darious) is
young, strong, and Immortal.
A Blood Devourer. Knowing his nature, Catharine Morrigan dares to
give him her heart. She has pierced him through and through, but his
people are waring and her safety is in peril. He wants and needs the
beautiful woman "Morrigan" is becoming. But his heart knows
better. She deserves a full life, one he can not give her.
The
marriage bed awaits her as the Ottoman War zone calls him. The pair
must separate to save the people to whom they are bound. While
Darious fights for his Lord and Lady, Morrigan must fight for her
survival at the hands of the man she calls husband.
Can
they beat the odds, find each other once more and prove that love
truly is Eternal?
Author Bio:
S.I.Hayes is the
Co-Author to
Awakenings:
The Wrath Saga,
a Paranormal drama likened to
Big Brother meets
The Real
World, of the Preternatural.
She is currently working on the third
novel in her In Dreams... Series, Due for release in 2014.
In her own words... I have a mind that
is easily distracted and prone to wandering. Tangents are my forte,
and if you think my characters are going to fit a cookie cutter shape
of any kind, think again. They live, they love, they eat, sleep and
f***. I believe that people are inherently sexual creatures and my
characters be they human or something all together
else are no exception.
I don't adhere to a single genera, I
toe the line on several and wouldn't presume to be a master of any.
So I suppose you could call me jack-of-all-trade-paperbacks.
I am a truth seeker, in my life, in my
work. I’d apologize for it, but I kinda can't help m’self. It's
my best and worse personality trait, well mostly, being Bi-Polar I
guess you could say that is the worse. But I believe that the
disorder have made me, well... Me.
I have taken this life and twisted,
carved, shaped and molded it in to the worlds of my characters.
Albeit with a chainsaw, and it has made all the difference.
Links:
Chapter
1
Rain poured down in dime-sized droplets,
and violent thunder shook the house of Jonathan Cecil as he watched
his wife Willomeina, heavy with child earnestly tending to their only
daughter Catharine, whose body was wrecked by a long illness.
According to the doctor the fight was lost, he believed she would not
last much longer this was probably the girls last night on earth.
When the priest
came, Jonathan tried to pull Willomeina from Catharine, protesting,
"Think
of the Child!"
She would not heed the disputes; she would
sit the night out, if she were going to lose her daughter tonight
than she herself had to be there at that moment, when Catharine’s
spirit released.
He understood, after all this was his child
too, but it had taken so long for the blessing of the child she now
carried. What of its life? The Doctor told them that Willomeina
needed rest, that she should distance herself from sickness of any
kind, she was fragile, and so was the pregnancy.
*
Willomeina’s
mind and body fought against her. Lightning surged
and the wind tore open the shutters causing the candles to flicker
wildly against the onslaught of rain. She tried to close the shutters
as Catharine began to cough fiercely, blood staining the cloth at her
lips.
"Mother"
She gasped her voice broken, consumed in pain. "Please,
do not try your time with me, I am forsaken."
Willomeina’s eyes were red rimmed, her
face stained with tears as she wiped the beaded sweat from
Catharine’s brow.
"You
waste your tears, Mother."
She reached out touching Willomeina’s rounded belly, "Love
her."
She gasped again, "Love
her."
Her eyes fluttered fleetingly as she let out one last exasperated
breath, and was gone.
Willomeina collapsed upon her, sobbing
penetratingly, her gentle woman Marian, now came to her; she too had
been crying, silently outside the room, with the Cecil’s five year
old boy, who had sprung out of bed with the lightning, and now
clutched her skirt.
Taking Willomeina by the shoulders, Marian
softly urged her to come away, but it was young Jonathan’s little
hands wrapped around her belly, which brought her back.
Defeated, Willomeina calmed herself, as the
boy helped Marian with his mother.
They found Jonathan senior, sitting by the
fire, a log book in his lap; it was used to record the life and
deaths of the family. He looked up at them, reading their faces. He
scribbled in the book a moment and then closed it solemnly.
"Then
it is finished."
He reached out his hand to his remaining family, beckoning to them.
Willomeina went to his side, little Jonathan embraced between them.
They needed
father’s strength now; moreover, his strength was what they would
get. Through all the months of Catharine’s sickness, he had never
waned, however, when he was alone at night and the house was quiet,
he would cry. As the man of the house, he did love his child, but it
was his duty to show strength, always.
Least he be thought woman like and weak.
This was the opinion of the men of his
century. In 1525, a man was the head of the house and must always act
accordingly. They stood silently together, as Marian went to attend
to Catharine’s body. The Priest would return in the morning, as
well as the doctor, and neither was to see her in such a state.
Marian would before then, bathe and clothe her properly. For Marian
this was a daunting task, and she herself was the same age as
Catharine, merely fourteen years. Saddened by all of this, for
promised Catharine was to a young man, Henri Vanden Meyre only months
before her sickness had taken hold. The thought that this match would
now, never take place broke her heart.
*
The months passed, Catharine was buried in
the Cecil family plot, and on June 21, 1525, Willomeina gave birth to
a healthy baby girl. To honor their dearly departed daughter they
named her Catharine Morrigan. Willomeina swore that this child would
have all the things that Catharine never did, all the things that she
could ever desire.
Over the years, Catharine’s father spared
no expense with her education. His wealth coming to him after years
of service in the kings army, he was for all purposes considered a
gentleman, although he maintained a hands on approach when the
harvest was near. She was instructed in all things proper and useful
to run a home and to the chagrin of Willomeina; Jonathan wanted his
daughter to understand all aspects of the family trade. From how the
sheep were tended to the trade routes which brought them the most
equity.
Catharine excelled here as in all of her
studies and was fluent in Latin and French by the age of ten. More
often than not translating many of her father’s merchant letters to
English for his Greek was lacking. These accomplishments however
wonderful to her instructors made her quite unpopular with the other
girls who struggled with even the most menial tasks, and Catharine
Morrigan often spent her little leisure time with whatever book she
could get her hands on.
The gossip would continue about her through
the years. Catharine appeared awkward growing up, her arms and legs
seemingly too long for her frame. Scolded was she when defending
herself from the teasing by her peers. In spite of this, no amount of
chastisement would break her of her spirit.
When her mother
would ask the Abbot for advice as to what to do, "This
child is in need of a good whipping,"
became the only answer provided. In spite of everything, this was not
to be. For although Catharine was scolded, her father would never
allow an unkind hand to touch her, lest a mark be left on her
delicate skin. The Abbot believed that it was in her naming that the
problem lay.
For she possessed two names, which was
mostly unheard of in this time and age. Having this feature, in
theory meant Catharine possessed two spirits, that of the deceased
sister and her own. This was what made her difficult.
Her father protested and decided that the
problem was not his beautiful child, rather the other children. He
accordingly pulled her from the classes and paid the instructors to
come to her. Catharine spent most of her time in the home with the
teachers and her family. Her brother Jonathan was away at University
in Cambridge and only came home to Glastonbury occasionally. When he
did, he spent all of his time with her, showing her what he was
learning as she absorbed the writings of Aristotle better than he
did. For he believed that, she should learn all that was possible
even if the other women of the time thought it useless.
"Morrigan."
He called her this, always believing their mother calling her
Catharine morbid. "You
should try to become better than those around you, never let your sex
be your limitation. Rather let it be your freedom."
This would make her smile, his believing
she should be more, that she was capable of it.
Until this time, in her fourteenth year,
her world began to change. It was now 1537, and Jonathan had been
away nearly a year. He came home and visited with her briefly, before
going to their mother and father. He had come home to ask for their
blessing, as it was customary for those who were a long time from
home, for he had a mind to marry.
While visiting friends in Bristol, he had
met a woman named Meagan, from a wealthy Irish family. He had already
approached her family and now wished to announce it to his own.
*
"Father?"
Jonathan stood before the fireplace facing him, and wrung his hands
nervously, unsure of the reaction he was about to receive. It had
only been moments since he made his announcement and his father sat
silently staring into the fire.
"Father?"
His father raised a hand silencing him once
more, and now turned to look upon him for the first time, his face
veiled in quiet contemptible fury.
"I
see you not in nearly a year,"
His voice was low as smoke from his pipe ebbed from his lips like a
great dragon as he spoke. "You
enter to tell me you are to be married. Should I be amused?"
"I
thought-"
"And
to a Celt!"
He slammed his fist on the oak chair cracking it, "Not
my
son!"
"Jonathan!"
Willomeina gasped, "Let
him speak."
She pleaded.
"Quiet
Woman!"
He stood now eye-to-eye with his son. "Tell
me again why I should not throw you from my house?"
Jonathan stood sound, staring his father in
the face.
"No
words? You are not the man I thought you to be."
"I
am not you."
He stiffened; this action of pride was worthy of a lash.
But no lash would come.
Willomeina now
stood between them, "Hear
him out Jonathan,"
She looked to her husband her cerulean eyes, misted with tears.
He stood back, the look on Willomeina’s
face softening him.
"Now
both of you, please, sit."
She motioned to the chairs by the fire.
They both sat down not looking at one
another, not speaking a word. Willomeina stood waiting for one of
them to speak.
Nothing.
She dragged a stool between them, the
effort wearing her down.
Her son looked at her; she was no longer
the flower of youth he remembered. Her dark obsidian hair, which once
glistened like polished glass was now dull and streaked with the
signs of her age.
With the fire
dancing, playing on the shadows of her rounded cheeks, he glimpsed
the fine lines that now extended from her beautiful eyes. In that
instance when she looked at him, he saw that of a broken spirit, how
he longed to take her away from him.
'The one who took it from her?' He thought.
She took a deep
breath, "Jon,
your father..."
"Do
not speak for me."
"I
will if you are to choose haste words and actions. Jonathan, I have
watched you for many years now show no interest in our
son, claiming he should think for himself. Yet now when he comes to
us and tells us of a decision he
has made, you choose to rave."
She shook her head in disgust. "And
you, Jon, you come to tell us you are going to marry, and yet this is
the first that even I
have heard of a woman. That, I do not understand. I want to know who
she is. What is her family like that they would agree to such a
marriage with out first a meeting with us?"
"I"
He looked to his father."
"Go
on then, speak boy,"
He muttered.
"I've
spoken with Meagan's parents. They have taken a fancy to me, Mother,
they believe Meagan and I to be a good match, and they will not give
their final blessing until they have met the two of you, hence my
coming home."
"So
you would have married her already, had they only agreed?"
His father huffed. "Marry
the wench then."
"Jon,
your Father only means-"
"Mother
I know what he means. He has no use for the Irish people; he believes
them to all be heathens, and heretics. But The Kilkenny's are a good
family, well established in London, and she brings with her a
handsome dowry."
He leaned toward his father now, "Beg
you, put aside your contempt and do for me what you have never done
before, trust my judgment. Father, I would never do anything to
tarnish the fine name you bestowed unto me. I am my Father’s son,
though I am not my Father."
He sat looking at them both, unsure of how it would turn out.
The silence that fell between them all was
maddening. As his mother and Father sat looking at each other, not a
word exchanged, then Jon saw his father squeeze his mother's hand.
She turned to
Jon. "When
shall this meeting take place?"
Jon’s heart eased, the silence was broken
and the decision made, they would meet Meagan's Family.
"On
Thursday next. I thought that would give each of you time to meet
Meagan before hand."
"When
will I see this child?"
His father finally spoke.
"She
is here in town, out in the coach actually."
Jon smiled patiently.
"Go
fetch her then."
He answered stifled.
Willomeina stood to go with Jon, taking him
by the arm they walked down the hall to the door.
"You
had her in the coach? How presumptuous of you."
She smiled.
"I
had faith in you,
Mother."
He kissed her cheek, grasping the latch of the door.
"Wait."
She clasped his hand.
He stopped
watching her as she smoothed out the creases in her dress,
straightened out her bodice and fussed with her hair. "Mother,
you're beautiful."
He grinned, planting a kiss on her cheek as he opened the door.
The coachman who tended the horses turned
seeing them. He hurried to the door, opened it, and helped the woman
inside the coach.
Her hair reflected copper in the sun light
as it toppled out from beneath her bonnet, the coachman catching it
as she stepped down.
She let out a
genuine laugh. "So
sorry."
She giggled her accent a mixture of Irish and English, yet it was
velvety smooth. She wore a baby blue satin dress, the bodice trimmed
in pale blush pink with tiny white flowers. She stood up looking to
Jon and Willomeina.
"Hello."
Her face beamed as she walked up to them. "I’m
Meagan Kilkenny."
She curtsied, as Jon came to her side. "Jon
has spoken highly of you."
"Has
he? Come in, please."
Willomeina wrapped her arm around the two of them as they entered the
house.
*
Meagan's demeanor impressed Willomeina and
Jonathan; rather Jonathan was impressed by her dowry. It was not that
he was a greedy man, far from it; it was that he felt a woman should
bring something to a marriage. Willomeina, had come with a handsome
dowry upon their marriage arrangement, and although they had hoped to
marry Jonathan well, it seemed he had found himself an even match in
Meagan. She was intelligent, kind and above all encouraged him in his
studies. Of course it helped that the Kilkenny family was protestant,
and would help solidify Jonathan during this time of Reformation.
*
The meeting with the Kilkenny’s went on
with out a hitch and Catharine was finally allowed to meet Meagan,
for when she had come to the house prior, Marian had kept Catharine
in her room. The Kilkenny's were pleased with Catharine, knowing
Meagan had always wanted a sister, and they thought that Catharine
was perfect; Catharine however was not as thrilled.
Since the announcement of the impending
wedding, Jon had been home more often, but did not concern himself
with her it seemed. The mutual decision was made that the wedding
would take place after Jon's education and a one-year internship in
The Kilkenny Law Office in Bristol.
*
Two years passed; Jon finished his
schooling and took the position at his soon to be Father-in-Law's
firm and the preparations for the wedding were made.
With the entire goings on, Catharine was
not seeing much of Jon. This made her contempt for Meagan worsen; she
felt that Meagan was taking Jon away from her. Yet, her mother
believed in the end, this would bring them all together some how.
Catharine was not so sure. She did hope,
however that once this wedding was over her life would level off and
go back to normal. That did not matter though, for this day she was
to meet Jon at the tailor. He had been in Bristol for a year and had
not seen her. She arrived early with Marian, it was the first time
this spring she had left the confines of her family's property. Over
the long winter, Catharine had grown into her features and when Jon
entered the shop, he did not recognize her all at once.
The dress she wore fit her newly acquired
frame, showing the change in her from boyish to the full embodiment
of womanhood, he could see that she had truly inherited their
fathers’ height, as he had, making her all of five ten, quite tall
for a woman of the period. Her raven black hair was lustrous and full
with a cascade of curls, and although pulled back by her bonnet, it
illuminated her fair skin no less. In a time when the women began to
powder their faces, she had not the need. Jon stood in the doorway
watching her read a book oblivious to the tailor, Monsieur Vanden
Meyre, who hemmed her dress.
"Morrigan?"
She looked up,
her hypnotic green eyes, catching his in the mirror. "Jonathan!"
She threw her book to Marian and gathering her skirts, hurried down
from the pedestal on which she stood.
"Mademoiselle!"
Monsieur Vanden Meyre protested as she pulled from him, embracing her
brother, kissing his mouth gently.
"I
have missed you, sister, though I almost did not recognize you."
He laughed embracing her tightly again. "Oh!
I have so much wanted to see you."
"Then
you should have."
Monsieur Vanden
Meyre cleared his throat impatiently. "Mademoiselle
Cecil? May we ever finish that dress? You’re Mother-"
"Alright"
Catharine dragged the word as she huffed and went back to her place
before the mirror.
"So
my dear Jonathan why are you late?"
She smiled.
"The
coachman took a wrong turn last night putting us off schedule."
He looked to his sister, "Speaking
of mother, where is she? I thought she would be here with you."
"Father
tore a shirt; you know how she takes pride in that."
"Like
Queen Katharine, always."
Monsieur Vanden
Meyre nodded his head, "A
woman should care for her husband, but I fear your mother may well
put me out of business... Robert! Mademoiselle Cecil is waiting."
He laughed. "The
boy should be out momentarily."
"Fine."
Jon turned his attentions to his sister once more. "Morrigan,
how have you been this last year?"
He tugged at the tendrils of her hair playfully.
"Quite
well actually, but I do not want to talk of me. Tell me, Brother, how
is Bristol? And when may I come to visit you there?"
He sighed,
"Bristol
is beautiful, the busy streets and shops that go on for as far as one
has mind to walk. Yet the real beauty is here, not beyond this
village, why would you ever want to leave, when you have all you
could ever want at your fingertips?"
"Boredom."
She answered her voice defeated, her mind knowing he would never
understand.
She stood looking
at him reflected in the mirror. 'This
can not be my brother’ she
thought, as Robert came from the back of the shop.
He was a handsome man of twenty. Dark hair
and dark eyes, full of mischief it seemed. His presence pleased her,
straitening her posture she smiled as he came in to view.
"Mademoiselle’s
garment."
Presenting the layers of burgundy fabric as well as farthingale to
his father, a swaggering smile on his lips as his eyes met
Catharine’s.
"What
do you think of Robert's work?"
Jon asked her.
"Lovely."
She answered, trying to appear unimpressed although an affectionate
smile was beginning to waltz across her lips.
Robert returned
the reflection, bringing a flush to her cheeks. "Henri
should be back momentarily with the proper cording, I had not the
color and he went to fetch it."
Their eyes were in their natural habitat,
upon one another, the flirtation unnoticed by most, except Marian who
would never speak of it, but saw it often, and Jonathan who of course
was not so naive.
Their stare was broken by Henri’s
entrance.
*
Henri was the eldest son, the one who would
take over the shop when the time came. At the age of thirty-three, he
was however growing impatient with their fathers’ reluctance to
retire. He had plans and the favor of every woman in town, yet,
Catharine mystified him, for all of his efforts to please her went
unnoticed. While this would have discouraged another, it only made
him want her more. He would make her understand his intentions. But
it was he who did not understand, for with all of Catharine’s
learning, in her naivety she did not seem to see or understand his
advancements as other women did.
With her, he seemed not a doter, but rather
a comical figure. She did like him, he amused her, but that was all.
"Hello
Jonathan,"
He nodded, walking past him to Robert who stood by their father.
"Did
you get it?"
Robert asked.
"Actually
I got something better instead of the cream ribbon which disappears
within the bodice I acquired this forest green cord, it will make it
more beautiful."
He smiled handing it to Robert.
"You
may be right, I'll get the bodice, and we will see."
He looked to Catharine, "If
that would please you."
Catharine nodded in compliance and Robert
went to the back of the shop for the rest of the dress.
Catharine went back to her book, Marian
having returned it, as Henri walked over to her.
"How
are you my lady?"
He smiled watching her read.
"Fine."
She answered without an upward glance.
"Whenever
I see you,"
He tilted the book; "Your
nose is always behind a stack of pages."
He mused.
"I
enjoy it."
She snapped, pulling away, "Besides,
books don't talk back."
She mumbled turning the page. "I'm
almost done with the chapter now leave me to it."
Jon laughed shaking his head.
"Catharine!
Don't be rude."
Marian protested.
Catharine lifted
her hand in jest, "So
now I can not be honest?"
Turning, she saw the defeat in Henri's face.
"I'm
sorry Henri,"
She drew out her words condescendingly, and then regaining her
composure, slipped the book on to the table beside her.
"You
know I jest, don't be angry."
She smiled sweetly as she finished.
With a sheepish smile, Henri tilted his
head as she gently touched his face.
"Don't
let her kid you, Henri, she reads in her sleep."
Jon laughed, "But
that's my girl."
He winked at Catharine.
"Ha-
Ha-."
She said coldly.
Monsieur Vanden Meyre smiled, as he
finished the last few stitches on the hem of her dress.
"Henri
let’s you and I, go help your brother prepare the dressing room for
Lady Catharine."
Henri nodded to his father, helping him to
his feet; they promptly went to Robert's aid.
"You
do not realize the power you have over them, it’s..."
Jon huffed as he helped Catharine off the pedestal. "Dangerous."
"Meaning
what?"
"They
both dote upon you, yet you see it not."
Catharine smiled
brazenly. "Don't
I?"
"You
Fiend. Do you care nothing of them?"
"Perhaps."
Monsieur Vanden
Meyre called to her, "My
Lady, we are ready."
Catharine flashed a roguish smile as she
and Marian disappeared behind the curtain.
Jon sat in a
satin chair, "A
world of trouble that one,"
He laughed to himself.
*
Monsieur Vanden Meyre stood beside the
dressing room door holding the rest of Catharine's gown.
Taking it from his out stretched hands, she
smiled.
"Why
the weight?"
Marian asked.
"I-
we, thought Catharine would benefit from this new design."
Robert answered, "It
is a Vertugadin Tambour, err... Tambourine Farthingale, it is less
bulky, and covered by these beautiful flounces, t will give a lovely
shape and be more comfortable with the stay. "
Catharine took the dress and went to work
putting it on before Marian could protest further.
Monsieur Vanden Meyre wrung his hands
nervously.
Moments later she came out, Monsieur Vanden
Meyre let out a contented sigh.
"Beautiful."
He laughed clasping his hands with joy. "Come
let's see if your brother approves."
*
The three men were still in the front,
laughing and talking of old times. They fell silent as she came out
to them.
"Father."
Henri broke the silence. "You've
out done yourself."
"You
look beautiful, sister, very grownup."
he walked to her, "But."
he turned her around and began to pull the pins from her hair.
"Jon?
What are you doing?"
She laughed, as he tossed the pins to Robert who was trying
frantically to catch them, her hair falling down around Jon’s
hands. "I
think you should wear it down like this."
He pulled the sides of her hair back
braiding it straight down, leaving the rest of her hair free, the
curls intact, and falling at her waist. Tying the ends of her braid
with a bit of fabric, he turned her to himself, smiling, now
satisfied with what he saw, he stepped aside so all could see.
She blushed as they all nodded and said
things of approval, the white of her chest growing pink, casting the
shade over her now impish smile.
"You
look stunning."
Robert whispered. "But
Father, isn't something missing?"
"Yes
the overskirt, I have it here."
Monsieur Vanden Meyre handed it to Robert.
It was a deep red like mulled wine, split
in the front to show the layers of black silk that made up the bulk
of the dresses vast width a stark and beautiful contrast to the crème
stay which held her firm breasts down against her thin frame.
Robert secured it around her, breathing in
the smell of her hair.
'Roses?’
he thought. He breathed again; 'yes'
he pushed the hair from her back, his warm hands grazing her bare
shoulder blades as he placed her hair over her shoulder. His touch
sent a shiver through her body, causing her to stiffen a little; no
one noticed as they talked amongst themselves, though Robert felt it.
"Excuse
me,"
he whispered softly, his breath warm against her ear, sending another
quiet tremor through her as he smoothed the dress.
"There,
now it's complete."
He faced her pushing her hair back beyond her shoulders.
"Perfect."
Catharine smiled as he fussed with her hair.
For him this was
gratifying, to be so near to her, to touch her softly scented skin,
it was his job, to fuss over her and no one could protest to his
attentions. These moments were why he stayed, he had been given the
opportunity to sail abroad, to learn the merchant routs, but he did
not want to leave her.
"I
think Meagan has competition."
Jonathan smiled kissing her cheek. "You
look radiant."
Robert busied himself now with the fabric
of the overlay, smoothing it out over her hips. She smiled, as he
crouched down in front of her.
"Thank
you, its beautiful Robert."
"It
was our pleasure."
He kissed her hand softly, then the shop door opened and Willomeina,
Catharine's mother entered. Seeing this gesture caused a disdainful
look to cross her face.
"Mother."
She pulled her hand from Robert, who stood quickly. "I
thought you weren't coming."
"Seems
I've arrived just in time,"
She shot Robert a sideways glance. Then her features softened, as she
finally looked at Catharine, "You
look lovely, Catharine Morrigan."
She always called her that now. "It
was after all, her name."
She would answer when asked.
For her daughter
was not her lost Catharine. She was someone…something…
different and did not act at all like her namesake. By fifteen, her
lost child was going to be married, but that child was gone. This
child did not seem to have any interest in those things, so she
thought. Then what was this she had witnessed a moment ago?
She let it pass.
For now.
"Thank
you Mother."
Catharine answered obediently.
Willomeina
nodded, "Go
change, we have much to do."
She turned to her son. "Jonathan,"
she hugged him tightly, as Marian took Catharine to change.
Looking at him,
her face was solemn. "Your
father wants to see you so,"
She ran her fingers through his well-trimmed hair and down his shaven
face. "Married...
My little boy."
She spoke, though not to him, it seemed more so to her self.
Convincing her self-maybe, as she looked in the mirror.
"By
weeks end, if the rains stay."
He answered looking to the mirror as well.
"Am
I so old?"
She whispered.
"You’re
Beautiful."
He kissed her cheek.
There was no one to witness this tender
moment between Mother and son. Robert attended a man who came in
behind Willomeina. Monsieur Vanden Meyre and Henri waited for the
pieces of the dress from Catharine as they came over or through the
door.
"Married."
She laughed quietly.
"Yes,
now we need to get Morrigan a gentleman."
He smiled as she picked lint off his lapel.
She frowned. "I
do not think she'll ever marry.
"She
will."
He looked to Robert.
"No."
Seeing the
disapproving frown on her face when Robert returned unsettled him,
"Mother?"
He whispered, uncomfortable.
"I
don't like the way that
one looks
at Catharine Morrigan."
She whispered back.
Before Jonathan could question further,
Catharine appeared, back in her usual overly restrictive dress, her
hair pulled back beneath the bonnet once more.
"This
is not the time nor the place."
Willomeina whispered. "Come
now, Marian, you'll procure the packages and have settled with the
Vanden Meyre’s?"
"Yes
Madame, right away."
a Rafflecopter giveaway
