✔ Mrs Mandray

46. Village Pyres

Nesta

The village pyres seemed larger and more domineering this year. She had found herself following the crowds who were shuffling in small stalls from the outer town for the celebration. It was the one time in the year when this village resembled something of a community.

She had quickly found the Mandray family, her sister's family, huddled around a table laden with large sheets of dirty paper. Plans no doubt for the festival though she wondered why they had written them down this year. Perhaps Tomas' little brain couldn't comprehend his father's orders anymore, or maybe that old Grandfather of theirs had finally lost his mind.

Though it was of little importance to her considering the one 'Mandray' she had come to see was nowhere to be found.

"Where is he?" She demanded, not bothering to hide her anger as she glared at Mr Mandray. "Isabella asked me to collect Oliver."

The man sneered at her. She snarled back.

"Why would that be any concern of mine." His head tilted, anger being reigned in for something more subdued, more frightening.

She straightened her spine. "He is your grandson."

"Is he?" He mulls over his words and icy fear draws goosebumps along Nesta's skin. Tomas Mandray's father continues to watch her. There was not a single emotion behind those soulless eyes. If his son was abusive and his father a creep then Nesta was sure what kind of monstrosity this male before her was. "I rather thought he was more suited to warmer climates."

Nesta gave him a saccharine smile that felt more like a baring of teeth.

"Yes, you would know plenty about the warmer climates. I heard you had a taste for southern girls." The darkness that clouded his eyes had her swallowing back her words. Resolve failing as the male did nothing but stare at her.

Mr Mandray remained so still, so silent she thought he could have been dead. He just stood there, leant back against the table as the workers milled around them while they remained frozen in time.

"Now where did you hear a thing like that, hmm?" He whispers, the words so soft that she flinches. His mouth curls up to one side before sinking back down into that flat expression. "Folk round here no not to speak of such things. It's impolite... not– proper." His gaze drags across her skin and Nesta feels her stomach turn heavy and queasy. "You would know all about being a refined young lady wouldn't you, Nesta Archeron."

Her name felt like a death threat on his lips and this time his mouth curled into a savage smile that she stepped back. He pushed off the table, the sharp movement causing her to flinch.

"Your mother certainly knew the virtues of being such a genteel and delicate creature." His head cocked to the side. "Perhaps you've taken after her in more ways than one."

He lifts a hand to her face and she curls to the side, eyes clenching shut as she trembles in fear. A soft laugh prickles along her skin. She jerks back but the hand twirling a piece of fallen hair from her bun holds her in place.

Nesta can feel him twirl the strands of hair around his fingers. He's so close to her that she can feel the heat of his fingers branding her cheek. She quivers, waiting for him to let her go.

But he doesn't.

The male leans closer, hot breath brushing against her neck and chest as he leans down to her ear. Her bladder turns heavy with fear but Mr Mandray holds steady against her neck. As if he were to kiss her there, no more than a sensual lover or a stalking beast threatening to rip her throat out.

"The boy is following his Father." The words are bitter and cruel and Nesta flinches again, bile rising in her throat. He pulls back and cool air fills the space between them. Nesta releases a shuddering breath, opening her eyes to the cold light of winter.