The Earl's Keeper

One - To Die

He was to die.

He could feel it, in his bones.

The time had come and he was ready. The Earl of Bischester lay perfectly still, as if already in his deathly casket. A wicked grin tweaked the stillness of his aged face. If it went all accordingly to his tremendous plan, the little village spitfire would be secure and safe within the confines of his county and these very walls. Yes, he was sure of it. He would do good on his promise to her father and have her live out her life off of the bountiful English countryside that she was to call home.

His son's opposition was of no consequence. Of that, he was definite. The boy had obliged thus far, albeit reluctantly and after he'd applied some sinful blackmail. He preferred to call it a 'one sided negotiation'. Yes, blackmail was a rather harsh term for it. Fatherly love fuelled his son, or at least that is what he told himself in deaths imminent embrace.

The heir to the title stood beside his father's bed. His heart was in turmoil from the sense of impending loss and the anger at the last wishes and actions of his dearly beloved father. How the man had the gall to be so wicked, he would never know. 

A woman entered the room. She sucked in a sharp breath, before hoisting her skirts up and dashing to his father's side. She dropped to her knees beside the bed and reached out to clutch his hand. His weak and cold fingers curled around her tan skin, a last act of physical affection as he could muster. It spoke volumes without a sound being needed.

She whispered in a tongue he could not understand, so soft was her voice, like the silky purr of a breeze on a midsummers eve. It infuriated him that she had the nerve to speak in a language other than the native one. It offended him. His jaw clenched in anger and his eyes flashed something wicked.

The woman looked up after a pregnant silence, her eyes caressing over his father in such a tender expression of love that it startled him. How could one not of blood or rank love his father so? How did his father obtain such a fierce emotion from this...this nobody? Most pressing of all - why did this nobody matter to his father so much? Why?

"M-Miah..." his voice croaked. A ghost of a smile flickering across his wrinkled face. Those laughter lines creasing in their familiar dents for the last time.

She whispered in his ear that she was here. His spare hands reached across the bed and his son moved forward to clasp it. "William..." The old man closed his eyes for the last time and felt the warmth in each hand of the two youths. The promise of life pulsing through their veins even as his own left.

The woman rested his hand against her forehead, her face covered from view. She let the tears run freely as she felt his cold fingers begin to turn icy. Death embracing him completely.

He breathed his last, and the Earl was no more.

***

William sat long after his father had moved onto the next world.

The woman left shortly after, her intention to assemble the town church to receive the Earl's funeral. He observed his father's face. His features stone still, never to move again. He could almost fool himself into thinking he was only sound asleep.

"Devious bastard." He muttered. Something akin to pride fluttering in his chest. His father was a wily old fool, and he had been until the very moment of his death. William loved him dearly and yet, the betrayal at robbing his freedom pulsed inside of him painfully. "Rest now, father." He uttered, before swiftly vacating the room.

***

There was no waiting for days, no chance to let the Earl's body rot. No, William saw to it that the funeral was held just before sundown. The procession quick and succinct. His father was a man of professionalism, he valued time. He wouldn't want a grandeur event to waste the very thing he had run out of.

As day turned to night and the creatures of darkness emerged while the day dwellers slept, the two new upholders of the title sat to sup.

The long dining table stretched almost endlessly before the young woman. She schooled her features into that of indifference. Secretly glad that she was at the opposite head to the table. There was no way on Gods green earth that she wanted to be sat less than ten meters from the new Earl. He drummed his fingers on the solid oak table, his eyes trained on her like a marksman. Narrowed with focus.

"Wife." He tested out the word, mumbling softly to himself.

Her head twitched sideways at the sound. He stopped breathing for a moment. Had she heard him? Surely not. His ears tipped red at the notion. Surely. Not.

Yes, she had.

She regained her composure and stared dead on at her plate. Father had wanted this, so it would be. She was not one to let him down. However his son chose to proceed was of no consequence to her.

Supper was a tremendously dull affair. Once they had both finished, she bowed her head and wordlessly excused herself.

That was another thing driving him insane. She hadn't uttered a single word to him in all the time he'd been acquainted with her. Which was all of two days. Today, the death of his father, and yesterday, his wedding to her.

It was driving him to the edge of his sanity. He hadn't even so much as heard the sound of her voice. Only her whispers to his father earlier, undecipherable and unintelligible as that was.

The dry humour of it all, she knew it was making him crazy - and she loved it.

~*~

AN: if you're enjoying the read so far, let me know by commenting which parts stand out to you, pls pls pleaseeeee!

Whether it's because you found it funny or sad or strange. I'd love to read your honest reactions.

Really motivates me to keep writing!

Votes are welcome too hehe ;)