SWEET CREATURE [ Ramsay Bolton ]

CHAPTER EIGHT

     Throughout dinner, Katherine remains uncharacteristically silent. The dynamics of Esme and Ramsay's relationship have changed, everyone can sense it. The servants shuffle nervously around the room, their hearts sinking as they realize the lady's disillusionment has finally dissipated. Surely, she must now realize what a monster the absent lord's bastard is. Surely, she now understands the trap she has fallen into.

     However, behind Katherine's dark eyes is a sharp mind. It isn't fear coursing through her body but barely contained eagerness. Her prey is just within reach and it takes every ounce of her self control not to pounce.

  He looks too pleased with himself as he chomps down merrily on his dinner, humming an irritating tune between bites. The moment it becomes acceptable to do so, Katherine excuses herself from the table and hastily removes herself from his company. She needs to think, she needs to plan. How can she best turn the situation around? It will be incredibly easy to do so, but she was always one to enjoy a flair of drama.

     Almost immediately upon leaving the supper table, she spies Darren's reproachful look.

    "Katherine..." he starts, stepping out of the shadows. She easily recognizes the admonishing tone in Darren's voice. Already previously irritated from her time with Ramsay, she doesn't spare Darren another glance and moves dismissively past him.

     "Please, no more of this conversation, Darren," she sighs as he falls back behind her. When she locks herself in her room, the maids see no more of her for the rest of the evening. They wonder how badly Ramsay hurt her, if she is yet a ruined lady. Some sneer at her closed door; such a family should have known better than to make a deal with the Boltons. Such a girl should have never come.

     . . .

     The two of them sleep easily through the night and Darren finds time during the following day to lend his counsel. Over the time spent at the Dreadfort and under the hospitality of such a notorious family, Darren has grown even more bold around Katherine. He finds the courage to corner her as she works on her stitching under a large barren tree.

     "I only mean to remind you," he says at her demand that he leave her be. "You should not grow too comfortable with this game you're playing." He leans his weight against the tree and observes the fortress that protects some of the most hated people in the North. "I'm beginning to understand that Ramsay Snow is not a man to be toyed with. He's quite... volatile."

     "Volatile," Katherine murmurs, taking great care that she not mess up her perfect stitch. She focuses a moment longer before she looks up and smiles. "What a fantastic word to describe him as. Would you like to know what he threatened to do to me? He recently delighted in telling me how it would please him to cut my throat." Shaking her head, she looks back down at the needle in her hands. "Do you know what would happen if I bled to death?"

  Darren looks down at her warily as she sets the stitch down and watches in horror as she uses her newly free hand to drag the needle across her soft palm. It must be a deep cut; blood pools and drips past her fingers until the flow begins to wane. Her thumb brushes across her now healed palm and she whispers, "I would wake back up."

     The sight makes his stomach churn. Only moments before she had been a lady peacefully practicing a harmless activity suitable for a person of gentle birth. Now she sits with blood stained fingers and a coy grin.

     "Not if he feeds you to those bloody hounds of his," Darren snaps without thinking. "You swore to put an end to this charade the moment Ramsay showed his true colors! Do you ever intend to-"

     "Your worry is much appreciated, Darren," she cuts him off coolly. She reaches up for him and grips his hand and he feels the warm blood smear against his skin. With a gentle tug, she pulls him down to sit beside her on the ground. "Though unwarranted," she continues, leaning sweetly against him to rest against his side and ignoring how he tenses at her touch.

     "I've come across men far worse than Ramsay," she says as if trying to comfort Darren's troubled mind. "There are men that make him appear nothing more than a stubborn child. Men who are far more powerful."

     "Katherine..." His frustration grows as she once again reaches for his hand. It seems kind of her but he finally understands her, knows how she enjoys getting under his skin.

     "I've been running for a long time, Darren," she tells him and he thinks it's the most honesty he's ever had from her. Pressing her cold cheek against his shoulder, she looks up at the patches of white sky she catches between the branches. "I've grown tired of running."

     "What are you really doing here, Katherine?" Tilting his head towards her, he gradually grows more comfortable and his nose brushes against her hairline.

     "Currently, I'm about to rid myself of the thorn in my side." Teasingly pecking the corner of his mouth, she stands and leaves him scowling alone on the ground. "We'll talk again soon, darling."

     Bracing his arms on his bent knees, he watches her walk away and disappear back into the fort. 

     . . .

     The screams of men echo throughout the castle as blood runs down the halls. When Ramsay returns from his hunt, he follows the dead bodies and, like a crumb trail, they lead him to his bedchamber. With his crossbow ready to shoot in his hands and propped against his shoulder, he toes the already open door further in and steps into the room. He pays the puddles of blood no mind; his attention is stolen by the perfectly unharmed woman sitting at his desk.

     He's not sure what he expected to find. His family has many enemies, perhaps this was a retaliation from another. It must have taken a hoard of men to slay all of his own. Surely, they have fled after such a battle. And yet, Esme Ambrose sits comfortably in his room, calm as he had ever seen her.

     Her hair looks a mess and tumbles over her shoulders. The rest of her is in a state as well. Her gown lays crumpled on the ground and he quickly notices that she has stripped down to nothing but her shift. Her face, he sees it's reflection in the glass she peers into as she primly applies rouge. She looks nothing like a girl who has witnessed a massacre.

     "I'm sorry I left such a mess, Ramsay," she tells him. "I'm afraid I got a bit carried away."

     He grips the crossbow tighter, aims it directly at her.

     "You killed my men?" He humors her with the question, the tone of his voice betraying him.

     "You doubt me but it wasn't very hard." She waves a hand at the nearby chair, motioning for him to sit. "Do make yourself comfortable. These are your private quarters, after all." Looking back at him when he doesn't oblige, she scoffs at the weapon in his hands. "Seven hells! Put that thing away before you hurt someone."