Maud: the Daughter of the Count of Nocturne

Chapter 8: True Lineage

      Margaret woke up down in the hull of the ship, beside Morik's horse. She grunted as she sat up and gingerly touched the bandages wrapped around her head. It was extremely dark and she had to squint in order to see her surroundings. She could just barely see the steps leading up to the deck and she crawled over to it, pulling herself up them and into the sunlight. the light momentarily blinded her and she brought her arm up to shield her face from the rays.

     Philomena saw her and slowly approached, reaching down to help her. "Are you alright?" She kept her voice low and gentle, her eyes filled with concern. She lightly laid her hand on Margaret's shoulder, planning on pulling her to her feet.

Margaret jerked herself away from Philomena, her pride getting in the way. "I'm fine," she snapped. She hauled herself to her feet and stumbled to the railing of the ship. She looked out over the water and tried to figure out which direction they were travelling in but failed.

Philomena came to stand next to her, clean bandages in her hand. "We're heading to Ireland, by the way." She glanced at Margaret before looking out over the sea. "It's odd, isn't it?"

Margaret turned and looked up at her. "What do you mean?"

"That they treat me kindly but they treat you no better than a servant."

Margaret looked down at her boots. "I am my brother's squire. I expect Avery to treat me the way he does."

Philomena gave her a serious look. "No you don't. It bothers you. It pains you to watch your brother do nothing while Mauldron bellows orders at everyone." She lightly touched Margaret's shoulder. "Would you like to know why?"

"Why what?" Margaret's eyes never left the ground.

"Why they treat us the way they do."

Margaret rolled her eyes. "And how would you know why they treat us the way they do, hmm?" She shook her hair out of her eyes. It had been a poor decision on her part, for it made her dizzy and she rocked back on her heels for a moment, ready to fall. Philomena grabbed her arm and pulled her back to the rail, keeping her on her feet.

"It's our lineage," Philomena said as she released her grip on Margaret's arm. She brushed her curls back and glanced across the deck at Avery, who's back was to the women.

"What do you mean it's our lineage," Margaret asked, her voice no more than a whisper. Her hand automatically went up and played with the charm hanging around her neck, a small trinket given to her by her mother.

Philomena noticed the charm and smiled. "It's all about who our father's were. Do you know who yours was?" Savannah already knew the answer but she asked it anyway.

"No. My mother never told me. I just assumed my father was the same as Morik."

Philomena glanced at Avery once again, lowering her voice even more. Her voice shook with nerves and her knuckles were white against the dark wood of the railing. "My father was Maxmillian, who was actually allied with Avery. The only reason they killed him was because his squire opposed whatever they are up to."

Margaret watched her intently, only breaking eye contact to glance back at Mauldron as well, making sure he hadn't heard. "And who was my father?" She feared the answer. Who could it possibly be and why would he be the reason even her own brother would treat her unfairly?

Philomena sighed and gestured at the charm in Margaret's fingers. "There are two pieces to that charm; your's and your sister's." She lowered her voice to a low whisper. "Margaret, you are one of the daughters of Sir Amadeo."

Margaret released the charm and let it fall back against her chest. She struggled to take in what Philomena had just told her and found it impossible. There was no way she was Amadeo's child. She was a Saxon, pure blood. Her mother had said so herself. She stared, unseeing, at Philomena for a long while before finding her tongue. "You lie," she growled. "There is no way, even in hell, that i am the daughter of that Italian scum." The glare she shot Philomena could have burned a hole through the toughest armour.

Philomena sighed. "Believe what you wish, but what i say is the truth. I have no reason to lie." She gestured at Margaret's bandages. "If you will not believe me, will you at least let me change the dressings around your wound?"

Margaret glared at her for a moment longer before sighing and looking back out over the water. "Go ahead," she muttered. Her hand went back to the charm as Philomena unwrapped her head. She turned the charm over in her fingers, watching as the light reflected off the emerald. She traced the edge, her nail catching on the jagged edge. What if Philomena is telling the truth, she thought. What if Maud really does have the other half of the stone and I've been living a lie all these years?

She looked across the deck and watched Morik as he cleaned his armour. She knew she should be the one doing the chores and caring for the equipment but didn't have the heart to face her brother. She found it painful to even look at him, the man who had cared for her until her true lineage came into light. I'll never be able to step foot in Saxony ever again. I'm the child of an enemy. I'm the child of an enemy fighting for an unknown cause.

Avery's voice broke through her thoughts. "Margaret, haul yourself back down into the hull and care for the horses," he barked, glaring at her from where he stood.

She glared back at him, all her hatred pouring out in a flood and washed across the deck towards him, ready to crush anything in its path. She planted her feet again and raised her chin in protest.

This time, the order came from Morik. "Margaret, do as you're told. Did you not learn your lesson back at the port?"

 Margaret glared at her brother for a moment before making a crude gesture at both him and Avery. She turned on her heel and marched below decks, knowing now that that was where she was most likely going to spend most of their voyage.

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