Day 2. Remembering the pain...

As I looked out the window of my room I thought about when I was first captured.

“Desida... We know that you loved your husband dearly, but he wouldn’t have wanted you to wallow in the house for the rest of your days,” Said Hugh.

I looked at my brother and thought of his luck. His wife who was in her last month of pregnancy was probably eagerly waiting for his return in their London home. Since I was 29, I was considered not only a bitter old widow- but a spinster at that; so I knew I wouldn’t be wanted. My beauty alone would not be enough for me to catch another husband. Smothering my heartfelt sigh I turned from my station and eyed my younger brother.

“Leave me Hugh; you have your wife and child – let me wallow in my own pain...”

My brother walked out to me and said, “Desi,” (he likely thought using my childhood name would soften the blow) “I know how you feel – but Arthur wouldn’t have wanted you to–”. I whipped my head around and stared accusing eyes at the only person who had ever truly known about my less-than-perfect relationship with my husband. Stalking towards him I poked him in the chest with a long yet skinny finger.

“You- know -nothing – about- my- relationship,” between each word was sharp jab at his chest. Spitting at his feet I said, “You have been a pampered brat all your damn life, you wouldn’t know pain and heartache if it bit you in your damn ass!”

That was when we heard the horses and soldiers come in. Before either of us could anticipate a move, I was being carried out of my parlor, by a man with dark red hair. I looked back at my brother just in time to see him drop to his knees after he was viciously stabbed in his stomach. Screaming out; I began to kick at my captor, only to have him back-hand me. My eyes started to blank, and soon I felt myself drift out of consciousness...

I looked out my window again, and made myself a promise; the man who killed my brother was going to regret his very existence.

Day 1. Reliving The Past.

As I sat out my window, I thought about what a good life I had. My husband never wandered (at least of I was aware) we lived peacefully, and we were not in debt. Pssht. Shows how much I knew right?
I stood up abruptly and looked around my room, feeling nervous. I looked at my mirror, and for the first time in a decade, smiled at what I saw. My hair was long and flowing down to my knees – not having been cut in over a year. My soft green eyes had gained back some of their lustre, and my eyelashes were long. As I perused myself, I heard the steps creaking.
Rushing back to my post at the table, I hurriedly hid my books, and tried to appear calm. As the door opened slowly, I looked into the mirror, and was pleased with what I saw.
Gone was the young girl who was forced to marry a man for her mothers’ safety. In her place was a calm, collected widow.

----~~----

I turned when I felt his presence beside me. My hair whipped around and I stared into his cold eyes. His chiselled features were by no way beautiful, but he reminded me off somebody. He eyed me slowly, and I felt heat all over my body. Squirming, I looked at my dainty hands, and suddenly found great interest in my nails. When I finally had the courage to look at him, I noticed his pained expression. Before I could say anything though, it was gone; replaced with coldness that even I couldn’t understand.
Me- who has been hidden in this cold hell for over 11 months, didn’t have that coldness. Me- who had to attend my own husband’s funeral – knowing his body was not in his casket. Me- who had to watch as my own brother was killed, trying to protect me; didn’t have that coldness. Suddenly raking sobs took over me. For the first time in almost a year, I cried. I cried for my husband, my brother, but mostly for myself. I cried knowing that no one was looking for me. My husband had no title, meaning no land, no one else but me to mourn his death. But worse, there was no one to mourn the loss of me, suddenly I found myself wrapped in my captors arms. He whispered nothingness in my ears, much like what my husband used to do as I watched an opera. A sudden pain appeared in my chest. The tears dropped even harder until I found that the pain was dimming. I looked into my captor’s eyes and was shocked by what I saw. Instead of pity, or even the previous cold look, I saw something far scarier. I saw love.