Dead Tempted 1: Pomegranate Seeds

By R.M. Rayne

In England 1869, Lady Bronwen is murdered in a satanic ritual by twelve demon worshipers. She is sent to the Under-realm where she meets Thanatos, its handsome and charmingly demonic ruler who wants Bronwen as his eternal companion. When Bronwen refuses him, Thanatos makes the Lady a deal of her own. If she can track down all of her killers, he will release her from his possession. However, if she cannot resist his seduction, she will remain his forever.

Bronwen accepts the deal, trusting herself and her moral upbringing to endure Thanatos. But, as the identity of the twelve are revealed, it becomes clear to Bronwen that she alone values her life. She desperately tries to find something to stay alive for and is forced to question her conscience, religion, social standing and above all, her womanly desires for a man she believes is the devil.

• Language: English
• Publisher: R.M. Rayne
• Release date: Jun 9, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463126448

R.M. Rayne

R.M.Rayne met her husband in Winchester, England where they shared many a long walk up St. Catherine’s hill and overlooked the city. The Cathedral, Bishop’s Palace and the Itchen river that crawls through it has always sparked her imagination and is the setting of her novel Dead Tempted. She has always loved stories of the artful seduction of maidens and the old Greek myths as well as a strong female character defying the odds and slowly finding her own strengths. R.M.Rayne likes to add an element of honesty to her writing by experiencing all she can, from running barefoot through the woods and driving a horse and cart, to wearing a corset for a week and attending formal balls, she believes the best way to make fantasy a reality is to live it... as long as it remains legal!

Book preview

PROLOGUE

He stumbled on the cobbled path of his manor house garden, desperately looking around, but there was no one to help.

No one who could help.

He slipped on the ice and his knee hit the floor, the impact jarred his joint and shuddered up his leg, making it slightly numb, but it didn't stop him from protecting the little bundle in his arms.

He had a brief flicker of concern that the child might catch a chill in the mid-winter air, then blood dripped crimson roses onto the white frost and he remembered.

The man yelled at the night sky and the moon with its following of stars, cursing God and his cruelty.

‘He is not here to listen to you, Donovan.’ A voice hissed behind him. ‘Nor does he care.’

Donovan started and turned around, still on his knees and gripping his precious bundle too tightly.

Firelight leaked from the open doors of his large home, casting shadows on the stones and creating stars in the snowflakes that had begun to fall. The light did not reach the cloak of the midnight figure and it cast no shadow but itself. The thing was tall and wide with strength and somehow also gaunt and deathly, as if a breeze might knock him down but the weight of the world was no burden.

Donovan tried to focus his eyes on the creature. His vision was blurring through the water of his tears and it was easier to stare at the ground than upon the black hollow of the cloak where its face should have been.

You are him. The one they call master. Dominus. Donovan accused.

‘And you are he who denied me and refused my invitation to join my followers, Donovan Wintre.’

You offered me money and power I already have. I will not serve you.

‘Is that so? And what if I offered you something you no longer have. A life perhaps?’

Donovan looked down at the baby in his arms. Lifeless and cold.

What do you want? He asked the creature.

‘No, what is it you want?’ The demon’s voice held a thousand souls in one. He stepped closer to Donovan and his bundle, bringing with him the darkness of shadow and a cold to rival the surrounding ice.

Donovan reluctantly loosened his grip on the package so the creature could see it. He held out a long, black clawed nail and used it to pull out a silver crucifix from within the cloth. The cross skittered down the chain away from the hand that had revealed it.

Please, help us. Donovan pleaded as the faceless creature looked down at him. I will serve you, if you bring back my daughter.

‘Tell me, is the soul of one worth that of many others?’

Donovan’s mind hesitated where his heart hadn't. He looked down at the white and red cloth in his arms and his heart won his mind over.

I will find a way to make it so.

The creature laughed, making Donovan cringe. ‘We shall see.’

Flurries of snow followed the demon’s path into the Under-realm. White flakes hovered in the air around him as he strolled through the emptiness of the void towards a wriggling bundle on the floor.

The creature had returned to his natural human form; finding fingers and thumbs easier to pick up babies than talons and claws. He carefully gathered the bundle from the misty floor, perturbed to find it was not in the ordinary confinements of the Halfpoint.

The baby gurgled and sighed and kicked its legs and arms out, as babies do. The creature grimaced at the display but still found himself staring down at the tiny face of the child. It was a pretty little thing. Most newborns were discoloured and oddly shaped, but this one had eyes that captured him.

He wondered if those eyes would change as time went on. Evil did not discriminate when spreading its corruption; turning optimists to pessimist.

What are you? He asked the baby and poked a finger at it. The little thing grabbed the accusing finger and he could feel it do so. Not as he usually felt souls - as a human would another’s touch - he felt this child like a breeze on rosy cheeks. Real, but impossible to capture.

Unusual. The creature said and suddenly found it difficult to part with the child. What would this tiny thing be if left to grow to adulthood? He had no use for babies but the possessive sensation that was rising within him made him struggle to part with this soul. It was not an unpleasant feeling, only unfamiliar.

The demon decided then that he would uphold his bargain to Donovan and return his daughter’s soul, but only so that she might develop into something more. Something like him. And something he would later come to desire.

He returned them both to the living world.

Donovan was sobbing quietly when the creature blocked his light again.

The man looked from the black mass to the bundle hopefully. The little girl opened her blue eyes and stared up at the stars, then scrunched up her face and opened her mouth in a silent cry, her pink lips wrinkling.

What’s wrong? Donovan asked, suddenly panicked. She can’t breathe!

‘Give her a moment.’ The creature said, his voice distant.

Finally, the small thing took a ragged breath and the tears broke over the rim of her pretty, optimistic eyes as she wailed loudly. It was the most precious thing Donovan had ever heard. He pulled his coat around her and his own tears joined hers.

Thank you. Donovan sobbed.

‘Do not thank me yet.’ The creature said. ‘This can only be temporary. I need her back, Donovan.’

What?

‘I will gift her to you for twenty-five years, then, I want her returned to me.’

Donovan felt his hopes falling away as he had just received them back. He himself was still several years shy of twenty-five.

‘Do not look so concerned, Donovan. There are worse things. Like what will happen to your wife after this.’

Donovan shook his head. No, not that.

‘Return your daughter’s soul to me when I requested and I will keep your wife’s soul safe.’

Donovan looked down at the still wailing child. He had not grown to know her yet. Could he really repeat the events of the night, when the child was old enough to understand she was being murdered by her own father?

Is there nothing else to be done? Donovan asked quietly.

‘No.’ The creature replied. ‘Your wife cannot return from this sin. Taking life from the innocent cannot be undone. This is the choice.’

Donovan knew what he wanted. He wanted his wife to be safe and his daughter to be alive. Wasn’t all life only temporary anyway? Was twenty-five years enough? It was more than most people had and less than others. In exchange for an eternity of safety for his wife, it was more than enough.

I accept, Donovan said quietly, hanging his head in sorrow.

‘I thought you might.’ The creature replied, the hint of a smile in his voice.

And the mark? Donovan asked. He thought he heard a slight growl before a reply came.

‘We all have our scars.’

Not like this one, Donovan argued carefully, sensing the wraths displeasure, but he had pulled back the blanket wrappings of the hiccupping babe and seen the slices in her stomach remained, healed but still there.

‘There are worse things.’ The creature repeated with finality.

Light from the still open doorway reached Donovan’s face again and he knew the creature had gone. Donovan pulled his weary and stiff body off the cold floor; his pale brown hair was damp from the falling snow and his hazel eyes ringed with fatigue and sorrow.

{For the salvation of the wife, the husband’s servitude and leadership}

She has been blessed, we are grateful, Dominus.

Donovan turned to see his wife stood behind him. She was wearing a white nightgown, so covered in blood it stuck to her form tightly. Her nipples puckered from the cold and she still had a small stomach left from her pregnancy.

Donovan strode up to her, the crying baby still in his arms, then he struck his wife hard across the face with a closed fist. Her head whipped back and her lip split. Blood from the wound joined the blood from their daughter.

The baby stopped wailing at the sound the strike had made and the world was still for a sweet moment. Then Donovan pulled his wife to him and hugged her desperately. The bundle crushed between their bodies and the blood that covered the three of them.

Genesis

Et tenebrae erant super faciem abyssi...

{And darkness was upon the face of the deep}

I

{Good without evil is like light without darkness, which in turn is like righteousness without hope}

Lady Bronwen listened intently as the actors on the stage performed. Her father and future husband sat beside her in the theatre box, watching with disinterest. They were there for show only - to be seen, not to see others. Bronwen was the opposite. She deliberately sat in the shadows of the curtains, turned towards the stage as best she could be. It didn’t matter what the play was, she just enjoyed the escapism.

For a time, Bronwen could forget she was the daughter of Baron Donovan Wintre, the only heir to his expansive land and wealth and betrothed to Earl Kole Guild of county Surrey. Bronwen tried not to look at her future husband. He was only a little older than she was, something to be grateful for. Kole was attractive and courteous and intelligent, but she did not love him. Care for him, yes, sometimes deeply, but not love.

They had met at one of her father’s many parties, as had been planned. Bronwen had spent most of the evening by herself. She was used to it. She had very few friends. Her father had always discouraged any form of relationship with other people, his intimidating disapproval and almost aggressive manner towards anyone who so much as smiled at Bronwen had eventually forced her into an exile.

So, it had come as a shock to her when Lord Guild had strolled over and asked her to dance, neglecting introductions. She remembered glancing over at her father first and awaited his approving nod before she took Kole’s hand and allowed him to lead her to the centre of the floor.

Forgive my forward nature, my Lady. He had said to her as they spun together, Bronwen keeping one eye on her father for any sign she had read his nod incorrectly. He had looked tense but approving. I am Lord Kole Guild and I have been waiting a long time to meet you.

Earl Kole Guild? Bronwen had asked, surprised. She knew of him of course but had been unaware that he would be attending the ball and how young he was. It had made sense to her then, why her father had been so agreeable. How could he refuse an Earl? But it was not a matter of refusal and she knew that. It was a matter of social climbing.

Donovan had reached the height of what money could get him, buying his way to a Baronage with the wealth he had earned through a dominant fabric empire. Now the only way to progress was to marry off his only daughter.

Yet, it had still been two more years before Kole had finally proposed to her, and another two before they were due to be wed. The date was set for spring the coming year, following their six-year courtship.

Bronwen stole a glance at Lord Guild, then blushed and looked away when she saw he had been watching her. Kole was reclined back in his chair, relaxed and confident, unlike Bronwen who was straight-backed and uncomfortable in her own pale skin.

I have seen better performances in London, Kole said, a little too loudly for Bronwen’s liking. How do you find it, my Lady?

Bronwen glanced around the theatre. It was small and plain in decoration. The curtains were a new, bright red like the chair covers and the stone carvings of the pillars were simple. She preferred the intimacy and proximity of the stage compared with the rare shows she had seen in London. She opened her mouth to say as much but saw her father’s stern gaze was upon her and stifled her reply.

I agree, Lord Guild. She said and turned back to the stage. Bronwen could sense he was still looking at her but she refused to meet his gaze. Kole had a complexity to his dark blue eyes that overwhelmed her when she looked in them for longer than a moment. Her own were dull brown like her wavy hair, styled away from her face in a loose braided bun.

And what are your thoughts, Lord Wintre? Kole asked.

It is fine, Donovan grunted.

Bronwen was used to her father’s moods but Lord Wintre had been especially volatile the past year. He hadn’t started this way, so gruff and distant, Bronwen remembered he was once a loving and attentive father. She only remembered small snippets from her youth; a kind stroke of her hair, a loving whisper goodnight, advice on her horsemanship, holding her hand as they walked. She had a sense that things had begun to change after her mother died. Donovan quickly became cold and harsh. He refused to spend any time with Bronwen and that was when he had started to force away any friend Bronwen had made or tried to make.

Instead of getting better as the grief of losing his wife faded, it became worse as each year passed until it was the norm for Bronwen to never be alone, but always lonely. She wished she had siblings at least but Donovan had never remarried, despite the numerous offers - Bronwen’s good looks were not solely from her mother and many a young woman had tried to catch her father’s attention only to be coldly turned away.

Bronwen felt someone staring at her. It wasn’t Kole this time, it was someone the other side of her. She rearranged herself so she could see who it was, even though her suspicion was correct. Lord Guild’s personal bodyguard was stood in the shadows of a pillar next to the box where they sat, watching Bronwen, not his employer. Mr Adam Whyms was a peculiar man, his long dark jacket and long dark hair made him blend nicely with the shadows. Bronwen perhaps would not have noticed him there if her skin hadn’t prickled at his unnerving gaze.

Bronwen should have been used to Mr Whyms after four years of knowing Kole, but he still made her uncomfortable. His gaze always seemed to linger on her longer than was polite and he hardly spoke. No one else seemed to notice him which she supposed was part of his job, as well as being proficient in whatever weapons he kept hidden under his long jacket that made him look greasy and smelt of metal.

Lady Bronwen shifted her body away again, not sure if she preferred Kole’s stare to Adam’s, and tried to concentrate on the play. There was not long left and she absorbed their words carefully.

Bronwen made a note to write to Josette about the play. She would have enjoyed the story.

Josette Emry was Kole’s sister by law, or at least she was before her husband, Clarence, Kole’s elder brother, had died. She was the only friend Bronwen had, despite Donovan’s multiple attempts to keep them apart. Josette was tenacious and would not be dissuaded. They had met soon after she and Kole were introduced. Lord Guild had invited Bronwen and her father to his estate near Guildford and despite Josette’s unconventional mannerisms, Bronwen had taken a liking to the older woman.

After Kole’s brother had passed, he had allowed Josette to stay at the house she might have owned, had she borne children before Clarence died. She and Bronwen wrote to each other every month and tried to meet at least once a year. Donovan had once kept Josette’s letters from Bronwen in an attempt to stop their friendship from growing until Josette had turned up on their doorstep with a week’s worth of luggage. Donovan had soon given in, deciding he would tolerate their correspondence as long as visits were kept to a minimum.

{All yet seems well; and if it ends so meet, the bitter past, more welcome is the sweet}

Bronwen clapped her hands lightly as the players took their bows, feeling sad that it was over. The actors were very talented and the story interesting, despite what Lord Guild might have thought. She wished she could stand to show her pleasure as some of the other patrons were, but it would not be proper and her father would not like it.

Kole applauded lazily. Donovan did not and stood to leave as soon as the curtain closed.

Bronwen lingered in the seat for as long as she could, savouring the smell of the stage lamps and velvet of the chairs, the dimness of the theatre and the ambience of the audience, before following the gentlemen into the hallway.

An attendant helped her into her coat and she thanked him quietly. Lord Guild and her father had already started for the lobby and sent someone to fetch their coach without a second glance at her.

Bronwen hurried along behind them, not wanting to be left behind with Adam Whyms who had startled the attendant with his sudden appearance in the private hallway. He didn’t question the bodyguard’s presence after one daring look from the man.

At the bottom of the lobby stairs, Kole paused and looked back at Bronwen. Lord Guild was a tall, slim man and the way he walked demanded attention. He held himself high, shoulders back and lean arms keeping time with the pontifical gliding of his movements. His dark brown hair was always neatly combed to one side, a slight wave to it around his neck and his facial hair and sideburns were always seamlessly well kept. Kole’s deep blue eyes were as contained as the words he spoke - Lord Guild was always in control.

He smiled at her and held his arm out. Bronwen would have preferred for him to have done so at the top of the stairs when the heavy layers of her dress were most cumbersome and threatened to topple her with each careful step. She did not say so though and took Kole’s arm with a weak smile of her own and allowed him to lead her out of the theatre and into the waiting carriage.

Donovan was already in the vehicle, sat in the centre of one seat so that Kole had to sit next to Bronwen. She tried to sit as close to the wall of the carriage as possible but Kole still felt too close to her. There was plenty of space in the plush interior but Bronwen was still very aware of Kole’s arm brushing against hers as the carriage pulled away and bounced down the cobbled streets of Winchester.

There is something so primitive about Shakespeare that I find almost unpalatable, Kole said as he pulled on his leather gloves, scrunching his hands to get his fingers in. The weather had turned in the last few weeks from summer to a brisk autumn and it was cold in the carriage.

I find it rather endearing, Bronwen replied, her voice catching as they jolted on a particularly unforgiving part of the road.

Yes, I suppose the oblique nature of his words would appeal to a woman.

Or perhaps only a woman can appreciate the subtle poetry of it. Bronwen murmured back then instantly wished she had not spoken. Lord Guild had not meant his comment unkindly but the implication of it nagged at Bronwen. The sound of the horses’ hooves was so loud on the stones outside that Bronwen didn’t think either man had heard her comment, however, when they passed a gas street lamp it briefly bathed her father’s face in a fiery orange glow and she knew he was displeased with her again.

I did not mean to offend, my Lady, Kole said after an uncomfortable silence, ever the gentleman. His arm brushed Bronwen’s again and she tried not to shift away. He was to be her husband but she was still unsettled by any form of contact between them.

No, I apologise for being so brusque, Lord Guild, Bronwen said sincerely, before firmly setting her gaze to the dark world outside the carriage, hoping her father was placated.

The glass of the carriage window was moist and the world looked damp outside, the brickwork of the city shops glossy, their dark windows reflecting the carriage as it moved noisily through the streets. Bronwen was used to staring out of windows for hours. There was not much to do when one did not have many friends. She wrote her letters to Josette, went to the theatre whenever there was a new show and someone was available to chaperone, she had ridden as far as Owslebury parish in a single day, before her caretaker had made her turn back, had read over one hundred books and had sewn almost all the embroidered décor in her father’s house.

Bronwen was used to being alone, but one never truly gets used to being lonely.

This was one of the few things she looked forward to when she wed. She would likely spend most of her time at home with Josette in Guildford and Bronwen looked forward to having as many children as God would give her to keep each other, and her, company. She had wondered how different her life would have been if her father had remarried and given her plenty of siblings. She wanted that for her children. She also never wanted them to feel like they were a burden to their parents.

Bronwen looked at her father at this thought and found him staring at her with a mixture of sadness, anger and fear. It was only a fleeting expression before they moved away from the light of the street lamp and she knew he had turned away.

Bronwen opened her mouth to say - she wasn’t sure what and looked back out of the window.

The two men soon moved to discuss business and politics which Bronwen had little interest in. Thankfully, the journey was not long and Bronwen soon recognised the long pathway that led towards Metrom Hall, her home.

New gas lamps lined their path up to the house at intervals in halos of golden light. Passing through the darkness to light. Bronwen could see her reflection in the glass in the dark intervals. She looked sombre and pale, eyes dull and square jaw giving an aristocratic mien. She studied her expression with disinterest each time it appeared and faded.

Dark-light. Dark-light. Dark - Bronwen let out a small squeal and jumped. She whipped her head around but found only Kole beside her, staring with concern.

My Lady, are you quite well? Kole asked.

Bronwen nodded, not trusting her voice while her heart was still trying to jump out of her mouth. She could have sworn she had seen something behind her shoulder. A dark shape. No, a face. One that did not belong to Kole, her father, or anyone or thing she had ever seen before. She was not even sure if it had been human, it was so… she couldn’t even think of the words to describe it and struggled to keep the image of it in her mind, not that she wanted to. It had been so menacing and distorted and left her with such a feeling of dread that she worried she might be sick.

Kole was still staring at her with worry.

Just a hiccup, Lord Guild. She explained, hoping her voice didn’t betray how disturbed she felt. Excuse me.

It must have been a trick of the light and mind, but Bronwen still refused to look back out of the window and was relieved when the carriage came to a halt.

A footman jumped down to open the door and Bronwen couldn’t escape the box fast enough. She noticed her hand was shaking when she reached for Kole’s, waiting to help her step out. She knew he had noticed too and he thankfully did not mention it.

They made their way up the few stone steps to the house and were bathed in light as the butler opened the door for them.

James Durward was tall and slim, progressed in years but with the strength and energy of a young man. He was a trusted member of the household and Bronwen was quite fond of him despite his interminable professionalism.

Welcome home, Lord Wintre, Lord Guild and Lady Wintre. He said, taking his master’s coat and hat.

We will have drinks in the drawing room before retiring, Donovan said gruffly before heading straight for the room. James was used to his employer’s blunt form of address, seeming to prefer it and simply indicating to various other servants to do his bidding while he took Bronwen’s coat.

I must apologise, Lord Guild, but I have a wish to retire early this evening. Bronwen struggled with her words as her throat had become bone dry and she stifled a cough.

Are you sure you are quite well? Kole asked. He moved closer to her and she had to focus on not stepping away.

Yes, I am well but fatigued, my Lord, Bronwen assured him.

Then I shall give you your rest, Kole said with a warm smile. Bronwen held out her hand to him which he took firmly and used it to pull her closer as he planted a swift kiss on her cheek.

Bronwen flushed. Lord Guild. She stammered, wishing Mr Durward was not stood in the hallway.

Lady Bronwen, Kole replied with a smirk. We are to be wed. Surely you will forgive me my trespass?

Bronwen glanced at James but he was studiously arranging the coats and hats. Bronwen looked shyly back at her fiancé, retrieving her hand under the pretence of holding her skirt as she curtsied, trying not to focus on the warm prickling of her body at her embarrassment.

It is not a trespass when given honourably.

Honourably indeed, Lady, Kole replied but his smile made her blush again. Until tomorrow. He entered the drawing room, closing the door behind him. Bronwen breathed out and headed up the stairs, avoiding James’s eyes.

Bronwen turned the handle of her bedroom door and was greeted by the smell of jasmine and nettles. A scent she always used. Bronwen’s room was on the second floor to the far right of the manor. It was not the largest in the house but it was unique in the squared indent from where the building overhung the servant’s entrance. Here it had been large enough to attach curtains to the flat of it, creating a private changing room and curtained window seat separate from the main space without the need of a changing screen. A cream armchair was even able to comfortably fit in the extension where Bronwen could put on shoes or simply relax by the window.

The four-poster bed was neatly made, a cream crocheted cover laid atop a burgundy quilt. A matching canopy loomed over part of the bed where the pillows were and a long footstool in the same fabric was kept at the bed end, golden tassels fringed a seam, hiding that it could be opened and used as a secret storage.

Bronwen’s mother was a lover of hidden places and had many such items around the house and Bronwen was confident that she had found almost all of them in her youth. Some of them were ordinary such as behind the face of the grandfather clock in the hallway and the safe behind a painting in the morning room. Then others had been more obscure, like the hinged section on the bannister of the stairs and the removable box clipped beneath the coffee table in the drawing room.

Bronwen had never found anything of interest in them, despite hoping her mother had left her a secret note only for her to find, and she had never known why she needed so many secret places. But each time Bronwen stumbled across a new one, she felt as though her mother were still all around her and was comforted by the thought.

Bronwen’s Lady’s maid was waiting for her in her bedroom. Alda Keeper was an elderly woman, wizened and once Bronwen’s childhood governess. She was easily past the age of retirement, her grandson worked in the gardens of the house and was only a few years older than Bronwen. Servants tended to stay the course in the Wintre household if they survived her father’s ruthless trial period. Sometimes he would hire and dismiss a servant even before Bronwen had met them and he paid the ones he did keep very well indeed.

There were times in her youth when Bronwen had wished Donovan had sent Alda away, mostly when her overbearing nanny was scolding her for some obscure habit or lecturing her on the importance of being proper. It was understated to say Alda was set in her ways. She had been the first to protest when Lord Wintre had had the entire house fitted with new gas lamps, even the servant’s rooms.

The smell is intolerable, milord and it leaves soot everywhere. Alda had told Donovan. She was one of the few people whom Bronwen’s father allowed to speak to him this way. She gathered Alda had been an asset to him when his wife was sick and he was left with a young Bronwen to care for. Her protests went unheeded, however. Donovan was a man of the industrial age; it was how he had made his fortune, mainly through textiles, much of which was used around Metrom Hall.

Then, at other times, Bronwen was grateful for the woman’s coddling. It was the closest thing she had to a mother.

Did you enjoy the play, Lady Bronwen? Alda asked in a voice that was both demanding and soothing.

Yes, thank you, Bronwen replied, turning so that Alda could begin undoing the multitude of hooks and threads on her dress.

Bronwen kept quiet as she did so, thinking deeply about the kiss from Kole. It was not completely brazen of the man but it had been unexpected and had reminded Bronwen of something she had since been pushing firmly to the back of her mind.

They were engaged and one day they would be man and wife, which meant one day they would have to…

Josette had once offered to explain to Bronwen the intricacies of being married but Bronwen had politely refused, which she later came to regret. She had no mother to explain such things and cringed at the thought of asking Alda. What little was obvious to Bronwen was that she would have to unclothe and this was more frightening to her than what came after.

Bronwen unconsciously laid a hand on her stomach, on the mark that surrounded her navel. It was a five-pointed star with each point connected to one another in a continuous pattern. She had had it since she was a baby and it terrified her to know that Kole would one day see it.

Alda knew it was there of course and had explained to her that it was a birthmark but Bronwen had always known this was a lie. Especially after an encounter with one of her maids when she was only seven years old.

Alda had become very sick one week and someone had had to replace her with looking after Bronwen. It had not occurred to them then how this new maid might react to the unusual mark, to those few who knew about it, it was the norm.

What have you done, girl? The maid had said as Bronwen removed her clothes ready for bed. Her undergarments were thin and the woman could see the irregularity in skin tone on Bronwen’s stomach. With her young mind, Bronwen had thought nothing of it and lifted her chemise to show the maid. The woman gasped in horror and staggered back before taking an unexpected turn on the young girl, shaking her shoulders and yelling. Why have you done it this way! With the horns of the Devil!

Her shrieks had become increasingly frantic and so loud that it had even gained the attention of Donovan. He had burst into the room to find his young daughter curled with her knees against her chest in fits of hiccupping tears and a raving woman yelling her damnation.

Her father had been swift to throw the woman out of the room, and not gently, telling a much younger James to see that she never set foot in the house again. Then he had come back to his crying daughter and without hesitation, wrapped her in a blanket and carried her to the bed, then held her until she stopped crying and eventually fell asleep. It was one of those rare moments of affection he had shown her. After that, Alda had been her only maid and on the rare occasion she was not available, Bronwen arranged her own hair and clothing.

Alda had tried to explain to Bronwen that the woman was not well. There is nothing of the Devil in you. She had said firmly and Bronwen had believed her, for a time.

The event had been so absurd that Bronwen had almost forgotten it. But the recoiling sensation she had at the idea of anyone but Alda seeing it had remained with her.

She had one day thought to look for the symbol in a book but decided against it and wouldn’t have dared ask her father for fear she would die of embarrassment. And, for some obscure reason, she did not want to know what it was, the pink puckered skin in impossibly neat lines, its main point thrusting downwards towards her toes. Deep down she knew it had been put there and that was as far as she was willing to contemplate.

What would Kole think when he saw it? What questions would he ask her that she could not answer? Would he try to find out what it meant? Did she want him to? Or could she find a way of hiding it?

She pushed the thoughts out of her mind and tried to engage in conversation with Alda. It wasn’t difficult to start the woman talking and it was a welcome distraction.

Mervyn has been courting a girl from a farm and I found out today that they have been meeting since last June! Alda prattled on as she led Bronwen to the little dressing table next to the door. Her grandson was one of her favourite subjects.

Bronwen avoided looking in the mirror, afraid she might see the terrifying thing behind her again while Alda brushed her hair. She had forgotten about her fright in the carriage until then and pinched her arm hard. It was a habit she had picked up when she was a child. A girl at a party had pointed out a young boy in the crowd and giggled with the other girls in the group, telling them to pinch her.

Pinch you? Bronwen had asked. The girls were only slightly older than she was but were already thinking about who they would marry.

It is how you know you are not dreaming. The girl had explained. Dreams cannot hurt you so if a pinch does, then you know you are awake. She had pinched Bronwen hard with her nails. So hard her eyes had watered but she refused to cry, she even welcomed the pain of it. Bronwen had always felt as though she was dreaming and she needed to pinch herself regularly to remind her she was awake. It never worked for long but she could not break the habit, no matter how many times Alda scolded her for it.

The girl is no good for him if she is willing to put herself in his path so shamelessly. It is not ladylike and is not good enough for my grandson. Alda huffed, pulling Bronwen’s hair into a tight braid.

Perhaps they really care for one another?

You think the Devil will lessen their punishment because they care for one another?

I think God might.

Oh, and you a priest now, domina domus? Alda scoffed, using her pet name for Bronwen since she was a child, ‘Lady of the house’ in Latin. She guided Bronwen’s shoulders over to the bed and helped her under the thick blankets. Bronwen found the weight of them restricting but the air of the room was cold despite the fire in the hearth.

Alda tucked her into the huge four poster bed tightly. She knew Bronwen always untucked herself as soon as she left the room but it was her little ritual.

Sleep well, Lady Bronwen.

Good evening, Alda, Bronwen replied as the woman took one of the candles from the bedside table and left the room.

Bronwen stared at the canopy of the bed above her for a moment, listening to the familiar crackle of the fire and the rustle of the trees outside and remembering her favourite phrases from the play. The phantom from earlier was forgotten, even after she dimmed her bedside lantern and let the shadows of the room envelop her into sleep.

II

{A sound woke Bronwen. Or was it a feeling? Perhaps a smell? She leant up on her elbows and looked around. The floor of her room was obscured by a grey smoke. An odourless smoke that swirled in lazy circles. A mist so dense, the embers of the fire were a faint glow. There was something in the darkness. A creature. A person. Bronwen was not afraid as it moved towards the end of her bed, wrath like and so dark she could not see its features – his features. She knew he was gazing at her, as she stared at him. Will you not reveal yourself to me? Bronwen asked, her voice quiet but sure. ‘Soon.’ He replied then faded away, pulling the mist with him. Bronwen’s eyes closed and she relaxed back onto her pillow. She had forgotten to pinch herself awake… She would forget she had woken at all.}

Oh, my goodness. Alda’s exclamation woke Bronwen from a deep sleep. Was it morning already? It is positively winter in here! Did that girl forget to close the windows again?

Bronwen squinted as Alda opened the curtains and flooded the room with morning light, muttering to herself when she saw the windows were closed. Bronwen rolled onto her side, not wanting to leave her bed. She had the sense she had had a pleasant dream but could not remember it.

Oh, my goodness, Alda repeated, she was crouched by the fire now with a matchbox in hand. The fire has frosted over. These logs will be far to damp to light. I will send for more. None of the other rooms are this cold.

Bronwen’s mind finally caught up with what Alda was saying and she felt the chill in the air too. She rolled onto her back again and looked at her hands. They were horribly pale, almost blue at the fingertips. She stuffed them under the covers before Alda could see them. The elderly woman made her way to Bronwen’s side and placed fretting hands on her Lady’s brow. They felt like fire on Bronwen’s skin and she almost pulled away.

I don’t know how you have not caught your death in this room.

I am quite well, Bronwen said. It wasn’t a lie. She was cold but it wasn’t unpleasant. Besides, she didn’t get ill. Not once had she shown any sign of fever or sickness in her young life. Alda always said it meant Bronwen would be hit harder with it when she was older.

You will be once we have you dressed in something warmer and the fire is lit. Alda’s breath came out in a small mist as she spoke and she left the room briefly to fetch a maid to light the fire.

Bronwen breathed out as well to test the air but her breath was not visible like Alda’s. It was odd, but she knew little about the science of it and forced herself to slide out of the bed onto the chilly carpet.

Her toes curled in protest at the temperature as she tiptoed over to the dressing table. In the light of the morning, she had no fear of looking into the mirror and seeing something behind her. It seemed silly to Bronwen how unnerved she had been by something she had only glimpsed in a reflection.

Studying herself, her cheeks were rosy but her lips were pale and cracked. Bronwen quickly dug out her lipstick and rubbed some of the clear pomade onto them. She absently unbraided and brushed her hair as she wondered what events had been planned for her in the coming day.

Lord Guild would be leaving in a couple of days and there was still business for him to attend to with Bronwen’s father, or so she gathered. She hoped there would be time to spend with Kole to get to know him underneath the confines of propriety. His impromptu kiss the night before had reminded Bronwen that, as much as she might be nervous about the prospect, she was to be his wife soon and would have to get used to the idea. She wanted to feel comfortable around him and maybe even love him, one day at least.

She thought on the words her mother had once said to her, one of her few memories of the woman so swiftly taken from her. It was a sentiment Bronwen felt almost ungrateful for not pursuing.

{Love is what humans live for. And whether for good or bad, strive for it.}

Colour had returned to Bronwen’s fingers by the time Alda returned with a very disgruntled looking maid carrying some firewood. The usual buzz of morning routine passed quickly and once Bronwen was brushed and presentable, she made her way downstairs to the drawing room where her father was waiting. She smiled at him as she walked in, not expecting a warm greeting in return but also not expecting the look he gave her. It was a haunted look like he had not slept for weeks.

Father are you well?

He looked away from her and downed his glass of brandy. Stop asking me so many questions. He barked, moving to pour another glass.

Bronwen was taken aback. Her father had always been stern, it showed in the lines on his face, his eyebrows in a permanent scowl. His dark eyes made darker by how his furrowed brow knitted over them. He was not unattractive for his age but he was an authority on looks alone. Bronwen got her strong square jawline and pale brown hair from Donavan, though he was rapidly turning grey.

Bronwen might not have forgotten there had ever been affection between them but it seemed Donovan had. He was indifferent to his daughter so long as she kept her mouth shut and did as she was told. He had grown colder towards her in the last few months and in the last week she had tried to avoid him as much as possible.

Bronwen had tried to seek out the reason for his gradual declining mood from visitors and house staff. She thought perhaps it was business trouble as he spent more and more time away from the house but he did not seem so crotchety with anyone but his daughter.

Bronwen kept quiet now, wishing she could return to her room but Lord Guild would be joining them for breakfast soon. He was staying at the house with them and was always up late in the mornings.

Bronwen went to sit by the far window on the cushioned seat in the alcove. It was not comfortable and it was colder away from the fire, especially with autumn claiming its time in the year, but it was out of the way and Bronwen could watch out of the window.

The grounds of the house looked vastly different in the daytime, even under a grey blanket of cloud. It would rain later, she knew. The lawn was dewy in preparation and the border of trees were still and patient.

Thankfully, Lord Guild arrived soon, so Bronwen did not have to suffer the uncomfortable silence of the room for long. She could hear him on the stairs greeting Mr Durward happily. Bronwen checked her hair in the reflection of the glass and stood to straighten her dress just as Kole walked in.

He scanned the room quickly and beamed when he saw Bronwen stood waiting for him. It was another unexpected reaction. He looked almost giddy to see her where her father had been irked at her presence.

Shall I serve breakfast now, milord? James asked politely. He was directing the question at Donovan but Lord Guild answered.

Yes, Mr Durward, that would be acceptable.

Bronwen looked from Kole to her father. He was still staring into the fire and appeared not to have heard. Kole moved to the back of the room to get a drink.

Bronwen waited until James had left and Kole was turned away before cautiously walking towards her father like she was approaching a wild dog whom might bite her at any moment.

Father. She said quietly, her hands flat on the front of her dress. Lord Guild has come for breakfast now. Would you prefer if I dine with him? You could retire for a rest if you wish. Lord Guild will understand. She was getting increasingly concerned for him and wondered whether it be prudent to have James call for a doctor.

Donovan turned his head slowly and stared at Bronwen with a blank expression before standing up so swiftly, Bronwen moved a step back from him. He straightened his waistcoat with a rough tug and strolled past her.

I said, stop asking so many questions, Donovan said, but his tone had lost its previous bite.

Bronwen let out the breath she had been holding and joined Lord Guild at the breakfast table.

He gave her a brimming smile and Bronwen flushed. Lord Guild, you are very cheerful this morning.

Lady Bronwen, Kole replied with a smirk. How could I not be? We are to be wed next spring and I am greatly looking forward to closing a long-awaited business arrangement later today.

Donovan spilt a few drops of brandy onto the carpet as he joined them at the table. He appeared not to notice and his glass was full almost to the brim of the strong liquid. Bronwen looked at her father who was avoiding her eyes. He looked calmer, however, more like himself again and she dared not question him in front of the Earl.

Her eyes soon drifted to the other side of the room where a man was inconspicuously stood. Adam Whyms, of course. She hadn’t even noticed him enter the room.

His eyes were almost hawk-like, a bright hazel colour that matched his coppery hair, long and tied in a loose knot at the back of his head. He had a chain coming from the pocket of his waistcoat but Bronwen had never once seen him check a watch and had caught glimpses of various implements hidden in the folds of his coat which he never removed.

He was staring at her again but let his eyes slide away smoothly when she caught him as if he were merely checking the room and she had been in his view. Bronwen pinched herself under the table to stop herself from shuddering as the servants filled the table with breakfast.

Does this suit you, my Lady? Kole was asking her, bringing her back to the conversation. Bronwen had not heard a word that had been said but pretended otherwise. She doubted it would matter if it didn’t suit her, whatever