Shadows of Revenge

By Sarah K Goldsmith

“Vengeance is ours," she whispers to the shadows, who listen carefully before softly slipping away.

Thirteen tales of betrayal and revenge await you, taking you on a twisting journey through the shadows where nothing is at it seems. When betrayal comes calling at Morwenna Malerby's door, she makes a deadly vow that sets a dangerous wheel in motion. Tendrils of darkness reach out from the windswept Cornish countryside, inviting you to discover the horror lurking behind a locked door, the peculiar speciality on offer in a curious shop, how an innocent game of dice can have the most lethal of consequences, and watch as life's threads are severed in an instant.

Take care as you walk amongst the shadows, for who knows what awaits you there.

"Someone had left a candle on a small table in front of her, its feeble flame wavering in the cold breeze that whistled through the bare room. The wick guttered and dripped, its pathetic glow skittering over the array of tools spread out across the table top, drawing her eye. She wanted to look away, but her gaze locked onto the implements. These were tools that in any other hands would just be everyday items, objects used to create beautiful and useful things. Here was a chisel, there a hammer, and here a turnscrew, all perfectly regular articles. But in his hands, they became weapons."

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sarah K Goldsmith
• Release date: Aug 31, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463160954

Sarah K Goldsmith

With a background in publishing, Sarah has always been passionate about books and writing. Having taken the plunge, she has unleashed her powerful short stories onto the world, showcasing her work in fiction publications on Medium.com. Sarah's first collection of short stories, A TASTE OF THE PECULIAR, taps into her love of all things weird and wonderful, including the paranormal, folklore, and revenge, with a little bit of dark magic thrown into the mix. SHADOWS OF REVENGE, Sarah's second gathering of chilling tales, follows a deadly legacy as it worms its way through the Malerby family. Vengeful wraiths, sorrowful spirits and hearts drenched in bitterness await you in the darkness. When Sarah isn't beavering away researching local legends and WW1 heroines, she's likely to be pottering in the garden, baking cakes, or pondering the possibilities of owning a unicorn farm.

Book preview

Shadows of Revenge

Sarah K Goldsmith

Copyright © Sarah K Goldsmith 2018

Sarah K Goldsmith has asserted her right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.

All rights reserved. No parts of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the author, Sarah K Goldsmith.

ISBN: 9781982990008

Cover image: The Digital Artist

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favourite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

To anyone told you can’t,

this proves you can

Contents

Shattered Heart

Seeds of Spite

The Devil In The Detail

Roll With The Devil

The Wishing Tree

The Ice Bride

Toby’s Song

Her Feathered Friend

Stay With Me

Cutting The Threads

A Problem Shared

Hecate’s Bite

Keeping House

Author’s Note

Shattered Heart

She ran along the sunlit moor, nimble as a deer as she zig-zagged through the heather. Her delicate fingers clutched at her skirts, holding them clear of the boggy ground gurgling beneath her feet.

Thundering hooves followed close behind, her heart beating a matching tattoo against her ribs. She whirled around to check her pursuer’s progress and smiled. Delighted laughter bubbled in her throat, erupting to freedom before the breeze snatched it away.

You’ll have to do better than that, she cried, picking up the pace.

On she ran, until the welcome outline of home came into view, standing proud and tall against the sapphire sky. Her pulse quickened, just as it always did when she saw Trenalzey Castle. She paused, drinking in the breath-taking sight of the most formidable fortress in the country.

Ha! I told you I’d catch you, Morwenna!

She turned around slowly, one hand already stretching out to stroke the horse, and beamed up at the rider.

Only because I let you, Papa.

Of course, my girl. Now, let us turn for home for I have the hunger of all the King’s armies! Jump up behind me.

Morwenna leapt up into the saddle, nuzzling into her father’s strong back and inhaling his comforting scent of tobacco and leather. She closed her eyes, her body moving in rhythm with the sway of the horse as it trotted along the stony path. When the hollow thud of hooves on wood echoed in her ears, she opened her eyes and looked around at the old familiar sights.

As always, the castle buzzed with activity. The steady tramp of feet announced the arrival of the guards, resplendent in their armour. The men came to a halt and stood sentry on the drawbridge with halberds raised as the horse walked across. Beneath them, the moat sparkled and glittered in the late afternoon sunshine. Morwenna leaned over as they crossed the bridge, watching the lazy movement of the fish her father insisted on keeping to supplement the castle’s food supply. Voices rang out as they entered the courtyard, bouncing off the thick walls and echoing up to the sky where a fleet of swallows dive-bombed through the air.

The castle could withstand any siege, so strong were its walls and so fierce were the men loyal to the Duke of Alzey. Yet no wars or battles came to their door. Over the years, the Duke had worked tirelessly to bring peace to his beloved people, and ruled the land with a firm but fair hand, keen to see justice prevail. High in his mind was a desire for his people to prosper. Such was his reputation that he quickly became one of the most highly respected lords in the country and no one would dare to challenge him.

This was home and Morwenna would never tire of it.

She jumped to the ground and waited for her father to hand the horse over to a groom. Urgent footsteps hurried near and a man in full livery rushed forwards.

Sire, there is a visitor to see you, he said, his face contorted with concern. I told him you were unavailable today, but he insisted his business is urgent.

A dark cloud passed over her father’s face. Everyone in the county knew he would never discuss trade on a Friday. ’Tis my day with Morwenna, he would say if pressed upon to accept a visitor’s call, and nothing but the heavens falling upon us will prevent me spending that precious time with my precious girl.

If ‘tis urgent, you should go to your guest, Papa, Morwenna smiled now. I must change my gown before the evening meal.

He nodded once. I shall not allow him to detain me. I will see what he wants and ask him to attend on me at a more convenient time.

She crossed the courtyard, her skirts dancing around her feet in a graceful flurry as she moved, and flew up the spiralling stairs to her bedchamber in the west turret. Her maid slipped into the room a short while later, the young woman’s face glowing with good humour.

What shall it be this evening, my lady?

Oh, you choose, Bethan, Morwenna said. You know I have no care for such things.

Perhaps the blue, the maid suggested, fetching a dress of the finest silk from the vast wooden trunk.

Morwenna sighed and rolled her eyes. She sat down before the looking-glass and frowned. Her fingers idly toyed with the trinkets and baubles scattered across the table, her mind drifting far away.

Shall I brush your hair, my lady?

Hmm? Oh, yes please, Bethan.

She closed her eyes, the strokes of the brush through her hair as soothing as a lullaby. Once or twice Bethan grumbled when the brush snagged on a tangle and Morwenna resisted the urge to giggle. She knew what some people thought: that she was too old to be running wild across the countryside, that she should be thinking of marriage, that she should be learning how to run her own household. But at the tender age of 16, Morwenna thought there was plenty of time before she need think of such matters.

A few moments later she was dressed and ready. She gave her reflection a cursory glance and felt a flicker of pleasure at the pretty picture she presented.

Voices drifted up the stairs as she made her way down to the Great Hall. She paused to listen, identifying her father’s voice, but unable to tell who the other belonged to.

She continued along the passageway, the voices growing louder the closer she got. Morwenna lingered in the doorway, assessing the scene before her. A wave of heat rose to greet her from the fire roaring in the enormous fireplace, flames spitting and hissing over the burning logs. Two gigantic hounds she’d never seen before lay sleeping on the floor either side of the fire, their tails twitching every now and then as they dreamed of chasing deer and rabbits. Her father sat at the table, his face flushed with wine and good humour, laughing with the stranger who sat with his back to Morwenna.

As if sensing her eyes on him the stranger turned around, a slow smile budding and blossoming across his face. Heat rose to her own face under the intensity of his stare. She frowned, not only annoyed by his insolence but by her reaction to it, too.

Ah, Morwenna my dear, come in, come in, her father called. He rose to his feet, a discordant screech stabbing the air as his chair scraped along the stone floor.

Smiling, she stepped into the room and went to her father’s side. The stranger stood, unravelling a figure full of strength and power that took Morwenna’s breath away as she stared up at him. His lips twitched with amusement, but his eyes betrayed cold calculation. Fingers of dread gripped her heart and she stepped away, frightened by something she couldn’t understand.

Baron de Cadwur, allow me to present my daughter, the Lady Morwenna Malerby.

Morwenna swallowed a gasp as the baron bridged the gap between them. Her brow furrowed as he took Morwenna’s left hand in his, raised it to his mouth and bestowed the lightest kiss. Her skin burned in the place where his lips had been. A childish impulse made her want to wipe her hand against the fabric of her gown and purge her skin of his touch. Forcing the urge aside, she looked away and kept her eyes cast downwards.

I am honoured indeed. I had heard of the Lady Morwenna’s beauty from many quarters, but no description can match the truth.

Morwenna shrank away from his syrup-coated words.

Come, you are embarrassing my daughter! I cannot have her discomforted all night, the Duke of Alzey laughed.

Morwenna raised a quizzical eyebrow to her father, who suddenly looked abashed.

Baron de Cadwur’s father was an old comrade of mine from many years ago, he said by way of explanation. I have asked the baron to dine with us this evening.

Morwenna smiled thinly and took her seat at the table, pleased when her father engaged the baron in talk of the old days. Away from the baron’s penetrating gaze, the heat in Morwenna’s face died down. But once or twice during the evening meal she felt his eyes upon her. Her skin prickled and burned under his probing interest.

Morwenna itched to escape and excused herself from the room as soon as the meal ended, leaving the men to their wine and chatter. She returned to the sanctuary of her chamber, closing the door behind her. Candles flickered here and there, casting strange and peculiar shadows along the walls. She sat down in front of the looking-glass again and examined her reflection as though seeing it for the first time. An odd feeling pulsated deep within. She let it grow, following its movements as it surged and retreated. A flicker and flutter deep in her core brought laughter to her heart, but more than that was a sensation of power. Her mirror-twin smiled in the dancing candlelight, cheeks blushing at the thought of the handsome baron’s attention.

In the following months, Morwenna noticed an alarming change in her father. The Duke of Alzey had been famed for his vigour and strength, even in his advancing years. But now Morwenna saw a startling transformation. Her father had always been a bear of a man, tall and broad with life galloping through his veins. But a sudden feebleness had taken hold and he began to look every one of his 70 years.

And then, shortly after Morwenna’s 18th birthday, the Duke of Alzey suffered a dreadful fall while out riding. Through a veil of tears she saw her father carried up to his chamber where the stench of Death hovered in the corners of the room. She kept a constant vigil by his bedside, willing him to fight, talking to him about all of the things going on in the castle. But it made no difference.

With the light slowly dying in his eyes, he placed a heavy hand upon her arm.

"The time is here, my only girl. The castle is yours. Promise me you will continue my work. Care for our people and care for the land. I know I have taught you well and I put my faith in you. Trenalzey will be safe in your hands. But heed what I say. Never let anyone take it from you. Men will come for your hand, but ‘twill be the castle they seek. Find a good man, Morwenna, someone who is worthy of you. Be vigilant, my dear one."

But I don’t want it, not yet! You will recover and be out on your lands before the week is out.

The duke smiled weakly. My beloved girl, so like your dear mother.

Fresh tears filled Morwenna’s eyes at thoughts of the mother she’d never known. Her father had lost his first wife to the sweating sickness many years before and had resigned himself to living in sadness for the rest of his days. But then, like sun bursting through a tempest and chasing the storm away, Morwenna’s mother had entered his life. He’d never thought to be happy again, but his heart brimmed over with love when his adored new wife gave birth to Morwenna. But joy had turned to sorrow when his new wife died shortly after that blessed day. Morwenna quickly became the apple of his eye, a constant reminder of the woman he had given his heart to. He’d made it his life’s mission to be everything he could to Morwenna.

And now he was leaving her.

I will not betray your trust, Father, Morwenna promised fiercely. No one will ever take the castle, I’d sooner die than let that happen. I give you my word.

The duke smiled thinly and closed his eyes. His pulse flickered faintly and the hold he had on Morwenna’s arm gradually weakened.

With a sigh as soft as the beat of a butterfly’s wings, her father moved from this life to the next.

The county grieved for the loss of so fine a man as the Duke of Alzey, but when the mourning time passed, attention turned to Morwenna. At first, the people were suspicious and wary of her as they considered it was not seemly for a woman to be in charge of the realm: surely only a man could do such work? But by and by, Morwenna proved that she was indeed her father’s daughter, and the land and its people continued to thrive.

Morwenna had listened carefully to all that her father had taught her over the years. He’d shown her how the land should be worked. He’d made her get her hands dirty, working side by side with the women and men who toiled the land. She’d laughed with lords and ladies, dined with serfs and village folk. She treated all as equals.

She laboured hard, working from sunrise to sunset, determined that Trenalzey would never change. But no matter how hard she toiled, the pain in her heart never abated, and the hole of sorrow never healed.

Life’s wheel turned just at it always had, with Morwenna hardly aware of its movement. And then something changed: a shift in the atmosphere that caused a rift she couldn’t understand. She hadn’t noticed at first, but then she heard her maid giggling and it triggered something in her mind.

They practically fall at your feet, my lady, Bethan laughed one day. When Sir William came to discuss the tin mine, he blushed so red I thought he would explode!

Oh, nonsense, Morwenna replied, turning her head this way and that in front of the mirror.

’Tis as true as I’m standing here.

Morwenna grimaced. Her father had always told her how pretty and charming she was, but she dismissed it as something that fathers did, considering it just a whim to heap praise upon their children. She had no time for such frivolous ideas, preferring instead to understand how the farmers planted and harvested according to the phases of the moon, or asking endless questions about how best to mend a bow and arrow.

But Bethan’s words stirred the memory of a feeling deep in Morwenna’s consciousness. Fragile wisps of the past teased a smile from her lips.

Then we shall see what happens when Sir Richard visits this morning, she said, eyes twinkling with mischief. He wishes to talk about buying the top meadow.

You’ll never let him have that, the maid said aghast.

Morwenna smirked. Of course not, but it doesn’t hurt to let him think I will.

When Sir Richard arrived, Morwenna left him waiting, peeking at him from the passageway as he paced the floor in the Great Hall. She entered with a flourish, amused to see the usually unruffled man looking decidedly ruffled. She smiled warmly, gushing praise and compliments, delighted at how flustered he became.

Later that night, she laughed with Bethan about the encounter, as giddy as two young girls. But for the first time she understood the power she possessed and it became addictive.

News of her beauty spread across the land and soon a steady flow of suitors came to call on her. She would climb to the top of the tower, watching the tell-tale clouds of dust in the distance as a cavalcade of riders made its way to the castle. She’d watch until she could identify whichever Earl or Viscount it was by their standards fluttering in the breeze. Depending on who the visitor was or what mood she was in that day, she would hurry downstairs to greet them, enjoying the chaos as the castle rushed to stable the horses and prepare sustenance for the visitors. More often than not, however, she would keep them waiting, pausing for a while in her chamber as she admired her reflection in the many mirrors that now adorned the room, before lazily making her way downstairs when she was ready.

She enjoyed taunting her admirers, playing with them like a cat toys with a ball of yarn, batting them away when she grew bored. They’d be dismissed with the flick of a hand, hearts heavy with rejection and resentment burning deep inside their core.

I can just about deal with the ones who come because they think to marry a pretty maiden, Morwenna complained one afternoon. But the ones who come thinking they will steal away the castle from under my feet make my blood rage.

They can’t do that, my lady!

"Indeed they cannot. On they come, thinking not only to snare themselves a young wife, but also the strongest fortress in the country. No, if I ever do marry it will only be to a special kind of man, not a simpering fop showering me with insipid compliments, or a steely old devil with intrigue in his mind. The castle will never leave my hands. I’ll never let anyone take it from me. I’d die first."

Time marched on. Every week brought yet another suitor. New faces marched along the dusty road, hope shining in their eyes. Old admirers returned for another bite of the cherry, hoping Morwenna had reconsidered their suitability since their last attempt. But the outcome never changed. Morwenna played the game, bestowing her charm upon them all until weariness set in and she sent them on their way. The castle continued to prosper and became a tempting jewel for the many magpie-minded men who roamed the lands.

On the other side of the country, Baron de Cadwur had returned from a long journey in foreign lands. His own father had died, leaving him an impressive castle and a ruthless band of men. News of the beautiful Lady Morwenna soon reached his ears and he remembered the pretty young girl he’d met all those years ago. He turned the idea over and over in his mind.

Early one morning, he leapt to action, shouting orders here, and making demands there.

Saddle the horses and bring the kit. We ride for Trenalzey! I have a fancy to be wed!

But, sire, the Lady Morwenna is not for marrying, his loyal groom replied.

Oh, I’ll win her hand, by fair means or foul! he laughed. Not only will I marry the most beautiful woman in the land, I shall also be master of the most fearsome castle it offers.

Morwenna woke early, timid sunshine stealing into the chamber and landing softly upon her face. She yawned and stretched, as sleek and graceful as a cat. Far below, the sounds of the castle waking filled the air. The chamber door opened slowly and she sat up, rubbing sleep from her eyes as she watched Bethan creep quietly into the room.

Good morning, Bethan, Morwenna said, smiling when the maid jumped.

Oh, Lord, you did startle me so! I did not think you’d be awake yet, my lady.

Morwenna yawned. Well, ‘tis not every day that I turn 25.

Indeed, my lady. May your wishes today come true.

Thank you, Bethan. I—

Pounding hooves thundering along the road outside snatched the words from Morwenna’s lips. It had been many years since anyone raided or laid siege to the castle, yet the ferocity of the approach sounded threatening.

Are we under attack, my lady? Bethan asked.

Terror turned Morwenna’s blood to ice. She threw off the bed covers and dashed to the window, leaning out to see an unfamiliar banner flickering in the wind. She waited, hearing the creak and crank of the drawbridge lowering and the ring of hooves as the horses entered the courtyard. Her fear subsided as she realised her guards would never have admitted an enemy into the castle.

’Tis no attack, Bethan. But who would make so bold as to call so early? Make haste and find out who it is.

Yes, my lady.

A short while later, Bethan returned, her chubby cheeks flushing deeply.

What news, Bethan?

’Tis Baron de Cadwur, my lady. Oh, and he’s so handsome, Bethan giggled.

Morwenna only half listened as Bethan tripped over her words in her rush to describe the baron. Morwenna had left the room, transported to an evening many years before when a dark-eyed man had stared at her most brazenly.

I shall meet with him shortly, Morwenna said coldly, sitting down before a mirror and calmly brushing her hair.

Some thirty minutes later, she glided into the presence chamber where the striking figure of the baron rose to meet her. Her pulse fluttered in her throat as she stared up at him. In turn, his eyes raked over her from top to bottom and back again, and she glared until he sank into a low, respectful bow.

We meet again, although the last time was in happier circumstances, the baron said solemnly, his voice a deep rumble that she felt in the pit of her stomach. His dark eyes found hers.

She scowled. Did we? I vaguely remember, but such things hold little importance for me.

The baron looked startled. Women had always fallen for his easy charms. He watched her carefully, amused at the haughty manner in which she assessed him. Suddenly, he tipped back his head and laughed loudly and richly. So infectious was the baron’s mirth that Morwenna soon found herself joining in.

Please be seated, she said gently.

They spoke at length. She admired his intelligence and quick wit and greatly enjoyed their conversation. Though it was clear he appreciated her appearance, he seemed more interested in her thoughts and ideas than her beauty.

Your father would be proud, my lady, he said gently. He was a good man.

Tears sprang to Morwenna’s eyes, but she smiled gratefully at the baron’s unexpected kindness. Thank you. I miss him greatly.

Eventually, she took her leave, gossiping and laughing with her maids long into the night about the strange and enigmatic visitor. The next few days followed in the same way, with the happy couple engrossed in the liveliest of discourse. He seemed to understand her deepest