Taking Revenge, Melissa Pollard [books to read as a couple txt] 📗

I walked down the abbey, my dress flowing behind me, sweeping the floor like waves along the ocean floor. Surrounding me was large stones, towering to enclose buildings of different functions and to protect the people inside. Rats raced across my path, cobwebs dangled in windows stories above my head. There was a slight pitter patter as the soles of my shoes graced the damp, stone path.
As I arrived at my destination, I hastily climbed the steps, grasping the railing for support. At the top, I knocked. Ten seconds passed before the door heaved open. A petite, elderly woman stood inside, glassy grey eyes studying me. If I remember correctly, her name was Madeline. I straightened, “I came to see Sir Chase,” I stated.
“For what matter?” She questioned, her voice wavering from old age.
“He has something of mine, a token, and I wish it back,” I cleared my throat.
“Sir Chases’ father is dying on his bed at this moment, and Sir Chase will not leave his side.”
“That’s absurd! He instructed me to be here at the third hour before noon, promising to return my token, are you saying he’s breaking his promise to me?”
“It appears so,” she responded. She stood there, waiting. I heaved a loud sigh, to show my frustration. Common men are not worth the sacrifice for love. I turned and eased downed the steps. Gingerly, the door behind me closed. I paused, my blood was beginning to boil hot, my fists clenched; sweat began to shimmer off my brow. He dares to break a promise to me? I expected better from him; this man of many words. He’s made my heart melt, my knees buckle under my dress, always catching me. He’s promised adventures and excitement, always following through. He vowed to never break a promise before. I pondered for a moment, has he ever broken a promise to me or riddled a lie before?
No.
I flew off the last step, outraged. He lied to me! For the love of God, he lied to me! To me! Oh, I’ll get my revenge alright, and I raced out of the alley. I didn’t bother with posture as I pushed past the crowd. Music played across the street, children dancing made up dances to the tune. Horses’ hooves clacked against the solid dirt. The baker had just set out fresh bread, the aroma of vanilla and honey and warm dough filled the streets, intoxicating my nostrils. My feet wanted to dance, my nose wanted to lather in the aroma, my taste buds developed a new fetish for bread, however, my mind was driven for revenge, and with that, I turned off the street and straight for my front door.
I pushed the door open, slamming it shut. I stormed into the bedroom and fell to my knees. My fingers tracing the cracks between the wooden boards till I found the niche. I picked at the board until it budged and my fingers could grasp it more. Once it was finally off, I plunged my hand into the hole, till its warmth turned to cold. Found it. The corners of my mouth crept up.
I closed the compartment, lifted up my dress, and right above my knee I laced the sheath around my thigh. The cold metal flew through my leg, nearly causing me to shiver. I took a deep breath, calming myself. I took off a long, black cloak off a hanger, twisting the ropes around my neck. I grabbed a coin purse and tied it around my hips. I raised the cloaks hood on top of my head, took one last look into the mirror, and flashed a pleasant grin.
I stepped outside, the streets bustling with people from one place to another. Perfect. I fluttered down my steps, nodding as men tipped their hats, faint smiles across their faces. I headed left down the street, towards Sir Chases. The metal sheath hitting against my inner thigh with every step.
I pushed open a door. Fresh baked bread filling my nostrils. A plump man stood on the other side of the room, a wide grin crossing his face as his eyes met mine. I floated forward, my eyes meeting a fluffy loaf of bread with honey drizzled on top. The man noticed my trance, and when he spoke, the walls shook at his booming voice, “Ahh, a fine loaf the be. Does it interest you m’lady?” I nodded, “Well then, that’ll be on shilling.” A man from Ireland obviously. His words playing in the back of my mind, young women in green dresses dancing inside a human circle; men with scraggly red beards chugging down alcohol, testing who will stay awake the longest. Laughter and music filling the air with intricate bagpipe cords.
I chuckled at the thought. The plump man eyeing me, trying to figure out what’s so funny. He wrapped the bread in a burgundy cloth and took one shilling from my fingers. As I grasped the bread, my fingers sunk into the cloth and squished the bread, I loosened my grip, thanked the man, and left the bakery.
Outside the air was thick. The fog had a reddish tint to it, as if it could predict the days outcome. The streets became busier as more folks were rising from their bedrooms and setting off for a new day. I made my way towards my intended destination, children still danced their unknown and unmatchable dances.
“Lady Abigail, Lady Abigail!”
I stopped and turned around, in search of the voice speaking. Hustling towards me with a hand raised and a pleasant smile across her face was Lady Matilda. I smiled as she got closer. She wore a blue skirt that matched her eyes, accompanied by a white top and brown corset. Flowing behind her was her rose pink cloak, tickling the arms of the people it brushed past. Her brown hair lightly stuck to her rose face from the slight sweat that broke from her run over here.
“My lady Abigail,” she breathed, “wherever did you get that dress? It’s stupendous!”
I looked down, the entire dress was black enriched in black lace roses and form fitting to my bodice. It was a gift from my late husband before he died from a brutal murder. I occasionally wear the dress in memory of him, and of course as a proud reminder that the killer still hasn’t been found. “A gift, I have no knowledge of its origins,” I stated. She looked a little disheartened, still admiring the dress.
“Walk with me,” she invited, “I have matters to discuss with you,” we linked arms before heading towards Sir Chases’ house. “Sir William has privately announced his attraction to you,” a smile crossing her face.
“Now, now, I have Sir Chase at the moment,” I pleaded.
“Sir Chases father is dying, do you really want to say you’re being courted by a blubbering commoner?”
“I suppose not, but he makes my heart melt, and my knees buckle, not even my latest husband did that.”
“Fine, fine,” she protested, “but remember when it’s over with you two, just remember Sir William may not still have his eye on you,” and with that she released my arm and headed towards the ceramics shop, a teasing smile and hinting eyes looking my way for a brief amount of seconds before she disappeared.
I looked to my left, down the alley was the door to Sir Chases’ rundown home. It was half past the tenth hour, Madeline shouldn’t be there any more, just Sir Chase and his rugged father. I took a step lightly in that direction. Then another, and another, and another until I stood at the foot of the stairs. My foot rose up, before whispering down on the first step. At the top, I lifted my dress and reached down for the cold metal. When my fingers reached it, they entwined around the hilt, where I pulled the metal out of the sheath, letting my dress fall. I glanced at the silver in my hand. The blade reflected my face clearly. The hilt bore three roses at the tip, the stems twisting and turning, racing down the hilt till they disappeared into the blade. My grip tightened on the hilt as my other hand reached for the door. I pushed, it was unlocked.
I peered in; a short, musky hallway unwillingly welcomed me. Unattended candles on the walls were nearly out, just faintly illuminating my path. They protruded from the walls on black curved handles. The base that the candle rested on fanned out like rose petals, the handles carved into like rose stems entwining and twisting with each other. Sir Chases’ family crest, three roses with entwined stems. The walls were of cheap, brown wood, matching the floor hidden beneath an antique rug. Slowly I stepped down the hallway, the floor faintly creaking beneath my feet. At the end of the hallway, I heard muffled noises, possibly whispers or even crying.
The paintings on the wall stared in disapproval as I made my way down the hallway. Painted eyes of blue, green and gold locked their eyes into mine, studying my every step. I raised my chin. If they had known what my beloved had done to me earlier, their eyes wouldn’t be of disapproval but of encouragement, but the oil in the paint blinded them from the truth.
The door where the muffled noises came from was ajar, a faint glow peering out from the creeks. I pushed open the door slowly. Coming into view was a wooden post to the height of my waist. Following the past was a white semi fluffy pillow. Resting on the pillow was en elderly man, his eyes were closed a tint of purple encircling them. His hands were folded onto the top of his chest, his snow white hair untouched.
Curled up against the wall was a young man, in his late twenties. His chestnut hair hung over his face, which was planted into his arms that rested on his knees. His shoulders were shaking. As he breathed in, muffled gasps filled the air. I cautioned towards him, the silver dirk firm in my grasp. He raised his head, “Abby?” he questioned. He wiped away his tears, and I came more clearly into his focus. When he saw the dirk in my hand, his golden eyes enlarged. “Abby, what are you doing?”
“Taking revenge,” I lunged towards him, my arm swinging forward. The tip of the blade made contact with his throat, breaking the skin. Blood splattered across the wall connected the one Sir Chases back was leaning on. He let out a cough, dark red fluid escaping his mouth. He lifted his gold eyes to mine, freezing the second they made connection. His hands absent mindedly dropped, hitting a fast growing pool of blood. I turned, bowed my head in respect towards Sir Chases’ father and left the house.
Outside, I ran towards a knight seat on top of his brown horse. “Sir, Sir, there’s been a murder! Sir Chase, he lays inside his home, his throat slit open! This dirk was laying on the ground!” I held up the dirk, tears streaming down my cheeks. The knight took the dirk and raced his horse to the house, getting off and entering the house. I straightened, the ends of my mouth curving upwards. “There goes another one,” I muttered.
A month after Sir Chases’ murder, I was exiting the bakery, when Sir William approached me. “Hello Abigail, a fine evening it is today, wouldn’t you say?” I nodded. “I, I was wondering,” he stuttered, “Would you join me in a courtship, it would be my honor to have