Promises Unkept

The unloved

Far away, on the horizon, moors were rolling past in great haste as sun just started to peek out from behind the trimmed up greeneries.

The hills were green, as green as a summer morning could make them and the sky was English blue, cloudless.

Lord Adelwood’s stallion sped past the damp road, it sturdy body beautifully glistening as it dashed and glided, muscle over muscle, bones over bone. It’s mane, like marshes blowing in the wind, flew back as it’s sure hooves stamped on the unsure, uneven muddy road.

Today, this raven creature was flying.

Lord Stephen Adelwood bent lower as he prompted his mount at its sharpest, swiftest speed. His green eyes were squinted in focus, his jaw clenched in anticipation, his lips set in grim line. Rest of his face was pale, too pale and contrasted by the redness that tainted the underside of his both eyes.

He had not slept all night. Had not even closed his eyes shut. 

He had left Ashleyton with the first cry of the cock, heading north from Hertfordshire.

An hour long ride.

His father’s place. Wilthill castle.

Now that the parliament had been discharged, his father had arrived here back from London, for his summer stay. Not that he was going to see his father. He would never have troubled his father with such an early morning visit. He was doing it for himself. For his own sake.

To instill some order in his world-gone-wrong.

He wanted to know who she was. Who Eden was?

After all that happened the previous evening, he was bewildered. He was injured. He was incredulous. Confused.

He still remembered, when he had been informed by his footman that the old haggard had afflicted his niece_ Eden, he had felt seizures of fire and disdain coursing his vain.

When he had barged into his parlor, his first objective was to secure Eden away and throw the man out of existence.

And yet, the first thing he had observed was how pale she looked. How hurt, how damaged she was. Her one cheek was burning red, the other one was wet of what were tears he supposed. And there was that gash on her lips, from where blood was oozing out. Her hurt mouth, he could still recollect the details.

She had looked so lovable to him then. So kissable.

But at last, there was the word.

Illegitimate.

In that moment, Lord Adelwood had realized actually that how little he knew his wife.

Soon enough, the ambiance around him all changed, hills got flattened into oak plantations and there went that lake then, which marked the threshold of Wilthill Castle, his father’s residence.

By the time he was riding into the wide driveway of the magnificent villa, sun was out high, into the sky, glistening randomly all over the windows of the architecture.

He dismounted himself off and handed the reins to the astounded stable boy.

An unannounced appearance of the Master’s son though being welcome visit, was also an astonishing and even alarming occurrence.

He entered the doorway with a breathless bewilderment, putting off his hat and gloves, handing it to the hailing butler without even a glance at him.

“Father...” he breathed out, his search-full, tired green eyes roaming the interiors of the hall. “I would wish to see father. Where is he?”