When All Is Lost

“Sometimes you have to take matters into your own hands.”

Photo by: Andrej Lišakov (@lishakov) | Unsplash Photo Community

The storm clouds moved languidly as the virtuous light show pounded the land in orgiastic spectacle.

She glanced at her reflection on the water. The mask slipped for a second. Tears were washed away by cascading waterfalls. She looked skyward as the surface of the lake erupted with undignified splashes. “Tomorrow,” she lamented. “Tomorrow.”

The next morning Sarah glowered towards the east as the storm clouds beguiled the sky. “New day. Same beginnings,” she lamented.

Horsemen could be seen practicing formations in the distance. Sword play was in abundance. Archers were practicing their skills from different areas of the castle. She fingered her bow and arrows as she watched with great interest the movements within the castle walls. Guards were posted like trees. The gate was lowered. The rain showered everything. Sarah placed her bow and arrows beside the window and shuttered the curtains removing the gloom from her sight.

As Sarah moved to her writing table she pulled a piece of parchment from within her clothing.

“Love is lost,” she agonized as she sat on the bench. Dipping her nib in the ink bottle, blotting carefully, she considered her words before committing them to paper.

My Dearest Doyle,

It is my desire that the summer breeze carry my words to you on gossamer wings. Our days and weeks of immeasurable pleasure have filled my heart with the warmth of the sun after periods of gloom. Depth and clarity have lifted me beyond what our world has to offer. My life is full with..

A rap befell her wooden door. “Madame?” a soft voice inquired.

“Yes.” she answered rather abruptly.

“He is here seeking an audience.”

Sarah set down her pen and closed her eyes before counting to ten.

Another rap. “Madame?”

“Enter,” she lamented with distinct displeasure. Her lifelong maid entered the room quietly, closing the door softly behind her. She began searching for clothes fitting for the audience of undesired obstacles. Sarah remained where she sat, her thoughts enduring the foreshadowing that was taking place in her heart.

“It is against my wishes that this has been allowed to occur,” Sarah reflected gravely.

“One mustn’t rile his lordship. It is too dangerous.”

Sarah’s eyes flashed, peeling away her mask for a moment. “Tis dangerous to follow through with plans not of my devising. Arranged marriages are only in the best interests of one. My father’s desires usurp my own desires.”

“He is but a noble man you are seeing today.”

“A Nobleman yes but not a noble man.”

“Be careful not to let your countenance betray you,” reflected her maid as she finished the last touches on the dress and walked to the door.

“Betrayal!” thundered Sarah as she fought for composure. “When darkness is imminent, betrayal is the heart of my worries,” Sarah strode purposefully through the door.

“Wait! Your shoes. Your hair!”

“He shall see me as I am,” Sarah returned as she strode down the steps.

Still fuming Sarah burst through the door. “Father,” she said icily.

Her father turned from Lord Farrington. “My daughter has…” he faltered. Lord Farrington looked amused before looking away with distaste. He held his tongue while his face and body language echoed thoughts darker than he demonstrated.

“My daughter. Are you ill? Your composure and,” he looked her over, “attire is less than one would expect for receiving a guest.”

“I accept your offer,” reflected Lord Farrington with great determination as he offered his hand. “I will fulfill my part within days. She will be my bride,” he said, rather forcefully.

“So that is it?” Sarah abruptly interjected. “I am simply chattel? A business transaction? Something to be traded for something else?”

“My fiance,” Lord Farrington sputtered with growing anger. “You will be my wife.” He turned to the Earl. “Your daughter will learn her place. I bid you adieu,” he said as he stormed from the room. Sarah glanced at her father before she walked to the door with all the dignity she could muster.

Once she made it to the hallway Sarah rushed to the stairs, leaping them two at a time before she burst into her room and threw open the window. With a sly glance at her bow and arrows she leaned further out the window. Lord Farrington was mounting his horse in the courtyard. A whooshing sound was heard through the open window. Fusillades of arrows stopped flying through the air.

Lord Farrington was lying on the ground as guards rushed to his side.

Sarah stepped back from the window as her maid walked through the door and gave a nod.

Suddenly her father burst through the door, almost knocking her maid over. “Farrington has been shot dead!”

“I am aware of that father. I was looking out the window when it occurred.”

Her father looked at the bow and arrow by the window. He briskly walked over and examined them. He let out a sigh of relief.

“They are all here,” he said quietly.

“Father?”

“I have to go to see Lord Farrington.” He regarded his daughter with a growing interest. “When I come back we will have a discussion about Doyle.”

“Yes father,” she replied as his back left the doorway.

She went to the washing bowl and looked at her reflection in the water. A calmness was reflected back at her.

“Thank you,” she said to her maid as Sarah reached calmly into the water before she splashed water on her face.

“My pleasure,” replied the maid. “Sometimes you have to take matters into your own hands.”

“Indeed,” replied Sarah.

“Your discussion concerning Doyle?”

“It shall be brief and to the point.”

Her maid smiled as she left the room.

“This may turn out for the best,” reflected Sarah as she watched stretcher bearers carry Lord Farrington across the grounds.

The sun’s warmth fell across her face as she turned her attention to far more important matters.