22. The Library.

22. The Library.
Having left Chastity curled up on my bed asleep for the day, I find myself wandering through the cavernous inner hallways of Edward's family home.

Home? I internally scoff, the renovated castle fortress, is still cold and dark to me. While the upper rooms are warmer and more accessible to light, the lower areas are still drafty and damp, despite the many tapestries that have been hung upon the wooden panelled walls. It is surprising, in a way that the chill of the mountain weather outside, can reach this far within the mountain. Yet here I am, both amazed and disparaged of, that the walls about me and how they provide such a strange sense of safety.

Finally I come to the two large wooden double doors I have been searching for; they are carved with the forms of rearing horses, each one encompassing the entire door's space and reflecting the flickering lights from the wall torches. I push one open, ignoring the throbbing in my ankle at doing so and enter the library. I must admit, this far in the the mountain it is a relief to find a chimney was able to be installed, and even more so that the fire is already lit and burning well when I enter the room.

I breathe in that wonderful scent of books, curious at how such joy can be found from the scent of leather, paper and old ink, as I allow the heat of the room to permeate through me and chase the chill of the hallways away. After a moment's calm I slowly begin to wander down the aisle, my fingers lightly tracing along each book's spine, as I step further into the opportunity of a brief escape from life, searching for something that catches my eye.

I'm in the fourth aisle when an older tomme finally does.

The leather binding is fraying somewhat, and when I pull it from its place, I almost choke on the cloud of dust which follows in it's wake.

Beware the Deep

The golden lettering, has mostly faded, and what was once no doubt an incredibly expensive book, now looks tattered and forgotten. But, it is a sizeable manuscript, and I need both hands to carry it as I wander back towards the fire, and the comfortable chairs set up there.

Once I have made myself comfortable, I begin leafing through the delicate pages, grimacing at what I see before me. It appears to be some sort on encyclopedic recording of sea monsters that one should avoid at all costs. They span out across different superstitions and cultures, but all appear to be thought of as quite deadly.

There are sirens, beautiful women, who lure sailors to their deaths by enchanting them with their voices; the Kracken, a sea monster in the guise of a giant squid, that crushes ships and devours sailors; the Bakunawa, a giant serpent who devours the moon; an Aspidochelone, described as a demonic island who lies in wait of sailors to dock their ships, and then dives low beneath the water, pulling everyone into the murky depths.

Each tale is gruesome, and almost all involve the demise of human life. But, when I turn the next page I become transfixed. Painted beside the gilded lettering is a black horse. The title reads, The Kelpie.

Known across fresh water bodies, rivers and streams, the kelpie can summon floods to drown his victims, there are also stories of this shape shifting demon stretching out his back to carry many riders at once. He collects children, whom upon touching his coat become stuck, and he then dives down into the deep waters, drowning them before he devours the poor souls, casting their entrails back on land when he is done.

The similarities of my own childhood, make me feel physically ill. Was I almost prey to a Kelpie? I look for details of Kelpies in salt water, but find none, and my hand comes back to trace the image of the black horse once more. He is beautiful, although maybe that is a trick, to invite more victims to climb upon his back.

Under his picture, I can see a small line scribbled in faded ink, Beware the handsome stranger, he may lead you to your doom.

I shudder at the sudden memory of Kaleisha, and her warning months ago to Edward; something about me being marked, I think, and that he was coming. My leg burns at the recollection and I am sure I must be going insane. I need to speak to Kaleisha, it is imperative that I discover the fate she has eluded to.

"Miss Catherine, what on earth have you found to read?" Edward's light hearted voice suddenly startles me from my concentration. "This is indeed a frightening tomme, whatever made you pick it up?" He laughed out, ignoring my fright.

I scream, and clutch my erratic heart as he towers over me, leaning much closer than necessary to peer at the book.

"Edward, you frightened me," I chastised him, forcing my nerves to calm, "And truly, I do not know why I picked up this book, it seemed so strange and out of place, I thought it warranted some attention."

He smiled, and pulled back. Sometimes I swear his actions and his countenance were that of two different people. Maybe it is just the pressure of his role in life.

"The book is a bestiarie, an aquatic one by the looks of it and rather old. It catalogues monsters, to educate the reader on what to be wary of. Where did you find it?" He asked with a smile, "I shall return it and we will find you something together wholly more suitable for a lady. Poetry perhaps?" He states, lifting the book from my lap, before I can object.

"Thank you, Edward, but you needn't trouble yourself, I know you had a busy morning today. Please allow me to replace the book and then I will return," I say with as much of a demure smile as possible.

"Now, what kind of gentleman would I be if I allowed such a thing? Come, you lead the way, and I shall carry it. I'm surprised by the weight that you are not limping worse than normal, having dropped it on your toes, maybe?" He teases me.

I sigh, giving in and taking his arm, allowing him to lead me to the darker recesses of the library and back to the book's original shelf space, yet following my directions. The whole exercise seems incredibly tedious and pointless.

The more I learn to act like a lady, the more I discover even the most basic and trivial of one's actions seem to require a gentleman's help. The idea that I am incapable of putting a book on a shelf unattended is ridiculous, yet here I am being led through the shelves like a wayward an insecure child. I find it all quite vexing at times, I really do.

When we are eventually back at the fire, Edward hands me a book of poetry. I didn't even see him collect it, too lost in my own thoughts. I force a smile, at the small dainty book, flicking to the front page to discover it is about love, again I am forced to internalise my grimacing. Hopefully, this one will have less explicit art work than the last.

"Thank you, Edward. How very thoughtful of you," I smile, as he attempts to tuck a stray lock of hair behind my ear. His finger grazing my skin and making my body shiver most unpleasantly, I am forced to step back.

"You are the most enchanting creature, I have ever laid eyes on, Catherine. Do you know that?" He asks me sweetly.

"Edward, you are far too kind," I smile politely trying not to encourage him.

He sighs, before a calculated grin crosses his features, "You know, there is a cavern in the depths of the castle, where there is an underground river."

"Really?" I ask, with an intrigued grin.

"Yes," he nods, "It is said to rush directly to the sea."

My heart pangs with longing at his words. How I miss the solitude of the sea.

"But, what is more interesting, is that legend says it was once an underwater road for kelpies. The water horse creature, you were reading of."

Suddenly, every hair on my body stands on edge as I imagine such a creature coming here.

"Would you like to see it?" He asked me.

"Yes." The word has passed my lips before I could stop it, because logically it's the last thing I should wish to see; especially with what I have just read.

"Well, I shall make you a deal, Catherine. When you finally give in, and agree to be my wife, I will take you there. You have my word."

"Edward, you are unreasonable. I may not ever be fit to be the next Duchess. Whilst I am delighted to have you as a friend, and honoured to receive such tuition from you, I am still a commoner. I cannot posibly marry you," I smile, "Think of what the world would say."

"What are ranks, in comparison to love? I will not wed another, Catherine. It must be you," he answers smoothly.

"You are ridiculous," I laugh at his flirtations, while shaking my head.

"I see I must woo you further, alas you are still so cruel to my poor heart," he jokes clutching the tunic of his chest. "Ah, that's right," he says as he hears the crinkle of paper. "This arrived to town for you," he stated, and pulled a letter from his pocket.

I reach to take the envelope, however, just as my fingers brush against the paper, he pulls it further away.

"Well that is indeed a mean trick," I smile at him, "May I have my letter, please," I ask reaching out one hand expectantly.

"May I have my betrothal?" He fires back with a rogue smile.

"Lord Edward Sorrell, you are relentless," I state exasperated, "But please, my letter. I have been waiting to hear from my mother" I repeat standing up, to step closer to him.

"What a fine wife you will make me, Catherine, always keeping me in line," he laughs, while more mischief plays in his eyes, and I simply shake my head at him, while reaching for the letter.

"You are incourageable." I reply, whilst grasping my letter.

Edward sighs and releases it, "If I am, it is only because your beauty and charm has made me thus."

"Thank you," I reply, holding the letter up to make it clear what my thanks are actually for.

"You are most welcome, and now, I shall leave you to your correspondence," he sighs dramatically, as he makes his exit, muttering about how he longs to be the paper under the caress of my touch.

He has without a doubt lost his mind.

I am no where near fit to be the next dutchess. He would better find another pretty face, of fine breeding and excellent character for such a position. Besides, he does not own my heart, despite his out cries of emotion and declarations that I own his. Anyway, my father would never allow for me to reach so high, most likely because he couldn't bare the I told you so, he would recieve at least twice daily from my mother.

I briefly shake my head at the absurdity of it all, scoffing internally at the book of poetry, he suggested for me. Another piece of evidence which shows how ill matched we are for one another. Then with a sigh, I sit myself down again with the purpose of reading.

Only the letter is not in a hand I am familiar with.

I break the wax seal and open up the folded parchment. The hand is quite elegant.

Dear Miss Catherine,

Please forgive me the lack of an actual visit, but my parish will not allow me to travel so far to you, even when my heart is weighed down by such unhappy tidings. I write to relay to you, the passing of both your parents, a week last Thursday past. They were sadly taken to His great Kingdom early, due to a blaze that had broken out in the family barn, which subsequently spread to the main farm house during the night.

My deepest sympathies are with you at this troubling time and again, my humblest apologies for not being able to relay this news in person. You and your good parents will be within my prayers, and I have written to His Grace, to inform him of your predicament. The Duke is a fine and godly man, who I am sure will make every endeavour to see you well.

I truly wish you well, Miss Innes

Kindest Regards

Reverend Evander Cameron

I am numb, to recieve such correspondence from my family minister leaves me bereft of all emotion. My first thoughts are that this must be some kind of fools play, but Reverend Cameron, is a devout man and was never inclined to humour; nevermind humour of such a heartless nature.

My second thought is that I simultaneously cannot breathe yet, at the same time I fear I may vomit.

The letter is still crumpled within my hands as I run. I run through the corridors as fast as my injured leg will take me, desperate for fresh air. When I arrive at a small herb garden, designed for the kitchen, a garden I haven't been to in months the scent of rosemary is my undoing.

My mother grew it in abundance.

My voice pitches out as I scream, then I am met with only the cold and hardened ground beneath me as my world fades to black.