Wednesday, September 25, 2013

A fortnight is completely unacceptable to wait for a repose from a gentleman. I had originally decided to write another letter admonishing the 'most courteous servant' (what a farce) for his behaviour. But no sooner had I wet the tip of my quill did I hear a commotion in the courtyard. Not only was it my duty to get involved and make sure no harm came to my household, my curiosity is not something I find easy to quell.

Rushing down the stairs to the unexpected turbulence I was thrust into the arms of none other than the unruly messenger who had delivered the principal letter all those weeks ago. I couldn't quite believe my misfortune and I was not held in his arms for long before pulling myself away. Affronted, I demanded to know what was his purpose in disturbing my home, and I dared to say that it was not the first time he showed a lack of etiquette in my presence, nor would it happen a third time.

When the messenger did nought but grin and bow sarcastically, I stormed away from the courtyard, content in the knowledge that my household were safe. They had witnessed the entire event most silently, and I could only imagine what would be whispered in the kitchens. The messenger on the other hand did not take the hint of my absence and followed me through the corridors. He did not even call my name nor ask me to stop before he grabbed my wrist. 

Only at the contact of skin on skin did he refer to me properly as 'Your Grace' and I felt him slip a parchment from the inside of his coat in between my fingers. I turned, words had left my tongue and I looked at the messenger intently for the first time. He had dark sandy hair and blue eyes that made no apologies for his actions, a slight stubble engulfed his chin and he was taller than me, but not by much. It took me a moment to realise the messenger was studying my face as intently and I was perturbed by his confidence.

I asked him to explain himself, to which the reply was 'my lord gave me strict instructions to deliver this letter to your hands personally.'

Thankfully he wasn't quite rude enough to shrug, but the glint in his eyes told me to question no further. He bowed appropriately and left me with the belated response. His touch still resonating on my fingers, the warmth of his chest still enveloping the letter. 



D. S.