Post by orinocoflow on Mar 22, 2010 21:53:10 GMT -5
This is my first story on here. Hope you like it!
Paul rode in the fresh spring weather, his magnificent stallion cantering easily through the tall grass of the green field. His mind was filled with thoughts of his lady, Deidre, and how she greeted him every time after he came back from traveling, hunting, or whatnot; a curious glance out the window, a wonderful smile splaying across her beautiful face, a heavy wooden door swinging open as though it weighed nothing, and her musical laughter ringing through the air as she ran across the short distance from the porch to where he always dismounted with practiced ease. She would throw her arms around his neck, telling him of the day and of how she had missed him in the time he was gone.
He missed that greeting, as he had been away from home for the past few weeks and was tired from a long, weary journey. He could almost picture the way her hair would fly out behind her, reflecting the sun’s rays in its wavy lengths.
Ah, well, he thought, tightening the reins of his horse. Only an hour away; I can survive that long.
What he did not know, however, was that a gypsy band had passed by his house a few days before. Their leader, a strikingly handsome man who answered to the name of Ryan, had seen and wanted the same that was passing through Paul's mind at the very moment. And he, unlike the wealthy lord, had not been able to survive for an hour longer.
The servant girl, Mairead, gazed at the dirty gypsy wagons with disgust and fear. She knew what they were capable of, and with the Lord Byrom away with his best men on a distant journey, she knew that the soldiers left behind were no match for the rugged gypsy men. As soon as the dust was visible and the neighing of the horses had come to her attention, she had quickly chased the children in the courtyard back into the mansion and had sent the fastest and oldest lad to fetch the women down by the river. By the time the band had arrived, the lone riders hooting and galloping to and fro whilst catching the escaped chickens for themselves, the people of the land were safe inside. Only the warrior left in charge while the lord was away stood outside with a younger man beside him, both armed.
The gypsies’ leader was a rowdy young man of about thirty, no older. His hair was black as coal, and his gold earring glinted in the afternoon sun. When she met his icy blue gaze, she was surprised to find herself mesmerized, yet frightened, by it. The cold eyes seemed neon in color, flashing with an inner flame of blue, but calm and collected at the same time, malicious. He sent her a chilling look that could have passed for either a smirk or a smile, one could never know.
His steed, too, looked incredibly like him. Black as the night, his eyes were no different from his rider’s, save for the color was jet-black, not like arctic sapphires. They glistened with undoubted energy and fierceness, and, judging by how the horses on the land reacted, he was a natural leader.
The gypsy turned back to the warrior, his eyes flashing over the weapons before jumping to the man’s face when the latter spoke.
“What do you want here?” Neil demanded, his voice strong and obviously furious.
The young rover spared him only a half-hearted glance before focusing on the younger man beside Neil. Damian shifted under the scrutinizing glare but held his ground, all of his seventeen years daring him to turn tail and run from the threatening man.
“My band needs a ground to stay at overnight, maybe two, before continuing. One of the lads is sick, and we cannot travel for now.”
Mairead stood staring at the man, amazed by his voice. It was a tad hoarse, no doubt from riding in the dust for so long, but gorgeous nonetheless. Seeming to sense her eyes in him, he glanced her way, finishing his demand while staring straight at her.
“Also, two of our horses came up lame and need rest. So for two days, we require your hospitality.”
Neil was unsure of what to do for a moment, but then he spoke up.
“Alright, as long as you stay outside the walls. We will supply care for your horses and the boy provided the rest of you don’t come inside of here. Is that clear?”
The gypsy let out a ghost of a laugh.
“This world will never change its view of us, will it?” Then he became serious. “I agree to the terms. I will have them come in a few minutes.” He turned away, about to ride back, but then stopped, glancing over his shoulder.
“Oh, and you can call me Ryan.” With that, he was gone in a cloud of dust.
Mairead jumped as a gentle hand was placed on her shoulder.
“My lady! I did not hear you come up.”
Deidre smiled softly but then her eyes lit up as she pivoted to the window.
“Did you see that gypsy man? The one who’s name is Ryan? Isn’t he just gorgeous, his eyes boring into you, his hair windblown and ruffled?”
Mairead frowned slightly, watching her lady’s face. They were bright and dreamy, in a way she had seen them only for the Lord Byrom before. Worried, she laid a hand on Deidre’s arm.
“My lady, he is a dangerous man. You know he is only a gypsy.” Remembering, she brightened. “Your man, Lord Byrom, is returning in a few days. Shall we go see how your new gown for the evening dinner is coming along? You know how he loves to see you in green when he arrives.”
Deidre glanced at her, her eyes still dazed, as though hypnotized. Nodding vaguely, she allowed herself to be led away from the window and the handsome man’s image.
At midnight, Deidre snuck out the back way from the mansion, running along the shadows to where the gypsies’ camp was just outside. As she hid behind the old well, hoping for a glimpse of Ryan, she wondered what Paul would say if he found out. They were married, and whenever another man so much as looked in her direction in a different way, Paul would make sure he would never have a chance to do that again. And here she was, doing exactly that! What would he do indeed.
Suddenly, there was a soft whistling behind her. Veering around, she gasped and stepped into the light as she found herself face-to-face with a muscular figure of a man. Though he was definitely a few inches shorter than Paul, he had an overpowering air about him that made him seem a giant. His face was in shadow, but when he spoke, she recognized the raspy voice of Ryan.
“What are you doing here?” He was not angry, she realized, but amused. Raising her head to meet his eyes, she was interested as to why that was so.
“Surely your lord would be furious when he found his woman away with another man, especially a gypsy.” A smile touched his lips. “Come away with me, Deidre; come away out of the light. Come and ride with me into the night.”
As she looked into his frosty eyes, she wanted to. But just as she reached out to the hand he held outstretched, the rooster cried out, marking the dawn.
She jerked her arm back, frightened. How long had she been out? It did not matter; she had to get back inside before anyone found that she was gone. She looked at the mansion, then back at Ryan, but he was nowhere to be found, as though he had simply dissolved into the crisp morning air.
“I will come back tomorrow night, I promise,” she whispered into the wind, knowing he would hear her.
With a quick backward glance, she turned and ran back the way she had come.
The next day dragged by for Deidre. The green silk gown was beautiful, but she knew she would not need it; Paul would never see her wearing it. In a way, that saddened her, for she loved him very much. She knew she would miss the lavish life he had given her, and his pure tenor voice. She wanted most of all to hear him sing for her just one more time, that wonderful sound filling the night air. If she left, she would forever be deprived of hearing him again, of seeing his startlingly blue eyes sparkle with the amazing sense of humor he had been gifted with, of drawing her hand through his silky brown mane of hair, which he always kept swept back out of his face, but that would somehow find its way flipping down to hide his eyes.
Never feel him kiss her again.
With a sigh, she picked up the small portrait she had of him. She always wore it in a locket around her neck, especially when he was on distant journeys. His blue eyes stared back at her green ones, and the streaky brown hair was ruffled by an unseen wind. A gentle smile splayed over his handsome features, and for a moment, she wondered why she was leaving this kind, wonderful man who loved her for a rugged gypsy who had nothing to offer her except adventure.
I can always come back to Paul if I don’t like it with Ryan, right? So I have nothing to worry about.
As nightfall drew near, she began pacing more and more. Mairead, sensing something was wrong, stayed by her side until Deidre ordered her away. Knowing what she was going to do, Mairead did all she could to stop her.
“No,” declared Deidre stubbornly. “I want to go with him. Tell Paul not to worry, because I am all right.” With that, she left the mansion as the clock struck midnight.
When she met with Ryan that night, his expression was serious.
“Come during the day, since it will seem less suspicious if you go somewhere at that time than during the night.” And with a quick kiss, he was gone.
Deidre stared after him in the darkness, knowing that, regardless what she felt for Paul, she would follow this man of mystery and adventure.
Deidre spent the morning packing what she would need: clothes, a couple of her favorite books, money, some of her favorite jewelry, and…the picture of Paul. She knew she should most likely not need any of that, but she could not go without that portrait for sure. With a knot in her stomach, she packed it all into a compact bag and left for the stables.
As she groomed and tacked her horse, she remembered how Paul had gotten him for her as a gift for her last birthday. The young stallion had been very frisky and troublesome for the herd he was in, and the leader had kicked him out because of that. On one of his hunting trips, Paul had seen the magnificent animal and brought him back to his beloved. She had been so happy with the colt. Now, he brought tears to her eyes as she realized how much she would miss her husband and the life she was leaving behind.
I can always come back, she thought, reassuring herself.
At noon, she trotted out to where she was to meet Ryan, and so began her new life as the lady of a gypsy man.
As Paul cantered into the courtyard of his mansion later that same day, he was already worrying. An hour ago, he had felt a tug at his heart, and it had felt as though he were suffocating. The restriction to his chest only increased when no face at the window met him, no gleaming hair, no musical laughter; only a dead silence as a stable boy ran out, grabbing his horse’s reins. He knew something was wrong the instant Mairead came out, tears staining her cheeks.
Leaping off his steed, he raced to the servant girl, grasping her by the shoulders and forcing her to lift her face to his.
“What happened? Where is she?” No answer. “Where is she?!”
Mairead sobbed quietly, then, ignoring rank, laid her head on his powerful arm and gasped for breath as tears overwhelmed her. Paul paused for only a moment before leading the maid to a nearby chair to let her sit. When she collected herself, she told him of what had happened.
Paul staggered back from Mairead, emotions clouding his vision. This was why his chest hurt, why he could hardly draw a breath.
“Fetch me a fresh horse, the best there is,” he whispered hoarsely, his throat tight. Swallowing hard, he waited as the fastest horse was brought to him, and then, not asking where the gypsies had gone to, he galloped off in the correct direction, instinct telling him where he needed to go.
He rode east and he rode west, he rode north and south also. But when he rode to the wild open fields, and to the sea, he knew he would never find his lady.
And now, many years later, every spring, if you go to a certain spot in the fields outside the old mansion, which is now in ruins, you can see a ghost rider gallop through them and stop by a well at exactly midnight.
And that is who, the people say, is responsible for the handsome lord never returning to his heartland. For people have searched but have never found the Lord Byrom. The only trace left of his existence was a detailed portrait formed as a locket, accidentally pulled up by a servant boy while he was drawing water from a well.
THE END
Paul rode in the fresh spring weather, his magnificent stallion cantering easily through the tall grass of the green field. His mind was filled with thoughts of his lady, Deidre, and how she greeted him every time after he came back from traveling, hunting, or whatnot; a curious glance out the window, a wonderful smile splaying across her beautiful face, a heavy wooden door swinging open as though it weighed nothing, and her musical laughter ringing through the air as she ran across the short distance from the porch to where he always dismounted with practiced ease. She would throw her arms around his neck, telling him of the day and of how she had missed him in the time he was gone.
He missed that greeting, as he had been away from home for the past few weeks and was tired from a long, weary journey. He could almost picture the way her hair would fly out behind her, reflecting the sun’s rays in its wavy lengths.
Ah, well, he thought, tightening the reins of his horse. Only an hour away; I can survive that long.
* * *
What he did not know, however, was that a gypsy band had passed by his house a few days before. Their leader, a strikingly handsome man who answered to the name of Ryan, had seen and wanted the same that was passing through Paul's mind at the very moment. And he, unlike the wealthy lord, had not been able to survive for an hour longer.
* * *
The servant girl, Mairead, gazed at the dirty gypsy wagons with disgust and fear. She knew what they were capable of, and with the Lord Byrom away with his best men on a distant journey, she knew that the soldiers left behind were no match for the rugged gypsy men. As soon as the dust was visible and the neighing of the horses had come to her attention, she had quickly chased the children in the courtyard back into the mansion and had sent the fastest and oldest lad to fetch the women down by the river. By the time the band had arrived, the lone riders hooting and galloping to and fro whilst catching the escaped chickens for themselves, the people of the land were safe inside. Only the warrior left in charge while the lord was away stood outside with a younger man beside him, both armed.
The gypsies’ leader was a rowdy young man of about thirty, no older. His hair was black as coal, and his gold earring glinted in the afternoon sun. When she met his icy blue gaze, she was surprised to find herself mesmerized, yet frightened, by it. The cold eyes seemed neon in color, flashing with an inner flame of blue, but calm and collected at the same time, malicious. He sent her a chilling look that could have passed for either a smirk or a smile, one could never know.
His steed, too, looked incredibly like him. Black as the night, his eyes were no different from his rider’s, save for the color was jet-black, not like arctic sapphires. They glistened with undoubted energy and fierceness, and, judging by how the horses on the land reacted, he was a natural leader.
The gypsy turned back to the warrior, his eyes flashing over the weapons before jumping to the man’s face when the latter spoke.
“What do you want here?” Neil demanded, his voice strong and obviously furious.
The young rover spared him only a half-hearted glance before focusing on the younger man beside Neil. Damian shifted under the scrutinizing glare but held his ground, all of his seventeen years daring him to turn tail and run from the threatening man.
“My band needs a ground to stay at overnight, maybe two, before continuing. One of the lads is sick, and we cannot travel for now.”
Mairead stood staring at the man, amazed by his voice. It was a tad hoarse, no doubt from riding in the dust for so long, but gorgeous nonetheless. Seeming to sense her eyes in him, he glanced her way, finishing his demand while staring straight at her.
“Also, two of our horses came up lame and need rest. So for two days, we require your hospitality.”
Neil was unsure of what to do for a moment, but then he spoke up.
“Alright, as long as you stay outside the walls. We will supply care for your horses and the boy provided the rest of you don’t come inside of here. Is that clear?”
The gypsy let out a ghost of a laugh.
“This world will never change its view of us, will it?” Then he became serious. “I agree to the terms. I will have them come in a few minutes.” He turned away, about to ride back, but then stopped, glancing over his shoulder.
“Oh, and you can call me Ryan.” With that, he was gone in a cloud of dust.
* * *
Mairead jumped as a gentle hand was placed on her shoulder.
“My lady! I did not hear you come up.”
Deidre smiled softly but then her eyes lit up as she pivoted to the window.
“Did you see that gypsy man? The one who’s name is Ryan? Isn’t he just gorgeous, his eyes boring into you, his hair windblown and ruffled?”
Mairead frowned slightly, watching her lady’s face. They were bright and dreamy, in a way she had seen them only for the Lord Byrom before. Worried, she laid a hand on Deidre’s arm.
“My lady, he is a dangerous man. You know he is only a gypsy.” Remembering, she brightened. “Your man, Lord Byrom, is returning in a few days. Shall we go see how your new gown for the evening dinner is coming along? You know how he loves to see you in green when he arrives.”
Deidre glanced at her, her eyes still dazed, as though hypnotized. Nodding vaguely, she allowed herself to be led away from the window and the handsome man’s image.
* * *
At midnight, Deidre snuck out the back way from the mansion, running along the shadows to where the gypsies’ camp was just outside. As she hid behind the old well, hoping for a glimpse of Ryan, she wondered what Paul would say if he found out. They were married, and whenever another man so much as looked in her direction in a different way, Paul would make sure he would never have a chance to do that again. And here she was, doing exactly that! What would he do indeed.
Suddenly, there was a soft whistling behind her. Veering around, she gasped and stepped into the light as she found herself face-to-face with a muscular figure of a man. Though he was definitely a few inches shorter than Paul, he had an overpowering air about him that made him seem a giant. His face was in shadow, but when he spoke, she recognized the raspy voice of Ryan.
“What are you doing here?” He was not angry, she realized, but amused. Raising her head to meet his eyes, she was interested as to why that was so.
“Surely your lord would be furious when he found his woman away with another man, especially a gypsy.” A smile touched his lips. “Come away with me, Deidre; come away out of the light. Come and ride with me into the night.”
As she looked into his frosty eyes, she wanted to. But just as she reached out to the hand he held outstretched, the rooster cried out, marking the dawn.
She jerked her arm back, frightened. How long had she been out? It did not matter; she had to get back inside before anyone found that she was gone. She looked at the mansion, then back at Ryan, but he was nowhere to be found, as though he had simply dissolved into the crisp morning air.
“I will come back tomorrow night, I promise,” she whispered into the wind, knowing he would hear her.
With a quick backward glance, she turned and ran back the way she had come.
* * *
The next day dragged by for Deidre. The green silk gown was beautiful, but she knew she would not need it; Paul would never see her wearing it. In a way, that saddened her, for she loved him very much. She knew she would miss the lavish life he had given her, and his pure tenor voice. She wanted most of all to hear him sing for her just one more time, that wonderful sound filling the night air. If she left, she would forever be deprived of hearing him again, of seeing his startlingly blue eyes sparkle with the amazing sense of humor he had been gifted with, of drawing her hand through his silky brown mane of hair, which he always kept swept back out of his face, but that would somehow find its way flipping down to hide his eyes.
Never feel him kiss her again.
With a sigh, she picked up the small portrait she had of him. She always wore it in a locket around her neck, especially when he was on distant journeys. His blue eyes stared back at her green ones, and the streaky brown hair was ruffled by an unseen wind. A gentle smile splayed over his handsome features, and for a moment, she wondered why she was leaving this kind, wonderful man who loved her for a rugged gypsy who had nothing to offer her except adventure.
I can always come back to Paul if I don’t like it with Ryan, right? So I have nothing to worry about.
As nightfall drew near, she began pacing more and more. Mairead, sensing something was wrong, stayed by her side until Deidre ordered her away. Knowing what she was going to do, Mairead did all she could to stop her.
“No,” declared Deidre stubbornly. “I want to go with him. Tell Paul not to worry, because I am all right.” With that, she left the mansion as the clock struck midnight.
* * *
When she met with Ryan that night, his expression was serious.
“Come during the day, since it will seem less suspicious if you go somewhere at that time than during the night.” And with a quick kiss, he was gone.
Deidre stared after him in the darkness, knowing that, regardless what she felt for Paul, she would follow this man of mystery and adventure.
* * *
Deidre spent the morning packing what she would need: clothes, a couple of her favorite books, money, some of her favorite jewelry, and…the picture of Paul. She knew she should most likely not need any of that, but she could not go without that portrait for sure. With a knot in her stomach, she packed it all into a compact bag and left for the stables.
As she groomed and tacked her horse, she remembered how Paul had gotten him for her as a gift for her last birthday. The young stallion had been very frisky and troublesome for the herd he was in, and the leader had kicked him out because of that. On one of his hunting trips, Paul had seen the magnificent animal and brought him back to his beloved. She had been so happy with the colt. Now, he brought tears to her eyes as she realized how much she would miss her husband and the life she was leaving behind.
I can always come back, she thought, reassuring herself.
At noon, she trotted out to where she was to meet Ryan, and so began her new life as the lady of a gypsy man.
* * *
As Paul cantered into the courtyard of his mansion later that same day, he was already worrying. An hour ago, he had felt a tug at his heart, and it had felt as though he were suffocating. The restriction to his chest only increased when no face at the window met him, no gleaming hair, no musical laughter; only a dead silence as a stable boy ran out, grabbing his horse’s reins. He knew something was wrong the instant Mairead came out, tears staining her cheeks.
Leaping off his steed, he raced to the servant girl, grasping her by the shoulders and forcing her to lift her face to his.
“What happened? Where is she?” No answer. “Where is she?!”
Mairead sobbed quietly, then, ignoring rank, laid her head on his powerful arm and gasped for breath as tears overwhelmed her. Paul paused for only a moment before leading the maid to a nearby chair to let her sit. When she collected herself, she told him of what had happened.
Paul staggered back from Mairead, emotions clouding his vision. This was why his chest hurt, why he could hardly draw a breath.
“Fetch me a fresh horse, the best there is,” he whispered hoarsely, his throat tight. Swallowing hard, he waited as the fastest horse was brought to him, and then, not asking where the gypsies had gone to, he galloped off in the correct direction, instinct telling him where he needed to go.
He rode east and he rode west, he rode north and south also. But when he rode to the wild open fields, and to the sea, he knew he would never find his lady.
* * *
And now, many years later, every spring, if you go to a certain spot in the fields outside the old mansion, which is now in ruins, you can see a ghost rider gallop through them and stop by a well at exactly midnight.
And that is who, the people say, is responsible for the handsome lord never returning to his heartland. For people have searched but have never found the Lord Byrom. The only trace left of his existence was a detailed portrait formed as a locket, accidentally pulled up by a servant boy while he was drawing water from a well.
THE END