Meeting on the Turret Stairs
Published on 15th March 2010
Lyssa started up the back stairs of the old castle with more haste than was probably safe, considering the age of the place. But it was imperative she get upstairs to her dressing room quickly, before she was seen.
It didn't help. He was already there, ahead of her on the stair. Marcus. Handsome Marcus, who had taken her breath away from the moment she first saw him, walking up to her betrothed to pledge his fealty. Long, chocolate brown hair, sea-blue eyes, muscles rippling with every step closer. Captain of his personal guard, Marcus was with them nearly all of the time after that moment, unless he was on the tourney field.
She greeted him politely and tried to move past him smoothly, only to have him grab her arm and pull it against his hard chest. He rested his forehead on her arm, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply, as if trying to commit her scent to memory.
She quivered at the passion and desire showing on his face.
He pressed his lips to her arm.
"Don't do this to me, Lyssa."
"None of this is real, Marcus!"
"We can MAKE it real!"
She turned away, pressing her forehead to the stone, hoping the cold would shock some control back into her rebellious body, already aching for him. "It's not that easy," she whispered.
"Why not?" he demanded. "Because of Brandon? You don't really love him!"
"I do--"
"You do not! Look, I know you care for him, but you are not in love with him. You have been a couple for so long that you've bought into everyone else's assumption that the two of you would end up married."
"Marcus..."
"No! I will not stop this. Unless you can honestly tell me that he makes you feel the way you feel with me. Does he? Because this is love, my lady. Love. Not comfortable familiarity, but all consuming, passionate love. That is what I feel for you, and what I believe, what I hope... you feel for me."
She closed her eyes, reveling in the feel of his arms around her, his lips against her arm, as the memory of their first night together flashed through her mind. It had been a beautiful night, only the third weekend of the two month long rennaisance festival, and they had been celebrating a very successful weekend. They had all been drinking, Brandon more than most, and he had fallen asleep early, leaving only her and Marcus awake at their campfire, talking late into the night. He was so handsome, especially dressed as a knight. He acted the part well too, the consumate gentleman, chivalrous, victorious even in the unchoreographed challenges.
He had asked her to walk with him, and she couldn't resist his deep blue eyes, the courteous way he had extended his hand to help her up, the fiery tingle that had shot up her arm when he took her hand in his large, strong, but ever so gentle grip. They had walked down by the lakeside, and under the brilliant starlight, with only the rippling of the water in their ears, he had shown her what she was missing in her life.
It was stereotypical in a way, the virile, passionate knight seducing the Lady who was betrothed to the soft, idle Lord. It made it that much more exciting and she had been unable to resist continuing their affair throughout the whole festival... unable to resist falling for him, wishing he truly was a knight who could carry her away.
Now it was the last weekend, and thanks to Jessica's brilliant idea, she was promised to marry her Lord, not only in character, but in truth as well. It made sense, they all had said, all of your friends work the festival with you, everyone will already be here, you're going to get married anyway, why not do it here? Brandon thought it was brilliant, and she, having no real reason not to, had gone along. That was the first weekend. Before Marcus... she shook her head, trying to bring her thoughts under control.
She heard Brandon's voice coming from below, coming closer. She pulled frantically at her arm, trying to escape, but Marcus refused to release her.
"Don't do this..." his eyes pleaded with her... his beautiful eyes...
She pulled away with a sob, and ran up the stairs.
