The fire danced merrily in the grate, its light spreading enticingly about the room. The soft golden illumination lent a cozy atmosphere, warm and comfortable, even as it made the shadows sway back and forth as if caught in a graceful, timeless waltz of ages. It touched the thick velvet curtains, turning the deep burgundy as black as old blood. It fell across the large bed, stroking the silken sheets with a caress more tender than any lover. It crept across the polished oak floor on silent, invisible feet, climbing up the panneled walls to the stone above, just about managing to touch the vaulted ceiling and the sparkling crystal chandelier hanging in the centre. It also lent its light to the fine wine glass being held aloft by a slender, lily white hand, making the one gleam and the other seem so delicate.
Jenn smiled, her plump cherry lips curving upwards in delight as she inspected the ruby red liquid within the glass. So many would mistake it for wine from its colouring and considering its receptical, but that would be incorrect. She did not drink alcohol. Alcohol clouded the mind, impaired ones judgement, slowed ones thoughts and reactions. She would never dispute the use of the stuff, for many a time in her youth had she preyed upon unsuspecting drunks, but she herself would only allow the foul liquid to touch her palette under the strictest of occasions and even then it would never be more than a single glass. No, this was not wine but instead the juice of mixed grapes; pure and unfermented.
Tapping one long, sharp fingernail against the glass itself, she leaned back in her chair with an air of satisfaction. It was all coming together now. All of her plans, all of her work, like the strands of a spider web; so fragile yet so strong.
It would not be long now. The message had been sent via that hellspawn bird. Ystcild would not let her down. A matter of days and the guard dog would be caged, out of sight but not out of mind. The little wretch would then be all alone, vulnerable. To whom would she turn, Jenn wondered. To whose arms would she flee when she realised that her guardian would not be coming back for her?
It had been long enough, Jenn surmised. The girl should nearly have healed by this time. Taking the guard dog too soon would have left the wench in the unenviable position of being incapable of surviving alone and death by exposure was most certainly not what Jenn wished for her. A couple of days being helpless and scared, however, was perfectly acceptable just as long as she survived.
A commotion downstairs caught her attention. With a quiet sigh, she placed her glass on the small table next to her chair and rose to her feet. Within a matter of moments, she was in the ante-chamber, listening to the goings on in the main hall.
"Be gettin' ye hence, dog," came the gruff tones of a woman. Both the accent and the voice itself were instantly recognisble, as was the poor grasp of Westron. "Nay be strugglin' now, else it be all the worse for ye."
Leaning her back to the wall a moment, Jenn looked at the picture of children playing that hung opposite the doorway. The faint reflection in the glass there told her all she needed to know and a grin spread slowly across her pretty white face as the captive growled an incoherant reply. She stepped forward once more, away from the wall, and passed through the doorway into the large hall in a swish of silk and perfume.
Ystcild looked across to her, slapping the bound and blindfolded man across the back of the head. It seemed her capture of him had not gone entirely perfectly, for the usually unkempt woman sported a number of scrapes and bruises, presumably from a scuffle. Still, as ever, she had done her job well.
"Where do ye be wantin' him?" she asked, giving the bound man a rough tug as he threatened to escape her clutches.
Jenn said nothing, having no wish to reveal her involvment at this time. Instead, she closed one wide green eye in a wink, making a graceful sweeping motion toward the bear statue that concealed the entrance to the cellar beneath the house. Ystcild nodded and set about dragging the man in that direction as Jenn stepped lightly across the stone floor with no more noise than the material of her dress caused.
She reached out, wrapped her fingers about the tankard held in the paw of the stuffed bear and pulled it downwards. A series of chains and pulleys rattled and clanked, the noises muffled by the stuffed fur of the long-dead bruin. Slowly, the bear statue itself moved aside to reveal the set of steps leading down into the darkness below. Taking up a nearby candle, Jenn led the way down, passing by the large granite slab that once held the corpse of her husband. She walked over to the west wall where a series of doors stood between the racks holding the wine kegs and, taking a key from her loose sleeve, unlocked one of them.
"Cell twa it do be," Ystcild remarked, grunting as she struggled to get the man into the little room.
Jenn placed the candle down on the floor to give Ystcild some light before turning away to head back upstairs. She trusted her husbands sister to secure the prisoner properly. In the meantime, she had another little matter to deal with.
