Red Deception

Copyright © 2011 by J.C. Murtagh

All Rights Reserved.

This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and

dialogues are products of the author’s imagination and are

not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events

or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

To my lifelong best friends, Amber and Michelle.

Thank you for being my biggest fans

and always believing in me.

Acknowledgements

I want to thank my editor, Charity Heller, from the Mighty Pen who made this book shine with her editing expertise.

Chapter 1

Tears of anger ran down Judith’s grimy cheeks. She swallowed the searing pain that burned her left cheek then turned her attention to the horizon, where the sun crested the foggy mountains to the east.

Tracing her finger over the dusty windowpane, she fell transfixed on Blacwin manor, which crowned the dark pines in the distance.

 “Judith!” called her mother-in-law, Gertrude. “Are you still up there?”

The question made Judith seethe. Reluctantly, she turned away from the window and looked around the pitifully small loft space where she slept each night with her husband and son. A broken trunk and a hay bed were the only furnishings in the room.

She climbed down the ladder to the room below and found Gertrude sweeping up ash from the previous night’s fire. 

She glared at Judith from across the soot-clouded room.

 “Did you do what I told you?” she asked, wiping her hands on her apron.

“I had planned to wash the floors when you finish sweeping.”

Fear seized Judith’s heart as two meaty hands grasped her shoulders from behind.

“Get out of my way!” her father-in-law Bart, bellowed, and shoved her into the nearest wall.

The foul stench of his breath clouded Judith’s lungs and she covered her head, anticipating another strike. Her tender cheek was a burning reminder of his last assault on her that morning for letting two eggs roll off the counter while she was preparing the morning meal.

He stalked past her like a rabid bear and grabbed the pitcher of warm ale off the counter. She refrained from grimacing as the pale liquid dribbled down his chin into his flea-infested beard.

“Fetch some water, Judith. The floor isn’t going to wash itself,” her mother-in-law said.

Judith walked to the front door and pushed it open, relishing the warm sunlight that greeted her. She grabbed the bucket on the doorstep and looked up to see her son running toward her with a fist full of fresh flowers.

“Mummy!” he cried, his mess of blond hair bouncing with every step.

“What have you got there, Sam?” she asked with a smile.

“Wildflowers!”

Her husband Garreth followed behind him, carrying an axe over his shoulder.

“Go show your grand-mum, and she will put them in some water,” Judith urged, sending her rosy-cheeked son past her.

“Where are you off to?” Garreth asked once he was toe to toe with her.

“To fetch some water to wash the floor,” Judith answered, clinging to the bucket handle with both hands.

“Make sure there isn’t a toad in it this time. My father nearly removed your head.”

Judith smirked. “I told you before, that was your son’s doing.”

 “I think you did it on purpose. I know you spite my parents, but they mean well.”

Judith looked past him, watching a swarm of flies buzz around the pigsty.

He took her shoulder. “I know this is not the life I promised, but we have no other choice, Judith. One day I will rebuild us our own home.”

The same story, just a different day,
Judith thought.

He kissed her cheek. “I promise you.”

She brushed past him. “I need to fetch the water.”

Judith took the longer route through the woods.  She swung the bucket with each step and closed her eyes. The birds’ chirping combined with the whistling wind, put her mind at ease. She ignored the mud that sucked at the bottom of her thin boots and splashed her tawny wool dress.

She found the familiar stream over-flowing due to a recent rainstorm and could not resist visiting her favorite spot near the water, a large boulder at the stream’s edge.

She settled on the boulder and leaned over the stream.  She cupped her hands, dipped them into the cool water, and rinsed the grime from her face. She peered down at her reflection in the rippling water and traced her dripping fingertips over her tender cheek, which would likely bruise by nightfall.

Judith often wondered what would have happened if she had never married Garreth Timbolt. She and her parents had been in a dire situation, having neither coin nor food. She had been at the peak of womanhood, ready to become a bride, and they wanted a better life for her.

Garreth, who was fifteen years her senior, welcomed the marriage and promised her a good life. In return, she had to leave behind her family and the village she loved. The memory of her parents weeping as they said their goodbyes still brought her remorse.

Garreth treated her kindly in the beginning and their love for one another bloomed. She would wake with his kiss on her lips every morning and as soon as she found out she was expecting their son, Garreth informed everyone he knew.

Two short years after she took Garreth’s name, the beautiful cottage he built for them burned to the ground.  The cottage had collapsed onto itself, scattering orange cinders into the cold black night. Moving to Caldwell to live with his parents was their only hope after every possession they had turned to ash…

Her thoughts were interrupted when she noticed a bright red heap lying in the tall grass across the stream. She stood up on the boulder for a better look; perhaps it was a skinned animal left to rot.

Curiosity piqued, she gathered her long dark hair over her shoulder and lifted her dress to make the short leap across the stream.

She approached it with hesitation.  As she drew closer, she noticed it was not an animal at all, but a woman lying face down, wearing a red cloak.

Judith clasped her throat and looked around to see if there was any evidence of an attack. Nothing seemed out of place as far as she could see. She circled the female with cautious steps, wondering if she might be asleep.

“Hello?” Judith called.

There was no reply.

She knelt beside the woman and gently pulled the hood of the cloak back to see a sea of thick black hair resembling her own falling over alabaster skin. She realized the woman was not asleep—she was dead.

She squelched a scream and backed away. Her foot brushed a parchment rolled up in the woman’s stiff fingers. She removed it and read elegant script as best she could.

Dear Mother and Father,

By the time this reaches you, I will be with God. I warned you that if you should force me to marry Baron Blacwin, I will end my life before I have the chance to meet his cold black eyes or live to suffer his beastly demeanor. Therefore, it shall be. With this poison, I am free.

 
Your loving daughter,

Lora Noire of Wilshire

Judith read the script several times, her heart aching for the young maiden.  She could imagine the despair the girl felt; death’s release had crossed her own mind many times.
She had never met Baron Blacwin, but she had heard stories about him. They said he had hair and eyes that rivaled the darkest night and his face was as sour as his disposition. Tales stated that he transformed into a bat at night and flew around Caldwell village, attacking merchants who were not honest with their shillings.