Dark Diary (6 page)

I could still almost feel the fiery touch of her fingers drawing across my skin even as her image loomed above me. In all her grace and beauty, Kathryn had been the
only
girl I would ever love.

It was the year 1606. I was only about six years of age in a large, unfriendly land known as Ireland. At least, it began as such.

Four centuries later, I can vividly recall the day I was separated from my mother. My father had recently passed away and she had been forced to give me up to a life of
indentured servitude right before she fell victim to the same fate. I was luckier than most; the family who took me owned a large
plantation near the shore. The owner was of English descent
,
his wife was Irish, and together they had a tiny little girl whom
I mirrored in age.

On the first day of the traumatic beginning of my new life
, my mother knelt down to the ground, cupped my face in her war
m, weathered hands, and smiled hard to keep herself from sobbing. Her fingers drove through my hair and then she
pulled me to her chest in a tight embrace.

“You are meant for great things, my son,” she whispered,
the warmth and love of her words distracting me from the reality of what was happening. “I hope God will forgive you
for my sin.”

With those words drifting hazily through my young mind,
I was taken away by the strong hand of the man who was Kathryn’s father.

The first night was hell for me in that place. Not one man or
woman in the household glanced at me a second time. Curled up on the hard floor of the pantry alcove inside the
massive servants’ hall, I did not sleep at all. My mother would
return for me. I was sure of it. But the vacant darkness suggested otherwise.

Morning came, and amongst the bustle of servants doing their chores, I saw a glimmer of blue color beaming my
way—a tiny red-haired girl in a frilly, white dress was watching
me from the hall.

I ignored her stares and sat in a corner up against a cupboard door where I rested my face in my lap… and cried.

Not long after, she approached me. She did it carefully—tip-toeing closer so as not to startle me. I lifted my damp face from my knees and looked toward her shyly, embarrassed to let a girl see me disheveled.

At first, little happened between us, but I felt a comforting warmth in her tender
smile. And then she knelt down onto the dirty floor at my feet, cupped my cold, shaking hand between hers, looked me straight in the eye and said, simply, “Let us be friends.”

IT WAS RUMORED THAT KATHRYN
Shallon carried the blood of an ancient king in her veins. Though she may have had royalty in her genes, her father cared very little for his mixed-breed Irish mutt and often disregarded his daughter. Despite the intentions of her mother to segregate us in light of his negligence, Kathryn and I became very close friends, growing up in the same, majestic household.

I spoke little at first, though I knew very well how to. It was not long before our lives united and both English and Gaelic words were common between us. She spoke with an elegance acquired from her noble lineage and I was quick to learn the differences in the languages spoken by the separate classes to which we belonged. I used each dialect only where it would be considered acceptable by those around me.

It was overlooked by Kathryn’s parents in the beginning—our closeness. Like a brother, I was both cohort and confidant in every scheme she plotted. I grew with her and she passed her knowledge of reading and writing on to me so that I would not be ignorant in the eyes of others.

She may have been born of higher status, but the years of time spent at each other’s sides and the hours of teaching she shared with me made us much more than servant and master. And though I always had work to do, there were brief hours of fading light and early dawn where we found the time to speak to one another.

It was an age when a man’s life was worth only as much as the change in his pockets, and I had none. Still, I was determined to arm myself with what currency I could. It was uncommon for a servant to be educated in the higher arts of calligraphy and inflection, but I took pride in my decision to secretly master them both. And I will always be grateful to Kathryn for lending me her patience as my teacher.

Things were fine with my quiet new life. I spoke to few, complained of nothing, and kept to myself during the day as I worked around the manor. Everything was as it should have been.

Until we changed…

When our eyes met, Kathryn would return a shy glance. Her breath quickened whenever I approached. Her fingers often brushed against mine, inadvertently, or so she wanted me to believe. I, too, felt a disturbance in the air between us.

The angelic curves of her face and the subtle blush of her cheeks became apparent to me. Her eyes bluer than the sky. Her lips the color of frosted rose petals.

Words were harder to find, and the scent of her
presence filled me with new thoughts and desires—desires I cursed myself for conceiving at all. And so, I ignored them. With
all of my might I pushed my feelings aside in order to preserve th
e friendship we had. In her world, it was not within my rights
to feel the way I did.

Kathryn called for me one evening, just before the sun had begun to sink below the horizon. I hesitantly obeyed and went up to her room. It wasn’t the childish snickers from
the young servant girls that discouraged me from going, but the unsettling and increasingly frequent glances of suspicion I’d
recently begun to receive from Kathryn’s mother. Her father,
on the other hand, took little notice of our meetings and sometimes ignored my presence altogether.

When I approached, she sat on the edge of her bed and motioned for me to partially close the door for privacy. As always, I did as I was told, but the creaking of the iron hinge planted a seed of guilt in me this time.

She held out her hand and curled her fingers inward, drawing me closer. Reluctantly, I neared her bedside and watched as she pulled a white handkerchief from a plate, uncovering a sumptuous array of baked sweets.

“For you, Matthaya.” Her voice was pleasant as her hand
gestured to a space beside her on the bed.

She had always done this for me—saved bits from dinner. “
You deserve more than you are given
,” she’d always say. Her kindness comforted me on my darkest days.

Some of my duties were pleasurable—working with the family horses was a secret escape I treasured—but beyond that I’d often find my hands calloused and aching, my skin burnt red by the sun’s rays. Working with the animals. Repairing the things I knew how to repair and learning to fix those I did not.

I had been worked very hard with burdens no man should
have had to endure, but I had no other choice, and I was not the only one. It was the world I had been given into and the life I had been forced to live. One my mother likely endured, as well, but I would never know.

“Sit with me,” Kathryn requested, a sweet smile curling at her lips.

I hesitated, looking down at my tattered clothes. The sweat was still moist on my brow, my hands not their
cleanest, and I feared the dirt might tarnish her rare silken coverlet.

“It’s alright, Matthaya,” she assured with a sweep of her auburn lashes, patting her hand on the bed near her hip and grinning to soften the command. “Sit.”

I did as she had asked and sat beside her. She put the plate onto my lap and took one of the sweets for herself.

Kathryn’s manner of eating was anything but dainty, and I chuckled at the way she quickly munched down the small treat.

“It’s not polite to stare,” she sneered jokingly, wiping a crumb from her lower lip.

My eyes returned to the biscuit in my own hand and I brought it up to my mouth.

A small bite of it was all it took for me to relish the elegant texture and sweetness. It may have been a small thing for her to share, but it was a piece of heaven to my taste buds, just as staying within Kathryn’s company was a moment of paradise in my otherwise chaotic day.

“Your eyes are beautiful,” she said, as if she had just noticed them.

“What?” I looked up, half of a biscuit still pinched between my fingers.

“Matthaya, you have magnificent eyes,” she continued,
reaching out to graze my cheek with her fingertips. My brows
twitched from the contact. “Like the emeralds of a Celtic crown, they shine—strong and brilliant. I’ll never forget them…” Her voice trailed off as she lovingly fixated on me.

I wanted to retort, but heard a soft patter of footsteps in the hall and realized our conversation was now over.

“I must go.” I stood and tucked the leftover sweets into a pocket in my tunic.

“Wait,” she said, tugging at my sleeve as I turned. Her romantic blue eyes glistened with concern. “I want to help
you,” she whispered, her gaze intensifying. “Please, Matthaya,
return to me on the morn tomorrow. There’s something I wish to do for you.”

Kathryn’s mother paced the halls just outside her room. I had already long outstayed my welcome in the house. I
had
to leave.

I nodded in agreement and flashed a gentle smile along with it.

“Yes, Milady.”

She chuckled.

“To you, I am only Kathryn,” she corrected. “And I am
always
your friend.”

Her eyes embraced me with their compassionate gaze and an unfamiliar layer of maturity garnished her voice.

I left the room and spotted her mother, Lady Maria, a
few doors down. To avoid a confrontation, I bowed and swiftly
dismissed myself from her presence.

Kathryn’s mother had her suspicions about our relationship, so I had to be watchful of my actions. I could not escape Kathryn’s heightened feelings for me, or my own constant
thoughts about her, but we had to keep them hidden from everyone—including each other.

I COULD NOT ACT AGAINST
Kathryn’s will. Per her request, I met with her the next morning at dawn.

Her father was out on business for the day, so that was at least one less stress on my mind. I feared him more than
any other, as he was less forgiving and more foreboding than
Kathryn’s mother. I had heard—and seen—horrible things happen while Lord Shallon was intoxicated
, but he was even worse sober. Impatient. Provocative. He would strike someone down o
ver a rumor before confirming its validity, and I cringed
at the idea of what would happen
should he misinterpret my situation with his daughter.

I swallowed my fears and entered Kathryn’s room. She motioned for me to shut the door, completely this time, and
then pulled open her window curtains. Sunlight burst through,
washing across her skin like heaven’s light. Morning glow poured over her, embellishing the gentle folds in her shimmering, green satin dress and setting the long curls of her red hair aflame with copper sheen.

Kathryn stepped closer, pulled a chair up behind me,
and then took a seat directly across from me in another chair.
She plopped down and a porcelain bowl of water swished around in her lap. There was a washcloth already fully saturated and resting at the bottom.

She withdrew the cloth, wrung out most of the water by
making a tight fist, and then opened her fingers and brought
the rag up to my brow. I wanted to squirm and pull away,
but my body refused to budge once the cool moisture wicked
my forehead. The fresh water soothed my face and I closed my eyes as her fingers guided it over my skin.