The world is full of the bright, clear sunshine that signals an early autumn morning. The sky is rain-washed blue, free of clouds, and a soft, biting chill is in the air, though it would soon be dispelled by the steadily rising orb in the east. The air around the estate is still and silent, save for the occasional opening or closing of a door, and the soft thumping of sleepy hooves in the barn. It is into this idyllic scene that Brynleigh comes striding, her humble form swathed in a simple, worn cloak, covering her trusty work tunic beneath. Her footfalls are quiet, but steady, and her gait is one of grim purpose.
She passes the barn just as the large, wooden doors swing open, revealing William in all of his surly demeanor. "Oi!" he shouts after her, "Where do you think you're going? Get in here and get to work!"
Brynleigh shows no sign of hearing him, continuing her purposeful walk across the packed dirt of the yard.
"Oi!" William hollers a second time, and she can hear his lumbering steps starting after her.
"I'm not here to see you," she calls out without turning around. The sprawling house draws near, and as she mounts the stone steps, William is quickly catching up behind her. Already she can hear his ragged, angry breathing. She continues to move as if he didn't exist, turning the doorknob and entering the house.
The foyer and main hall are empty, save for a single servant who scurries out of sight, having just lit the morning fires. It is here that Brynleigh finally pauses, glancing about, listening for any sign of where the master of the house might be. Just as William lumbers through the door in her wake, she catches sight of the library door standing open, and a faint wisp of pipe-smoke is trailing through the gap.
It is towards this room that she moves now, though her steps are now slower, more careful, respectful. She eases through the open doorway, her hands lifting to lower the hood of her humble, travel-stained cloak. Her dark blue eyes peer across the elegant, burgundy carpet, towards the man sitting before the blazing hearth.
He is unusually tall, lean, ebon-haired and black-eyed. His face might be middle-aged, though a life of wealthy leisure has spared him the weathering of the sun and wind, leaving his true age difficult to guess. He is reclined in a sumptuous armchair, one thin hand attending to his pipe as the other lays, relaxed and casual, on the chair's arm.
"Brynleigh. Good morning." The man's voice is extremely deep, and rather musical. A voice fit for business negotiations, and perhaps other forms of cajoling should it be required.
"I dunno what she's doing in here, my lord," William is scraping and bowing beside her now, a hand laid apologetically on his breast. "I told her to get to work, it's late already this morning, and what with the foals needing to be weaned..."
His words are cut short with a lazy wave of a hand from the man in the chair. "Please, William. Be silent. Your usefulness is in the barn, not in speaking." The hand is lowered, and the dark-haired man cocks his head casually at the girl standing before him.
"Well, my dear? What have you to say? We worried about you last night when you didn't return home."
Brynleigh has kept her gaze steadily on the lord of the house since entering the room. Her mouth is tight, and she draws a slow breath before speaking.
"I am leaving, Lord Merton. I cannot work here anymore."
The silence is deafening for a moment, broken only by a sharp inhale of breath from William. Lord Merton stares calmly without moving or speaking for several long seconds, though Brynleigh senses something behind those coal-black eyes of his. A quiet rage, building slowly like a storm on the horizon. His gaze flicks suddenly to William, and the stablemaster flinches as if he'd been physically struck.
"But we've addressed your...problem. Quite adequately, hmm?" Lord Merton continues to look at William without blinking.
Brynleigh glances briefly towards the man as well, noting the way he stands, favoring one leg as if it still pained him, and perhaps would never be healed properly. The stablemaster's visage is pinched with frustrated humiliation, and he trembles in impotent indignation. Turning her eyes back to Lord Merton, she does not allow herself to be sidetracked. "I am leaving. I am here to collect my belongings and my horse, and I will be on my way."
"That horse is the property of Merton Manor, girl!" William bursts out suddenly.
Brynleigh turns a furious glare on him, her normally calm, appeasing demeanor nowhere to be found. "Jack arrived with me, and he will leave with me!"
"Enough!" The word is spoken quietly, yet with such uncompromising authority that both Brynleigh and William snap their mouths shut and turn back towards the man before the hearth. "William, for the gods' sake, get out of here and bother me no more with your puerile whinging."
William stands for a moment, quaking in embarrassed fury, his large fists clenched. He casts a hateful glare at the young woman before turning and lumbering from the room, limping as he goes.
The room falls into velvety silence, only the crackling of the fire to be heard. Lord Merton watches Brynleigh for a few moments as if pondering something, before drawing a long sigh and pushing to his feet. He towers over her, his long morning robe swaying about his feet.
"Now then, my child. You don't really wish to do this, do you? Hmm? What can we do to make your life here more tolerable?" He walks slowly around her, his hands clasped behind his back.
She feels herself shrinking under his stare, the deep music of his voice, the predatory manner in which he prowls about her now. "I'm leaving," she repeats, distressed to hear that her voice is little more than a whisper.
A heavy hand is suddenly laid on her shoulder, and she gasps softly. He had never touched her before, not in all the time she'd lived and worked there. She cannot seem to raise her eyes to meet his.
"Do you really want to do this?" His voice is equally soft, though not with trepidation, but a terrifying threatening that she feels deep in her gut.
A tremor runs down her spine. She swallows with effort, then nods her head.
The hand lingers for a bit, heavy and possessive, before it is quickly drawn away. She dares a glance towards her employer as he moves away from her now, a retreating storm cloud, dark and foreboding.
"Well, then. We certainly wish you all the best, Brynleigh." He spins on his heel, pinning her with his black eyes, a pasted smile on his lips. "You'll be paid whatever you're owed, of course. Oh, but wait..." He lifts a finger to his chin, concern creasing his brow. "I forgot, you're under contract to me, aren't you? Well, now, what do you propose to do about that in your frantic desire to leave, hmm?"
The girl has steeled herself for this moment. She draws a breath, squaring her shoulders, holding out a slip of paper to him. His dark eyes narrow, and he moves slowly, stepping closer to her, until he is almost upon her, his grim stare mere inches away before he eases the paper softly from her fingers. His eyes dart from hers, to the paper. She watches his face closely, her heart thudding at the subtle tightening of his jaw, the thinning of his lips.
When he glances back to her face, she knows she's won the battle, at least for the moment. Though his visage is frighteningly grim, his eyes no longer hold the smooth, oily confidence of a moment ago. He crumples the paper slowly in his fist, jerking his chin towards the door, effectively dismissing her. She manages a tiny nod, her feet feeling leaden and unwilling as she turns and exits the room.
