Niccola ran through the trees away from Blairmoor castle, her clothes dripping wet from her jump out the window into the castle’s moat. She was almost weighed down to the bottom by all her extra layers but she managed to scramble out and make it to the treeline. Though she was unfamiliar with the area, she knew if she could make it through the woods to the town she could find help. But with an early case of rheumatism in her knees and only the moon to guide her, she looked desperately for signs of civilization. The lights from the castle faded behind her, no guards sought her, no dogs. Though there weren’t many in the castle to begin with, considering what Lord Marcian desired her for, she figured he wanted her unharmed and unspoiled.
As she hiked up her skirts, she cursed accepting Lord Marcian’s invitation. She had been travelling on behalf of her father, a lesser-member of a prominent banking family whose old age had prevented him from taking long journeys for business meetings. Niccola decided to volunteer in her father’s stead to meet with a merchant in Donmouth, an unimportant client in a town far away; it did not even necessitate the hiring of a carriage and full crew. A single rider was all that was needed. Her wet, honey-brown hair stuck to her back, or flailed in the wind, snagging against low hanging branches, much to her discomfort but the occasional teasing and tugging was secondary to making her escape. She had arrived in Donmouth with the necessary contracts signed and was on her way back when the weather had turned and she had to take shelter in the castle town around Blairmoor. It was a representative of Lord Marcian who spotted her in the tavern and offered her a place to stay in the castle. Niccola was flattered and she accepted under the assumption that she could get this Lord Marcian Iscariot to be a client of hers and elevate the status of her and her father in their banking house.
She had arrived in the castle and found in her guest room a fresh dress and bodice, as well as a steaming hot bath which she enjoyed immensely. The hospitality of such a host surprised her. Perhaps he wanted something more than just a guest for dinner.
When she arrived down the stairs to the great dining room, she saw the first servants she had seen besides the butler who summoned her. A total of four stood around the room which contained a large oak table with two seats, one at the head, the other perpendicular to it. He wanted her to sit close.
She sat down and saw her host for the first time. Most of the people in town referred to him as “Old Lord Marcian” but in reality he was scarcely older than 30, no older than 35. With bright blonde hair, fair skin, a fair neatly trimmed beard and the most striking silver eyes she had ever seen.
“I apologise Miss Ghasel.” He said, using a napkin to wipe away the excess wine from his lips. “While you were enjoying your bath, the chef finished cooking early. I didn’t want to insult you by starting without you but I also did not want to insult my staff by letting their food get cold. So I compromised and began drinking my wine without you and only eating small bits of food at a time.” He smiled, but there will always be time to share dessert.”
Niccola blushed, this was not how she intended to treat a further client. “I apologise, my lord, I spent so much time indulging in one form of your hospitality, I almost completely neglected to consider what else you had in store.”
Lord Marcian laughed. “Oh my dear, don’t worry about it! The road to get here was long and difficult! What kind of host would I be if I offered you all the comforts of my home only to rush you from one to the other? Your company is as much a gift to me as a bath, a new dress and a meal are to you.” He offered to pour her wine into a crystal goblet which she took graciously.
“You mean I can keep the dress?” She asked.
“Of course! It is a fine dress but as of now, I don’t have much use for it.” he straightened himself in his seat so he could better show off his physique, he was broad-shouldered, and strong. “It wasn’t exactly made with me in mind.”
“Thank you so much my lord, I will be sure to tell everyone back in Fredericksport that Lord Marcian of Blairmoor is a most generous host and no one is more fitting of the rank of lord than yourself.”
He laughed to himself again, “Oh Miss Ghasel I appreciate your compliments, they are almost too much to bear, but my connections in Fredericksport go very deep. It is in fact because of your father that I invited you into my home.
“You know my father?” She asked
“Oh my yes, He has handled money for me in the past, even before that usury scandal, I preferred him to your uncles because as the lower-ranked brother, he knows how much some people appreciate discretion.”
Niccola gulped, “Well, I’m starting to realise my presence here was not just an act of good fortune. My father undoubtedly appreciates your continued patronage.”
“On the contrary.” He said, “I consider it most fortunate to be in your presence. Though I won’t deny I would have also liked to speak to your father abbout a debt.”
Niccola looked at her plate, roast lamb, fried potatoes and a medley of spiced vegetables, a veritable feast that reminded her of better days. If this man was truly a client of her fathers and wanted to discuss a debt, then what would follow was not a conversation she would enjoy.
“If this was a desperate attempt to get my father’s attention I do not appreciate the lengths you went to to obfuscate your intentions, my Lord. Let business be business. After my father made the mistake of loaning out more money than he had and having new investors pay off the original debt, he was caught, stripped of his partner status, imprisoned for a year and the family paid back all restitutions for those affected. If you find yourself unsatisfied you had the opportunity to petition the banking house directly to cover your losses.” She said sharply. She had been working as her father’s replacement for four years the previous summer and this was a common complaint when her father’s name was mentioned.
Again, Lord Marcian laughed. “Your tongue is as sharp as knives Miss. Ghasel, the message I meant to pass along was that I am quite satisfied with how the whole affair was settled! Your service to correct the indiscression has been excellent and I am greatly appreciative, Though, considering it is you who is travelling the country doing his errands, I surmise that your father’s advanced age is getting in the way of performing his duties directly?”
“That is correct,” Niccola said, not looking up from her plate.
Lord Marcian could tell her mood had soured and this displeased him, he rose from his seat, kneeling beside her and taking her hand from the chair’s armrest, He looked into her eyes and said, “Then I suppose I have you to thank personally for your efforts, consider this hospitality an extension of my gratitude.” A howling wind picked up outside, slamming the shutters against the large glass windows; they both turned to look. “For as long as you need to stay, my home is yours. It seems that this storm will be a nasty one.” He patted her hand but it did not seem to elevate her mood, he understood. “It would appear that such a chilly night requires a special dessert, I will go and inform the kitchen!” He rose to his feet effortlessly, patting her gloved hand as he did. “If you look through that door and follow the corridor, it will take you to the solarium. There we shall have dessert! When you’re ready of course and not a minute sooner!” he turned on his heels and began to march towards a set of double doors that presumably led to the kitchen.
I should have left then. She thought as she stepped over a log, only to have the heel of her boot awkwardly hit a stump she did not see on the other side. Her ankle twisted uncomfortably exacerbating the pain in her knee. She cursed being 23 and having to deal with the legs of a much older person, If she was a lady of status such an impairment would not be an issue but ladies of status do not often have to flee castles in the middle of the night.
The rain was being stopped by the leaves of the trees above her for the most part but she knew once she cleared the trees she would have to deal with the muddy ground between her and the village. She wondered if the townspeople would protect her or would it be more prudent to find her horse and steal away in the night with as few witnesses as possible. She knew in her head she shouldn’t, but she longed for the warmth of Blairmoor’s hearth.
She had sat by the fire in the great hall playing with her vegetables. Lord Marcian’s chef had been very generous with his portion sizes, even if he hadn’t brought up her father’s chequered past, she would not have been able to finish it all. She considered not joining him but she looked down at the light blue dress he supplied her with, made of fine silk and the sleeves were made of a delicate, sheer fabric as well as the white silk gloves that ran up her elbows. If he meant any offence, then why would he offer her such a fine gift? She had been pondering his motivations when a crack of thunder made her realise she had left him waiting for nigh on half an hour.
She stood up, flattened her skirts across her lap and walked to the door Lord Marcian had indicated. As she walked through the dark halls she tried studying the paintings on the wall, a great deal of them were old, detailing the generations of the Iscariot family, its male members all bore a strong resemblance to Lord Marcian himself. When she arrived at what he called the Solarium, a quiet lounge with a large, glass wall on one side, two chaises across from each other and a burning fireplace at the other end, the Lord was waiting for her.
“Ah you’ve come!” He said, turning away from the window on which he was leaning. He approached the table in between the two chaise lounges. “In light of the weather I asked the chef to make a warm dessert, a pie if he could but it seems he had already begun a creme brulee and as you know, I hold my chef’s feelings in high regard so I had him prepare both, as well as a warm cider to chase away the cold.” He gestured to the table between the two chaises. “Please, sit!”
She complied, he poured a glass of cider for her , offered a creme brulee and a slice of warm apple pie. She thought it odd, a lord personally serving her, but as someone who was still considered a person of low status in spite of her comfortable upbringing, having staff constantly standing around waiting on her hand and foot was a little unnerving, thus, she welcomed the intimacy.
This was the first time she got a good look at her host. He wore a frock coat with intricate grape vine detailing but it was made of wool, fine wool, but he eschewed the expensive silks and cashmeres other men of his status would prefer and it was a simple dark bronze colour. He also did not wear a cravat or any sort of tie around his neck, he wore a blue waist coat under his bronze coat and a simple white shirt that was callously unfastened at the collar. His breeches were brown and he appeared to be wearing clean riding boots. Nothing he wore was of poor quality but many men of status would consider it a faux pas to be seen improperly dressed for dinner in the company of a lady…. Well, Niccola was not technically a lady but a female guest nonetheless. His hair was also only rudimentarily tamed, it was a lighter shade of blonde than hers, wavy and kept in a short ponytail in the back. He looked more prepared for a hunt than a formal dinner, but this was his house and he could always wear what he wished. What he wished also included a sword, but not a finely crafted sabre made for show with jewels encrusted into an ivory pommel and polished with a fine sheen. Lord Marcius wore a longsword around his waist, ancient and showing chips and dings in the blade that proved it had been used for its intended purpose.
Lord Marcian struck Niccola as an eccentric, a man out of time attempting a pastiche of a man of class and means, but without the enthusiasm to properly maintain the charade. Though, considering Blairmoor’s impressive furnishing, he seemed to not be a pauper making a poor attempt at proving his worth to high society, instead he appeared to transcend the cult of conformity that wealth often breeds and has become comfortable enough to not bother with superficial trappings to preserve his place in society. For that, she was envious.
He poured her a hot cider into a crystal glass, he sipped from his bronze goblet, another antique he seemed to have affinity for; she could see red wine in it. “Would you like some for yourself?” She asked.
“Why no, thank you.” He said tapping his glass. “Also I do believe I am your host, I insist upon serving you.”
Such a statement of humility caused her to sputter and she spilled some hot cider on the part of her breast exposed by the low hemline of the dress.
“Oh dear.” She said trying to wipe up the drops that had spilled out, Lord Marcian looked away. Niccola’s face turned bright red again, forgetting the courtly etiquette her father taught her. “I apologise My lord.”
“Oh it’s nothing” he said, handing her a napkin, conspicuously not breaking eye contact. The beverage was too hot and the panic it caused was forcing her breathing to become erratic and wild, but again, Lord Marcian pretended not to notice.
“I hope the dress fits you well enough.” He said, “We didn’t have much time to prepare.”
“Oh it fits me wonderfully, though I may have tied the bustier a little tight.”
“Yes… While dresses can be used more interchangeably , bustiers and corsets are definitely supposed to be bespoke to a single wearer.” He said, “In this castle we often have a surplus of clothing that gets forgotten here and no one to wear it. Sometimes such gaudy things sometimes there are much more luxurious items left behind….. not that your dress is second hand of course. We also import fine clothing and maintain the finest tailors in the Duchy on retainer so our guests can travel light. Be confident that dress has not touched anyone else’s skin but the tailor’s” He said quickly correcting himself.
She wouldn’t have cared, the pale blue matched her eyes and blended well with her hair, it was like it was made for her and fit as well as his clothes, though slightly out of fashion, fit him, and he had the benefit of a tailor working directly with him. In that dress she felt like she was not a banker’s daughter but a true lady who belonged in this house. She also found Lord Marcian’s flustered rambling a little endearing. Her bosses and father did not yet trust her to deal with high-profile clients of status and means and yet here he was, tripping over his words afraid of offending her. Her! The asmhatic girl from childhood who spent her time studying her father’s legers because she couldn’t keep up with the other kids at play! She took another sip of cider and realised it was in fact, hard cider. It didn’t bother her as she had some wine with dinner but she made sure to take a note that she may accidentally say something she may regret if she did not slow down.
This thought was particularly ironic to her as she fled through the woods. She saw the first glimmer of light through the trees but realised it was moonlight reflected in droplets on the trees. She heard a whooshing sound overhead in the darkness.
“Oh I wouldn’t mind at all, It is more luxurious than anything I own already, even if it was second hand.” She said, cutting a chunk of pie with the side of her fork. “Was it made for the lady of the house?” She asked.
“Oh no, there is no Lady Iscariot of Blairmoor.” He said. I find myself too busy to find one.” He said sheepishly.
Niccola leaned back in her chair, raising the goblet closer to her mouth, her curiosity piqued,
“Too busy?” She said, “What does a young, wealthy lord have to do besides entertain guests to find a wife?” While she prided herself on her independence, she could not deny the allure of being on friendly terms with a young and successful lord, who was unmarried.
“Well I spend most of my time administering my lands, as you can tell, we only keep a skeleton crew of staff around the castle.” Lord Marcian responded. “I like to run my holdings with a very hands on approach. Unfortunately, I work best at night, so even if I throw the occasional ball, I don’t often have time to entertain guests.” He said.
“Well you’re entertaining me now.” She said, leaning forward and rubbing his arm, in a move inspired by too much wine and cider.
Lord Marcian looked down and raised his eyebrows. “But very rarely have I been fortunate enough to entertain company as lovely as you. I don’t think you’d believe how stuffy ladies of the court can be.”
“Well I’m no lady of the court.” She said, her subconscious and the rigorous schooling about how to act like a lady screamed in protest in the back of her mind, but alone in this castle with a handsome lord very few people knew the name of, what did she have to lose?
“You are quite correct” He said, “I assume you aren’t married as well? Forgive me for assuming, but I take it that not a great deal of men appreciate their wives being more literate in financial matters and local politics than themselves.”
She held back a laugh “How did you guess?”
“Well, ” he said gently grabbing her hand that was still placed on his arm and he began to draw little circles on it with his thumb. “You are quite beautiful and sharp as a fox. I refuse to believe that no man has ever proposed marriage, and the only reason for you to refuse is if the man who asked was unworthy. Many women marry for status or power and I daresay you don’t seem to need a man for either of those things.” She got up, and sat back down next to him, He looked into her eyes, and her into his. “What do you need a marriage to a lesser man for?” he said.
“Well… A woman still has needs….” She said leaning in to kiss him. He didn’t refuse her advance but didn’t register it right away, his lips were cold but once she got his blood stirring, that would change. He began to kiss her back, taking her head in his hands, running them through her golden hair.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked.
“Yes. My lord,” She responded. He pulled away from her and began kissing her cheeks, made rosey by the wine, he nibbled her ear, then he planted a soft kiss on her neck, her collarbone and then….
Nicola ran through the woods and sighted the candle light from buildings, she’d made it to the town, a pain arose in her neck, she rubbed the two holes on her neck where Lord Marcian Iscariot Had bitten her forcing her to flee through the woods. Men of lesser quality she thought with a sneer, but the whooshing got closer and she became paralyzed. The throbbing pain from her bite was now pulsing more heavily through her. It was burning hot like she had been stabbed with a fire poker and heavy weight was being pressed into it. Every beat of her heart seemed to carry whatever poison he had in his bite through her body, and it was now becoming impossible not to notice. She tried to lift her legs but she couldn’t; she instead found herself weak in the knees and on the verge of collapsing.
The ripples became faster and she lost her footing, collapsing on the ground. Every part of her body tensed and contracted, every joint was rigid, and her neck burning but eventually, the numbing waves that ran through her body started to feel good as it radiated outward, the blood in her veins began to feel like a warm tingle resulting in numbness in her hands and feet. She started feeling hotter and hotter and in her partially immobilised state, started to claw at her bustier trying to loosen it. Her sweat came from every pore and not even the cold wet ground was any relief, every part of her body where blood collected tingled.
There was a dark form that descended from the trees, it was Lord Marcian. That devil! She saw the fangs sticking out of his mouth confirming with her eyes what her mind and heart already knew; what she did not even take the time to confirm before fleeing. “VAMPIRE!” was all she could angrily say before he picked her up and carried her back to Blairmoor.
Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/y1u632/a_story_for_the_spooky_season_the_hearths_of
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