Chapter 40: Chapter 40: An Apology

“And where have you been? While your father is in an uproar, your mother sobbing buckets in her room.”

Saoirse sat on the edge of her bed, looking at the rug on her bedroom floor. It was quite beautiful, full of paisleys of blue and green. In the center, instead of a medallion, stood a peacock in full bloom.

“Up with you!” Alyse pulled Saoirse to her feet. “Go. Apologize. Now.”

“But father is arrogant, and Shay an idiot. Truly, I had more wits at four years of age.”

Alyse stood not six inches in front of Saoirse, her hands on her wide hips. “You will apologize.” She drew back, folding her arms across her chest. “That is if you have any wits. Dunna you know what your father can do? He can lock you in this room. He can marry you off to the blacksmith if he wants. He can have you whipped . . .” She continued listing increasingly horrible punishments.

Marry me off . . .

“You're right.” Saoirse dashed to the door.

As Alyse watched, a totally confused look on her face, Saoirse ran out the door. “Excuse me,” she said passing a maid. “Pardon,” she whispered as she hastened down the staircase, coming to an abrupt halt before the door of her father's private alcove. Knock, knock, knock.

“Enter!”

She opened the door, encountering at once the blackness of his aura. It writhed and hissed as if full of snakes. She quickly bowed her head. “Father, my lord, I have come to beg your forgiveness.”

His aura changed not a wink.

“I was . . . ” She raised her eyes, to peek at the blackness. “Concerned . . . ” It expanded, threatening to burst the walls of the room. “And overwhelmed . . . ” It did not change. “And so completely, utterly afraid.” Suddenly, it contracted, the edges now tinged with arrogant purple. “Murtagh is dead.” The edges turned black again.

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Ut oh . . .

“And . . . and . . . and before, when the dragon came, you were hurt. I feared you would die.” A wave of purple rolled through the terrible blackness of his aura, transforming it into a cloud of pride and vanity.

Suddenly, it all became a game. Holding back a giggle, she knelt before him, head bowed to hide her mouth, hands clasped together as if she were praying to him. “I'm so sorry. My behavior . . .” She peeked again at his aura. “Dishonored you. I should thank God every day to have you as my father. Please, please forgive me.” She let out a squeak and sniffed as if she just couldn't hold back her sobs.

He walked forward. She moved her hand upward, thinking he was going to help her rise, when he placed his hand on her head. Still bowing, now looking at his knees, she rolled her eyes.

“I sometimes forget that women are not created to handle the difficulties of life.”

She nodded.

“They need the guidance of a strong male.”

Again, she nodded. “Do you forgive me, father? Please, please say that you do.”

She barely heard his next words over the CLANG, CLANG, CLANG of his arrogance. “Of course, my child.”

 

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