Chapter 12

A carriage drawn by magnificent looking creatures Hazel learnt where called horses brought her and Lord Gareth to the city of Wilpur where she noticed to her astonishment that there were a lot more of these horses, some drawing up carriages, similar to the one she and Lord Gareth travelled in, and others cantering about singly, rode by men who sat astride them, and Hazel silently marveled at their bravery.

The cottages too were different, they were not simple and small like the ones in the village, but instead tall and imposing.

An amused Lord Gareth told her they were not called cottages but houses. A strange thing indeed – these houses were, standing so close to each other on paved dirty streets that Hazel wondered where the city folks did their planting. Back in the village, you had to walk a considerable distance from one cottage to another, and in-between, households practiced subsistent farming. All Hazel could see in Wilpur were tall brick houses clustered together and paved street. She wondered how exactly the people of Wilpur were able to survive.

The carriage finally pulled up in front of a less imposing building that Hazel had to decide was beautiful, and Lord Gareth declaring that they had arrived, got down immediately and helped her out of the carriage.

Gareth rapped at a brass knocker on the door, and it was immediately opened by a tall wry- looking man. Hazel noticed with alarm, that one half of the man's face was disfigured, his ear and a corner of his mouth, as well as one side of his cheek mangled up by what she suspected was a bad fire accident. Chastising herself for starring, she looked away.

"That's my Butler, Mr. Adams." Lord Gareth said, nothing the alarm on Hazel's face. "Never mind his being disfigured, Adam's has no reason to be in your path, and apart from today, I do not think you should ever see him again."

Far from being reassured, Hazel followed silently into the house.

"Papa, Papa! I have hurt my middle finger again." A little girl of about five came bursting out a door and flinging herself on Lord Gareth who bent to pick her up. The little girl noticed Hazel oy then, and stuck her thumb in her mouth shyly.

"Now don't stare Amara, say hello to Hazel." His tone held the stern compassion of a proud father.

The little girl removed her thumb from her mouth, but only long enough to deliver a shy 'hello' to Hazel, with a lopsided smile, then the thumb was back in her mouth again.

Hazel who had never been smiled at by a child before was speechless. Her mouth opened to return the girl's greeting but she could only make squeaky noises.

Emboldened by Hazel's timidity, the little girl felt encouraged enough to remove her thumb from her mouth, this time, for good. "You're very pretty." She offered in her soft musical voice. "What is your name? Mine is Amara."

"H – Hazel. She choked out, suddenly wondering why her mother had named her after a nut. She wished her name sounded as pleasant as that of the little girl. Amara.

"Okay, that's enough, run along now." Lord Gareth said, putting the little girl down, and she turned and ran off, whatever minor injury she had sustained on her little finger long forgotten. She stopped only once to wave farewell to Hazel with her tiny little finger, before she disappeared up what Hazel noted with great alarm was a funny looking ladder built into the house.

"That's Amy, my youngest daughter," Lord Gareth was saying. "I'm afraid, there's still Jamie my first son, he is fifteen and can be quite a handful. And then, there's Sara, my middle child who –" he saw the horror in her eyes. "That! Dear Hazel is just a stairs. There is nothing to be afraid of. You've got to get over your fear." He added wearily, when he saw that his words had failed to reassure her. "You see, your bed chamber is upstairs, and how shall I get you there if you would not use the stairs.

Hazel turned her large green eyes on him then, as tears filled them for the first time since she was a babe. She had never cried before – not that she could remember. Not when she pricked a finger, or when she was teased, taunted and bullied by the villagers. She had not even cried when her mother died, nor had she cried as she buried her, covering her body with such a thing layer of sand. Now, a combination of the wrenching grief she felt at her mother's demise, her physical and emotional exhaustion and the novelty of the new place brought the tears to her eyes with a force that she could not control.

Now hysterical, Hazel clung to Lord Gareth's arm. "Don't make me go up there. Please, I beg of you. I'll do anything you want, only don't make me go up there.

"Okay." Gareth said, eyeing her carefully. "Your bed chamber would be downstairs, I'll just clear off my study, and make some space for you. Now stop crying – there's a good girl." He added when Hazel stopped her hysterical sobs. "You see, there is no problem we are faced with that cannot be solved if we can only think."

Hazel, embarrassed by her outburst earlier, nodded as she tried desperately to wipe her tear streaked face with the end of her sleeve, until Gareth handed her a handkerchief.

"You would wait in the drawing room, until the maids and my footman clear off the study, carry in a bed, and in short, turn it into a bed chamber."

Hazel stared up at him, suddenly alarmed again. The words drawing room and bed chamber falling like heavy words on her ears, and she was afraid that he would ask her to do something even worse than climbing the stairs.

It was exactly like that that Jamie found her. She was standing beside Lord Gareth, her expressive eyes large pools of fear, and the handkerchief she had been using to clean her face now lay uselessly in her limp fingers.

"Have you decided to take another wife Father? Mother has been gone only five years now." The youth who was a spitting image of Lord Gareth accused.

Gareth winced, and with great discipline, tried not to tell his son that five years was a long time for a man to remain without a wife. That argument would be a distraction, not to mention that it was neither the time nor the place. As tempting as it was, he ignored it.

"Jamie, this is Hazel. She would be staying with us for a while. Try not to badger her with too many questions." To Hazel, he said "this is my first son Jamie, ignore him when he gets too obnoxious."

"Is she your mistress then – if she is not your intended?" Jamie asked, ignoring his father's introductions.

"No. She is not my mistress, and neither do I wish to marry her, I am her guardian." Lord Gareth said coldly. "Now, unless you have something more civil to say, go away and stop frightening her."

Jamie started to say something, then thought better of it. He felt reassured that his father was not going to marry the beautiful mysterious girl who was now twisting her fingers in a mixture of fear and embarrassment. She couldn't be much older than him, Jamie decided, deciding also that he could always seek her out in his father's absence and satisfy his curiosity.

Hazel was quiet, feeling slightly weak after her outburst, and she followed meekly as Gareth led her to the drawing room, which she discovered was a very comfortable room with lots of cushions, used mainly to receive and entertain guests.

She sank down on a cushion, marveling at how luxurious it felt, and she was soon asleep.

Gareth found her asleep when he entered. Half of her body was on the cushion, and the lower half was on the floor. Her neck was angled in an unusual way, and her golden curls that looked more red than gold in the fading twilight fanned out all over the throw pillow that supported her head. Her bow shaped lips were slightly parted, and a curl was wedged in between both lips.

Gareth reminded himself that he had to thread carefully. His plans were finally set in motion, and all it took was a different reaction than the one he expected from the sleeping girl, to send his plans crumbling to the dust. He could not let that happen.

Because it was part of his plans that the girl form an attachment to him, he bent and gently picked her up, carrying her to the room that had been put in order for her. He was aware that even though she now slept, it was going to register somehow in her mind that she had been carried, and she would know instinctively that it was him.

He rolled back the covers, laid her gently on the bed, and covered her up. Because his plans needed her to get attached to him, and not him to her, Gareth resisted the urge to plant a kiss on her lush lips. He gently detangled the little fingers that clung to his shirt, and stepped out of the room. Things might just go exactly as he had planned, now he needed to find a way to keep that boy of his away from his ward. He had a rethink. On second thoughts, his Sons knack for getting overly familiar with his guests could suit his plans perfectly. The peasant girl had been starved of affection and human contact. He remembered how she had stared in wonderment at Amara, surprised that the child could extend friendship.

Gareth smiled to himself. Perhaps, his children would suit his plans very well.

If Hazel had seen the look on Lord Gareth's face then, she would never have trusted him, and life would perhaps have turned out better for her, but she was sleeping peacefully, with the vague memory of warm powerful arms carrying her, so she could not, at that moment see the look of malevolence on her guardian's face.