"Am I marrying someone from Lord Dramus's family?" I ask in a quivering voice.
"Hush yourself, girl," my father growls. "And do not bring up that name."
"But this is Cragshold Keep, is it not?" I remember the stories of its distinctive layout.
"It was," my father says, voice curt. "It has a new lord now. You'll be marrying him."
Oh. Relieved that I'm not to be marrying a child, I let out the breath I've been holding and relax. I think I can handle anything save for marrying a child.
Furtively, I smooth my wind-blown hair and skirts as we approach the front of the keep. I want to curse Father for making me walk, because now I'm disheveled and slightly sweaty, but I say nothing. Father is…well, Father. I learned long ago that unless I wanted a smack to the jaw and a comment about my height that would hurt worse than the strike, I'd say nothing at all.
So I remain quiet when we approach, and the roughest-looking group of men I've ever seen comes out to meet us. Due to the setting sun's glare, it takes me a moment to realize that they're not all men. Some of them are orc, which is alarming, and another with pointed ears and tanned skin and large, fanged teeth. I…I don't know what to make of this. They look like outlaws, their armor and clothes shoddy and rusty in some parts, the chainmail showing broken links in some parts. They're covered in weapons and they look dangerous and hard.
“Your lord is expecting us," is all my father says.
The men stare at me, gazing up at my height. One man elbows an orc, grinning, and my cheeks burn with shame. I hope the lord of this place doesn't find me as wanting as his men do. I don't understand why he's hiring brigands. It doesn't seem safe…but perhaps his need of coin is even greater than I thought.
That must be it, I realize. He needs coin so he hires ruffians. It takes me a moment to remember that he's paying my father for me and not the other way around, and my stomach twists in a terrified knot. Did…did no one tell him Lord Purnav’s unmarried daughter is tall and broad? Surely word would have gotten around.
Surely Father would have told him.
I look over at my father, but he won't meet my eyes, and my stomach sinks even further. This feels like a trap. Is he deceiving the man I am to marry? I glance around as we stride into the courtyard of Cragshold Keep, and I don't see any other women, just more brigands that tend to horses and watch our party with a great deal of interest. My heart flutters in my chest like a trapped bird, and then like a frantic falcon when we abandon the mounts with one of the knights outside, and the rest of the retinue moves behind my father as we step inside the keep itself.
The interior is just as crowded, the overhead candelabrum filled with melting candles that offer a warm orange glow to the great room. There's a massive stone fireplace and a long wooden table covered in dirty dishes and half-empty beer mugs. Men are everywhere, and so are hunting hounds. It looks like a keep that hasn't seen a woman's touch in…ever. I have to admit, the sight of all that filth gives me a secret thrill. It's not that I love dirt, but this is obviously a place that needs me.
My soon-to-be husband clearly needs a wife, and I'm confident I can get things running smoothly. I'm excellent at sewing and running a household, since I've run my father's ever since my mother passed. My youngest sister, Flora, always teased me for loving all the traditional feminine duties, but I do. I love pretty dresses and doing my hair and sewing and all the things important for a wife. Flora wanted to be a soldier and explore the vast forests to the east.
Me, I just wanted to be valued.
Ironic that Flora was the first of my sisters to marry and is now raising a daughter while I've been left a spinster.
No longer, I think, and the fluttering in my chest starts again. But I need to be certain that this man knows of my…faults. I can run a vast household and sew an intricate sleeve, but I cannot change my height. As everyone stares at me, I move closer to my father. "Father? A word?"
Father turns, and his expression is ferociously angry. "Do not ruin this for me, Iolanthe—"
Ruin this? "But—"
His face is nearly purple with rage, his muttonchops trembling as spittle forms in the corners of his mouth. "You are marrying this lord, and that is final. You are not going to ruin this for me with your idle daydreams. He is a strong, fearsome lord. You should be grateful anyone will accept you at all."