The Damaged Bride

Chapter 9

Cresting a knoll Marcus saw, in the distance, smoke rising from the chimneys of O’Flagnery Hall.

Thinking back to the first time he'd met the old man. Marcus had been about twelve years old, and his father had decided it was time for him to meet the man that he owed so much money to.

They'd ridden into O'Flagnery's mud choked courtyard, their horses having a hard time keeping their footing in the muck and mire.

Dismounting, Marcus could barely keep his gird down, the smell of dung, rotten flesh and mud soaked earth filling his nostrils.

The pair had trudged up to the entrance, his father looking more frightened than he'd ever imagined possible.

Entering the hall the smell from the outside seemed pleasant in comparison to the stench that hit them as the walked towards Douglas O'Flagnery.

The old man sat in his chair as if it were a throne, and he a king of all the putridness he surveyed.

"O'Connor," the old man had called, motioning Marcus and his father forward.

Nudging his son forward, the two walked towards the vial old man.

"I see you've brought your son to meet me," he said, sitting forward to get a better look at the boy. "It's about time he knew who his master is."

While his father nodded and seemed to shrink into himself, Marcus simply stared defiantly back at Douglas O'Flagnery with open hatred.

While he didn't understand the power this malevolent old man held over his father, Marcus swore that one day he would find a way to free his family.

He would see his father standing tall once more, his head held high instead of hanging low.

Seeing that the boy wasn't afraid of him, Douglas turned back to his father enjoying the feeling of power.

While his father and O'Flagnery talked, Marcus let his eyes wander over the great hall seeing a place that might once have been beautiful, but now coated with layer after layer of muck and s**t.

His attention was caught by a flash of red curls peek from behind a tapestry in the corner.

Looking again he saw a pale face little girl with tangles of red hair and piercing blue eyes peering at him through the folds of fabric.

The memory of those eyes shocked Marcus back to the present. He wasn’t really free of Douglas, he was just in another form of debt. He now owed the old bastard grandchildren.

“Damn,” he scowled, reigning in his horse and turning back towards the lodge.

As he passed over the moors, his mind wandered to his wife. How odd that word felt on his tongue… ‘wife’.

Marcus had tried and tried to find any other way to pay O’Flagnery, but his father had left him with nothing but an almost insurmountable debt.

Only three days after his father’s death, O’Flagnery had appeared in Marcus’ front hall demanding a meeting. While he was loath to have the shadow of that man even touch his home, Marcus was bound by his father’s debt to speak to the old bastard.