Mary

Obediently, like a child, she followed the servant down the stairs and into the main parlour, her legs unsteady, her heart pounding violently. Just as she reached the front door of the Manor, it opened and there she was, faced with the handsome dark stranger she had just seen exit the carriage moments earlier.

"Mary!" exclaimed the man and she was astonished to realize that from up close, she could recognize the features of her little brother in this grown man. There were his eyes, big and dark and warm, yet seemingly impenetrable. And then there was the smile, a wide, beautiful smile, which she still remembered from all those years ago.

"William!" she responded and stepped towards this familiar stranger, determined to greet him warmly and hide her astonishment over how much he had changed. William had caught her in mid step and pressed her slim body against his own, large and muscular. He held her in his arms tight, burying his face in her hair and for a moment it had seemed that she could not breathe. This handsome man, this embodiment of masculinity was her brother.Who would have thought? Went through her mind as her entire body clung to his in a desperate attempt to show him just how much she had missed him.

"Oh, William!" she finally managed to break the embrace and take a step away from him as if to see him better. "You have changed so very much, William. I would not have recognized you were I to bump into you in the village." She said and gently caressed his cheek. There were no curls to push off his forehead. His once light hair was now very dark and wavy,surely difficult to keep neat and proper, thought Mary.

William threw his head back and roared a booming laughter, quite unlike what she would have expected from her once painfully shy brother. "Well, do not tell me I changed for the worse, sister." Mary shook her head vigorously. "You are the same as you were, however." He said and measured her with his eyes. "Beautiful just as I remember. And your hair..." he took a generous lock of it between his fingers and gently caressed it. "Yes, exactly as I had remembered." He repeated and looked deep into her eyes.

"Now, now..." the voice of their father's interrupted their moment of nostalgia. "Your mother is waiting, my son. There will be plenty of time for reminiscing." He said and pulled his son after him. Suddenly, Mary felt alone and almost abandoned. She looked after her brother as he dashed up the stairs, taking two at the time, obviously eager to greet his mother, whom had not seen him as long as Mary. When he reached the top of the staircase, he turned and faced Mary. He said not a word, but Mary felt as if her entire being was melting. It was a feeling she had never had before, strange yet magical. Dizzy from the excitement she staggered into the kitchen to make certain the dinner was ready and all was in order.

* * *

William assured everyone that he needed no rest from the travel, as he had rested but an hour away from his childhood home the previous night. Despite trying not to feel disappointed over that revelation, Mary felt a tiny sting in her heart. If it had been her, she thought, she would have walked home if need be, not stay at some strange and unwelcoming place full of dodgy characters, when your childhood home stood barely an hour horse ride away.

Father and William talked constantly as they left Lady Percy's bedchambers, before dinner, during and afterwards, as they were preparing to go to the ball thrown by a distant relative in William's honour.

Mary wished she had some quiet time with her brother alone, however, the questions and answers seemed to pour from the two men and she could barely interrupt even for a moment to inquire over something she did not understand very well. It seemed to Mary as if she would not be missed at all were she to disappear from the parlour where William and their father smoked and drank sherry, talked and joked, and talked some more. Most of the talk was over political matters of England and Europe, quite foreign to Mary, who had no mind or interest in anything so abstract.

Quietly, she slipped out of the parlour and decided to stretch her legs in the garden, walking the carefully constructed paths between the beautiful rose bushes, some of them planted by herself, and catch the last light of the day before it was time to leave for the party.

Her heart was still swollen with happiness over William's return, yet she was confused. This was not her brother, as she had known him. Not a scared little rabbit, who although older than herself always searched for rescue in her arms, always looking up to her, admiring all she did, cherishing everything she said. No, this was someone completely different. This tall, dark and devilishly handsome young man was foreign to her, and she was almost certain it was not just the ten years of his absence from the Manor. His profession was that of a respected musician, sought after by kings and queens of Europe, frequent and much welcomed guest among the powerful from Portugal to Russia.

This worldly man, whose fingers could entice the sweetest music out of a dead instrument, did not look delicate, as she had pictured him he would have been. Endless hours shut off in a room somewhere, practicing until his fingertips bled -- he had told her so in one of his early letters, before he stopped writing -- looked anything but a gentile musician. He had an appearance of a strong and determined man, not a romantic soul such as Mary had pictured him he would have been.

She had approached the bottom of the garden far back behind the Manor house, where the greenery and the trees were the thickest, building a natural wall from curious intruders who might be lurking about. For an instant she regretted that she did not bring her dogs. The bushes, which Georgina used to scare her with still left her shivering in wonderment sometimes, she had to admit it, if only to herself.

At the same time, that part of the garden, somewhat unkempt, bushes and flowers left to grow as they willed was the most beautiful and she loved to walk through it, even though she never quite found enough courage to sit and rest there. Lost in her thoughts, she heard footsteps grinding against the pebbles of the path she had just walked and her stomach dropped, her heart speeding up and for a moment she opened her mouth in a silent scream. Before she could let out a sound, however, she felt a pair of strong hands on her shoulders and her entire body shook in fright.

"Mary!" a familiar voice floated from behind her and it had taken all her might not to scream, but to her great relief, she managed to keep her wits. She felt herself be spun around and there she was, faced by William, his face gentle and kind, much like she had remembered it from a time long ago.

"Oh..." she gasped and blushed. "You had given me a little fright, William. You should not be sneaking up on people like that." She said and gently slapped his face, only to immediately caress it afterwards. She could never be cross with her brother, not now, not ever.

"A fright, Mary?" he asked and she became aware of his hands still holding onto her shoulders. "I did not mean to do that, my sister. I apologize." He said and beamed a wide smile at her. Mary felt her knees go weak. "But, what are you doing here all alone, my sweet Mary? And no shawl to keep you warm in this chilly weather? You shall catch your death like this, you silly lass." He said and pulled her onto his chest, as if the warmth of his body alone could have kept her free of any danger or cold. "But you are shivering!" he exclaimed and looked at her. "Mary? What is the matter?" William asked, his face full of genuine concern.

Mary's face tingled in shame. "Promise you will not laugh." She said and despite trying not to, turned her head towards the bushes, so dreaded when she was a little girl, running to safety with screaming William at her side.

William followed her gaze and frowned at the sight of what used to give them both the shivers. "Yes, I can see why you would not like it here. I have to say, I am not afraid of it, but I do not like it. Georgina could be so cruel to us sometimes, my lass, could she not?" he asked.

"I like it, you see." She tried to wiggle out of his embrace gently, but his arms were strong like iron and he did not budge. He held her so close that she could feel his heartbeat against her chest. William's eyebrows raised in wonderment.

"Yes," Mary felt her face blush, hating herself for the weakness and evident display of embarrassment. "Tis my favourite part of the entire Manor, you see." She said weakly. "It always reminds me of you and our times we had as children, William. When I am happy, when I am sad, I would come here and feel contentment."

"Oh, my sweet lass," breathed William on Mary's neck and to her surprise, horror and excitement, pressed a soft kiss just below her ear; she felt the skin on her back tingle and jerked away from him. "Come," said William as if nothing out of the ordinary just took place. "Father is awaiting, we are to leave within minutes." He said and gently took his sister's hand in his, firmly leading the way out of the garden and into the coach awaiting with its door wide open.

* * *

They rode to Lord Northumberland's Manor in awkward silence; Mary sitting next to William, careful not to touch him, squeezing herself as close to the window as she possibly could. Their father seemed oblivious to her discomfort, and frankly, it appeared so did William.

Mary's head was full of thoughts, rushing this way and that, questions and wonderings, and before they arrived at their destination, she felt an oncoming headache. She kept asking herself what had taken place in the garden a while back. It had felt so wrong. Wrong, yet wonderful, sure it must have been not right to feel this passion for your own brother. When he pressed the kiss on her skin, she nearly lost control and pulled his face in front of hers, wanting to kiss his lips, believing they would be soft and warm, just like she always wanted in a lover.A lover? Asked Mary herself and for one crazy moment wondered if she had spoken out loud, however, neither her father nor William seemed to notice anything unusual.

Stop it! She told herself.Stop it, stop it, stop it! Before you go and do or say something that cannot be taken back and make a fool out of yourself, Mary Percy! Did she really just wish her own brother was someone else, a lover she had never had, someone whom she believed could make her body feel on fire, exactly like sometimes she felt when alone in her bed at night, unable to and not knowing how to satisfy her physical longing for something that she did not even know what it was. Sometimes when still half asleep her own hand would wander up and down her body, and then she would awaken with a start, realizing her fingers were where they should not have been, in the warmth between her legs, making it wet and surely that was not right. Oh, God, that was not right.

"Mary!" her father's voice jerked her out of her thoughts and she paled at the thought that she might have voiced some of her daydreaming out loud. "Are you quite all right, child? You seem pale and you are breathing hard."

Mary tried to pacify her mind and force herself to stop panting, but her hands trembled and the pit of her stomach felt like it was on fire. She felt like something was softly thumping between her legs. She almost felt the need to spread her thighs somewhat, it was as if keeping her legs closed together was uncomfortable.

"I am quite all right, Father, thank you." she finally managed to gasp. "I am just excited about the ball, of course." She dared not look at William. She could feel his eyes digging into her, yet she decided to pretend as if she had not noticed.

* * *

As Mary had hoped, the ball was splendid, indeed. Rich and colourful, with all the people that she had known as children, save her sisters, now adults and dressed into magnificent garments. She danced and danced and then danced some more. She could not believe how many men had admiringly ran their eyes over her and felt slightly ashamed to see that even the married ones would continuously return for another spin with her.

She chatted with Madge Hawthorne, who heavy with a child did not allow her condition to stop her from enjoyment. Her husband, Lord Hawthorne, powerful although quite old, a friend of her father's, fussed around Madge, begging her to please take a seat and catch her breath. After he finally accomplished his mission of almost forcing his wife to sit back and sip on warm ale, he turned his mellow eyes to Mary and with eager approval of his wife, asked her for a dance.

When they were standing in the middle of the dance floor, their bodies touching, Mary realized that his watery eyes have changed and were now burning with desire. "Oh, Mary..." he whispered and she could feel his warm breath on her neck, much like she felt William's in the garden. "You look ravishing tonight, you wench!" he said and send a gentle smile towards where his wife who was now resting. "I cannot believe no one has snatched you yet, you look so ripe, ready to be plucked."

Mary's skin crawled, and she realized it was not with delight. There was something fundamentally wrong with a man, who had a wife by his side, with his child in her belly no less, to be lusting over someone else, even her. She felt not flattered but rather mortified. She had hoped nobody had seen his lustful looks. His eyes seemed to press against her back so hard she could barely manage to breathe. "Yes, indeed..." he continued and to her great dismay, she saw that he licked his lips in gluttony and some of the spit remained in the corner of his mouth. "I would not mind a piece of this fruit. Not at all." he said and Mary pushed him away, gently yet firmly. She did not want to create a scene. Not in front of all these people.

"I am afraid I have tired, Sire." She said and patted her warm forehead. "You are a wonderful dancer." She lied and stepped away, fearful that Lord Hawthorne might tread on her delicate feet again. The disappointment on her dancing partner's face was evident, but to Mary's great relief, he did not press further.

"No, no..." Mary said to the next man who decided to ask her for a dance, as she finally broke free of Hawthorne. "A bit later, perhaps." She smiled and carefully made her way out of the ballroom, slipping through a narrow corridor full of servants who were carrying trays of cold duck and fruit, their hands weighed down by pitchers of hot and cold ale and cider. Hardly anybody paid her much attention and she managed to flee the happy crowd of dancers unnoticed.

In the main hall she paused in front the grand staircase, her eyes searching life-size portraits of Northumberland's ancestors on one side, faced by the stern looks from depictions of the royal family, starting with King Charles and followed all the way back to Tudor times, with the opulent King Henry's portrait prominent at the very top of the staircase. His eyes seemed to glare straight at her, small and unyielding. A large man, he commanded instant respect, there was an authority and passion carefully painted all over his persona.

Oh, for Heaven's sake! she quietly scolded herself.Stop this nonsense right now, Mary Percy. How can a portrait look passionate, she asked herself. The haughty pose and arrogant look on King Henry's face should evoke disgust rather than the thought of passion, she thought. She took a step farther down the hall, her eyes interlocked with the eyes of the portrait. They seemed to follow her still and she shook her head in dismay.You are turning into a batty old woman! She giggled to herself.

Her giggles froze in her throat as she sensed a presence behind her. Mary spun around and to her great delight William was standing only a few feet away from her. He followed where her eyes have rested only moments ago and nodded. "The gallery of arrogance," he hissed and his face was hard.

"Shush, William!" she whispered frightfully and looked behind them fearful someone might have been lurking by and have overheard his remark. Negative comments about the royal family were never met with approval, no matter what the other person's feelings about their monarchs were. Statements like that could always be misconstrued and taken out of context. Many a foolish men and women have ended up in the Tower or worse and judging by William's rapid rise to success, Mary did not doubt there would be those who would have loved to see him fall, even though they knew him not at all, since he was but a babe when he left the country. "Honestly, William!" she said and grabbed her brother's arm, pulling him after her out of the big hall of portraits.

"But, Mary..." William protested and to Mary's surprise, she was delighted by the fact that he acted like a little boy again. Her little big brother who needed guidance and reprimand. She had missed the times when she was his guardian angel as he had called her sometimes. She had missed him so much, she realized, her chest heaved under the oppressive sadness.

Without a word, the siblings fled the great hall and found their way through a maze of long yet narrow corridors and soon, Mary had lost all sense of direction. She would not be able to pinpoint where they were even if she tried.

"Here," whispered William and she followed his index finger, which pointed to their right, inside a dark room they were passing by. As they entered, Mary was grateful to notice that the bright moon outside the window was illuminating the room feebly and allowed her to see her way around the large chairs.

She squinted and waited for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. Slowly, she managed to recognize the shapes and was surprised to see they were in a library. "Oh," she exclaimed in confusion. "I thought the library was being used."

"Shush, Mary." Said William and gently closed the door behind him. "Keep your voice down." Mary tilted her head in wonderment when her brother reach for a chair behind the door and pushed it in a slanted position under the knob. "There." He said and with his finger motioned to her to be quiet. "I think I want a few silent moments." He said and then added. "With you."

William slowly walked across the small library towards his sister and she noted how confident his walk appeared. He kept his back straight, head high up, his strong, long legs trotting with ease yet such determination that she believed she could not have stopped him even if she tried. Just as he had reached her and Mary believed he was about to extend his arm and touch her, William looked about and waved his fingers elegantly. "This," he said in a whisper, "is what they call the small library. A place where the guests are escorted when awaiting the Mistress of the house to come and greet them." William's eyes searched the volumes of books on the shelves within their reach. "Tis where a guest might find a refuge in the afternoon after activities have tired them but tis not the supper time yet and they need a few moments alone." He continued and his attention seemed to pause on one of the books. Mary noticed Williams's eyes narrow and he took a step away from her and closer to the book that had caught his interest. "Ah," he said quietly. "A dangerous book to have around, Mary, this one." He pointed to one of the numerous books on the shelf just beyond Mary's head. "I shall have to speak to our dear Lord Northumberland. Warn him, perhaps."

Mary was astonished how quickly William was able to change his colours. From a confident and handsome stranger, to a frightened and insecure child, and then all way around to an arrogant and threatening figure, which at this moment made her skin crawl.