Of Love and Honor-Chapter#1

Chapter 1 – The Woman in Red

Rain fell heavily on the English countryside, the moors muddied and fog rolling heavily. The manor on the edge of the moors, was filled with the black clad bodies of the nobles, each sombre or gossiping among each other. The parlour was empty except for one person, the young lady of the house of the deceased Lord. She sat on the sofa and stared at her hands.

"I hate funerals..." was all the man said to himself as he took a swig of a flask, wincing at it's harsh taste. The man's was well dressed, a noblemen, mostly in black velvet and silk. But, oddly this many had long dark unkept hair along with patches of hair of his face seeming he could not grow a full beard. His overall body was broad, like a castle wall but unlike a wall, he was not flat but more on the plump side. To call him fat would not be too far off but he did not look soft. He held his girth well and oddly looked more messing forgot it.

Soon the man sat on a wet stone, more then likely ruining his very expensive coat but the man cared little. Then he took out his flask and oddly poured out some of the dark liquid to the side, spilling it into the earth and then taking a drink himself. Then, fishing out something metallic and shinny and flicked it into the earth.

The man then looked ahead and saw the woman in black, sitting by herself, mopping it seemed. He was not far off form her but sitting where he was, he looked less then his stature, but he cared little.
"So, what wellwisher are you? Or, perhaps some distention relations, circling your next meal form the dead." The man smiled, he know well most if not all were here for money, and nothing else. And the gentler sex was no more or less likely to be a vulture.
"..." The woman looked at him "....I'm....his daughter..." Tears were in her eyes, yet she wouldn't let them fall. Her hands shook slightly as she struggled to keep her composure "..." She stared at him and frowned "...do....I know you?"
The man's face when slacked, like all the strength left in the whisper of the cold wet air. He stood up fast, fixing his coat, remember his manures.
"My lady... I-... I apologize for my... Barbarity." He then came closer and soon he was standing over her, looking down at her. The man was not tall per say, no more the five feet and ten itches, but his overall size mad the woman look very small.

"My lady, my name is Christopher Briarthorn... well, Lord Briarthorn apparently. I..." What the woman said put him off his footing, mentally anyway. Although he was drunk, he was not that drunk. He then bent down a and tilted his head, peering into the woman's face.

"I-... I know you... How long has it been? Ten years? Longer, I think." He then consider a little girl he knew before he left his home to be schooled in London. A girl he cared for, but this was no girl, no. This was a woman the was in front of him now.
She stared "Christopher..." Her face lit up slightly "it's been so long..." She smiled "It's...It's so good to see you, despite the circumstances...." Her face fell and her tears threatened to fall again "I....I'm sorry..." Her voice cracked slightly "...I'm...not acting proper..."
Chris wanted to pick her up right then and then, left her off her feet in his embrace, but, well. Such actions were, frowned upon. He hand already made himself look the fool, showing up drunk, doing ancient burial rights. Yes, he was already the old one but this was not helping.

Then, another thing hit him like being trample over by a horse. He had changed. He was once a plumped young lad last time they saw one another, some would say he was hansom, for a boy. Now, fat, patches of hair on his face and his wild mane on his head. He felt like a gorilla in nobles clothing. He now stood strait and an arrow and did the perfect bow.
She watched him, her eyes wide. She sniffled and the tears fell. She sobbed and hugged him, decency be damned. She thought that she'd never see Christopher again. She cried into his chest and trembled.
Christ froze, he had no clue what to do. It took him what seemed to be an eternity for him to place his hands on her, one hand on her shoulder and the other on her upper back, the only real proper way to touch another woman here and now. People at this point were looking at them, Chris could not help but sneer at them.
"Fuck them all." He thought to himself as he held her close.

After a short time he held her in front of him and then placed his arm out, hoping for her to take it so the they can get away form the vultures and wellwisher.
Isabelle took it and wiped her eyes "I...I'm sorry....I'm...being rude..." She didn't let go of his arm.
They both walked by those harpies with pride, or, perhaps it was just the booze. Soon, they both were not to fare away form the old castle the loomed overhead, like a ominous mountain in the mists. Soon, they were more or less alone, beside some birds and, it seemed a large shaggy hound the was not following them per say but seemed to me more interested in some groundhog then them.

"..." It took Chris some time and liquid courage to finally decided to speak.
"Both of our father's knew one another long before we were born and, even before they met our mothers, they would duel with stick as boys." That put a smile on his face, thinking of his father's stories. He then consider the odd situation they were in. He was under the impression that Lord Hastings wanted father to own this castle, this land. Although it was rare for a woman to inherit land, it was not impossible. But now, since Christopher's father was also dead, this land belonged to him.

He did get the rundown of this situation before he left London but completely forgot about Isabella. He thought she would have be married by now and long gone, but he was wrong. Chris would not have her homeless. This was not his home, not real. On paper, sure. But the death of her family have been placed here for many years, and Chris would not brake such a thing.

Isabella watched the moors and stayed quiet. She kept a hand tightly on his arm and she sighed, trying to think of something to say.
Chris could be one for small talk, actually, he was quite the social create most of the time. Easily befriend noblemen and the common men alike, which made him talk of the town at times. But, amazingly enough, he had great difficulty thinking of what to say to this woman.

Soon they found themselves almost circling around the old castle, little to no words between them. She kept close and held onto him like I was a branch and oblivion was below her. Chris also hasn't had a drink for a time and wanted to very badly, but it would be ungentlemanly to do so at this time.

Now, they had returned to the funeral but remind in the frig of it.
" My lady Isabella, I was under the impression that you would be unable to be here, thus the reason why I was so surprised to see you. But, then again, I was told this by some of your..." He cleared his throat.
"Your, extended family members."
"...I..." She sighed and looked at the Manor "....I don't know what I'm going to do...I...suppose it does rightfully belong to you...I can find a new place..."
"CHRISTOPHER!" yelled a voice form not to far off. Chris turned to see whom called out his name. The man, no, the boy that called to him was moving toward Chris in a fast and not so gentlemanly and angrily fashion. There was a woman following him, much older then he was, most likely the boys mother. As they both got closer, Chris saw two things that brought to his attention. One, that yes, he was a boy but perhaps a young man would be better but since he seemed to have the body of a man and the face of a boy. Most likely 15 or 16 years old. And, secondly, he was armed with a swords on his side.

"You're nothing but a damn thief, Briarthorn!" the boy proclaimed this as he drew his sword. By this point his mother was at his heels, garbing at his shoulders.
"Stop it, John! What is wrong with you?" The boy did not listen to his mother and simply shrugged off her hand and was now right up in Christopher's face, sword still at his side.

"This land is not yours, damn you!" the boy was a bit taller then Chris was. And it seemed this boy did have the body of a man and unlike Chris bulk, he was lean and strong. Even though Chris was not armed, he did not move nor fray and stood there face to face with the boy.
"Put that away, boy. Before someone get hurt."
Isabelle stared at him and frowned, this young man was being extremely rude. She watched, stunned.
Chris looked to Isabella.
"Who is this? Isn't he your first... No, second cousin?" The boy named John looked even more furious as Chris, now seeming to ignore him. The boys face was at this point turning red with rage. The boys mother now was at his side, trying to pull him away.

Chris then put his hands on Isabella's shoulders.
"You remember the nice boy you used to run around with? He was kind, a little fat and perhaps, in some lights, even hansom?" Chris was, in fact talking about himself and pondered how much he had changed. He then turned to face the boy again.
"He's gone." For a large man, Christoper's fist moved fast into the boy Johns face, braking his young nose. Then, before the young man could recover, Chris ran into him, taking him into the ground and knocking the sword out of his hand. They fought in the dirt and the mud. The boy was no craven and fought back, but Chris was much heavier and stronger then the boy was despite Johns good shape.

Soon most, if not all of the attendees of the funeral were there, watching the fight in horror of two noblemen covered in mud and blood. Then Chris stood victories, the boy being helped up by his mother. Chris then whipped the blood and mud off his face so then he could fish out his flask once more and drunk what was left inside.
Isabella yelped at the violence and backed up, embarrassed. She shook her head "Stop that!!" She smacked the flask out of his hand "How dare you!!" She was trembling, tears in her eyes "This is my father's....Funeral!" Her voice broke "How dare you!"
Pure rage came over Christopher. He looked around, he saw the shame and disapproval on all of there faces and that only made his rage inflame even more. He then faced them all, pointing an accusing hand at all of them.
"Where were you bastards when MY father died two years ago?! You were all nothing but a bunch of spooks. He died penniless and alone! Only one man came."

Then Chris, with all his rage turned to Isabella.
"Your father was the only man whom ever gave a damn about my father. Whom do you think payed for me to got into school?" Chris then grabbed the flask for the mud and stood up, defiant and strong. Although the ran was still falling lightly, the wetness in his eye could have been mistaken for tears.
"I loved your father as much as I loved mine, as much as you loved him."
She trembled, tears sliding down her face. She hiccuped and wiped at her eyes "Chris..." She sobbed and pushed past him, walking quickly down the muddy road.
"Damn it..." He wanted to chase her, but he had to do something first. He then quickly gathered the boys sword off the ground by the blade. He walked up to the boy now being babied by his mother and extended the weapon hilt first to the boy.
"Try that again, and I'll use a blade next time." The boy pouted and acknowledge what he said.

Chris then started to go in the direction Isabella but then turned back, looking over his shoulder.
"All of you, get off my land!" He said it loudly but not gentlemanly.

Soon he managed to ketch up to Isabella, still a bit behind her.
"Lady Isabella! Stop, please." Chris stood there, hoping she would stop. He felt like a beast, a bloody animal. He was standing there, in the ran, covered in mud and even his own blood. That boy got a few good punches in, cutting Chris's lower lip and blackening his left eye. His hands to were cut from his hard punches and Chris did not feel the small cut on his knee form his battle on the ground but the blood was there, seeping though the expensive ripped fabric.


Isabella sobbed quietly and shook her head. Her bun was coming undone in the rain, her long black hair starting to fall down her back. She slipped and fell in the mud, yelping.
"Izy!" He moved as fast as he could. He managed to get under her but not gratefully since he to slipped but thankfully his girth was something somewhat soft although he was unable to save her bottom but instead managed to get under her back and head.

They now both lay there, in the mud and rain. Chris could move but the battle rush left him form before and he felt quite sober in his pain of his face, hands and his knee.
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry Izy." Chris hadn't called her by that name for many years. It was not proper to call her that but damn what's proper.
She sniffled and stared up at the sky "...I don't know what to do Chris....I...I don't..." She covered her face.
He lay there for a time, but soon Chris gather the strength and stood up, having his arms under Ivy's arms to bring her up with him. Chris up until now had an idea for how large he was compared to Isabella. Although, it could just be due to the fact of his own size and not hers. He knew woman and well, most were small compared to him. This was not helping his state of mind since he already feet like a dirty best form some old folks tale.

"Are you alright my lady?" He was now trying his best not to be such a beast.
"Come my lady, let's get inside. The funeral is over." Or, at least Chris hoped so. He hoped that this cretins and vultures left as he ordered then to. He did not think Izy could really take this situation, hell, he could barely take it. He only could since he was, although a bit more sober then he would have preferred. He was still, in fact quite drunk.
Izy saw that they had left, and she sighed in relief. She walked up the steps a ways "....this is your house...and land...." She looked at him "...may I clean up?"
Chris was now standing below Izy on a lower step of the entrance of his new home.
"Yes, umm, I think Miss Potts still works here, she will help you, if you need it." He then walked by her finally getting inside out of the rain. He then looked to Isabella, despite the rain, the mud and the sadness, she looked beautiful. He smiled and began to walk away.

He looked over his shoulder to Izy.
"When you feel you are clean and proper, come and see me in the study. I need to show you something." He then continued to walk away, toward the study.
She nodded and found the bathroom. She cleaned up and dressed in her nightgown and robe. She sighed and brushed her hair before going to the study.
Chris however did not bath but instead used a hot and wet cloth to clean his hands and face. Then afterwards getting into a new loose white shirt. He still kept the same pants on since, beside the blood and the small tear on his knee, it was not too badly dirty. He still kept his boots on, feeling like this was not his home, like he did not belong.

For some time he was sitting there in the study, it was musty and old, just like he remembered. He loved this room, before, as a boy, he loved it for the books and the knowledge it held. Now, he loved it since he knew this was were all the good booze was held. So he sat there, now mostly dry, with his long hair pulled back and placed into a tale as he drank deeply with his nose deep into The Odisy, a book he had always loved and had read many times.
Izy walked to the study door and knocked.
Chris took his nose out of the book and sipped on the apricot brandy and looked to the doorway. Chris hated that she knocked, like it was not her home. Chris remember Isabella being very proper, like any lady should be but he also remember playfulness and curiosity to. He hoped this woman still had the same virtues as the young girl he remembered.

"Oh God, don't knock Isabella, there's no need for that. Please sit..." He then pored some of the apricot brandy into a crystal cup.
"It's been a long day, have a drink with me Izy."
She looked at him and sat as told. She put her hands on her lap properly and took the drink, not usually one for alcohol but she felt tired and sad. She sipped it "Thank you..."
"Don't thank me my lady, I believe this was a bit of your father's stash." Chris smiled as he close the book he was reading and placed it on the old desk. He then took his cup and sipped on the amber colored brandy, looking over the cup to Isabella sitting there all proper, sipping at her drink.

As Chris looked over Izy and realized that she was, in fact in her nightgown. Although she had a robe on, her legs peerd though, it showing the translucent fabric and the skin of her legs. Chris almost choked on his brandy and turned away, hoping she would not know as to why he acted that way. Heat flared to his face and he hoped that was from the brandy.

Since he turned away, he manged to as gracefully as one can use it to gather the reason why he needed to see her. He then showed to Isabella a note that had a broken seal of her father's insignia.
"This was how i found out your father died and that he left me his home."
"..." She took the note and slipped it out of the envelope "..." She read it slowly.
He know what she was going to read.
"He left me the lands so then the rest of your family would have no legal way to take it away for themselves. But..." He then finished what was left of his brandy and filled up the cup again and tips off Isabella's drink also.
"He left you his Treasury. Apparently, leaving you money was much easier then leaving you your own families estate." Unlike Lord Briarthorn, Lord Hastings was quite rich. Christopher's family only were Lords and ladies by name and not much else. But now, it seems, Lady Isabella Hastings is now one of the richest women in the English empire.
She sighed and nodded, setting the letter aside. She downed her drink in one gulp and covered her face "..." She was silent, her shoulders shaking slightly. Her long hair draped down, hiding her face.
"What's wrong? It's just like old times. You are insanely rich and I'm still quite destitute. I own an estate that's not mine, two men that I cared for are now dead. Yes..." He then lifted his cup up into the air.
"It was the best of times, it was the worse of times." He then sucked back his drink and quickly filled his cup and Isabella's cup with the brandy. The bottle was now getting close to empty but, luckily Chris had a good idea where more of it was so it did not bother him in the least.

She sighed and wiped her eyes. She downed her drink again, her cheeks flushed from intoxication. She shook her head "I...don't care about money...keep it if you wish...I don't care..." She stood and touched his cheek "...You're the only person I have left...who cares...even a little for me..." She sighed softly and walked to the window, watching the rain.
Lightning struck not to far off and the thunder was loud enough to feel it in your chest. Then a hollow of a hound rose form the blue making Chris stand.
"Who's bloody dog is that anyways?" As he said that a plump old woman in nice clothing, although it was the outfit of a servant, it was nice never the less entered.
"Miss Pots." Chris said in is more lordly voice which sounded alien coming form him.
"I'm sorry my lord, my lady. The damn hound hates thunder for one reason or another." Her voice was soft, motherly. Chris knew it well. She along with about three others have worked and lived here since before he was born.
"Well, let the poor beast inside." Miss Pots dipped her head and left the room to for fill Christoper's order.

Standing up so quickly made Chris realize how drunk he was, so he thought it would be a good idea to sit back down.
"Izy, don't say that. I don't want your money. I never wanted your money." Much gossip was around their fathers. Many thought that Lord Briarthorn befriend Lord Hastings to enlarge his own coffers. That could not be further form the truth.
Isabelle sighed "...go ahead...take it...I don't want it..." She looked at him, she looked tired, and drunk "Just...let me stay here...and I'll keep to myself...I don't want to burden anyone..." She walked over to him "I...I wish we were children again Chris..."
He did not say it but he felt the same. He then looked to what was left inside the bottle and saw it was close to empty. Quickly he bent down under the desk and pulled out a bottle if rum instead of brandy. This time he only filled his cup half way and sipped in it.

After a short time that large hound was in the room with them and lay close to the hearth to warm and dry itself out. Chris chuckled seeing the damn dog walked around like he owned the place. He wish he could feel the same.

Chris then looked to Isabella.
"Since I know you will not let this go, I will make the arrangements that this money will be placed in an account in both of our names. Would that please you, my lady?"
She looked at him and nodded "If that will please you...yes.." She watched him, as if trying to fully remember their childhood. Her father had kept her very sheltered, her lessons and etiquette was the most important thing to her father for her. She knelt in front of Chris and laid her head on his knee, her drunk mind just wanting comfort.
Christopher froze in mid drink of his rum.
"My lady... This is... Unseemly..." Chris honestly did not mind but this felt, dishonorable. Neither of them were married nor engaged. But, for two nobles as they were. Such contact was, well, scandalous.

"My lady, I think i should escorts you to your bedchamber..." Chris then realized how that sounded and the redness of his face was not form the rum.
"To sleep, my lady. You must be tired. It's been a long day. For both of us..."
"..." She stood slowly and nodded. She sighed and waited for him.
Christopher breathed in and out slowly and then finished his cup of rum. Using both his arms he rose form the chair he sat in. Oddly, the dog also rose and came to them both. It smelled of, well, wet dog, but Chris did not mind, he liked dogs but oddly never owned one.

Chris then, instead of holding Isabella's arm, he hand her hand. It was soft and small in his own . He then walked with her out of the study into the musty halls of house Hastings, or well. House Briarthorn now apparently.

As they walked, the hound followed which Chris payed little mind. And also Miss Pots along with another woman whom Chris had never seen before also followed, most likely to make sure their rooms were proper and ready for them to use.
Isabelle didn't pay anyone any mind, still trapped in her own thoughts. She sighed and stopped as lightning flashed. She stared down the hall and shrieked.
Instead of the dog hollowing like before, he bared his teeth and let out a low rumble of his own. Chris did not see what the dog saw or what the women saw, but he saw their faces. miss Pots did not seem to be afraid but more mad at the dog.
"Hush you dumb dog, it's just the storm." said Miss Pots as she grabbed at the scruff of the dogs neck to hold him there. She may be a plump woman but she was not small. But, it was the face of the young woman behind her that gave Lord Briarthorn shivers down his back. The servant girls face was whiter then snow and her eyes wide open with her face covered.

When Chris looked back to where everyone was looking and say nothing.
"What-...What the hell did you all see?"
Isabelle ran into her room and slammed the door. She sat down and sobbed.
Chris tried to stop Isabella bet was not able to get a hold of her. He then turned to Miss Pots and the servant girl.
"Head to bed, go on now." The both obeyed and left. Amazing the dog went with them leaving Chris alone in the hallway. He then peered to where Isabella looked to and saw nothing but a window, the night out there with the storm still raging.

Chris found himself at Isabella's door. He stood there for some time, unsure what to do. He could just barely hear Izys sobs over the sound of the ominous storm outside the stone walls. He finally got the courage to lightly knocked at her door.
"Lady Isabella?"
Isabella looked up and trembled. She walked over and opened the door "....I...I'm sorry..." She stepped aside to let him in.
"I-... I don't think..." He was going to say it would be improper for him to enter a ladies room after sundown.
"Damn it all." He said under his breath as he walked in. He cared little for gossip in London so why would he care here. Let the hens cluck their stories.

He knew this room. This had always been Isabella's room and it had changed little. Instead of reminiscing some more, he turned to face her looking serious.
"What did you see? What the hell happened in the hallway?"
"..." She looked away "...it's nothing....not important..." She sighed and looked at him "....I...I'm just...sad...and jumpy..."
Chris did not want to push her, but, the look on the servants girl face. How the dog acted and how Isabella shrieked. It bothered him, yes. But, if he knew Izy, she would never do anything or say anything unless she explicitly want to do or say so.

Chris walked to the doorway of Isabella's room, hand on handle, he looked over his shoulder.
" Well, it has been a very... Eventful day... I think sleep is in order." He opened the door.
" I will not be far, just call and I'll come."
She frowned and walked over, putting her hand on his shoulder "D...don't go...please? Just stay a little longer...." She was pale, her eyes wide and red from crying.
Chris knew he could not say in her room. It would be ungentlemanly. But, an idea struck him.
"One moment my lady. " He moved swiftly, for a man of his size anyway. Only a short time when by and he returned with the chair form the study in hand and apparently the hound decided to grace both Chris and Isabella with his presence. Chris then placed the chair just outside of Isabella's doorway to the left side and plopped himself onto it. He by this point was still drunk so this was a but strenuous on him. Unlike some men, Christoper preferred to set, read and eat while intoxicated.

Chris looked up to Isabella and then down to the hound and placed a hand on the dogs massive head and run his fingers though his think long matted hair.
" I think me and... What the hell is this dogs name anyways? Well, we will be find out here my lady."
Isabella watched him and sighed, nodding slightly "...alright..." She bit her lip "Goodnight Chris...." She leaned up and kissed his cheek before closing the door.
He had a rush of blood to his head, good thing he was already sitting down. Sure, he had been kissed by Lady Isabella before, but that was when they were children, nothing more then playing around. This, this felt different.

For a time, Chris sat there with his arms crossed, chin smothered in his chest, dog at his feet, not truly sleeping. He was knocked out of his sense of comfort when he felt the dog move his head off his feet as Miss Pots, in her night robes dropped a think blanket over him. The old woman gave him a face that said "silly boy", it was a face he knew well. The exchanged no words, only a smile of appreciation form Chris as he finally nodded off to deep sleep.

The empty hall was silent despite the rain, and everything seemed peaceful for a time. The clock struck midnight and all of a sudden, the air become cold and tense.
Again it was the dogs moving to ster Chris to wakefulness. He did not remember how he got the blanket. Hell, he almost forgot where he was and stood up quickly. So quickly in fact that he almost tripped over his own legs since they were covered in the blanket. And then almost tripped over the dog at his feet.

Managing to get his footing he felt a cold shiver down his spine. A stranger feeling, like the very edge of the flight or fight response, instinctual in nature, primal. Chris saw that the hound had it also, its hair standing up right on the rig of its back, baring teeth with a snarl.
"What is it boy?" Chris asked the dog, almost expecting a verbal reply for the beast in how he asked.
Down the hall, near the window, the lightning flashed and for a few moments, a woman could be seen standing there, her hair long and so blonde it was almost white. She wore a long red gown that flowed around her feet like waves on a stormy sea.
Chris squinted, straining his eyes and rubbed them, taking the sleeps out of the corners of his eyes.
"Hello?" His voice echoed oddly in the hallway. He took a step forward.
"Miss, are you alright?" Chris though the image he saw was the servant girl he had seen with Miss Pots earlier that night.
The pale woman looked at him then at the servant girl and faded away with another flash of lightning.
So, in the flash of the lighting, Chris was right that the woman he saw was the servant girl. He then walked to her with the dog at his side. Thing was, as he came towards her and the thunder rolled over the castle he saw the woman turn to him. It was odd, her skin was pale yes, but her hair was not blond, but dark red with the hints of dark brown. Also, she had a dark night robe and not the deep red he though he saw.
"What... The hell?..."

The servant girl looked horrified, her dark eyes rolled back and she passed out. Chris just managed to stop her form falling to the hard floor.
"MISS POSTS!" Chris cried out as he cared the servant girl to the study down the hallway form where Isabella's room was.

The servant girl was no burden for Christopher as he placed her onto the old table, knocking off most what was upon it out of his way. The girl was pale, too pale, sickly. She felt hot to the touch and was covered in sweet.
"Damn it all... MISS POTS! I REQUIRE YOUR ASSISTANCE!" What Chris though he saw moments ago left him as he was filled with worry for this girl. And the dog to seemed worried and stayed at Chris's side waiting for Miss Pots to come to the study.
The girl trembled and whimpered, her body shaking. She opened her eyes slightly and looked around "...w...wha...." gasped slightly "I...Is it gone?!"
Chris still held the girl, her wight mostly on the table at this point. Miss Pots like a storm all on her own, moving very fast for a woman her size and age entered the study.
"What the bloody hell is going on?!" Her hair was is a mess and she only just managed to get a rob on to cover her old, lumpy body. Chris was surprised by her demeanor, he could not place a time in his mind where he had ever heard her curse before. He payed little heed to it.
"She has a fever, get me some water and a cloth please Miss Pots." The old woman was gone to do as she was told as fast as she got there, leaving the study to the young woman and Lord Briarthorn.

"Miss? My I have permission to...?" Chris gestured that he needed to check her to see exactly what was wrong with her and that would require touching her skin. Chris had the tendency to treat all people with the same respect one would only get if they were of noble birth. Most consider him an odd one for acting as,such but that was he way.
She trembled and nodded "...Y...yes sir..." Her voice was weak and shaking as she tried to calm down. She shivered and closed her eyes again.
"I'm sorry if my hands are cold." He said this as he took his hand though the neck collar of her nightgown and into the woman's armpit, one after the other. It was warm and slick with sweet, but he was relieved to find no lump in those areas. He then moved his hands to the young woman's neck, feeling, prodding. He did feel some inflammation but nothing too alarming. He then looked into her eyes and then her mouth, having to bring a candle close to make sure of what he was seeing even though the room was lite well enough for the hearth. Christopher's was no physician, but he was sure that this would pass.

Soon Pots entered the room with a bowl full of water along with some cloths. She place them beside the young woman so then Chris could have easy access to it. He quickly got the cloth wet and placed it on the girls forehead. Then, with haste Miss Pots took over for Lord Briarthorn. Seeing he was at this moment no long needed, Chris stat and pored himself a drink of rum. Pots gave an unapproving glare.
"Do you think that is wise my Lord?" Chris squinted at Miss Pots.
"You call me 'Lord' yet you look at me like you caught me sneaking a slice of pie." Chris smiled at that memory.
"Miss Pots, please, you of all people have no need to call me 'Lord'."
The girl coughed and trembled, her face red from him touching her. She sniffled and her eyes darted about the room, terrified. Isabelle stepped in, looking worried "What happened?"
Chris drank out of his cup.
"She fainted, I think the girl is sick, a cold, if she is lucky, the flue if she is unlikely." Miss Pots looked to Chris, disapprovingly.
"Her name is Rose, and she's my granddaughter." That surprised Chris. She knew Pots was old, but how old he could not say. And, the young woman was what, 17 years old perhaps, older maybe. Chris knew Pots had children, a lot of them since he and Isabella played with them more then once when they were young.

"Calm yourself Miss Pots, even if it is the flue, she is not a child nor elderly. She will be fine, she will just need rest." Chris then pointed to the young woman.
"I don't want to even see you working tomorrow or the next day, you hear me?" Chris used his authoritative voice again. To him it felt hollow and form the look on Pots face only makes that a fact in Chris's mind as he sipped at the strong rum in his cup.
Rose watched him and nodded "Yes sir..." She shivered and looked at her grandmother "I...I saw her again Grand mama...."
"Saw who, you silly child? You work yourself to this state you silly girl." Miss Pots shook her head in disapproval. Chris's interest was peeks at what the girl said.
"The woman in red..." He muttered to himself and to his cup as he drank. He was damn sure that he saw was this sick girl. Perhaps he was dreaming or simply had too much to drink. Who knows.

Chris then looked to Isabella.
"Please, my lady, return to your bed. Me and the hound will be back at our post shortly, I promise." Chris then looked around, shifting his head peering for the beast.
"Where the hell did that dog go anyway?" He was about to call out to it be the remember that he still had no clue what the beasts name was.
"What do you call the dog anyways?"
Rose trembled and looked down, ashamed of herself and frustrated. She sighed "His names Hamish...."
Isabella frowned and looked around "...I can look for him..." She felt the study and walked down the hall "Hamish...here boy"
The dog returns to the study, looking more or less board, acting like it was the Lord of this castle. Chris was growing to like this dog. Soon the hound lay under the desk where Rose still sat as Miss Pots tended to her.

For the first time in many years, despite the situation, despite the two men that was missing form this picture, Chris felt at home. A feeling he was not used to having.
Isabelle walked down the hall and froze. She gasped and watched as the woman in red passed by. Isabelle shuddered and fainted, her fall muffled by the carpet.
Rose trembled and her head perked up "....M...my lord!"
Chris cup of rum slipped form his fingers, shattering on the floor. The hound was up before he was but Chris managed to keep pace with the beast as he ran down the hallway. He gathered up Izy in her arms. Before when he thought about his size, she is just small since he had little to no difficulty picking her up.

Chris turned down to the hall seeing both Pots and Rose looking to him. Then, the realization hit him like a knife to the heart. He had seen how villages brought to their knees by sickness. He had seen the dead pill up, some in those piles still alive but so close to death it was impossible to tell them apart.
"Miss Pots. No one is to leave or enter the estate, you understand me? If this is a sickness, we can not let if leave here. Do you understand me?" The look of sheer horror come over both Pots and Rose but still the old sturdy woman nodded her head.

Chris then took Isabella to her chambers using his shoulder to open her old wooden door. The hound Hamish followed in before Chris managed to close the door with his foot. He then placed her on the bed and sat beside her.
Isabella trembled in his arms and gripped his shirt, her face buried in his chest. She mumbled in her state of unconsciousness.
The hound got onto the foot of the bed and made himself comfortable. Everything inside Chris told him he should stay here in the room with Izy, lay besides her and make sure she will be alright. The thought and urge to stay unsettled him, but he stayed never the less.