tea.”
“No, thank you. But I was wondering if the town still has a Harvest Ball on October 21 st , like it used to?”
Her face lit up, making her old blue eyes sparkle again. “Yes, of course. Your father must have told you about that. Your great-great-great-grandfather actually started the Harvest Ball. It’s tonight, if I am not mistaken. I’m too old now for such frivolities. I don’t go anymore.”
“Nonsense. You must come.” He smiled.
Her face blanked. “You speak so formally for one so young. The other young people in town don’t talk like you. They spend all day walking about like mindless zombies, playing on those hand-held devices and wearing their pants to their knees.”
Briton blushed, looking down at his hands. “I am with Miles at all times. He frowns on cell phone use and baggy jeans. I speak the way he speaks, I suppose. Not to mention, he forced me to attend Oxford. I’m lucky I escaped without an accent.” That was a true story. Miles had Briton finish his gentlemanly training at Oxford. It had given them years of staying in the same place while he had been a student.
She giggled and nodded. “Indeed, although I would swear you have a slight one.”
If only she knew how right she was. His Icelandic accent was one that had stayed his whole life. Briton looked up at her, giving her an intense stare. “You must come to the Harvest Ball tonight.” He didn’t want to talk about the things that made him sad anymore.
Again she nodded, but it was less animated than before. “I must, you are very correct. Will you accompany me?”
Briton felt a slow smile cross his lips. “Excellent idea. I seemed to have arrived in town just in time for it.”
She pointed to the hallway, seeming still somewhat frozen in her mind “Shall I show you to your room?”
He shook his head. “No, that’s fine. I know the way.” He walked out of the kitchen, seeing her puzzled face but was preoccupied by the life-and-death situation he would be faced with, in a few short hours. But would one of them be willing to die just to kill him?
He looked around the room as he changed. It was so similar to before , it was frightening . The whole house was like going back in time.
He showered and lay on his bed for some time, staring up at the ceiling. He had no plan, just a request. He needed them to allow him sanctuary. From there he hoped they would be willing to reinstate the haven it had once been.
Finally seeing the sun go down, he got up and dressed in the suit he had brought. He would be overdressed a little in his new Pal Zileri grey suit. He looked at himself in the mirror and sighed, wishing it was like the last time he had gone to the ball. His brothers and his parents had been with him. Now, completely alone, he would grace the town with his presence, whether they wanted it or not. He normally didn’t bother with worry or fear. There wasn’t much point to it, but he couldn't help but feel apprehensive. He was about to feel something he hadn’t since the night of the fire—vulnerability.
At least he would look incredible while doing it. His dark hair was longer than he preferred and styled messily, to fit the trends. His thick eyebrows suited it, but he looked like he should be cutting down trees as opposed to wearing a designer suit. All he needed was to grow out his beard and he would be a mountain man with that bushy hair.
His dark-blue eyes twinkled as he recalled his mother always commenting on his thick hair and how unruly it was. Had she been alive to see 2013, she would have told him his hair’s era had finally arrived.
He suited the town of Wolfville, more so than his brothers or father had. Their Viking looks had been more from a dark blond or red-haired descent. He was the only one with dark-brown hair, like his mother. He had gotten her olive skin too. She had been a slave his father had stolen from an Italian
“No, thank you. But I was wondering if the town still has a Harvest Ball on October 21 st , like it used to?”
Her face lit up, making her old blue eyes sparkle again. “Yes, of course. Your father must have told you about that. Your great-great-great-grandfather actually started the Harvest Ball. It’s tonight, if I am not mistaken. I’m too old now for such frivolities. I don’t go anymore.”
“Nonsense. You must come.” He smiled.
Her face blanked. “You speak so formally for one so young. The other young people in town don’t talk like you. They spend all day walking about like mindless zombies, playing on those hand-held devices and wearing their pants to their knees.”
Briton blushed, looking down at his hands. “I am with Miles at all times. He frowns on cell phone use and baggy jeans. I speak the way he speaks, I suppose. Not to mention, he forced me to attend Oxford. I’m lucky I escaped without an accent.” That was a true story. Miles had Briton finish his gentlemanly training at Oxford. It had given them years of staying in the same place while he had been a student.
She giggled and nodded. “Indeed, although I would swear you have a slight one.”
If only she knew how right she was. His Icelandic accent was one that had stayed his whole life. Briton looked up at her, giving her an intense stare. “You must come to the Harvest Ball tonight.” He didn’t want to talk about the things that made him sad anymore.
Again she nodded, but it was less animated than before. “I must, you are very correct. Will you accompany me?”
Briton felt a slow smile cross his lips. “Excellent idea. I seemed to have arrived in town just in time for it.”
She pointed to the hallway, seeming still somewhat frozen in her mind “Shall I show you to your room?”
He shook his head. “No, that’s fine. I know the way.” He walked out of the kitchen, seeing her puzzled face but was preoccupied by the life-and-death situation he would be faced with, in a few short hours. But would one of them be willing to die just to kill him?
He looked around the room as he changed. It was so similar to before , it was frightening . The whole house was like going back in time.
He showered and lay on his bed for some time, staring up at the ceiling. He had no plan, just a request. He needed them to allow him sanctuary. From there he hoped they would be willing to reinstate the haven it had once been.
Finally seeing the sun go down, he got up and dressed in the suit he had brought. He would be overdressed a little in his new Pal Zileri grey suit. He looked at himself in the mirror and sighed, wishing it was like the last time he had gone to the ball. His brothers and his parents had been with him. Now, completely alone, he would grace the town with his presence, whether they wanted it or not. He normally didn’t bother with worry or fear. There wasn’t much point to it, but he couldn't help but feel apprehensive. He was about to feel something he hadn’t since the night of the fire—vulnerability.
At least he would look incredible while doing it. His dark hair was longer than he preferred and styled messily, to fit the trends. His thick eyebrows suited it, but he looked like he should be cutting down trees as opposed to wearing a designer suit. All he needed was to grow out his beard and he would be a mountain man with that bushy hair.
His dark-blue eyes twinkled as he recalled his mother always commenting on his thick hair and how unruly it was. Had she been alive to see 2013, she would have told him his hair’s era had finally arrived.
He suited the town of Wolfville, more so than his brothers or father had. Their Viking looks had been more from a dark blond or red-haired descent. He was the only one with dark-brown hair, like his mother. He had gotten her olive skin too. She had been a slave his father had stolen from an Italian
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