A Forced Alliance

Transcribed by Charity

 

The sunlight filtered through the grimy window above their heads, casting the inhabitants of the counsel house in a warm, bluish glow. Ensor sat behind the massive oak desk, facing his grandson, Carver, whose eyes burned with fiery passion. Counselor, ever the silent observer, sat reclusive nearby, not daring to intrude upon the violent argument that erupted between grandson and grandfather.

"I am sick of waiting," Carver said in a tone that demanded attention. "I want her now!"

Ensor leaned forward, a passionate love for his granddaughter shining through the ordinarily complacent eyes. "The question is, does she want you? You want to force the girl to marry you?"

A wicked gleam surfaced in Carver's eyes, and he retorted sharply, "Get me a priest, and I'll show you how it's done!"

"I will not let your impatience ruin everything!" cried Ensor, rising to his feet in one impulsive movement. Turning his back to Carver, who cast his eyes down rebelliously, Ensor lifted the box from its precious place of honor upon a shelf nearby. Sitting down, he lifted the jeweled and ornate cover as gently as one would have handled precious gems, and lifted forth a dazzling array of stones. The necklace was breathtaking, gleaming with scarlet tones as he held it to the light, turning, watching it sparkle with almost a feverish anticipation. 

Carver, watching his grandfather muse over the past, shakes his head, but before the angry words burst forth, Ensor speaks. "I've waited 16 years for my plans to bear fruit. Only on your marriage to Lorna will my family be able to reclaim its inheritance."

Unable to bear the old man's foolish mutterings a moment longer, Carver's fist came down passionately upon the table. "This," he snarled, "is my inheritance!"

Disbelief coursed through the old man's face, and he lowered the necklace as, in a tone of scorn, he asked, "You think a stinking patch of mud in the middle of nowhere is a fitting home for the noble Doones?"

Pleased to see that his grandson is abashed, Ensor gives Carver a cold, intimidating look from his ever-chilled brown eyes. "Then get out of here," he said in a sickeningly mocking tone, "and try to make Lorna like you."

Carver cast a glance at his ever-quiet father, and then rose from the table swiftly. "She will," he said confidently. "I promise you." And the only sound in the room as his footsteps carry him away are the lingering, threatening tones of the words themselves.