Just Rage

As he strolled beside Malchus Lorne, Jameson brooded over the universalities of life. Power attracted evil; he had seen it in his own house as factions rose to gain favor with his father. Now he saw it with Malchus and the new portreeve. A powerful authority could keep evil in check, but the weak-minded portreeve seemed destined to find himself slave to Malchus and his avarice. What havoc could such unprincipled behavior wreak in a small, unprotected town? Though he had learned all the political concepts through his education, Jameson could not regret encountering them in fact because, should he succeed in his current campaign, the experience would minimize his patience for the unscrupulous and greedy.

Fortunately, Jameson did not possess a weak mind, and he had convinced Malchus to leave the portreeve behind. Before he and the hot-headed young man had crossed the courtyard, a well-dressed and accommodating manservant opened the front door and met them at the hitching post, to which the servant tied the two horses.

"Might I be of service?" he offered graciously, his accent tinged with a provinciality which painted it with charm.

"If I may, kind sir," Jameson began. "Is the man of the house available?"

"I'm afraid, sir, that I am the man of the house today."

"Well, my friend here has a matter of high importance that he felt needed immediate attention."

"I will do my best, sire."

Jameson could no longer restrain Malchus, and the irate man jumped in with predictable impetuosity. "I mean to speak to the hellcat that gave me this!" Malchus almost shouted, pointing to a purpling bruise that had begun to darken his cheek.

Blindsided by the unexpected vitriol, the servant's mouth popped open, and he spoke not a word for several seconds.

"My friend has misspoken," Jameson soothed. "He means to speak to the young maid who is the eldest child of your master."

"A fiery one, she is," the servant nodded, still a bit offended, "but I will take issue with the gentleman calling her such a name as he has."

"And I," Malchus reared up to his full height, towering over the meek servant, "will have retribution for the offense that she paid me this evening."

Jameson rocked back into a relaxed stance, fighting his instinct to mirror the miscreant’s stance of aggression. Not yet, he told himself. He could not play the hero at the cost of his father’s cause.

"Perhaps the young gentleman should send his own father, or take a day or two to cool his ire before he commits an offense against a respectable family."

"Perhaps," Malchus hissed, "a servant would do well to keep his tongue if he does not wish to land in chains." Raising his hand, Malchus signaled to the portreeve, and the round figure rolled swiftly across the courtyard.

"You err, Master Lorne," Jameson advised in a hushed tone. "There is no need to involve a legal authority in this matter."

"You err, Master Jess, in thinking that you have any wisdom that I require. As a stranger in these parts, you're as likely to land yourself in stocks as the servant here."

The effrontery against his office drew Jameson’s ire, but he restrained his impulse to act on it. He could not practice that position for the moment. Besides, his humankindness stood offended enough to signify, and he could act on that portion of himself.

"Now, I dismiss you from your service as a second." Malchus waved Jameson away like a nuisance. "The portreeve will assist me in anything I might require from here on."

Too many reprimands rose in Jameson's mouth to give vent to, so he exercised immense self-control and said nothing at all, instead unhitching his horse from the post and using the rain as an excuse to lead it slowly away under the covered walk between the home and the barn. Once around the corner, he reined in the animal and took up post just near enough to hear the conversation between Malchus and the servant.

"Master Lorne," the servant offered conciliatorily, "your young friend is right in one thing. I am your servant, and you need not appeal to legalities to accomplish your will with me. Short of allowing you to harm the family, I will allow you any request you ask."

Well played, breathed Jameson. He walked slowly to the edge of the house, heading ostensibly to the field that led through the marshes. If he could manage it, he would like to hear the conclusion of the last few minute's events. If the servant failed to perform his duty, Jameson just might have to throw his plans out

the window and interfere in a major way.

"I believe," stuttered the portreeve, "that the proper course here is to have a small word with the mother, just to inform her of your formal charges."

"No woman can receive formal charges, your eminence," the servant corrected wisely.

"No, no, nothing of the sort," the portreeve agreed. "But a woman can hear, and a woman can convey, and that is all that we wish of her."

The servant hesitated, faced with the authority of a governor, but after a protracted minute, he turned to enter the home in apparent acquiescence.

"Might I suggest, Friend Malchus, that you offer a small amount of restraint with the mother?"

"Restraint?" Malchus fired angrily. "Did the daughter show restraint with me? I will pay her back blow for blow when she is my wife!"

"My," the portreeve hemmed. "Perhaps you will not have her as wife if you say as much to the mother."

"Is there a law against hitting my wife? Besides, what right do they have to withhold their daughter from me. You have assured me of receiving rank in a short while, and when I have received it, the law will support my right to compel a woman of lesser rank to marry me, regardless of her family's protest. Then, if she wants to play in such a rough manner, I will play in kind."

Malchus almost seemed to anticipate such a future, gleefully considering the details behind his eyes. Everything inside Jameson itched to fly at the man and finish the job that Aylee Hembry had begun, only stopping when the man's broken limbs were rendered incapable of harming a woman. There were times that he wished his father would have taken tighter reins on the laws of the region, though Jameson recognized that the establishment of laws to protect the poor or weak would have required all-out war among nobles in many cases. For the time being, while the culture ran as it did, all Capigan could do was refuse a seat at court for miscreants with wealth. As I have every intention of doing when I take my office.

Finally, the lovely mother alighted from the front door, younger than Jameson had expected, and she wore such a mantle of tranquility and confidence that Jameson almost laughed at what he now expected to be an interesting confrontation. "Friend Malchus," she spoke in a clear, strong voice, deep and warm with a powerful femininity. "Am I to understand that you have complaint against my Aylee?" Jameson could detect the faintest of quivers in the woman's tone, and he recognized a deep concern for her daughter in the slight revelation of emotion.

"Mistress Hembry, I advise you not to stand between me and the resolution of my offense. If you cooperate with me, the rest of your family will not suffer any negative repercussions for your daughter's inappropriate behavior." Though Jameson had intended to take root for a while and hear the conclusion of the exchange, a motion in the corner of his vision divided him, and he began to consider whether he had not better move.

From behind the barn, only a 20-foot span from the gathering in front of her home, Aylee set up surveillance on the man who had assaulted her. She had heard enough from the conversation over the past several minutes that her opinion of Malchus had sunk even lower, and her opinion of the companion had hardened into distaste. Aylee would not let the likes of Malchus Lorne threaten her family under any circumstances. If he thought that he could compel Aylee Hembry to marry him, Malchus Lorne lived in delusion. He had defiled her, not in the worst way though he had tried, but certainly against her will and in a manner that revealed an evil character deserving of reprimand. She would correct him if he mistakenly believed that he would victimize anyone else in her family.

Fortunately, the barn door stood just far enough open for her to sidle along under the roof’s overhang and into the straw-strewn edifice without drawing attention to herself. On a set of hooks opposite the door rested the fireshot, and Aylee smiled when she saw it. The weapon wouldn’t kill the man, but it would cause him enough pain that he would think twice about trying to intimidate the Hembrys. Portreeve be damned, she rebelliously directed toward Malchus as she reached to retrieve the weapon. A moment later, her feet followed her thoughts.