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Chapter 3 The Poisoned Medicine
Lilith gasped in mock horror. “Heavens above! My lady, your hand!”
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She scrambled to assist Donna, spinning around to shrick with feigned outrage, “You wretched girl! You are beyond saving. First, you steal Ms. Donna Whitmore’s betrothed, and when she shows charity by bringing you a tonic, you have the audacity to strike her!”
In the next breath, a figure stormed into the chamber, beelining for Donna. His countenance was etched with anxiety. “Donna!”
Donna furrowed her brow, displaying her wounded palm. It was a gruesome sight.
Daniel fixed his gaze on Donna’s bloodied hand, then shot a glare at Brielle that promised nothing short of death.
Brielle opened her mouth. “I-”
But before she could utter a word, a shadow loomed over her. A violent force shoved her from the bedding. She collided with the stone floor, and before she could even scramble to her knees, a heavy blow struck her face.
Her ears began to ring, and her cheek burned as if touched by a red-hot poker.
Before she could recover her wits, Donna clutched Daniel’s sleeve, intervening on her behalf. “Daniel, it was my own clumsiness. Do not blame my sister.”
Lilith wasted no time in spinning her tale to the Lord. “Lord Daniel, I witnessed it with my own eyes. Ms. Donna Whitmore attempted to administer a cure, and not only did she refuse, she shoved Donna down. Donna is too gentle to make a scene, but surely no one deserves such treatment.”
“Take Donna to the physician to have that wound dressed,” Daniel ordered, his voice devoid of warmth.
“Yes, my lord.” Lilith escorted Donna from the room.
Left alone with Brielle, Daniel looked down upon her, his eyes burning with intent. His cold fingers gripped her chin, tilting her head back. Had those fingers been wrapped around her neck in that instant, they would surely have strangled the life from her.
“Do you truly presume to be my wife? If Donna had not begged for mercy, I would have ended you. Know this: whichever hand you use to harm her, I shall sever.”
Daniel’s voice vibrated with rage, his words sharp enough to cut steel.
Brielle nursed her stinging cheek, her glare unyielding. She let out a cold, humorless laugh. “Pray, with which eye did you witness me harming her?”
“Lilith saw it. Do you dare call her a liar?” Daniel was aghast. This woman was descending into deceit.
Yet, it was not entirely unexpected. She possessed a wicked heart; she was merely revealing her true nature.
Brielle seethed inwardly. Whom had she wronged? She had barely arrived and was already suffering abuse.
She scrutinized Daniel’s face. His features were sharp and chiseled, his eyes clear yet piercing. A high. straight nose bridged to his brow-a mark of unmistakable nobility. Between his eyes, faint furrows etched a look of quiet authority, the very visage of a born ruler
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Chapter 3 The Poisoned Medicine
It was a tragedy he would not live to see old age.
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“Judging a woman by appearance-it is no wonder your heart is blind. Your eyes are riddled with red veins; a crimson aura glows between your brows. You are quick to anger and slow to forgive. Your gaze is clouded, lacking clarity. You shall soon witness bloodshed. You have been blinded by a woman. Take heed, or you shall meet your end at a woman’s hand.”
She was the High Priestess of Persandria, second to none. Physiognomy, fortune-telling, divining sacred burial grounds-she had never erred.
Considering Daniel’s defense of Donna, she was certain Donna would be the architect of his destruction.
After all, Donna had never desired to marry him. Why else would she have manipulated Brielle into taking her place?
Without Donna’s aid, Brielle could never have evaded the sentries of Clarke Estate, nor could she have subdued the true bride within the bridal chamber.
But when Daniel heard her insinuation that Donna was at fault, his expression darkened like a thunderhead. He seized her by the throat, his voice dripping with ice. Are you daring me to cut out your tongue?”
The frigid tone sent a shiver skittering down her spine.
Suddenly, a sharp pain pierced Brielle’s chest. Blood surged in her throat, and she coughed, crimson splattering onto Daniel’s tunic.
Seeing Brielle spit blood, Daniel frowned. He had barely laid a hand on her yet.
His voice was sharp with suspicion. “What trickery is this now?”
She had already feigned a suicide attempt once to garner sympathy. Now she was resorting to other dramatics. He harbored a deep loathing for manipulative women.
Detecting the accusation in his tone, Brielle offered a bitter smile. She looked up at him with cold indifference. “Trickery? Should you not be posing that question to Donna? Why not ask her precisely what she forced me to drink?”
Her words were laced with venom.
However, Daniel perceived a note of grievance within her anger. His eyes narrowed as he glanced at the shards of the broken bowl on the floor.
Brielle mistook his expression for contemplation, believing he might suspect Donna of poisoning her.
But after a heavy silence, his cold gaze swept over her like a blade. “Even if she did administer something, you brought it upon yourself.”
That single sentence plunged Brielle into an abyss of despair.
She stared at him, dumbfounded.
“You wronged her first. If she seeks retribution, you will endure it, and you will do so in silence.” Daniel clasped his hands behind his back.
The man stood tall and rigid, a presence as imposing as a deity descended from the heavens. Yet, in Brielle’s
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eyes, he resembled a demon-a malevolent spirit intent on tearing her apart and devouring her whole.
“And if she desires my death?” Brielle asked, unable to stop herself.
His answer was crushing. “Then I shall place the knife in her hand.”
Suddenly, Brielle’s chest constricted with intense pain. I was the lingering sorrow and resentment of the original Brielle. The bitterness and regret were suffocating. Her body instinctively yearned to weep, but she gritted her teeth, forcing the tears back.
Shedding tears over a man devoid of love was a waste.
Daniel noticed her struggle-the redness of her eyes, her stubborn defiance. He frowned and looked away.
He turned to leave, casting one final, cold remark over his shoulder. “Brielle, mark my words. You stole the bride’s place and became my wife. Your life no longer belongs to you.”
When Brielle finally collected herself, she looked up. The man was already gone.
She clenched her fists so hard her knuckles turned white, grinding her teeth in fury.
Absolute rubbish.
The real Brielle was dead. Even if her sins had been unforgivable, she had paid the ultimate price.
She, Jocelyn-her life belonged to no one but herself.
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Fate Binds Me to Lord Clarke
