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hysterialevi · 4 years

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His Name Was Isaac - Ch. 2

Fanfic summary: During a mission to avenge his mother’s death, Isaac hunts down the men responsible for her murder and kills them off one-by-one, only to discover that his last target is taking refuge among the Van der Linde gang. In an attempt to kill them, Isaac attacks the gang and unknowingly becomes enemies with his own father, who is in the process of fighting his own battle for redemption.

Point of view: third-person

Author’s note: Just wanted to say thank you guys for all the support you gave on the first chapter. I’m definitely excited to write more for you and I hope you’ll stick around for future parts :)

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This story is also on AO3

TWO MONTHS LATER

AURORA BASIN, WEST ELIZABETH

Blackwater.

It was so close.

Dutch could see it.

Somewhere beyond those trees, all the way over the eastern horizon and past the Great Plains, lay the city that started all this. The city that caused the Van der Linde gang to transform from a simple band of outcasts... into a group of killers willing to do anything for a wad of cash.

But was anyone surprised? Probably not.

After Hosea finally succumbed to his illness five years ago, any glimmer of humanity that remained among them instantly vanished. Dutch took full control over the gang and immediately started heading back out west, eager to return to New Austin. Meanwhile, his mental health deteriorated rapidly into a state of paranoia, greed, and an incessant need for power... and the fact that Marston eventually left did little to help matters either.

At the moment, the only original gang members to remain at Dutch’s side were Bill Williamson, Micah Bell, and of course... Arthur Morgan.

Nobody ever questioned Bill or Micah’s sense of loyalty -- they rarely expressed any emotions suggesting otherwise, after all -- but to everyone’s surprise, Arthur decided to stay.

Some of the rumors said he stayed simply because he had no other family to return to. Others implied that he was waiting for Dutch to follow in Hosea’s footsteps before swooping in to become the new leader. But in reality... the reason Arthur had yet to abandon Dutch was mostly due to sentiment.

Despite everything Dutch had done over these past eight years, Arthur could still see a part of the old him lingering inside. Behind all the ravings and robbing and killing, Arthur could sense that there was something more human at Dutch’s core -- something more fatherly -- and he knew it would disappear completely if he left. So, against better judgement, Arthur stayed.

It probably seemed foolish to other people, to stick around like this. But those rare moments when the old Dutch would break through and remind Arthur of the good ol’ days definitely made it worth it. He had nothing else to care about nowadays, and it wasn’t like Arthur could just leave the gang behind. He was old now -- or at least older than before -- and even if he did abandon Dutch, he doubted he’d have enough time to start a new life for himself.

Right now, the only thing Arthur could do was accept that he was destined to be an outlaw for life... and he had.

Putting his tangled thoughts aside for a moment, Arthur returned to the task at hand and roamed down the short corridor, making his way through the derelict cabin as he went to meet Dutch in the living room.

This cabin was nice, Arthur thought, for a place that had been abandoned for so long. He and Micah found it sitting in the middle of nowhere while hunting for food at Aurora’s Basin, and decided it would be the best place to set up their new camp. At least until they finally made their move on Blackwater.

Though, Arthur couldn’t deny that he was worried for Dutch’s wellbeing. Ever since the gang first settled here, the man practically locked himself in the cabin and rarely ever came out.

And whenever he did come out, he always looked so pale. Tired. Sickly, even. Not even close to the man Arthur knew eight years ago. He could’ve sworn that Dutch’s hair was getting grayer every time he saw him, and the way his eyes often stared blankly into the distance did nothing to help ease Arthur’s nerves.

He just hoped it wasn’t too late to bring Dutch back from the edge. He might’ve been a total madman these days, but... even then, he was still like a father to Arthur. And as his son, the last thing he wanted was to see him lose himself completely.

He just feared it might have been too late already.

Finally arriving at the living room, Arthur sauntered through the narrow wooden archway and walked up to Dutch, only to be greeted by a depressing scene.

It was completely dark in here.

All the candles had been snuffed out, the fireplace lay cold with ashes, and the lamp on the ceiling did nothing but swing despondently in the chilling breeze.

At the moment, the only source of light in the room was the one in front of Dutch himself. It was a tall, somewhat cracked window that sat right underneath a broken pendulum clock, and it had a torn bundle of curtains dancing gently around it.

There was an array of pale, white sunbeams pouring through its dusty glass currently, and with the way they embraced Dutch’s figure, he looked like nothing more than a silhouette relaxing in an old rocking chair.

Arthur took a few steps towards the man, hoping to check up on him.

“...Dutch?” He called out quietly. “You, um... wanted to see me?”

The older man slowly glanced over his shoulder at the sound of his name, silently beckoning his friend to come closer once he saw who it was.

When Arthur was at his side, Dutch presented a used handkerchief to him and held it up in the light, making sure the other man could see the blood splatters staining its white fabric.

Arthur eyed the handkerchief with a sorrowful gaze, letting out a morose sigh.

“You ain’t doin’ too good, huh.”

Dutch coughed a few times, his voice raspy from the irritation. “What gave it away?”

Pressing his hands against the armrests, Dutch steadily pushed himself up from the chair and rose to his feet, still facing the window as he continued to talk.

“I’m... I’m dying, son.” He said, almost sounding apologetic. “I can feel it. It won’t be long now before you and Micah are the ones in charge of this gang, and I’m buried in the ground.”

Arthur was admittedly grief-stricken by the news, but did his best to hide it and simply carried on with the conversation.

“...You really think Micah would share that kinda power with me? You know how that man is.”

Dutch put his hands on his hips. “Maybe. Maybe not. I don’t know.”

“Well, with all respect, Dutch, I ain’t too comfortable with lettin’ the future of this gang depend on a ‘maybe.”

“Neither am I,” the older man agreed, “but I don’t know what else to do, Arthur. Even after all these years, you and Micah continue to butt heads like a pair of deer who’ve got their antlers tangled. If I’m gonna leave this world in peace, I need to know that you and Micah can work together. Otherwise...”

Dutch’s voice trailed off, leaving Arthur with a sense of dread in his gut.

“Well...” he picked up, “I don’t know what’s gonna happen.”

Arthur shrugged in uncertainty, leaning against the wall. “So... what d’you wanna do?”

The other man returned to his rocking chair, allowing himself to sink into the flat cushion.

“Nothing. Not yet, at least. For now, we just do things the way we’ve always done them. We head for Blackwater, and we focus on the bank. My death is a bridge we’ll cross once we get to it. In the meantime, though...” Dutch gave Arthur a pleading look, “just try to cooperate with Micah, would you? For my sake. The future of this gang may depend on it.”

The younger outlaw crossed his arms, reluctant to agree but still complying nonetheless.

“...Of course, Dutch.” Arthur replied. “For your sake. I doubt it’ll be easy, though.”

That seemed to please the older man. “Thank you, son. Thank you.”

Leaning back in his chair, Dutch let his head fall back and stretched his legs out, gazing aimlessly through the open window once again.

“Oh... I wish Hosea were here. We had our disagreements from time to time, but no one knew how to keep people together quite like that old boy. It ain’t been the same since he died.”

Arthur shook his head with a sigh. “No, it hasn’t. I just wish John was here, too.”

Dutch glowered at the mention of Marston’s name. “Pfft. That man was a traitor. We’re better off without him.”

“Maybe,” Arthur conceded, “but he was still family.”

“Family don’t turn their back on you, Arthur.” Dutch countered. “If we’re going to survive this year, we’ve got to stick together. You, me, Micah, Bill, Mackintosh -- everyone. We can’t let what happened at Beaver Hollow happen again. You understand?”

The younger man hesitated to answer, unable to deny his skepticism about Dutch’s leadership.

“...I understand.” He replied regardless. The other man managed to display a small smile.

“I knew you would, Arthur.” Dutch said, shutting his eyes in order to get some rest as the day gradually came to an end. “You was always there through thick and thin. Even after John abandoned us and Hosea passed, you stuck around. You’ve been loyal from the start, and that means the world to me. Never forget that.”

Arthur pushed himself off the wall and began heading for the cabin’s front door, letting Dutch get some sleep.

“I won’t, Dutch. I won’t.”

~~~~~~~~~~

SAINT DENIS

GASKILL RESIDENCE

AFTERNOON

“...Gaskill...” Isaac murmured to himself, reading the small note in his hand.

He glanced up at the house in front of him, making sure this was the right place.

“Yep,” he confirmed, talking to his horse. “I think we’re here, Aldo.”

Leaving Aldo at the hitching post, Isaac said goodbye to the majestic creature and stuffed the note back into his pocket, strolling up to the front porch.

The property wasn’t as big as some of the others Isaac had seen along the way, but he still thought it looked rather cozy. It had a total of two stories and was decorated with loads of flowers, trees, grass, and a small water fountain that stood elegantly on the front lawn. There were a few birds perched on the edge of it at the moment, and they chirped happily as the cool water trickled onto their feathers, causing them to flutter their wings joyfully.

As for the house itself, if Isaac’s information was correct, then it belonged to an author by the name of Leslie Dupont. Though, according to the research he’d done, that was just a pen name.

Her actual name was Mary-Beth Gaskill, and word on the street was that she used to be part of the Van der Linde gang... the very same gang Isaac had been tracking down for these past two months.

He had to admit, this “Dutch van der Linde” figure was proving rather difficult to find. For a while now, he had been jumping from person to person -- town to town -- just trying to get even the smallest lead.

At first, Isaac paid a visit to a general store owner named Simon Pearson who apparently used to be the gang’s cook. He talked with him for a while and shared a few drinks, only to realize that the man had a talent for speaking a lot without actually saying anything substantial.

Afterwards, he tracked down another ex-member by the name of Tilly Pierre. She appeared friendly enough and was somewhat more willing to communicate, but Isaac hardly got a word out of her before her husband shooed him away. Didn’t want suspicious folks hanging around their family, he said.

And as if that wasn’t tiresome enough already, Isaac found himself talking to a preacher called Orville Swanson who seemed to have nothing but bad memories of Dutch, and kept going on about how much Isaac reminded him of one of the gang members.

At this point, Isaac was just hoping that this Gaskill woman actually existed. It seemed like every lead he followed up would end up with more questions than answers, and all the people he talked to so far had been less than eager to speak about their experiences with him.

If Miss Gaskill didn’t have anything valuable to give him, he had no idea where he would turn next.

Stepping up to the front door, Isaac gave it a few firm knocks and waited patiently in the garden, eager to speak with this woman. After a moment or two, the door swung open from the inside, revealing Ms. Gaskill herself.

She was a lot more presentable than Isaac expected. In contrast to the rugged, hardened, mean-spirited woman he had been anticipating, Ms. Gaskill actually seemed quite sweet. She had a romantic twinkle in her eye and carried a very inquisitive nature, giving her the look of someone who enjoyed reading books and drinking tea as opposed to the ex-outlaw Isaac heard she was.

“Arthur--!” Ms. Gaskill greeted excitedly, only to cut herself off once she got a better look at her visitor’s face. “Oh, um...” a flustered chuckle escaped her, “s-sorry, mister. I... mistook you for someone else.”

Isaac smiled. “No worries. That seems to happen a lot nowadays.”

The woman cleared her throat. “Can I... can I help you, sir?”

“Yes, actually. Um...” the young man double-checked his note, “...are you Mary-Beth Gaskill?”

She nodded, immediately picking up on the fact that he used her real name. “I am. Who might you be?”

“My name’s Isaac. I apologize for interruptin’ your day like this, but... I was wonderin’ if I could ask you a few questions.”

“What about?”

Isaac hesitated for a second, unsure about how to broach the subject. “...It’s...it’s about the Van der Linde gang. I’ve heard that you used to run with them back in the day, and I was hopin’ you might be able to provide some answers. I’m lookin’ for them, you see.”

To Isaac’s surprise, the response actually seemed to earn him a more colloquial temperament from Ms. Gaskill, as opposed to the suspicious nature his previous visits induced.

“Ah... I think I understand. Of course, of course. Come on in. I’d be happy to help.”

“Thank you, madam. I’ll just be a minute.”

Pushing the door completely open, Ms. Gaskill allowed Isaac to walk in as she made her way to the sitting area, preparing something for them to drink.

“Would you like a cup of coffee?” She offered.

Isaac shut the front door behind him, removing his hat. “That’d be lovely.”

Mary-Beth beamed at him, gesturing to the multiple chairs that had been arranged around the room. “Please, have a seat. Make yourself at home.”

Taking in his surroundings, Isaac sat down next to a rather nice end table and placed his hat on his lap, gazing at the decorations scattered throughout the house.

Isaac already pegged Mary-Beth for a bookworm, but he had no idea just how into it she truly was. There were numerous bookshelves filled to the brim with horror stories, mysteries, comedies, tragedies... but most of all, romances.

They seemed to occupy the shelves more than any other genre, and just by looking at the small ribbons sticking out from between their pages, it was evident that Mary-Beth was busy working her way through quite a few of them at the same time. He wondered what that said about her as a person.

“Here you go,” Ms. Gaskill said as she handed him a cup of coffee, breaking Isaac out of his thoughts. “Careful, it’s hot.”

Isaac gently brought the cup into his grasp, holding it securely as the smell of freshly-brewed coffee beans reached his nose. “Thank you.”

Giving him a smile in response, Mary-Beth retrieved her own cup of coffee before taking a seat across from the young man, admittedly intrigued by his motive for being here.

“So...” she started, “you’re lookin’ for the Van der Linde gang. May I ask why?”

Isaac took a sip. “Well, truth be told, I ain’t really concerned about the whole gang. I’m just lookin’ for a specific person who I’ve been told is with them.”

Ms. Gaskill formed her own conclusion. “So, you’re a bounty hunter?”

“In a way, I guess. Only difference is I’m not doing this for the money. My reasons are more personal.”

The young woman nodded in understanding. “I see. And how did you know I used to be with them?”

“Your friend Mr. Swanson directed me to you.”

A nostalgic look spread across Mary-Beth’s face at the sound of Swanson’s name.

“Oh, Mr. Swanson...” she reminisced warmly, “it’s been many years since I last saw him, but he was always so kind. Lost, perhaps, but kind. How is he nowadays?”

“He’s doin’ well, I think,” Isaac answered honestly. “He’s a minister now, up in New York. I don’t know what he was like when you knew him, but... Swanson seemed to be content with his life, if a bit remorseful.”

“That’s good to hear,” Ms. Gaskill said, her expression dimming slightly afterwards. “Too many of my friends from the old days ended up dead, missing, or just straight-up insane... so I’m glad that at least someone besides Tilly turned out okay.”

She downed some of her coffee, changing the subject. “But enough about that. You said you had questions about the Van der Linde gang?”

“I do.”

“Well...” Mary-Beth set her coffee down, “what would you like to know?”

Isaac decided to start at the top, inquiring about the leader himself.

“...What kind of a man is Dutch van der Linde?” He asked. “What can I expect from him?”

Ms. Gaskill chuckled at the question. “I used to ask myself the same thing everyday.”

Isaac smirked. “He’s unpredictable, I take it?”

“Understatement of the century. Though, to be fair, Dutch wasn’t always like that. When I first joined their gang, he actually saved me. A couple of men had just caught me stealin’ from them and were chasing me over the hills until Dutch scared them off. He was so generous back then. So passionate.”

“Yeah?” Isaac noted. “How so?”

Mary-Beth leaned forward, gesturing with her hands. “Well, even though Dutch was technically an outlaw, he never really came across as one. He was more like a teacher, or a guardian. A father even, to some. He loved us all, and we loved him, but...”

A melancholic sigh escaped the young woman. “...things just... spiraled out of control. As the years passed by, civilization began to spread, the law started killin’ our people, and eventually, Dutch just... snapped. In the end, he was more akin to a tyrant than anything, and the gang fell apart within a few short months. That was when I decided to run away with my friends, but... not everyone made it.”

Mary-Beth’s expression sank with sorrow, causing Isaac to blurt out an apology.

“I-I’m sorry, Ms. Gaskill. I didn’t mean to bring up any bad memories.”

“No, no, it’s fine.” She reassured. “I just wish things could’ve turned out differently, y’know? Not everyone in the gang was rotten. Some of them were actually quite wonderful... but it’s rarely the good ones who survive. I’m just surprised to hear that the Van der Linde gang is still going. I thought the rest of them would’ve scattered to the winds by now.”

Isaac drank some more of his coffee. “D’you have any idea where I could find them?”

Ms. Gaskill thought for a moment. “Well, if there’s anythin’ I know about Dutch, it’s that he probably headed back to the west.”

The young man quirked a brow. “The west? That’s a pretty big region. You have any specific states in mind? Or cities? Anything that could narrow it down?”

“Hmm... Dutch used to talk a lot about New Austin,” she suggested. “Apparently, he’s quite fond of the desert. Said it made him feel closer to the sky. I know he was always eyeballin’ that town Blackwater, too.”

“Blackwater...” Isaac repeated, mentally marking the town as his next point of interest. “I’ve been there a few times. Do you know why he’d be hangin’ around there?”

Mary-Beth shrugged. “No idea. All I know is that eight years ago, a ferry job in Blackwater nearly finished the whole gang. Perhaps Dutch feels like he has unfinished business there. Probably sees the town as a trophy he never got to win.”

“Hmm... that makes sense. And what about his numbers? How many men did Dutch have when you was with him?”

The woman conjured up a quick estimation. “Roughly two dozen, I think. Possibly a few more. But I can’t imagine he has that many people following him around these days, considerin’ how maniacal he was when I last saw him.”

“I see. So, he’s likely got a good chunk of people with him.”

The young man finished his coffee and placed the empty mug on the end table, preparing to leave.

“Well, I think I’ve gotten all the answers I needed, Ms. Gaskill. Thanks for takin’ the time to help me out. I really appreciate it.”

Mary-Beth smiled sincerely. “Anytime. It was good to talk about the old days, no matter how chaotic they might’ve been. I just hope you can find whomever it is you’re lookin’ for. Are they a friend of yours?”

Isaac chuckled. “Hardly. Quite the opposite, actually.”

“Ah. So you’re trackin’ down an enemy. Well, be careful out there, then. Things may be more civilized nowadays, but many gangs still roam the country. Not to mention that Dutch himself is exceptionally dangerous. Stay safe during your search.”

The man rose to his feet, heading to the door. “I will. Believe me. Oh, and um... Ms. Gaskill?” Isaac threw a look of gratitude at her, putting his hat back on before stepping out into the sun. “Thanks for the coffee.”

#red dead redemption #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #arthur morgan #isaac morgan #dutch van der linde #Micah Bell #mary-beth gaskill #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 oc

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deborahwilsonbooks-blog · 5 years

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Regency Romance: The Lady’s Masquerade - Part 1

Hey there, my name is Deborah Wilson, an author of regency romance. I have a short novella to share with you guys. ☺

If you’re looking for gentle, yet a undemanding sort of romance in the charming depiction of the Regency and Victorian period era, this novella could very well fit the bill nicely.

Synopsis:

Lady Delia Scarborough will not let her sister’s murderer go free. Every clue points to Kieran Dearborne, the Duke of Cowanfield. But their mutual attraction throws her plans into chaos.

Can Kieran’s love save Delia from danger, or is her fate already sealed?

Check it out below ...

P R O L O G U E

May 1805

The storm had been threatening for days. Later, they would say that it was one of the worst storms of the last decade. The road would have been inky black, with nothing to mark the perilous turns. Were the driver and team reliable? Was Lissa afraid?

Probably not, Delia decided. Her little sister might have been dreamy, and perhaps she was inclined to leap before she looked, but no one would ever have called her a coward.

The storm would have broken quickly in the night, rolling down on the carriage like an ancient and terrible wrath. The horses ran along the road, eager for shelter, but then a thunder clap deafened them. One reared, taking its mate with it, and the carriage tilted on two wheels. For a moment, just a moment, there was a chance it would right itself. But no.

The horses, the slick road, the darkness… It was all too much. The carriage rolled, the wooden shell cracking like an egg, the timbers as sharp as teeth and—

"And as she was loved, so she will be loved, and as she wept, so now she brings tears..."

Delia realized that she must have made some kind of sound. All around her, bonneted heads turned toward her subtly, some in concern, some for gossip's sake, and all unwelcome.

Behind her black veil, Delia lowered her eyes, mutinous until she felt her father's hand fumble for hers. There was a palsy to his grip that had gotten worse when the news came to them of Lissa's death, and she squeezed his hand hard, wishing she could give him some of her strength.

She was Delia Scarborough, the daughter of the Marquess of Winsbury, who had fought at Marseilles and even farther afield. She was the descendant of eight generations of noblemen who had all served their country, loved their families, and died doing what they knew was right. She would not disgrace herself at her sister's graveside, no matter how hot her eyes felt or how thick the lump in her throat.

She almost made it. It was only when they began to lower her sister's casket into the ground that a small voice piped up in the back of her mind, a dusty memory.

Delia, it's so very dark, can I sleep with you?

Suddenly, it was as if the very air had been knocked from her lungs. Delia wavered, and for a moment, she was certain she would simply faint from the weight of the grief that dropped upon her.

She had a sudden mad impulse to insist that they stop. Lissa hated the dark; she hated the crawling things that burrowed through the earth. They could not do this.

The only thing that kept her back was the sight of her father, positioned in his elegant wheeled chair at the head of the grave. The marquess's sorrow ravaged him, left him a frame of a man rather than the full one he should have been, and Delia took a deep breath.

I will survive this. This is as hard as it ever gets. I will walk through this, and on the other side, I will have vengeance for Lissa.

That night, after the mourners had been seen off, the curate paid, and her father seen to his bed, Delia retired to her room earlier than usual. For a moment, she wanted nothing more than to crawl off to her familiar bed, placing her round spectacles in their accustomed place, and hope she dreamed of Lissa in some happy land.

Instead, she carefully laid her black crepe gown over the top of her chair for her maid, and she went to her closet where she removed a gown of drab serviceable gray linen. It was one of four, the other three already packed in her small worn bag. They were identical to one another, and only the excellent fit saved her from looking like a servant who worked below stairs.

Dressed in the gray gown, Delia pulled her brown hair down from its fashionable braids and pulled the fine strands straight back from her face, scraping it all into a large bun at the nape of her neck.

When she examined herself in the mirror, she found no trace of a marquess's daughter, not even the eldest bookish girl who had few marriage prospects and little interest in looking for one.

I look like a governess. The thought satisfied her, and again, she glanced at the white handkerchief that she had seldom let out of her sight since she had received it from the wreckage.

It was clutched in Miss Scarborough's hand, Miss Delia. She hung on to it so tight, we could barely pry it out.

Her baby sister had held on to it as she lay dying on a lonely road heading north. Their driver was killed in the same accident, but of the man in the carriage with her, the one who had booked it, who had held her sister's arm as if they were already married, there was no trace.

The inn where they had spent the previous night had thought they were husband and wife, and if they had made it to Gretna Green, they would have been.

Delia's thoughts were ice-cold.

Imagine. In another world, I would be scolding Lissa for her insane recklessness and meeting my new brother-in-law. I would have no idea that he was the kind of blaggard who would seduce a girl and leave her to die in a wrecked carriage.

She wondered if Lissa would have called for him in her last moments, if she would have brought the handkerchief to her lips in prayer, listening for his return.

It didn't matter now. Her sister was dead, and the man who had caused her death was still alive. He was missing a handkerchief, however, and that was careless of him, especially as the initials on the corner and the meticulously stitched crest identified him as swiftly as an actor's spotlight on Drury Lane.

Delia slipped out of the home she had lived in all her life, avoiding the creaky floorboards and the reluctant doors. There was a note for her father left folded on his bedside, and there was a man in the village who was willing to take her to Hove, where she could find her way onto the Royal Mail coach.

Folded tightly into a tiny package at the bottom of her bag was the damning handkerchief, and as she made her way into the night, Delia's thoughts were grim.

You are going to pay for what you did to my sister, my lord Duke of Cowanfield.

C H A P T E R 0 1

"All right, that one was worse than the first. Cross her off the list."

"Before I do, exactly what reason can you give for your dislike? She had excellent references, and she wasn't so hard on the eyes either.”

Kieran Dearborn, twelfth Duke of Cowanfield, glared at his best friend, who was seated at the secretary with his quill held imperiously over a list with a diminishing number of unrejected names. Hiring a governess was woman's work, but where he could find a woman to do this for him, he had no idea.

"I didn't like the look of her. She looked shifty, as if she might give Alice laudanum on days where she was feeling too tired to deal."

Neil Marsh, the Earl of Cottering, raised an eyebrow. "Really? You've been reading too many of those lurid broadsides. They do that in the slums, not in the finer houses."

"Oh, yes, and I'm sure that all London gentlemen are the pictures of restraint when it comes to the gambling table and all London ladies are as faithful to their husbands as old dogs are to their masters."

Neil laughed. "Well, I suppose that you know something about that, don't you, Cowanfield?"

"Shut your mouth about that. We don't talk about that in front of her."

They both glanced at the divan set alongside the window, where Alice Dearborn slept as deeply as it seemed only a three-year-old could. She had pale blond hair, as unlike Kieran's own dark hair as possible, but the moment he had seen her green eyes, twin to the ones he saw in the mirror every morning, there was no doubt in his mind that she was his.

Along with that realization had come a sudden rush of desperate and protective love unlike anything he had ever felt in his dissipated thirty-two years. She was his; he had to protect her, nurture her, and see her grown... and he had no idea at all how to do it.

The governess had been something that finally occurred to him after Alice had cried herself out on her first night at Brixby Hall, the ancestral home of all Dearborns. The little girl had fallen asleep in a pile of tears and wails, and still, Kieran couldn't leave her alone. He sat in the darkness of the nursery, holding her tiny soft hand, and tried to figure out what to do next.

Neil, when next he spoke, was more sympathetic, but his voice was firm. "She is a child, not some rare and delicate bird from the southern lands that will die if she is splashed with cold water. She needs to be cared for, and unless you are hiding depths of which I have been heretofore unaware, you need to find someone to do it. I suggest that the next woman who comes in, as long as she does not have an obvious affiliation with a London street gang, should do the trick."

Kieran started to snap something that Neil probably did not deserve at all, but they were saved by the butler coming in and announcing the next woman on the list.

Well, she's definitely not affiliated with any London street gangs.

As a matter of fact, she embodied the very spirit of a governess, perfectly erect in carriage, her brown hair scraped back into an unworldly bun and a pinched look to her face as if she never smiled.

The spectacles gave her an owlish look, and Kieran might have laughed out loud at how perfectly a governess she looked before he met her eyes. They were a pale gray that flashed with a kind of silvery light he had never seen before. For some reason, looking into her gaze soothed something in him he had never before known was jagged.

Well, hello, beautiful, something in him whispered, and then, almost against his will, he noticed her lush figure under the painstakingly fitted but plain gown she wore. It was hard to imagine a pin out of place on her, and briefly, Kieran wondered what it would take to make her look unsettled or even in the least rumpled.

At Neil's polite cough, Kieran looked up to see that the object of his attention was giving him a rather stern look. If she had felt that brief electric shock between them, she gave no sign, and he hastily sat up straighter.

"This is Miss Delia Jones, late of Hove, aged twenty-two years. She has served as a governess in a single home since the age of eighteen, the residence of Lord and Lady Heatherford, overseeing the needs of their three daughters."

Neil looked up briefly from the sheet he read from, fixing Kieran with a sharp eye. "Her reference looks beyond reproach to me, Cowanfield."

Kieran glared at his friend, and then turned back to the young lady in gray. Delia seemed too fanciful a name for such a stern creature, or at least it did if you discounted her extraordinary eyes.

"Well, Miss Jones, what have you to say for yourself?"

"I say that I hope very much I will be suited to the post you offer, your grace. I know that every situation is different, but given the nature of your advertisement, I have some hope that we may suit."

Her voice was pitched lower than he had expected. The slightly husky timbre gave her an air that was at once grave and oddly sensual, and he shook that thought off in a hurry. It had apparently been too long since he had gone carousing in London if he was entertaining a fascination with a governess.

"And why do you think that you might suit?"

"You were looking for someone who would broaden your child's horizons in the ladylike arts. As you can see from my character, I have instructed the Wembly sisters in history, deportment, dance, penmanship, French, and art. They are well-launched into Society, and the only reason I left was because their youngest was a son, and therefore had his own tutor."

"And it has nothing to do with the 200 pounds a year that I am offering."

It was a ludicrous sum to offer a governess, who might ordinarily make a tenth of it, but Kieran had thought it would bring out the best. Instead, it had brought out a mix of real candidates and fortune-hunters, and he was beginning to be jaded about the whole thing.

Instead of being flustered or offended, Miss Jones only inclined her head slight.

"Of course, it does. I can see that you are willing to pay into the idea of giving your daughter the best foundation on which to base her life. I am confident that you will be satisfied with my work and that you will not have cause to regret that sum."

She was so self-possessed that she made Kieran feel oddly ashamed of himself. It was hardly a feeling he enjoyed, and so he shrugged it off.

"You're very assured for one so young."

"If I were not, I would not be here applying for this position."

Neil laughed, a bright sound in the quiet tension of the room. "Well, she is certainly fit to instruct you, Cowanfield. That's obviously clear."

Kieran glared at his friend, but he could hardly argue with him. He searched for some reason to deny her, something that he didn't like, something that would make him toss out her application just as he had all the women who had come before her.

There was nothing there, and that in its own way was shocking. He nodded, almost reluctantly.

"All right. I'm willing to see how you do with Alice."

Miss Jones nodded, looking at him expectantly. "I would like to meet her and to ensure that we are a good fit, my lord."

He nodded toward Alice, who was still sleeping in a sprawl of limbs and silk on the divan. He supposed she was easy to miss, given the fact that she looked like nothing so much as a frilled pink cushion.

"There she is."

For the first time, Miss Jones looked surprised. Her gaze traveled from the toddler to Kieran and back again.

"My lord, how old is Alice?"

"I suppose I should have said in the paper, but she is three. Is there some problem?"

Miss Jones pursed her lips, as if she were fighting with herself on some inward matter. "She is terribly young for a governess. At her age, children are still inclined to be with their nurses."

Kieran scowled, already not relishing the idea of interviewing yet more women.

"What is the difference?"

Miss Jones shot him a particularly scathing look. "Your grace, my repertoire includes French and dance. Miss Alice very much seems as if she needs to be taught how to handle stairs and how to play with a kitten."

Kieran tilted his head at her. "Are you trying to talk yourself out of the job?"

For the first time, Miss Jones looked disturbed. She seemed so diligent that he wondered if there was a chance she would give up the job simply because she was not the best person for it. Somehow, it made him want to hire her all the more.

"I am not, but—"

The topic of all the talk had apparently had enough sleep. All three adults in the room turned when she uttered a small cry, and then, to Kieran's shock, she tumbled straight off the side of the divan. Alice hit the ground with a surprisingly loud thump. For a moment, she simply sat in her own surprise, and then her round pink face screwed up for a scream.

Kieran was ready to rush over and to scoop her up to make sure she was not injured, but Miss Jones got there first. Kneeling down by the weeping child, she assessed her with a cool eye.

"All right, Alice, let's look you over and see if you are hurt. Stand still please."

The woman's cool and firm tone stopped Alice's tears dead in their tracks, and she looked up at her new governess with surprise.

In return, Miss Jones gave her a sunny smile and though Kieran knew he should be more worried about his daughter, he found himself drawn to the sheer sweetness of that smile, the way it made the stern young governess look positively pretty.

She's not such a long way off from beauty, truly...

Alice stood still, hiccupping a little as Miss Jones checked her for any bumps or injuries.

"Well, there we go, my girl. You're just fine, nothing but a bit of surprise to worry about."

Alice looked uncertain, but Miss Jones reached out and tapped her nose gently.

"Wouldn't you rather play than worry about crying?"

That elicited an immediate grin from Alice. "Can we go outside?"

Her voice was soft and babyish but clear, and Kieran felt a tug at his heart.

Miss Jones rose from the floor, turning toward Kieran with a slightly hesitant look on her face.

"She wants to go out. Is that something you—"

"You can do it. You're her governess now."

Miss Jones looked at him, that same slightly flushed expression on her face. "Your grace—"

"It's decided. She may be too young to have a governess, but call yourself whatever you want. You will be taking care of her."

C H A P T E R 0 2

Later that afternoon, Delia unpacked her meager belongings into the governess's bedroom and wondered what in the world had happened.

I thought I would be working with an older girl, one closer to thirteen or fourteen. I had not expected such a little child.

The advertisement, she now realized, was placed not by a woman who would know such things but by a man who had no clue how a nursery was run.

It was mere chance how she had found the advertisement in the first place. She read the paper every day, but it was the address that had leaped out to her. She had spent every day since discovering the handkerchief from her sister's death researching the Duke of Cowanfield. His country address at Brixby Hall had lunged out at her like a tiger from the page.

From there, the references were forged, rather expertly if she said so herself, and then she had made her way to Hove to travel out to Brixby Hall.

Now that she was assured the job, she had to wonder at her reluctance to take it. She had put a great deal of time and effort into coming to Brixby Hall specifically for this reason, but now that she was here, her feet were getting increasingly cold.

Alice is simply so little. Where in the world is her mother?

Her gaze darkened as she thought of the man she had met that afternoon seducing Lissa while he had this little girl at home. Had Lissa known about this child or who her mother might have been? Surely, the mother was dead, or was she simply gone?

Delia shook her head, willing to put her questions aside for now. The important thing was that she was where she needed to be, and soon enough, she would be free to do the investigative work that she needed to do.

She was still lost in thought, however, when a humble little knock came at the door that connected her small suite to Alice's far larger bedroom. She looked up, and then crossed over to open the door.

Alice looked up at her hopefully, her small hands clasped in front of her. "Do you want to draw?"

Despite her resolution to stay detached and to only use her position to investigate, Delia could feel herself melt a little looking at Alice. There was something at once so hopeful and so very lonely about her that it broke Delia's heart.

"Of course, poppet. Why don't you show me where your pencils are kept?"

Alice guided her to a drawer full of scrap paper and lead pencils. Delia would have been pleased enough to watch her, but the little girl pressed paper and pencil on her as well.

Well, I suppose if I keep her entertained and cared for, I will not ruin her.

Alice was concentrating so hard on her drawings that the tip of her tongue protruded from her mouth, and when Delia looked down at her paper, she could see the little girl was drawing distinctly human shapes.

"Can you tell me about your drawing, Alice?"

Alice smiled at her shyly and pointed at one figure, blond and floating close to the top of the page.

"That's Mama. Mama lives in heaven now. We used to live in Shefford, but then Mama got sick and left."

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that."

Alice nodded, and even if there was a troubled look in her eyes, she moved her finger to another figure, this one wrapped in a bubble of some sort with what looked like stick ponies in front of it.

"After Mama went to Heaven, Grandmother and Grandfather talked about sending me to a workhouse or to an orph'nage."

"I see..."

"And then Papa came and took me away in a carriage. He yelled at Grandmother and Grandfather for a long time, and then we came here."

Her finger traced a rectangular structure Delia assumed was Brixby Hall, and she went on to make little lumpy shrubs all the way around it.

Workhouse? Orphanage? What kind of grandparents would think of such a thing when a child was so young and her mother so newly dead? Delia had heard some people were simply so poor that there was no other recourse than to farm the children out, but somehow, she did not think that Alice's parents were in that number.

"I'm glad your Papa came to get you, Alice."

"I am, too! We went into his carriage, and sometimes, he let me pet the horses."

Her obvious awe for the carriage horses made Delia smile. She wondered, just a little wistful, if there had ever been a time in her past when everything could be fixed by petting a carriage horse.

"Well, thank you for telling me that, Alice."

"S'okay."

"I did not yell a lot at your grandparents, Alice."

Delia jumped a little, looking up in alarm. The duke leaned against the door jamb, casual in shirtsleeves and trousers. He watched them both with a considering look in his eyes.

"You did, Papa. You yelled a lot."

"Hm. Perhaps I did, darling, but that was only because I was so concerned for you."

Again, Delia felt that uncomfortable surge of attraction for this man, the one who had ruined her family. It had first struck her in their strange interview, but now she felt it again.

In another time, another place, she might have passed him the street without thinking anything except how handsome he was. He was as dark as his daughter was fair, but his eyes gleamed green like those of some large stalking cat. He was tall and lean with a natural athleticism and grace, and obviously, he could walk as quietly as a cat when he wished to do so.

Belatedly, Delia realized that she was a servant in the presence of her lord, and she rose up before dipping in a curtsy. "Your grace."

The duke waved her off, coming into the room to stand behind them at the table. "Don't bother with that sort of thing while you're in the house. No one has the time for that nonsense."

Delia frowned. "It is hardly appropriate for Alice to allow servants to become so very familiar with her and her family."

The duke gave her a slow lazy smile that made her stomach do a slow roll, and alarm bells went off in her head. Was this how it had been for Lissa?

"And I say it is fine. You're her governess or her nurse or something like that. You'll be taking care of her. The only way it would be a problem is if you intended to abuse her trust. You don't intend to do that, do you?"

"Certainly not, your grace!"

Alice looked up at the pair of them, a tiny wrinkle between her fair brows.

Kieran looked down at her fondly.

"What's the matter, Alice?"

"Why's... why's Miss Jones calling you that? Does that mean she doesn't like you? Grandmother and Grandfather called you that."

Kieran grinned. "And they certainly didn't like me. I don't know, Alice, maybe it does mean that Miss Jones doesn't like me."

He turned to her with a surprisingly innocent look on his face. "Is that what you are saying, Miss Jones?"

Delia felt her face flush with heat. She knew she was being teased, but it didn't seem to matter.

"I'm not saying that I don't like you at all, your—"

"Well, if you like me, then certainly we must find you something else to call me. You ought not use the same terms of address as someone who dislikes me. Alice, don't you agree?"

"Yes, Papa! Miss Jones should call you something else!"

"I see that I am outnumbered, even if this is not at all appropriate!"

For some reason, both father and child seemed to find her comment ridiculously funny. She might have been angrier, but Alice leaned against her sweetly, and she felt her pique run out.

"You could call him Papa."

"Certainly not, Alice. That is a title for the two of you. He is not my papa. I have one of my own far away from here."

"Try Kieran."

She blinked at the mention of the duke's Christian name. Suddenly, what had started off as a ridiculous joke at the governess's expense turned into something else. It was simply not done for a governess to call a duke by his first name. It would not even have been allowed to her as a marquess's daughter, not without a great deal of scandal.

"Yes, call him that! Not your grace!"

Alice seemed so enthusiastic that Delia didn't want to refuse. She turned to the man who was supposed to be her most hated enemy.

"All right. But only in the house and not in front of guests. Someone must teach Alice how to behave in company."

"Whatever you like, of course."

"Well, good. Now that that's settled—"

"I'd like to hear you say it."

"What?"

"My name. I would like to hear you say it."

There was something strangely vulnerable in those green eyes, and again, she felt that strange tug at her heart. How long had it been since he had heard someone say his first name?

"All right. Kieran."

Instead of coming out as brisk and businesslike as she intended, it came out wistfully, almost like a sigh. Even as Delia blushed, Kieran broke out into a smile, his hands shoved deep into his pockets.

"Well, there, that's fine."

"Papa and Miss Jones are friends!" Alice seemed enormously pleased by that fact, dropping her pencil to clap loudly in delight. Delia wished that her own feelings were that clear.

"I... I suppose we are."

"Well, we will be living with one another for some time, so I should hope we are. We dine at seven in this household. Make sure that Alice is presentable then, and that you are as well."

"Kieran?" How did that name already slip past her lips? Why was she so comfortable using it already?

"I have a hankering to dine in the family style tonight, and of course you will join us... Delia."

It was one thing to be asked to use the duke's first name. She told herself it probably had more to do with Alice's comfort than anything else. It felt like quite another to hear her own name on the man's lips. She wondered if he had said Lissa's name like that, and a chill ran down her spine.

"I did not give you permission to use my name."

Instead of coming out stiff and icy as she intended it to, it came out slightly cross and humorous instead. She almost couldn't blame him if he smiled at her.

"Then it is a very good thing that I am simply going to take the liberty on myself instead. See you at seven."

He was out the door, and Alice was babbling about all the lovely things she had gotten to eat since she came to Brixby Hall, from cakes to toast to cucumbers. Delia listened with half an ear, and she realized that in just a few hours, she would be dining with the man who had abandoned her sister to die on a dark road.

I cannot let him sway me with sweet words. I cannot. I will not.

C H A P T E R 0 3

There was a time when Kieran had eaten nearly every meal out. Brixby Hall kept an excellent cook, but most of the time, the only people she cooked for were the servants. Kieran's lifestyle kept him out on the town at all hours, and he patronized many fine restaurants.

Ever since Alice had come to live with him, however, he never went to restaurants anymore, and he had even come to enjoy the comforts of eating in his own house.

Tonight, he was, strangely enough, looking forward to dining with his daughter and her very odd governess.

She really was a bit of a conundrum, Kieran decided. On one hand, she looked stern enough to keep a battalion of Roman soldiers in line. On the other, there was the look he had seen on her face when she was drawing with Alice. He had listened with a stone in his heart as Alice had described her grandparents. Some part of him had hoped that she was too young to remember the things they had said about her and how she needed to be farmed out.

To hear her talking about it so matter-of-factually was terrible, but then he had heard her speak of him, and well, also of the carriage horses, but he felt ten feet tall.

He had wondered, before entering the room, what Delia had made of all of that. He had been ready to throw her out on her ear if she said anything that made Delia feel the least little bit unhappy, but the soft look on her face convinced him that he had made the right choice in governesses.

A footman announced Miss Jones, and Kieran stood, expecting to see Alice and belatedly mindful of Delia's admonitions about propriety. To his surprise, however, Delia was alone.

"Alice?"

"I'm afraid she rather wore herself out. After you left, we went for a walk in the garden, and she was thrilled dash about seeing and experiencing everything. Just a few minutes ago, she fell into a deep sleep, and I thought it best not to wake her."

Kieran raised his eyebrows. "That's good. She has been up at all hours and sleeping during the day."

Delia gave him a rather severe look, but he supposed that having a toddler up with him at four in the morning was hardly a good impression.

"She should be sleeping at night and awake during the day, your grace. She is a child, not a bat."

"And I asked you to call me Kieran. Maybe you are no better at listening than she is."

To Kieran's delight, instead of looking cowed or apologetic, Delia only tilted her chin up stubbornly. "Alice is incredibly biddable. You only need to ask her to do a thing and she does it. I think the problem must be laid at your door."

"Ah. Well, I will certainly take that into consideration."

She gave him a look that told him precisely what she thought of that, but she nodded.

"I wanted to tell you that, and to bid you a good night."

"Delia. Stay."

She turned to look at him with surprise and a touch of wariness. He realized belatedly that it was certainly a strange situation, a governess being asked to dine with a lord without his child present.

He frowned.

"I'm not going to do anything untoward, I promise you. If you do not like the thought of dining with me, you may leave, but I had thought to talk about Alice."

The moment he mentioned his child's name, her brow smoothed out, and she allowed him to pull out a chair for her. Kieran felt a twinge of guilt, because the offer initially had more to do with enjoying her company,y than it had to do with Alice.

Ah well. I suppose I'm not so virtuous as all that, but it is true; we do need to speak about Alice.

Dinner was a simple meal of roast and boiled vegetables, and after the servants had set the plates on the table, they were alone in the family dining room, a more intimate affair than the grand dining room.

Kieran noticed Delia watching him as she cut into her meat, something wary in her gaze. Still, she had decided to stay when he had given her the option to leave, so he supposed that counted for something.

"I heard Alice telling you about the fight I had with her grandparents."

"She said you yelled a rather lot."

"As a matter of fact, I did. Believe me, I started out reasonably enough. I did lose my temper when they brought up the idea of payment."

Delia frowned. "What?"

"They'd been ready to give Alice to a poorhouse or an orphanage, but when I arrived after discovering that her mother had died, they wanted me to pay for her, as if she were a leg of lamb."

Delia drew her breath in hard, and her silver eyes went ice cold. At that moment, if Alice's grandparents had seen her look, Kieran thought there was a chance they might have just handed Alice over immediately.

"How dare they, that little girl is their own flesh and blood."

"And mine, which I tried to remind them of. In the end, I gave them six hundred pounds and told them never, ever to contact me again or to try to seek out Alice."

"And they agreed?"

"Readily."

Delia shook her head, and she still looked as if she would like to go find those people and wring their necks. "How terrible of them. I am so glad you were able to rescue Alice from those vultures."

"I'm not telling you this to pat myself on the back. I need you to understand how things stand with Alice, and where she came from."

Delia stiffened. Something in her changed, and Kieran could not tell what.

"Your grace—"

"Kieran."

"Kieran, then. I do not need to know about... about your family situation. I am not at all sure that it is appropriate to—"

Kieran's dark look made her stutter to a stop. "I'm afraid you do. Alice is very special to me, and I would not have her harmed for all the world. However, she is a little girl with something of a difficult past, and it would be altogether too easy for someone who did not know to say something hurtful to her. Do you understand?"

Delia nodded, and even if she looked a little nervous still, she seemed to genuinely see why he was telling her all of this information.

"All right. I want what is best for Alice as well. Tell me what you wish."

It flashed to Kieran's mind how very different Delia was from the women he tended to meet. Whether they were debutantes in the ballroom or women in the brothels, they could never ask him enough about himself. They were looking for leverage, for intimacy, for information they could use to better themselves and draw closer to him. Delia was nothing like that, and he had never known that it would be such a relief to be with someone like that.

"I met Alice's mother some years ago when I was out in the country on some business. She worked at the inn in Denby that I was staying at. I was hoping to acquire some property in the area, though I suppose that is hardly relevant."

Kieran paused, thinking that the next part was surprisingly difficult to say. One did not speak of such things with women. He had barely done more than outline the situation to Neil.

"I came back to my rooms one night and found her waiting in my bed."

He glanced up at Delia to gauge her reaction, and he was startled to see not censure nor contempt but instead confusion.

Well, she's been in service for the last five years. She might actually be that innocent.

"She was, er, there to offer me her favors. Do... do you know what that means?"

Delia gave him a narrow look. "Please, Kieran, I am not a child. I have at least a rough idea of why she was in your bed. I have read books."

The image flashed through Kieran's mind of Delia tucked into bed on a winter night, her nose not more than four inches from the page and a becoming blush on her cheeks. He imagined her lips slightly parted, and then he pulled his mind away. He had truly become a lecher sometime in the past few days; that was the only explanation for it.

"Ah, yes. Well. We kept up our assignation for the four weeks I stayed at the inn, and then we left things with a kiss and smile."

Delia's eyebrow raised. "And... she was content with that? That was all she desired from you?"

Kieran shrugged. "We did not speak so very much. She came to my room willingly. I gave her gifts that she did not ask for or turn away. What more needs to be said?"

"A great deal, I would think, but please, continue."

Now he could see a faint blush on Delia's cheeks, but as truly charming as it was, he was not telling this story to titillate a pretty young woman.

"Well, I went back to London and thought no more about it for almost four years. Then I got a letter in the mail from that same girl, telling me that she was dying and I must come and take our daughter."

"You mean she never told you about the fact that she was pregnant?"

"Believe me, if I had known, I would certainly not have left it that long before I met my child. The girl herself was clever and wild, and I could not guess her motives. Perhaps she thought I would not believe her, or perhaps given that her parents owned the inn and had money, she felt secure despite the scandal. I have no idea.

"In any case, I flew back to Denby just as they were putting her into the ground, and there I found Alice."

For a moment, something flickered across Delia's face, anger or grief or something similar. She trembled, and without thinking of what he was doing at all, Kieran reached out to take her hand. She flinched, and then she squeezed it hard before pulling away, the image of a proper governess.

"Please, go on."

"There was no doubt in my mind that Alice was my child after I saw those eyes. They run in my family, and she looks very much like the children of some of my more distant cousins. Even with that, I might have left her to stay with her grandparents, if they were loving caregivers, but—"

"But they certainly were not. Yes."

Kieran sighed. "So, I bought my daughter from her own blood, because I could not do otherwise, and here I am. And I told you all of this because I do not care how competent you are or how good your references, if you make my daughter regret her birth or the circumstances of her coming to live with me for one moment, I will shout you into the street."

He had no idea how Delia was going to react to all of this. It was a strange story, and the potential for scandal was intense. She might have been disgusted with all of it or contemptuous or cowed by his threat, but instead, she only laughed.

The laugh sounded almost reluctant, and it was a lighter sound than Kieran might have expected from her speaking voice.

She looked shocked at her own laughter, raising her hand to cover her mouth, and then she shook her head.

"Rightly so. I would think that any good father would want to protect his daughter the way that you are looking to do."

Kieran tilted his head to look at Delia a little more closely. "You do not have the reaction I thought you might have."

"I did not expect you to be so involved a parent, so I suppose we are even."

Kieran wondered if he should take offense to that but given the parenting he had seen in the ton, where children were left to servants to raise and parents saw their well-behaved and utterly silent children only at mealtimes, he supposed that she had a point.

When Delia spoke next, it was not about parentage or bastardy. Instead, she spoke of getting reading primers from a special firm in London, to see if Alice might be persuaded to read more quickly. Kieran was certainly pleased to discover that she took her position seriously, but still, he was slightly disappointed not to hear more about the reading that she had apparently done...

C H A P T E R 0 4

A week later, Delia collapsed into her bed exhausted, staring up at the ceiling blankly

My goodness, how in the world did my own nurse get on when there were two of us and not just one?

Alice was a lively little girl, and once she had become comfortable with Delia, she never stopped wanting to play with her, to show her things and to simply be with her. Delia guessed that the little girl had been starved for love and attention ever since her mother died, and though Kieran wanted the best for her, he was fairly hapless as to how to handle that.

A real nurse, Delia decided, would have pointedly told Kieran that fathers were an unusual presence in the nursery, perhaps even a disruptive one, but Delia had not had the heart to do so.

After all, I am here to learn all his secrets and to make sure that nothing about his situation escapes my notice. This is a good way to do that.

That was her excuse, but deep in her heart, she knew that it likely had far more to do how Kieran could sit and watch Alice babble for hours and how he took such a serious interest in teaching her to recognize her letters. It was still a work in progress, but Alice's mind was as limber as soft clay, holding all the impressions that Kieran and Delia left on it.

Outside her window, a distant storm rumbled. There was meant to be a soaking rain in the morning, but until then, the air was still and hot.

Today had been especially trying, with Kieran called away for shipping concerns in London and Alice fretful and nervous about the unusual summer weather. More than once, Delia had had to ask her to sit still on a stool, away from her toys and drawing pens, and simply breathe to calm down.

Poor little mite. I want to crawl out of my skin a little bit as well.

Delia made a face, thinking of how little progress she had made. She had come to find information linking the Duke of Cowanfield to her sister, but so far, she had only managed to do an excellent imitation of a nurse.

Well, no time like the present to get to work, is there?

It occurred to her suddenly that on a night like this, most of the servants would have taken to their beds to try to sleep out the heat, leaving the upper portion of Brixby Hall completely empty. Kieran himself—really, when had she started thinking of him as Kieran, even in her thoughts?—was not due back from London until tomorrow afternoon. That meant that this was the perfect time for her to start her investigation.

She rose from her bed, but the idea of reaching for her heavy gown and putting it on again made her despair. It would be fine to go in her light sleeping shift. She could always claim that she wanted a drink of water and was only going to bed, after all.

Delia was careful to avoid the creaking floorboards in her room that might wake Alice up and tell her it was time to play again. They had only recently convinced her that sleeping at night was far superior to sleeping during the day, and Delia was loath to disturb that.

I am not a nurse, I am the daughter of the Marquess of Winsbury. I am here to find my vengeance.

The stern reminder did not prevent her from peeking into Alice's adjoining room to make sure that the little girl was still sleeping, however. Shaking her head at herself, Delia padded to Kieran's study.

Like most of Brixby Hall, the study itself was large, elegant, and to Delia's eye, relentlessly masculine. Dark shelves filled with serious tomes lined the walls, and save for a little ornamentation in the molding and above the door, it was plain, almost stark.

She knew that Kieran kept a journal of sorts on his desk. He noted the events of the day, partially for business, partially as a memory aid, and he had mentioned that he had kept it for years. That meant that there was a chance Lissa was in it somewhere, and it would be a good place to start.

The journal was a handsome thing with an embossed leather cover and crisp thick white pages, and it rested neatly squared up at the corner of Kieran's desk. She noted how it was positioned, and opened it to the bookmark, paging back.

With a strange and almost guilty pleasure, she saw that she and Alice were the primary topics of the past week, and against her will, she smiled at the entry from two days ago.

July 11

-Meals with A & D

-Played at war with A, and D served as my military council

-A shows a talent for strategy and D for treason

Well, perhaps it hadn't been fair to gang up on Kieran with Alice, but in the end, she and Alice had ended up triumphant and claimed a basket of strawberries as their prize. Alice had even proved gracious upon victory and insisted on sharing the strawberries with her father.

What in the world is wrong with me? I'm not looking for pleasant memories with the man.

Determinedly, she flipped further back in the journals. Though she was determined to find evidence of Kieran anywhere near where she and Lissa had lived with their father, she couldn't stop herself from briefly looking over the time he had spent in Denby, convincing Alice's grandparents to give her up. The entries were terse to the point of confusion. Kieran mentioned travel and the address of the inn. Underlined in one entry, without any explanation, was a notation for the sum of six hundred pounds.

That's how much Alice's grandparents demanded. Delia shivered as she touched the page and could almost feel Kieran's fury bleeding through the ink and paper.

She went further back and hesitated briefly on June 18th, the day of her sister's funeral. There was nothing there, only some household notes about servants and requests for time away, and she felt a brief stab of the old anger coming up again.

She went back to May, when Lissa would have started the affair, and for a moment, she only sat and stared. The pages carefully pre-numbered for the last two weeks of May were empty, completely empty. Their blank smoothness woke in in her an urge to mar them, to tear them with a pen knife and her own nails until she calmed herself.

Did you not want any memory of her? Did you want to make sure that someday, someone like me wouldn't discover what you had done?

Delia's rage had been blunted over the last few days of watching Kieran act the doting father with Alice and with Alice's own sweetness. For a short while, she had been able to forget her grief and her rage and simply take care of Alice. Now she could see what a fool she had been and how she had been fooled.

What was I expecting? He had an affair with an inn girl and never saw her again. He only knew about his own daughter because he was told in a dying woman's letter.

She paged back to the beginning of the empty entries, and what she saw took her breath away.

13 May

-asked coachman to prepare team for long journey

-sent ahead to secure lodgings in Anniston

-preparations for extended stay

Anniston was the town closest to her father's property. Lissa had gone there frequently for sewing supplies, ribbons, and sweets. Sometimes, she dragged Delia along, and Delia felt a deep pain in her heart, thinking of how impatient she had always been when Lissa insisted on her presence.

Couldn't I have been a little more patient with her? Even a little? All she wanted was to spend time with me.

She stared at the ceiling until her breath came easier. There was no time for grieving now.

She heard the step in the hallway just as she was putting the journal back where she found it, squared up and in the corner. She was just thinking that she should find some dark corner to hide in when the door opened, and in the doorway stood Kieran.

Delia froze, in her shift, a candle in her hand, as guilty as a thief with her hand in the till.

C H A P T E R 0 5

As it turned out, Kieran hadn't had to go all the way to London. The ship's captain had shown up at the halfway point, as he had family in the town, and there they had been able to conduct the pertinent business. Kieran might have been more irritated if it hadn't meant that he would be back home in half the time.

On the carriage ride back to Brixby Hall, Kieran had to laugh at himself a little. There was a time when he wouldn’t have been so eager to return to his ancestral estate in the country. Now, the pleasures of London seemed to pale to bleached white when compared to spending the day with Alice and Delia.

I'm sure that at some point, the newness will wear off, and then I will find myself bored with life in the country and doting on my daughter... but damned if I can tell when that would be.

The only problem was that he was hoping to pick up a decent set of paints for Alice in London, and now he would have to send away for them.

If he were honest, Alice wasn't the only person for whom he had considered purchasing gifts. If there was one thing he was familiar with, it was presents that would delight a pretty girl, but as the carriage had rumbled ever toward London, he’d realized that that expertise was entirely wrong.

Delia had no need for beautiful jewelry or expensive scents from Paris or Milan. She wouldn't thrill to a new hat trimmed with ostrich feathers, and he could see the look she would shoot him over the top of her spectacles at the idea of receiving a pair of leather dancing slippers.

Books then, or perhaps a modiste to come and make her some new gowns. Hers are so very gray.

He was bone tired in the carriage, but when he finally gained the house, Kieran realized that he didn't quite want to sleep yet.

I can read for a little while, perhaps...

He had not expected to see a candle burning in his library, and he certainly had not expected to see Delia, clad in nothing but her shift, standing there holding it, a guilty look on her face.

"And what in the world are you doing here?"

His mind flashed from simple theft to Delia letting in thieves from her London gang to arson and to how grieved Alice would be to lose her, and then sense asserted itself. This was Delia.

"I was on my way back from the kitchen for a drink, and, well, I thought I would get something to read."

"That explains the shift, I suppose."

"You know, a gentleman might not mention it and might allow me to make my way back to my room without any odd or pointed questions."

"Is that what a gentleman would do?"

"I am sure of it!" She spoke with such indignant conviction that Kieran laughed, stripping his own light linen jacket from his shoulders.

She jumped a little when he stepped closer, but after he draped the black jacket around her, she pulled it close with all the dignity of a queen offered her regalia.

Kieran thought abruptly about the time she had mentioned reading before, when they had been discussing what went on between a man and a woman in bed, and he couldn't stop himself from grinning.

"So, you were looking for something to read?"

Something about his tone must have irritated her, because she stood up very straight and glared at him.

"I was, and now I will be returning to my rooms."

"But you have not yet found anything to read. Shall I help you?"

Delia hesitated, looking momentarily unsure, and Kieran closed the study door behind him, setting his own candle in a small depression in the wall. It was cunningly outfitted with mirrors, and the dancing candle flame set a reflection of light throughout the room

"Perhaps I can help you. It is, after all, my study."

"You needn't trouble yourself..."

"I would like to take the trouble. What do you like to read?"

Delia seemed to come to a decision, and she offered him a smile that was small but seemed genuine.

"Truthfully? I like just about everything. I like romances, of course, but I also like adventure novels, of the kind that they write for young boys. I like history and science, and I even like reading about mathematics if the writer is good at what they do."

Kieran laughed with delight at her answer. "Quite the little scholar, aren't you? Have you read all your life?"

To his delight, Delia drifted closer to him, perhaps to hear his quiet voice more clearly, perhaps simply because she wanted to. He abruptly became more aware than ever that she was only in her shift and his jacket; a thin and nearly transparent layer of cotton lawn and another layer of fine linen were all that stood between her soft skin and his hands... or his mouth...

"I have. I'm afraid I wasted many days when I should have been out playing or interacting with others in my rooms with my nose buried in a book. My mother was quite in despair."

The slight hint of melancholy in her tone wiped away Kieran's thoughts about seducing her over one of the books that were kept on the very top shelf, behind a completely innocuous copy of the works of Marcus Aurelius. He coughed slightly, wondering when he had become such a lecher.

"Well, let's see, I have plenty of adventure, not much romance, I am afraid, and plenty of history as well..."

She came closer just as he turned toward the shelves, and somehow, somehow, they ended up standing with less than four inches of space between them, Delia's back to the shelves and Kieran looming over her. He noticed that her hair, usually scraped back in a bun, was in a plait now, and soft wisps escaped to frame her face.

Without thinking, he reached up to tuck one errant lock behind her ear, and then almost as if hypnotized, he cupped her face in his hand. Her skin was terribly soft under his palm, and when she looked up at him, her spectacles slid down her nose, revealing her wide gray eyes.

"Your eyes look darker in this light, like a storm instead of a pool of quicksilver."

"Kieran..."

He wasn't sure whether she meant to urge him on or to push him back. Her voice trailed off, and underneath it, he heard a breath of longing, something with its own gravity, and heedless, he was falling.

The moment his lips touched hers, something in him was set on fire, like a burning beacon. She felt like passion, like life, like a flower blooming alone in an empty desert. He knew, somehow in his mind, that she felt the same thing, that she needed this as much as he did. When he felt her small hand reach blindly up for a handful of his shirt, grabbing the fabric and hanging on, he thought that there wasn't anything he wouldn't do for her.

Kieran wasn't sure which of them deepened the kiss, but then he was tasting her mouth more completely, her head tilted back so he could sweep his tongue between her soft lips. She was perfect... and then she pulled away.

He almost reached for her again, but then, in the candlelight, he could see her spectacles were askew and her eyes behind them were wild.

"We cannot do this! I cannot… Oh. Oh, goodnight, Kieran, I can't..."

He started to ask her what was wrong, but she snatched up her candle and pelted from the room, taking his jacket with him.

Kieran stared after her, every bone in his body telling him to run after her. Then he thought of what it would look like, the lord of the manor racing after the governess in the middle of the night, and he cursed.

C H A P T E R 0 6

Delia came awake to the feeling of little fingers prying at her lips. She sputtered, sitting up, and with confusion, she saw that it was Alice, sitting beside her and looking at her with concern.

"Why, Alice, what are you doing in my room? Did you have a bad dream?

"I'm not in your bedroom. Why are you wearing Papa's jacket?"

Delia awakened all the way, and her memory came back with a rush. Her face reddened when she thought of what had almost happened in the study, what actually had happened. She felt as if she was being torn in a dozen different directions. One part of her was still brutally and terrible enraged by the evidence she had found in Kieran's journal. It wasn't anything a court would accept, and it would prove nothing at all, but it was more proof than she’d had before. It told her she was on the right track and that she had to keep digging.

The fact that she had kissed Kieran, or allowed him to kiss her, was something else.

The other part of her, the part that she couldn't ignore no matter how hard she tried, wanted more of that. The moment Kieran's hands had ended up on her body, all she could think was how right it had felt. He felt warm and sweet and perfect, and it was as if everything in her life had been leading up to this.

She had no idea what would have become of them if she hadn't pulled away, if the realization that she was in the dark with a man she had only met a week ago hadn't struck her like a ton of bricks.

"Er, well, I am wearing your Papa's jacket because I was cold last night. We were talking in the study."

Alice frowned at her. "But it was so warm last night..."

"Temperatures drop in the dark, and I was out of bed, wanting a drink of water. I was being very silly. Not like you, sweet girl, who stayed in bed all night."

Oh, I certainly hope this won't convince her that it is all right to go roaming after dark...

"And it is time for us to get dressed anyway, so I shall put Papa's coat over this chair for him. I shall get dressed, and I shall help you get dressed. How does that sound?"

It sounded just fine to Alice, and by the time Delia was once more securely dressed in drab gray, and she had helped Alice into a sturdy blue dress that she could wear outside to play, Delia was feeling much better. She sent to the kitchen for some breakfast for the two of them, and they were just finishing when there was a knock, and then the door opened.

Kieran looked, Delia thought with some dismay, more handsome than he had any right to after being up as late as he had been. He wore black trousers that clung to his long legs, and the dark gray waistcoat over a gleaming white shirt only served to make his hair look even darker.

"Papa!"

Alice left her breakfast and pelted over to be picked up, and Delia didn't have the heart to tell her that that was far from proper table manners.

"Oof, there's my sweet girl." Kieran hefted her up into the air before bringing her in for a close hug. "I missed you yesterday.'

"I missed you, too, Papa, but Delia let me draw, and we drew you pictures..."

As Alice chattered on about the pictures they had drawn, Delia met Kieran's gaze over Alice's shoulder. If she had guessed what she might have expected after the previous night, she might have predicted glee or triumph, or worse, some kind of terrible secret lust. Instead, Kieran looked as cautious as she felt. Somehow that made her feel a little better.

I am only relieved because he does not expect anything. It is only because I need him to believe that I am nothing more than what I pretend to be.

Eventually, Kieran brought Alice back down to the floor, where she scampered for the drawings that she had made for him.

"I was thinking perhaps we could go for a picnic today."

"A picnic, your grace?"

His title popped out automatically, an attempt, perhaps to put some kind of distance between them, something to remind them both of who they were.

Kieran frowned. "No."

"No?"

"No. You are not going to retreat back to calling me by my title whenever we are uncomfortable with each other."

"Are we uncomfortable with each other?"

"I don't know what to call it. I was hoping a picnic today might clear some things up."

"All right. But please do not bring anything disturbing or inappropriate up in front of Alice."

Instead of being angry at the reprimand, Kieran smiled crookedly.

"Wouldn't dream of it. After all of this, it is still nice to know that you are on the job."

* * *

By mid-morning, the barouche was waiting in front of Brixby Hall, and Alice was eager to go out into the summer day. It had rained hard early that morning, and everything was left gleaming and green. Even Delia, who had felt a certain amount of apprehension about going out with Kieran, felt something in her ease and loosen for being out in nature.

Instead of having a groom drive them, Kieran had stepped up to the driver's seat himself. As Alice chattered about plants and animals, Delia glanced at Kieran's broad back in front of her, wondering what he was thinking.

The picnic was delicious, and Alice was allowed to run and play in the meadow close to the blanket they had spread out if she did not go very far.

"My family came here to picnic when I was a boy. It was something we did quite often in the summer before my mother died."

"I did not know your mother was dead."

"My father as well. I was just barely of age when my father died, and I was given the entire duchy to take care of."

Other men might have been self-pitying when they said those words, but Kieran was matter-of-fact.

"I was ready for the duties, but I do not think I was ready for... for well, the loneliness."

"A loneliness that never dissipates no matter how many people are around you."

She could sympathize. She had felt much the same ever since Lissa had died. Lissa could fill a room with her bright chattering, but whenever someone was in pain, she turned into a stone-silent listener, listening so hard it was almost as if she trembled.

"Are you quite well?"

"Hm?"

Kieran frowned, sliding a little closer to her. She almost pulled back, aware of how powerful their connection could be, but when he laid his hand on her brow, his touch was as kind as hers was for Alice.

"You look slightly unwell."

Delia laughed a little. He had no idea. She shrugged.

"Perhaps I am a little unwell."

"Did my talk of family bring back some bad memories?"

"I—"

It was on the tip of her tongue to simply say of course not, that it was only the heat of the day and the sun that had made her a little distracted. That was the sensible thing to say, after all.

"I... Not bad memories, perhaps, but sad ones."

Kieran hesitated. She thought that he would simply nod and change the subject. Men, even ones as beloved as her father, were not so very sanguine when it came to women's emotions. Instead, Kieran turned to her, and the look in his green eyes was kind.

"Would you like to tell me? Sometimes unburdening yourself can help you heal. I certainly know that Neil had to listen to enough drunken rants from me after my mother died when I was sixteen."

Delia frowned, distracted. "Sixteen is too young to go on drinking binges."

Kieran shrugged. "it is the way of the quality, I am afraid. I do not do so any longer, if that is any consolation, and I certainly will not teach Alice to follow in my footsteps. But you may keep your counsel if you like. I only wished to tell you that if you did not wish to do so, you did not have to."

Again, the smart thing would have been to brush him off or to fabricate some story that he would believe. She knew painfully well that she was in a precarious position, hidden in his household like a spy. However, when she opened her mouth, it was mostly the truth that came out.

"Well, I have... had... a sister. She was only a few years younger than I am, but we could not have been more different. She was brilliant, lively as a cricket, and very beautiful and desired. I was... well, you know me."

Kieran snorted. "The sun and the moon are different, but still no less beautiful than the other. And I think I do know you. Did you get along well?"

"Less well than might be hoped for. I know I was impatient with her from time to time, and I know she was exasperated with my lonely ways. Then, the summer before I went into service, she fell in love."

"I take it from your tone that this was not a happy thing."

"It was for her. For weeks, she was walking on air, happy about everything and smiling as if she had some great secret. Our father was ill often, you understand, and he was not really present to keep her in check. I thought she was going all moon-eyed over some village romance or other, harmless enough because she was a good girl."

"But that wasn't it."

"No. She fell in love with a lord. I did not discover this until much later."

"A lord?"

Delia raised her eyes to look right at Kieran, wondering if she could see the ghost of the night her sister had died in his eyes. Instead, she only saw concern, a slow anger, and a kind of compassion that made her blink.

"Yes. He made her a passel of promises and whisked her away from us. She... she turned up dead, accident and not foul play, but... but she is gone."

Delia had meant to tell her story as coolly and as calmly as possible. However, now she found that where her sister was concerned, there was nothing cool or calm about her. To her horror, the tears came, and after a moment, when they looked like they would not stop, Kieran drew her under his arm.

It was obscene, being comforted by the man who had caused her sister's death, but she couldn't resist giving in to the tears she thought she had so cleverly locked away.

"Is Delia hurt?"

Alice's voice from behind her was frightened, and she felt a wave of guilt come over her for scaring the little girl. Before she could turn around to explain, however, Kieran spoke up.

"Delia's fine, poppet, only a little sad. You can keep playing if you like."

"I don't like it when Delia's sad."

Instead of going back to play, Alice sat on Delia's other side, one chubby hand patting her thigh as comfortingly as the three-year-old knew how to do.

"There, there," she declared, obviously repeating something she had heard someone say once upon a time.

"Thank you, that helps."

Somehow, it did.

To be continued . . . FIND OUT MORE ON THE NEXT POST -

The Lady’s Masquerade - Part 2

#regency #romance #romances #historical #historical fiction #historical romance #regency romance #duke #duke romance #earl #regency historical romance #regency historical fiction #jane austen #pride and prejudice

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new2otomelol · 6 years

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KBTBB Fanfiction: Broken bird - Part 2

Thanks to those who requested I continue this! I hope you like it! As always, this is a fan fiction and Voltage owns all rights to KBTBB and it’s characters. I created the character Luna. (Ryun is actually one of the minor characters in Soryu’s route ;-) ) Trigger warnings: attempted suicide and rape.

Bidder’s POV (third person)

It’s been two days since that fateful day the men had purchased Luna; two days since she hadn’t woken up after that horrible blood-filled night.

The men were all silently sitting in the living room, waiting for Luke to come out of her room. “Her wound is healing perfectly, but it’s up to her to wake up.” Luke announces as he joins the others. He walks over to a small table and pours himself a drink. He lets the liquid sooth the tension in his shoulders, even if it is just a small amount of relief, he yearned for it. “What can we do Luke?” Baba asks with hope in his voice. Luke sets his drink down and squeezes the ridge of his nose to further help loosen the pressure that was building up. “I wish I knew Baba, it really is up to her. Maybe… maybe you can go and talk to her… she can probably hear you.” The other men look at one another and nod in agreement..

Baba stands up and heads to Luna’s room, determined to wake her up.

Luna’s POV

I feel so heavy, so exhausted. I hear a door open, but I can’t open my eyes. Oh Gods, I remember it all… flashbacks roll through my mind, the nights of my torture, the auction, the ice pick…but, I’m… I’m alive. “Pretty lady, I hope you can hear me.” I feel someone grab my hand, but I have no strength to move yet. “I, I’m sorry about what happened to you. But, you have to believe me, we bid on you to save you, there truly was no other way to get you out of that situation. I, I should have been careful to bring you down there with me, but I can’t change the past. Please, fight, you have every reason to live, you need to know that there is so much out there. We will help you, we won’t harm you; we just want you to open up, talk to us, let us help you. Please, let me see your eyes…” I can hear the sincerity in his voice.

I still don’t know what their intentions are with me, but one thing is for sure, I can’t believe I went through with it. The fear, the anger, the hopelessness consumed me. I couldn’t see a way out. I’ve been on my own the majority of my life and don’t trust anyone… should I now? I just don’t know... Do I even deserve to live? Am I important? What is there left for me to do?

I feel tears rolling on the sides of my face, but something gentle and warm wipes them. “Hey, I’m here, please, wake up. Don’t cry, please wake up…” I manage to put strength into my hands and squeeze his hand to let him know I’m still here. I slowly open my eyes and see the man that had lead me to the auction area, smiling at me. “You’re awake finally, thank the gods!” I try to move but he stops me. “No, no… don’t move, you have to rest, let me get you water.” He runs out of the room.

I manage to sit up a little and feel the pain from the wound. “Nnnnngh….” I take a pillow from the side of the bed and place it behind me. Within seconds the man returns with a glass of water in his hand… “here pretty lady, drink…” He places the glass to my lips and I obediently drink, I was incredibly thirsty. The man sighs in relief and sits on a chair next to my bed. “Now, Luna, we need to talk.” I nod and hear more foot steps coming from the door, all of the men from the other night gathered and sat across the bed from me, making sure to keep their distance.

“We’re not going to hurt you, please just hear us out.” Said the taller man with slicked back hair. I really don’t have a choice right now, I can’t move much, they probably took out any dangerous items from this room, to prevent me from… no, I can’t think about that right now. “Okay.” I manage to say and try to look at them without showing the fear mixed with confusion that is eating me from the inside. “This is Mamoru, he is a detective and informed us part of what you have been through. Apparently, you were found in an alley way unconscious and refused medical help, no one knows what happened to you, only that your parents are deceased and you had disappeared from your home at the age of 10. You were placed in a fast-paced school program and exceled. You had shown great potential but decided to go on your own and the rest of your record is clean.” The owner of the hotel states the facts of my life without hesitating. “The blond man over there is Ota, this is Soryu, Luke is the doctor that saved your life, Baba is sitting next to you and you know who I am.” As always he radiates an intimidating aura.

“Pretty lady, all we want to do is to help you; we’re not going to hurt you, but in order to do that, we need to know what happened. Why did you do that?” I knew it was coming to this, but I’ve never let anyone help me. “I don’t need your help, just let me be, that is all that I ask.” The men sigh and Mamoru is the next to talk “Kid, you’ve been through something, it’s obvious and you ain’t gettin’ outta this without talking to us.” This is frustrating. “Pretty lady, come on, talk to us.” I feel anger surge once again and I do the one thing I have never done with anyone, I tell them everything.

“FINE, you want to know…. There’s no turning back! But I’ll talk, not that it matters, you won’t understand... My parents didn’t care for me, I was my father’s favorite punching bag until I ran away at the age of 10. I lived on the streets and joined a small gang of thieves; we ate out of dumpsters, heck, anything we could find from the ground sometimes. At the age of 14 one of my buds got caught up in a mess with a local gang and I went to bail him out. He ran and I was… taken…” I brake off and gather my breath to try and talk. My body shakes and tears freely fall from my eyes. I feel a hand on my shoulder and I look up to see Baba looking at me sadly. “Please pretty lady, go on…” I shake my head and steady my nerves. “I…. I was raped… over and over again by the leader. He held me in his room for three days as his play thing…” images of those horrible times come to my mind and I open and close my eyes in a weak attempt to erase them. “I lost track of time and all sense… he…. he dropped me off at the alleyway and left me for dead, but fate is too cruel and I survived. The rest you know… just, please, let me go. You don’t need someone like me. I’m tainted, trash, truly a nobody…you should have just let me die.”

I sit there after divulging everything, strangely feeling a little better getting it off my chest, but now what? “Pretty lady…” Anger gets the best of me and I yell at Baba “I SAID I’M NOT PRETTY, were you not listening? I’m messed up! I’m not worth what you paid for me, not even as an object.” Baba pulls me in for a hug and I fight to pull him off, but my strength fails. “Let it all out, please…” Emotions I thought I had buried deep inside surface and I scream to get the pain, anger, hurt, sadness and loneliness out. Baba hugs me tighter and I finally, for the first time in my life, embrace another human being. Minutes pass by and I feel another hand on my back, patting me. I take a deep breath as I cry and turn to see Mamoru sitting next to me doing the patting and offering me a handkerchief. I pull back from Baba’s hug and accept Mamoru’s offer.

I look around the room and see Soryu clenching his jaw, Eisuke cracking his knuckles and the others looking sad. Eisuke stands up and speaks first. “You are to remain in this penthouse from now on. You will always be accompanied by one of us and you will work here. It’s time to wake up Luna, your past does not define you.” Baba looks at him giving him a frown, but Eisuke walks away unfazed by his stare.

“What is his name?” I hear Soryu ask. I look at him with my mouth agape; why would he be asking me? “Luna, what is the bastard’s name?” I answer with a trembling voice “R… Ryun, fr… from the Dragons.” Soryu’s face turns white with anger and rushes out of the room. Mamoru, Ota and Luke follow after him.

I sit there not knowing what is happening when Baba places a hand on my shoulder. “Luna, to me you are truly beautiful, but you will see what we all see soon enough. Now rest, I’ll bring you food in a few minutes. “B… but, what’s going on?” Baba flashes me a warm smile. “We’re going to go and take care of a little pest problem. Ota will keep you company while we are out.” He gives me a kiss on the forehead and takes off.

To be continued…

#kbtbb #kbtbb eisuke #kbtbb soryu #voltage inc #voltage fanfic

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siempre-bucky · 7 years

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Murder at Stark Manor Pt 2. Peter Parker x Reader

Part 2 Part 1

Plot: Peter and the gang are invited to a live action role play of Clue, to find out who “killed” Tony Stark. The reader wants to confess her feelings for Peter but knows about his crush on Liz.

Warnings: just a makeout session

Thank you guys so much for the love for the first part!

Request a story!

Peter Parker x Reader

“She’s always with Michelle, I’m her fiance! She should be spending time with me,” Peter pouted as she grabbed him. As they walked down the large corridor, lined with old French style portraits Y/N began to think about the time line of the murder, ignoring Peter’s complaining about Liz.

“She’ll never notice me, I was lucky to get that character description,” Peter whined as he touched one of the paintings frames, feeling the bumps and ridged texture. Once he noticed that he wasn’t getting a response, he looked behind him and noticed Y/N standing in front of a large window looking out at the large green yard that was taken over by darkness, yet was illuminated by the numerous fireflies. “Y/N? Are you listening?” he asked, raising his voice ever so slightly. She didn’t budge.

Peter slowly walked over to her, he wondered if it was the game that was making her space out, it was like she was frozen in time. “Y/N,” he called again, this time he tapped her shoulder. Y/N turned around with a confused expression on her face.

“What?” she asked. Peter raised an eyebrow and placed his hand on her slender arm.

“Are you ok…you seem out of it?”

“Out of it? I’m fine, I’m trying to solve the murder, not trying to get a date,” Y/N told him, brushing his hand off of her. Peter scoffed and walked as she walked away, he wondered why she was being cold. He bit his slightly chapped bottom lip and put his hands on his hips.

“She’s into me Y/N! I can tell,” he called out as he took off to catch up to her, but Y/N was back in deep thought.

‘The lights went out for about 8 minutes, that’s plenty of time to slip out of the room and kill Mayor. Peter and I are innocent…we never left the room. It could be any one of them…my bets are on Liz…no you don’t that. Yeah she probably did it,’ she thought to herself. They reached the spiral stair case, they both looked down and saw a bloody white handkerchief on the bottom step.

Y/N leaned over and pinched in between her fingers, picking it up to examine it. “This is Mr. Stark’s handkerchief…it has his initials on it,” she said. Peter came up behind her, his height made it easy to peer over her shoulder.

“Do you think it’s his blood?” Peter wondered as he looked closely at the drying blood. Y/N shrugged and pulled out a plastic bag and a Sharpie from her manila envelope. Labeling the clue before placing the handkerchief inside the bag and back into the envelope.

The pair turned around and they caught the sight of Pepper suspiciously leave the parlor, her hand behind her back as he quickly walked away. “I think Pepper did it,” Peter said. Y/N looked up at him, beads of her flapper headdress lightly hitting her in the face.

“You have no proof,” she stated, climbing up the stairs.

“There’s a glass behind her back, she could have poisoned him for the money,” he assumed as they got to the top of the stairs. The two watched as Pepper walked opened the book case “Y/N look,” Peter whispered, pointing at the woman in the red dress. “We should follow her,” he said.

The two ran quickly into the bookcase, but once they entered the secret room, no one was there. “Where did she go?” Peter asked, looked under the desk. Y/N thought that this was her time to tell Peter how she felt, now that they were alone.

“Peter,” she said nervously. He quickly looked up at her and walked up to her, he could see her uncertainty.

“Are you alright?” he asked examining her features. She shook her head and started to turn her gaze from him. “I don’t think you should date Liz. There are other girls out there that are so much better for you,” she finally admitted. Peter rose an eyebrow, she had never spoken like this before “Where is this coming from? I thought you wanted me to be with Liz.

Y/N shrugged and sat in the dark red chair, placing her hands in her lap “I lied, Pete. I can’t stand Li. She has no heart and she won’t treat you like you should.” Peter started to get angry, all he ever wanted was her, and not having his best friends support really hurt him.

“How could you say that? You always told me that you wanted me to be with her, that she was good. No one else will like me!” he rose his voice at her. Y/N stood up and clenched her fists, walking up to him and smashing her lips to his.

Peter had the urge to pull away, but he didn’t know what came over him…or her. He kissed back putting his hands on her neck, drawing her closer. Y/N started to unbutton his coat, her fingers trying to work the tricky buttons. Peter shooed her hands away and did it for her, taking off the coat, he picked her up and carried her to the old desk, sitting her down.

“I like you, Peter,” Y/N moaned in between kisses. Peter ran his hand over the side of her thigh and carefully slid his hand up her dress.

“I know now,” he said breathlessly before connecting his lips to her neck. Of course, Peter thought about what it would be like, having his best friend as his own. The late night thoughts that plagued his mind were just like his reality at the moment. Her hands in his gel covered hair, and his gripping her firm legs moaning for more of her. Her hands came off of her hair and started to pull his white shirt, wanting it to come off. Peter obliged and started to unbutton his shirt for her.

But their moment came to an end as they heard loud cries coming from another room, they stopped what they were doing and looked towards the door “We have to go,” Y/N spoke, pushing Peter out of the way.

“C-can we talk about this later?” he stuttered, trying to fix himself. Y/N pulled her dress down and nodded quickly before leaving the room to follow the cries.

When she got to the source of the cries, she found Pepper crying over a pool of blood and Ned was also there trying to comfort her, while he looked for clues “Do you think Ned did it?” Peter asked as he came upon the scene.

“It’s possible, now we know where he was murdered,” she said, taking out the notebook and taking down notes. Peter grabbed her arm and pulled her away from the door “if he was killed here and found in the kitchen, who moved him?” he asked her.

“You’re the only person that could do it by yourself,” Y/N spoke.

Peter paced the hallway before looking back at his friend “What if he was moved by two people, we just saw Ned and Pepper together,” he wondered, running his hands through his messy hair.

Upstairs, in the Study contained the other two players, Liz opened her case file “Michelle look at this,” She called to the other girl.

Michelle walked over and looked down at the file “There’s a cut on his neck,” she stated holding up the photograph of the back of Tony’s neck. “The murder weapon has to be here somewhere,” she looked at the brown desk and saw drips of blood. “A candlestick! This was the murder weapon!” Michelle said excitedly, picking up the bronze candlestick.

2 hours had passed, and the search for the murderer was about to be over, the sound of a bell rung out, calling for all the players to return to the scene of the crime, the dining room. “Who killed my master?” the maid asked them as they entered the room.

“I found a bloody knife in the ballroom, I suspect Michelle,” Peter accused, holding up the knife in the plastic bag. Michelle looked at him with betrayal written over her face.

“You’ve got to be kidding me! Really? Me! Have you lost your mind?” Michelle yelling pointing her finger at the boy.

“Michelle, how could you?” Pepper sobbed.

“I didn’t kill him, whoever did it had the candlestick, Peter did it,” making her accusation.

“I never had the candlestick.”

“Yes, in fact, you did. After Michelle and I left the study, I saw you go in there,” Liz chimed in, recalling the memory of seeing the boy enter the room.

“The candlestick was gone, when I went in there, it was already gone,” Peter justified.

The three started yelling back and forth. Y/N observed the scene, she carefully scratched her head, making sure not to mess up the braid in her hair. She looked at Ned’s arm, there was blood. Ned saw her and hid his arm behind his back.

Y/N stood against the wooden wall, deep in thought, thinking about the clues and the relationships the patrons had with Mr. Stark. Suddenly, her eyes went wide, it had hit her like a ton of bricks. She knew who the murderer was.

“SILENCE!” Y/N screamed, making all the patrons look at her. “I know who truly killed Mr. Stark,” she stated. The others stood there stunned, Y/N was always the quiet one, and most of them accused her of the murder.

“Go on girl, explain yourself,” Ned spat. Y/N narrowed her eyes at him. Ned was way into this role play thing walking up and forcing his sleeve up, revealing the large fake cut along his forearm.

“Ned is the business partner of Mr. Stark, a clear motive, but as you all can tell Ned is not this smart,” Y/N stated, letting go of his arm. “Ned tried to kill Mr. Stark with the knife, but what he failed to realize was that Mr. Stark is Iron Man and trained in combat, signaling a struggle.“Y/N grabbed the candlestick.

"So Ned hired his assistant, Liz to kill, Mr. Stark with the candlestick in the dining room!” everyone gasped, Y/N did it, she found the murderer.

Tony rose from his spot “Great you found out who killed me, now can we please go for dinner,” he whined, earning laughs from the other guests.

As everyone left, Peter and Y/N stood on the porch watching everyone make conversation on the lawn “That actually was a lot of fun,” she said with a small laugh. Peter nodded in agreement and looked over at Liz, who was looking right back.

“Peter, we’re going to my place want to go?” she called out with her flirtatious voice. Peter looked at her and then back at Y/N. His heart split in two, he looked at Liz but interlocked his fingers with Y/N’s slender ones.

“Sorry but I already made plans!” he yelled back at her. Y/N looked up at Peter and smiled, she couldn’t believe this.

“Really?” she asked with a big smile.

“Yes, Darling,” he said, placing a kiss on her forehead.

#peter parker x reader #peter parker imagine #spiderman x reader #spiderman imagine #tom holland x reader #tom holland imagine #mcu imagine #marvel #marvel imagine #spider-man: homecoming

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fandom-imagines-stories · 7 years

Text

Two can keep a Secret 1 Fight for Me?

Requested by Anon: Could you do an imagine where the reader is best friends with Archie and the gang and is also Jason's ex girlfriend? He was pretty terrible to her and in the end cheated on her with Polly and so when they find his body Cheryl and her family insist it had to be the reader who killed him and the police come into one of the classes she shares with the gang and arrest her. Later students are talking about it and Archie stands up for her and admits his feelings about the reader? Please and thank you!

Note: This is such a fun idea and it lets me show Archie’s protective side so thank you so much for requesting!! Also, since I’m bad at writing one shots- could there be a possible series on the way? (Filled with secrets and surprises, no doubt) Let me know if you want one.

Words: 2109

Warnings: Language

There was only one thing that the town of Riverdale knew and it was that Jason Blossom did not drown in Sweetwater River on the fourth of July. He was murdered. In Jughead’s mind, everyone was now a suspect. Everyone had a secret. But he hadn't suspected Y/N.

It was science class and she was sitting next to Archie playing with the frayed edges of her t-shirt. Archie laid a comforting hand on her shoulder and she faked a smile. She went back to writing notes, not noticing the way he was looking at her. Butterflies were attacking his stomach, and she had no idea.

Jason’s death had hit everyone hard, but Y/N was taking it the hardest. She and Jason had dated for nearly a year. That is, until he cheated on her with Betty’s sister Polly. It had torn her to pieces, despite the fact that he had never treated her well during their relationship. And now he was dead. Murdered. Jughead should have seen her motives, but a part of him just couldn’t see Y/N as a killer. But the police disagreed.

They made that very clear when they interrupted the lesson and Principle Weatherby told the class to remain calm. This would only take a moment. Sheriff Keller dangled the handcuffs.

“Y/F/N Y/L/N, you are under arrest for the murder of Jason Blossom.” He announced, striding across the room towards her. Archie gripped her hand tightly.

“With what proof?” He spat. The Sheriff gave him an annoyed look.

“Two witnesses saw Miss Y/L/N at Sweetwater River the morning of the 4th of July, one confessing to seeing her with Jason.” Archie’s grip on her hand loosened slightly, everyone’s eyes staring accusingly at her.

“I can explain.” She cried, standing up as the Sheriff locked on the handcuffs.

“You can explain later, now let’s go.” He muttered and started reading off her rights. She could tell that he hadn’t wanted to do this, and by the look on Weatherby’s face, it was his idea. Archie stood.

“Wait! You can’t just barge in here and arrest her.” He shouted.

“Unfortunately, Mr. Andrews, this is the way it had to be done. Now sit down.” The Sheriff dragged Y/N away and the class was thrown into an unbearable silence. Archie felt like he couldn’t breathe. He stared down at the desk and Jughead crossed the room to sit next to him.

“You okay?” Jug asked cautiously. He shook his head, his gaze distant and dark. Jughead hadn’t even thought about Y/N’s possible motives until now. Jason had broken her heart for the whole school to see, and he had sent the next girl to a group home. Not only that, but he had nearly torn Y/N’s friendships to shreds, keeping her away from all of them. And she could never meet Jughead’s eyes whenever they talked about the murder.

“It wasn’t her Jug.” Archie whispered, thinking about the way she smiled or the way the light hit her skin perfectly. But mainly he thought of how loving she was, how loyal she was to all of her friends. It was why he liked her so much. “It couldn’t have been.”

The Sheriff switched your handcuffs to the one connected to the interrogation table. He sat across from you, placing his hands on the table.

“You’re father advises you not to say anything until he gets here.”

“That won’t be necessary.” Y/N snapped. “I have nothing to hide.” Sheriff Keller leaned back in his chair, waiting for her to continue. She took a deep breath. “I knew about Jason’s plan to leave Riverdale. Cheryl called me that morning and said to meet him at the edge of the river. At first I said no, because of everything he had done, but Cheryl eventually got me to come along.

“When I got there, they were both standing by the boat, that they had already rowed across the river. Cheryl left to go finish their plan of making it look like he drowned. And Jason…” She caught a tear that had escaped her eye. “He apologized for everything he did to hurt me. For cheating, for making me the school’s new freak show.” The memories rushed in; all of the hate and the bitterness. But now, she felt nothing but the grief of a lost friend. “He told me that he did love me, once. But he explained that he had fallen deeply in love with Polly.

“He wanted to make sure that I was… okay. I told him I was, and it was the truth. I had gotten over him. It had taken a while, but I did. He asked- since he couldn’t get it from his own parents- for my blessing for them to marry.” This time, she didn’t stop the tears. “I said yes. I forgave him. We hugged and then he left. That was the last I saw of Jason Blossom. He was happy and so alive.” The sheriff offered her a handkerchief, but she denied it, letting the tears flow freely down her face.

“So that’s why I was with Jason on the 4th of July. I didn’t kill him.” She spat. “I loved Jason. Maybe not in the way I used to, but I loved him.”

“Do you have anyone to corroborate your story?” He leaned forward, resting his hands on the table. She shook her head. “Where were you on July 11th.” This time she sighed with relief, knowing that there was a clear answer to this.

“I was working at the Drive-in.” Before he could ask, she added, “You can ask anyone; Jughead, my boss, hell, even the Serpents saw me there.” The was a loud knock on the door and the sheriff stood to open it. Y/N’s father stormed into the room.

“I said for you to wait until I got here.” He snarled. Y/N held her head up high so he couldn’t see the weakness in her tears.

“I don’t have anything to hide, so I don’t need your counsel.” Her father cocked an eyebrow at her tone and she knew that she would pay for it later. She turned to the sheriff. “If you have no further evidence on me, can I go?” He sighed.

“I suppose there’s no good in keeping you here.” He unlocked the handcuffs and she rubbed her wrists. “Just-”

“Don’t leave town, I know.” Before she left, she had a question for him. “I get why you arrested me. But why like that? Why infront of everyone?” He looked away. She already knew the answer. The mayor wanted to make a show of force. Make it look like they were closer to finding Jason’s killer. Her father ushered her through the door, putting on a polite show until they reached the car.

“What the fuck did you say to them!” He screamed as the car door slammed. Y/N put on her seat belt, gripping it so hard her knuckles turned white. She didn’t answer. He reached over and grabbed the collar of her shirt. “What did you do?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” She spat. He shoved her back in the seat, the belt digging into her neck. The rest of the drive to the house was in cold, dead silence.

School the next morning was the worst part of it all. The glares burned the back of her neck like cigarette butts. Then she saw Archie’s big brown eyes and no one else’s stare mattered. He didn’t look at with disgust like her father, or with disappointment like her mother. He trapped her in his arms and sighed into her hair.

“I was so freaked out after they dragged you out of the classroom.” He draped his arm over your shoulder as you continued down the hallway, the warmth of his touch making the accusing looks a little easier to take. The first few classes of the day weren’t so bad, but she could tell that every time someone whispered, they were talking about her. Jughead was giving her strange glances. It hurt to know that even Jughead, her best friend, was suspicious of her.

When her free period finally came, she went with Archie to the student lounge, where the judge, jury, and executioner awaited her arrival. Everyone’s conversation halted as soon as she walked into the room. One pair of eyes stood out the most. They cut like daggers into Y/N’s face, a smile contorting into a sneer beneath them. Cheryl stood.

“I see they let you off on a warning.” She scoffed. “I didn’t know murderers were granted permission to attend classes.”

“Say, Y/L/N, did they cuff you to a table like they do in the shows?” Reggie mocked. He rubbed his hands together like he did when he was thinking like a creep. “And to arrest you in front of everybody.... I have to say, I liked seeing you in handcuffs.” Archie tensed beside her.

“Can it, Regina George.” She snapped. He opened his mouth to retaliate but Cheryl cut him off.

“I wonder, Y/N… When Jason dumped you at prom last year, maybe he was trying to show the world how much of a psycho you really are.” She placed her manicured hands on her hips. The room began to chant.

“Psycho! Psycho! Psycho!”

Y/N’s face felt hot and she clenched her fists, wanting to swing them into something. Reggie stood from his place on the couch and came towards her.

“If it makes you feel better, you’re still hot. Besides, aren’t the crazy ones the best in bed?” He ran a finger down her arm and Archie shoved him away.

“You need to shut up right now Reggie.” He growled. The jock held up his hands in mock surrender.

“Damn Andrews. Sorry bro, if I had known you were banging Jason’s crazy bitch, then I would have asked permission before getting a piece of that sexy psychotic action.” His disgustingly smug grin was split in half by Archie’s fist. Everyone’s chanting stopped and someone yelled; “Fight!”

Before Y/N even had the chance to scream, Reggie pushed Archie against the vending machine and pulled him to the ground. She tried to pull him off of Archie, but Reggie shoved her backwards, hitting her head on the table, right above her eye. By the time teachers heard the commotion, Archie’s eye was swelling and Reggie’s lip was bleeding. They pulled the two boys apart and escorted them to the principal’s office. So Y/N was left standing in the student’s lounge, everyone’s attention shifting back to her. Veronica entered the room and opened her mouth to speak.

“Not now, Veronica.” Y/N snapped and shoved passed her, but she latched onto her arm.

“What the hell just happened?”

“I said not now, Vee.” She stormed towards the principal's office, bursting through the door earning a surprised and angry glare from Principal Weatherbee’s. “Archie didn’t do anything wrong.”

“From I hear, he through the first punch.” He said and Reggie smirked up at her.

“He was defending me!” She shouted. Archie clenched and unclenched his fists. “Reggie was harassing me and Archie stopped him. What’s wrong with that?”

“His violent outburst cannot be ignored simply because he was defending ‘your honor’,” he eyed her like she had called up from hell and her horns were showing through her Y/H/C hair. “But, he will not be suspended.” She sighed with relief. “Neither will Mr. Mantle.” Without saying it, Y/N knew the reason why. Couldn’t suspended two star players from the big game. For once, football was actually useful. “But I will ask that both of you go home for the rest of the day. Your parents will be here to pick you up.”

“Thank you sir,” Reggie smiled and traced his finger up Y/N’s arm as he left.

“Well Miss Y/L/N, I suggest you have the nurse check out that injury. Wouldn’t want you to have a concussion.” Weatherbee’s caring expression was so fake it made her sick. This was the man who had tried to crucify her in front of the whole school, so any concern for her safety was contradicting. Archie stood and followed her out to the parking lot.

“You wanna explain what happened in there?” She asked. He rubbed the back of of his neck and laughed.

“I um- when Reggie said those things to you, I guess I lost it.” His face went red. “I haven’t been totally honest.”

“Archie Andrews!” Y/N gasped. “Finally to break this perfect boy facade.” They laughed and he felt more at ease.

“I have feelings for you, Y/N.” He finally admitted. “I have for a while.” Her grin simply grew and she pulled him into a kiss. He pulled away. “What was that for?”

“For finally saying it.” She giggled. “I have been waiting for you to admit you had a crush on me for years, Gingersnap.” He rolled her eyes at her nickname for him and pulled her in for another kiss.

#riverdale #riverdale archie #archie andrews x reader #archie andrews #jason blossom

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infinitehours · 5 years

Text

Chapter 1

This fic is based off of The Haunted Mansion “Story and Song from the Haunted Mansion” audio. It will also be based deeply off of my first impressions of the ride itself when I was a kid going on it those first few times in my life.

Also, if you’re wondering why there isn’t much description on our two main mortals, it’s because I felt it best to leave that up to the imagination (there was never much description in the original either). I know I can’t get away without descriptives for every character though, so I’m not going to try for that, but hopefully it wasn’t too jarring.

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Trigger warnings: ghosts, death concepts/discussions, murder, suicide, abuse, blood, lots of scary stuff (horror), implied sexual abuse, cursing (damn and hell), drug abuse, domestic violence, attempted rape (never completed; in a later chapter).

Other Author notes: There’s supposed to be an audio of the Big Ben chime (to parallel the demonic clock and represent that this is the realm of mortals), but I can’t currently find a way to create this audio file. So. Imagination I guess.

Someone created a recording of the Big Ben clock from Parliament Square. Cars and all, it definitely sounds like a city. I will link it here in case you all want to hear it and use it to help your imagination, but it was NOT made by me, and as such it is NOT officially part of this story:

https://freesound.org/people/Noise%20Cuisine/sounds/47098/

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Table of Contents Link

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Ch 1: Miss Jackson

Have you ever seen a haunted house? You know the kind I mean. That old dark house that’s usually at the end of a dimly lit street. The windows are broken and boarded, and the shutters hang loose on their hinges. The trees have grown wild, their branches brush against the sides of the weathering house making strange noises in the night. There’s a high vine-covered fence around the property. Is it there to keep somebody out, or is it there to keep something inside? It’s a house that people avoid walking past at night. Strange sounds come from within the walls, and it’s said that eerie lights have been seen both in the attic window and in the graveyard at the side of the house.

Seen, at least….by some….

Our story revolves around this mysterious mansion….

But I’m getting a-head of myself…aren’t I?

So let me ask a different question…

Have you ever been chased?

He was panting the whole way.

Round the corner where the pastor liked to play his accordion.

Over the iron wrought fence that blocked off the alley from the cars.

Through the double doors of the unused library.

Out the back.

Through the nook by J. H. Thomas’ shop.

And over the broken manhole right to the berry-red bench in the tiny cranny.

Michael knew the route like the back of his hand, spent every day of his life traversing it. Or, at least, every day of his High School life, which was the only important part of your life you considered when you’re fresh faced and under twenty.

But they were right behind him, he could swear they were, thumping along and hollering; you could only run for so long. The clock of the church chimed from somewhere a ways away, in Big Ben style; Six PM.

He jostled a trash can on his way, half-heartedly hoping that it might slow his pursuers down as he rounded the corner. The relief that flooded him when his target, a bench, came into his sights was a thankful feeling

For all of five seconds.

Then he was yanked back by his collar, just out of reach of his fragile safety net. Falling to the hard concrete, three faces loomed into his view; three black leather jackets swarming around him and his red hoodie like vultures around a recent bloody kill

Jacob Matheson. The head vulture, front and center, grinning over his recent (and recurring) victim.

He was the son of the owner of the largest retail store in town, which earned him a bit of a celebrity status in the sleepy rurals of northern Virginia. Probably the only reason why he was the leader of his little gang.

“What’s your hurry, huh?

Michael grimaced as a boot came down on his chest

“I…ugh. I was just on my way back home..

“Liar. You live other way.”

“What’s the super special occasion?” Another boy said. “We never see you out anymore, Mikey-Wikey. You wouldn’t go off without at least saying ‘hi’, would you?”

“Our feelings might get hurt. You wouldn’t want that now would you?”

Michael refused to answer that, wincing as the toe of the boot dug deeper into his ribs

“So how you going to make it up to us, huh? How much you got on you?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re a really terrible liar, Mikey.” Jacob gestured towards the others.

Two seconds later and they pried Michael’s hands off of his pockets to start their rummaging

“Nice. A whole twenty.”

“There’s more than that! What’s this?”

The other boy held a miniature keychain of a football, twirling it around on one of his fingers

“That’s mine. Give it back!” Michael lunged, yet the boy had already tossed it to another

The three jeered and danced around him, taking turns with the keychain.

“Ooh. Almost got it that time!

“Gonna practice your jumping skills with us, huh?”

“Good dog!”

“Go get it, boy!

“You think we can teach him to beg?”

“You want it?? You want it?? HA!”

Jacob was last to receive, and Michael turned to him in irritation. “You have my money. You played your little game. Can you just leave already?”

“I don’t know. We just got here.” A murmur of agreement. “What are you doing with this thing anyways? Pining for the good ol’ days when you were still on the team?”

“Aw, Jacob. Can’t you see he misses playing?” One of the other vultures said.

“Oh. I’m sorry. Did I say that too soon? How long’s it been? Four months? Five? Got your leg all healed up nicely?”

One of the boys pretended to make a pass at his left leg, causing him to jerk into the defensive. Jacob flashed a grin at the sight.

“Still not in tip top shape, huh? Considering what happened, playing with this little football is probably the closest thing to a real game you’ll ever going to get for the rest of your life. But don’t worry, Mikey.”

Jacob’s little wicked sneer only grew smug.

“I’m sure the rest of the team will do just fine without you. You were just the water boy, weren’t you? Most benched player ever in ol’ G. H. T. High. Quite the honor.”

Michael gritted his teeth; he never cared too much about playing football, but he also didn’t need to hear this.

“But you can come play with us any time. We don’t mind that you’ve got a bum leg. In fact, how about you go long right now?”

Jacob pulled back with a sinister little smirk and a clear intent to throw it straight to the roof of the nearby apartment building. Unfortunately for him, the football was snatched just before he let it loose.

“Wow, what do you know? A real life wannabe biker gang in their native environment.”

The football’s new owner was a welcome sight. A pink sweater, a black skirt with an embroidered horse, a white blouse, and the look of someone who had just ate a whole bag of sour gummy worms (Jacob and his gang tended to have that effect on people).

“Ugh. It’s the girlfriend. Go away, Karen. Nobody invited you.”

“As if I need an invitation to rain on your parade. If you’ll give back the money that I’m sure you stole, we can be on our way and I won’t have to tell anyone about this.”

A speck of realization later and Jacob was staring at Michael with an even wider grin than before.

“Wait, is SHE why you came out of your house? Date night? OooooOOOoooooh. Kissy kissy.”

The boys started making smooching noises, prompting Karen to let out a sigh of frustation.

“Mr. Vance! Mr. Vance! The jerks are back and they’re threatening your customers!”

“Whine all you want, what’s that old geezer even going to d-“

“Come over here, Mr. Arrow. There’s a bit of vandalism I think you ought to look at.” A much older man in black stained overalls came seemingly from out of nowhere, seemingly gesturing for the chief of police to follow. Jacob’s face dropped.

“Scram!” Jacob said, not even waiting for his friends before booking it straight out of the alley. They were generous, at least, if only in the fact that they threw Michael’s money back in his face.

Mr. Vance watched them retreat and let out a long, drawn out sigh. “You kids okay?”

“As good as can be, I guess.” Mike said.

“Thanks for pretending for us, Mr. Vance.” Karen said.

“A little lie goes a long ways sometimes. I only wish I could convince an officer to hang around here. Could do with a little less thieves. Those three are gotta get their comeuppance sometime.”

“Yeah?” Mike grabbed his keychain. “I’m still waiting for that to happen.”

“Might come sooner than you think. Well…come in then. I’ve got your package in.”

Mr. Vance took out his handkerchief and wiped his brow; the wrinkles that lined an otherwise middle aged face seemed particularly discernable that evening. Coupled with the silvery threads of his hair, anyone who didn’t know any better would have had the man pegged for a senior citizen. But he was very much in his thirty’s, at most, and the reasons for why he looked so aged had often been the subject of discussion in town.

Especially considering that his store was easily one of the most important places around.

The big retailer shop that lay in the heart of town was nice, but they often didn’t carry specialty items (and didn’t appreciate you asking to order them). That was where Mr. Vance and his store came in. Sure, it was tiny and cramped, and there was always a heap of unsightly broken bits of rusted metal in the corners near a large creepy portrait of a woman holding a skull, but there was so much of the place that was filled with mysterious and old objects, books galore, and more candy than you could ever possibly eat in your entire lifetime. The man had no organization to speak of, so whenever a person cared to carouse the shelves they were almost guaranteed to find something wondrously unexpected.

Karen loved it here. As much as Mike liked old nick-knacks himself, it was mostly for her sake that he stepped foot inside time and time again. Whenever she would examine a row of clocks or ancient utensils or even the words on the spine edge of a book, her whole demeanor would brighten up. He loved watching her when they were here, she would always hold a smile on her face as she delicately traced a finger over things that were several times her own age.

Currently, she seemed distracted with an old timey animation device. He couldn’t remember for the life of him what the things were called, but they consisted of a cylinder with slots for viewing, and had an image painted all around the insides. The images were slightly different, so that when the cylinder was turned quickly it would simulate movement. Animation.

Unfortunately, the one that Karen found seemed to be broken. She couldn’t get it to spin, the painted crows were forever stuck in place…

“M-miss Jackson? I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you there. You’re here….early.” Mr. Vance said.

Mike looked up….the air somehow felt…colder as his eyes fixated on the lone figure standing in the middle of the room.

The strangely dressed lone figure standing in the middle of the room, who was most certainly not in the middle of the room a few seconds ago.

A deep green dress like a thick moss on a dark forest floor, with a pinstripe blouse and matching apron. Dark brown hair and vivid blue eyes were part and parcel of a face that oddly looked both amused and bored all at once. And the bit of frill and bow on the top of her head seemed to so wonderfully match her attire yet be so terribly out of place in a modern day setting.

She looked like a maid. An old-fashioned maid. A very lost old-fashioned maid, considering that there were no buildings nearby that were large or rich enough to need to hire one.

“My….employer…” There was surprisingly nothing strange or unusual about her voice, “…is rather anxious tonight, so I had hoped to present to him the items I had ordered. If you happen to have them ready, of course.”

“Y-yes…Yes. You…you wouldn’t happen to have come alone, Miss Jackson, would you?”

The girl smiled wistfully. “Are we ever truly alone?”

Mr. Vance visibly gulped. “Right…of…of course not. I-I-I got your package right here. Oh..Michael?”

Mike tore his eyes away from the woman back to the shopkeeper. Mr. Vance’s demeanor seemed….suddenly different. His face had gone a little pale, and there was an almost imperceptible waver in the way his voice cracked.

“Would you…would you mind waiting a bit while I wrap up Miss Jackson’s items here?”

“Uh...Yeah, no problem.”

“Thanks.”

Mike headed over to where Karen had been curiously watching the whole exchange.

“Is there a costume party we weren’t invited to?” He asked her jokingly, earning a smile.

“She looks…kind of familiar. Like I’ve seen her around…just…not in that getup.”

“Yeah…I feel like I’ve seen her around, too. But I don’t think I’ve ever spoken to her before…”

She turned back to the animation device….and found it….spinning. Ever so gently.

The painted crows began to flap their wings, rhythmically in time with the cylinder.

But then…faster. And faster. And furiously faster still, until the image was a seamless representation of the act of flying.

“Mike….” Karen said, the nervousness clear in her tone. The device was not electronic, yet seemed more than willing to move completely on its own.

Even he was a little hesitant to touch it, yet his mind was made up when he could feel the warmth of her fingers clinging to his.

Clap. His hand clamped down on it. When he let go, the device obediently remained still.

“Heh.” Mike’s laugh was more nervous than amused. Karen’s hand squeezed his again. “Must be off balanced or something. Speaking of spooky, though, did you check out the way Mr. Vance was- ”

“Are you going back to the cliffs?” The voice behind him interrupted.

Mike spun around to find himself face to face with the strange woman. Up close, it was more obvious that she couldn’t have been more than a few shades older than either of them, despite her rather timeless attire.

“Yes….we are…” Karen anxiously responded, “But how did you know that?”

“I’ve watched you go up there. The house I stay in happens to be nearby.”

“Where?” Mike butted in, “The only buildings up that way are all abandoned or mostly destroyed. It would be kinda hard to live in any of them. It’s pretty much a ghost town.”

“Yes…” The woman said, a faint smile on her lips. “Yes, you’re right.”

He couldn’t tell what she meant by that. Was she saying that she wasn’t living in any of those buildings?

Karen coughed. “Um. Well I like your dress. The green looks very pretty on you.”

“Oh thank you. I think so too. It also makes my employer uncomfortable and likely brings up awkward memories for him. Which is the other reason why I wear it.”

He and Karen exchanged a funny look. He couldn’t tell which was odder, the fact that she purposely wore something just to make her employer uncomfortable or the fact that she just casually dropped this information to complete strangers like it was a normal subject to talk about.

“Miss Jackson? Your items…” Mr. Vance interrupted.

“Of course.”

The shopkeeper seemed to hesitate as he handed her a bag full of several individually wrapped parcels.

“One of these…you do know one of these things on your list is…”

“Illegal?” The young woman didn’t mince words or even flinch, which is more than what Mr. Vance did in response, “Technically it’s not, if people only bother to read the law anymore. But yes. I’m well aware. But as you are quite aware, my employer is not concerned with legal matters…Anymore.”

“…I’m well aware.” He softly said.

“Will I see you later then?” The young woman said as she turned to leave.

But Mr. Vance kept his head turned away from her and firmly on a broken clock in front of him, eventually squeezing his eyes shut as though he could will her away.

“…Have a good evening then, Mr. Vance.”

“…Same to you, Miss Jackson.”

Before she left the shop proper, the woman turned one last time to Michael and Karen.

“By the way…Tom Sawyer’s road is the faster way back to town if you’re coming from the cliffs. And if you’re ever caught in an unfortunate rainstorm, please do stop by. You’re more than welcome to hide under our awning.”

“We...never go to the cliffs on a rainy day.” Karen said.

“Never say never,” With the twist of a tiny smile, the woman left the shop.

The atmosphere grew quiet.

~~~

And it remained silent for a solid minute.

“…Hey Karen? You can get our stuff, right?”

“Wha-?”

Before she knew it, Mike had just thrusted the twenty in her hands and ran out the door.

“Hey…Mike!”

“What’s he doing?” Mr. Vance said, his brows furrowed in concern.

“I think he’s trying to catch up that woman. Who was she, anyway? I don’t see her often enough around.”

“That’s because she doesn’t live in town. That’s Eleanor Jackson. ‘Nell’ for short. She’s up near the cliffs.”

“Where near the cliffs?”

Mr. Vance handed her two glass bottles of crème soda and a heart shaped package. “I’m sure Michael would be very insistent that you don’t open it until you’re together.”

Purposefully changing the subject.

“…And you said that women asked for something illegal…”

“Now don’t you repeat anything you’ve heard here…”

“I…I won’t. But is everything alright? If she’s forcing you to do something illeg-“

“It’s not like that.”

It was said so forcefully and emotionally that Karen took a step back.

“…It’s not like that.” Mr. Vance said, softer this time, “But you should go and stop Mike. Nothing good will come of him following after Nell like that.”

Package and soda in hand, she started to do just that.

“Karen.”

She paused.

“…Don’t always trust Nell. She often only gives you half of the truth.”

With that statement freshly turning in her head, Karen went out into the alley looking for Mike.

He didn’t get very far; right around the corner he looked up at her sheepishly from the ground, while a friendly face tried unwind a long bit of fishing line.

“I tried catching her, but…”

“I think I ended up catchin’ a young ‘un instead.” Mr. Mortimer flashed a grin at her before untwisting the hook from Mike’s jacket, “You ain’t quite the fish I be looking for, lad.”

Mr. Mortimer was a fisherman. Probably by trade, too, as that’s the only thing she’s ever seen him do. He always had a fishing pole in one hand, his trusty (but peculiar looking) tackle box in the other, a smile on his wrinkled face, and a song on his lips. Very few people in town could ever say that they hated the man, even though he did always smell like fish.

He was also frequently wet, as he claims he never had good balance and constantly fell in. She had no doubts about that. The sight of him trudging around soaked in the frigid air….She often felt freezing just looking at him….

“Are you alright, Mr. Mortimer?” Karen said, offering to help him up. His hands were cold as usual.

“Aye I’m alright, I’m alright. No harm done,” With Karen’s help, he stood steady on his feet again, “But tell me young ‘un, what had you such ‘n a hurry? Who were ya chasin’ after?”

“Some lady we saw at the shop.”

Mr. Mortimer flashed him a joking grin. “Chasin’ after another while you got your young lady here?”

Karen snorted.

“Hey! No! That’s not what I meant! Karen!” Mike didn’t find it as amusing as they did, and gestured her to help him out.

“Mr. Vance said her name is Eleanor Jackson.”

Mr. Mortimer’s eyebrows rose in recognition.

“You know her?” Karen asked.

“Aye.”

“Did she come down this way?” Mike said.

“Sorry, young ‘un, I didn’t see anyone but yourself.”

“But I could have sworn she turned here…”

“She be a sweet girl, no doubt. But you’re best off not followin’ her home, for your own good.”

“Mr. Vance said something like that…” Karen said.

“He be a smart one. Is he in today?”

They nodded. Before they could say anything else, Mr. Mortimer bid them good day and went off to the shop.

“Mr. Vance didn’t want to answer any questions about her either…”

“Everyone’s acting funny about her. I don’t get it.”

“Well…let’s not worry about it anymore. I really want to go to the cliffs tonight before it gets too dark,” She shook the heart shaped parcel slyly, “What’s in the box?”

“Three guesses,” Mike grinned.

“Hmmm,” She held it up to her ear and closed her eyes, as though she could somehow divine the answer, “Caramel chews, sour worms and…black licorice gummy bears?”

“Right on all three counts!”

“Do I get a prize?”

“Do I count? Or are you still mad at me because I went ‘chasing’ after someone else?”

“I guess I can forgive you,” She said coyly, giving him a peck on the cheek.

They walked off together, hand in hand, too distracted with each other to notice the growing storm clouds overhead….

Storm clouds the weatherman never predicted.

Storm clouds that never moved from their position above the woods that led up to the cliffs.

#chapter 1

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unto-myself-together · 7 years

Text

Of Stories and Songs: A Haunted Mansion Fanfic Ch 1

Ok. If I keep going on fretting about how imperfect this chapter is, I’m never going to get it out.

I have now edited a TON of stuff in this chapter.

~~~

Table of Contents:

Prologue, Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3 , Chapter 4 , Chapter 5 ,

Chapter 6 , Chapter 7