It was a Friday; perhaps one of the most perfect Fridays Emma Swan had seen in her almost twenty-two years. The early rays of the sun shone brightly, dappling the forest floor with flickering shapes that somehow seemed alive amidst the mosses and twigs. The air sparkled with the dawn chorus as she breathed in the dew soaked scent. Even the rain, which had poured so relentlessly the day before, had receded, leaving behind blue skies and the promise of a fine day ahead. Surely, there was no place lovelier than Surrey on a summer's morning?
Her father's country estate had always been her favourite place in the world. It held beyond pleasant memories of a happy childhood, one that had formed her into a well rounded, compassionate and strong young woman (her mother's words- her mother had never been shy with her affections, verbal or otherwise). Indeed, she was of such strong character that some reasoned that that was why she was about to enter her fourth season as an unmarried, yet still highly eligible, lady of the ton. They were the kind who saw the entering into one's third decade without at least a betrothment to be tantamount to tragedy. Of course those types- who made such statements -were not privy to any aspect of her character beyond her title, and what she chose to project about herself from across a crowded ballroom. They were the kind to mistake an upright posture and a wry sense of humour for haughtiness and pride. They were certainly not the type to know that Emma, daughter of the Earl of Misthaven, had in fact received over a dozen offers of marriage in the preceding years (and more than one suitor had been quite eligible) yet had turned each one down with so much grace and flattery that those rejected could hardly find cause to besmirch her name.
They were also, coincidentally, the type of people that Emma Swan most fastidiously avoided more than a passing acquaintance with.
The Swan family was far more liberally minded than most of their peers. She was still very young, her mother had reasoned, and while some circles would call her past her prime, Swans were of a more modern stock and fully believed in the right to chose- and that love matches were not just possible, but preferred. Not once had she been pressured to marry- not once had an eligible gentleman been forced into her path. No matchmaking mama was Lady Marianne Swan, and Emma was eternally grateful for that.
All of this, however, was quite far from her mind that morning. For that morning one of her dearest childhood friends would marry her own prince charming. Miss Mary Blanchard had been quite besotted with Lord David Nolan from the moment they had met at one of the first large balls of the past season. The pair had spent the next month or so tiptoeing around each other, discretely trying to grasp a moment of each other's time (much to the kind amusement of their friends), before they began to court each other more openly, finally culminating in a springtime proposal that left just enough time to plan a grand wedding to cap off the end of the season.
And Emma could not have been happier.
Having been appointed chief attendant, she had been tasked with finding the prettiest of wildflowers to form the bouquet for Mary to hold. It was a responsibility she took seriously, knowing how much Mary adored the countryside and all its wonders. Thus, she had risen with the sun that morning, pulled on her most functional walking dress and boots and set out to discover the most perfect blooms before the rest of the household rose and began preparations for the day.
A small patch of woodland edged the formal gardens of Brooke Park and abutted onto both the stables and a meadow that had been left to the mercy of the wild grasses and plants common to these parts and it was to there she had set her mind to selecting the bouquet. As she made her way, she was filled with happy thoughts as she darted between the trees, stepping over roots and jutting rocks, softly humming to herself- until the sound of voices made her pause mid step. Who else could be traipsing the woodlands this early? She made herself as still as possible and strained to listen.
"I cannot express how happy I am that you have made it."
Oh, it was Mr Nolan. She relaxed a little. Mary's betrothed and his family had been guests at the estate for the week prior to the wedding- it seeming more appropriate than sharing a roof with his wife to be, apparently. He had been quite taken by the grounds and was often to be found wandering through the many walks of Brooke Park, more often than not with his fiance by his side.
But it was highly unlikely that Mary was his companion. Who, she thought to herself, could it be?
The reply he was given was a little quieter than his own words; it was hard for Emma to make it out, so she leaned a little closer, pressing her hands against the wide trunk of one of the ancient oak trees that dotted the forest.
Now, of course, would have been the time to make her presence known. However Emma was not known for her adherence to every social more (especially in such instances as this where interpretation of said mores was a matter of personal judgement), so instead she tilted her head and leaned a little closer to the voices.
"I worried that the letter of invitation would not reach you in time."
She heard a soft chuckle. "Spain is not so far away, and indeed it was fortuitously timed, as I had already settled to return before I received your news, you merely expedited my journey."
Emma paused, cocking her head to one side as she listened more carefully with each word, her mouth drawing slightly more open as the man spoke further-
It was him. Lord Jones. Lord Killian Jones.
Her heart began a traitorous pitter patter rhythm, a sickening squeeze of her stomach accompanying it- an altogether achingly familiar sensation, albeit one she had not experienced in almost two years.
Lord Killian Jones, second son of Viscount Rogers, one of her oldest friends, was the last man she had ever expected to see at the wedding. It had been almost a year since he had, quite literally, vanished. Leaving without so much as a goodbye, or even a note to explain why he found it necessary to fly off to the continent at a moment's notice. To leave her.
Her heart clenched again and she bit her lip, straining to hear their words...
/
Killian smiled at his friend. He had seen the happiness on David's face from the moment he had greeted him that morning, the sun barely above the horizon. He had pulled him into a warm bear-hug and rapped his knuckles upon his head, much as he had done countless times in their youth. He had missed him. He was also so happy that he had found a woman to marry who deserved him.
"Well I am glad all the same. It has been too long and you have been missed. That you are here to share in my happiness brings me great joy."
Killian nodded, "And I am eager to meet the woman who has brought one of Cambridge University's biggest rakes to his knees."
"I believe you are mistaking me for you, Killian." They both laughed and for a second it was like no time had passed. That they were still carousing around the halls of Oxford, sowing their wild oats as his father had described it. Just for a second, the thought caught in Killian's throat, trapped in a peal of laughter, the understanding that things had changed. Life here had moved on, his friend was to marry and begin the next part of his journey. Whilst Killian had clung to a different existence, hoping that if he remained adrift from the ebb and flow of life in England, he could somehow erase that part of him that had been so crushed when he last stood upon these shores. That he could somehow forget.
David broke him from his reverie with a quick jab of his elbow to his ribs. "I presume the ladies of Europe will mourn your departure."
Killian almost blushed. His wild youth was not something he was especially proud of. Some men courted the title of libertine yet it was never one he had desired; though he had realised at a young age that a handsome face and a smooth tongue could bring a smile and a blush to the most stubborn woman's face. He had also learned with age - and maturity - that relations with women were far more satisfying when one prioritised quality over quantity. He still pondered whether it was his reputation within the ton that had set him at odds with her. That maybe if he had been different, that things between them could have been too.
"Perhaps a lady here will catch your eye," David continued, unaware of Killian's distraction, "I know your mother dreams of having both sons married- your brother speaks of it quite often."
Ah yes. Liam, dearest Liam, his father's heir, the model son, with perfect manners and impeccable character. He had made his parents so happy when he had married and gotten to the business of creating the next generation of Jones' well before he even touched his thirtieth year. A viscount could ask for nothing more.
He loved his brother. He hadmissed his brother. Though, there was something about his perfection that had made Killian's own lack of direction somewhat acceptable. Killian was now third in line to the family title, usurped by a one year old boy named Samuel. The further he moved from the Viscountcy, the less what he did mattered. At times he thought that he himself mattered less.
"I'm sure he does. I'm also sure he and my mother will speak of little else once she is notified of my return."
David folded his arms and gave his friend and assessing look. "So you are back for good then?"
"Perhaps," Killian nodded. Which was the truth, in as much as it could be. He still had but a vague idea of what his future should be. That was a matter for discussion with his brother.
"That makes me happy, Jones."
Nodding, Killian pulled off his hat and ran a hand through his hair. He'd barely had time to freshen up at his parents country home, not two miles away, before he had made the early ride over.
"And I know that the Swans will be equally happy to renew their acquaintance."
At that, his cravat suddenly seemed to tighten around his neck. The name Swan had been one he had tried to forget. A name and a connection that had been part of him since his earliest years, neighbours and friends... And then a something he had tried to bury beneath memories of hot suns, exotic vistas and beautiful women. Sadly, he had found that merely being with a close distance of the family home had rolled back the time to last summer. The summer he had realised that he was a coward.
He took a deep breath. "About the Swans-"
"Yes?"
Killian shifted uncomfortably. There was no subtle way to ask the question and his mind would not possibly allow him to think of anything else until he did ask.
"Lady Emma- is she, I mean did she-" He glanced away from his friend. "Did she marry Baelton?"
At that, David let out a soft peal of deep laughter. "Baelton? Gold's son? Why would you think that?"
A dozen conflicting emotions all seemed to hit Killian at once. Relief. Confusion. Regret. He quickly closed his eyes. "I thought-"
"Mary told me all about how Baelton made a show of courting Emma."
Oh yes, he remembered that with crystal clarity. His smarmy smiles and hands that dipped almost too low for propriety when he danced with Emma. And the way Emma smiled at him. And the way it had made Killian's hands clench-
"Yes…" Killian began, thinking how he could change the tack of this conversation.
But David kept talking. "Mary told me of your childhood friendship with Lady Emma, before her family took up residence in these parts… but," his face settled into a frown, "And you thought that she and Baelton-" And then Killian saw the pieces fall into place in his friend's mind. "You were enamoured with Lady Emma?" David's words came out in a gush, a look of surprise upon his face.
Killian's traitorous cheeks began to glow with heat. Surely, they were most shocking shade of red, even in the morning light. He tried to turn away from his friend. But then he felt a hand on his arm. He raised his brows and looked the other man in the eye. There was no use denying it. David had always been able to read Killian- a fact which had saved him from more than one difficult situation over the years.
His shoulders stiffened. "It was some time ago. It no longer signifies. I was merely curious." Even as the lies left his lips, they burned.
A moment passed with only birdsong to fill the air.
"Emma is a beautiful lady," David replied softly.
Aye- and intelligent, fierce, kind, lovely and a dozen other things he had only realized when it was too late.
"I'm sure she is, as she was then," he answered diplomatically, avoiding the assessing gaze of his friend, concentrating instead on rolling a small log beneath his boot.
He could not help but think how he could have known this detail any number of times previously. And if he had known they were not betrothed, if he had been brave enough to reveal his feelings to her… In his letters home he had wanted to ask his brother, or his mother, or any number of other relations and friends who wrote to him. But he feared the knowledge more than the uncertainty. Much the way he had dashed away to Europe rather than face the rejection of the woman he had fallen deeply - and unexpectedly- in love with and whom was enamoured with another.
Though apparently he was wrong on that count. Fool he was.
"Jones, Emma is still unmarried. Mary tells me that she has turned down a number of serious proposals."
And at that his heart raced once more; its beat enlivened by even the news that Emma Swan was unmarried and unattached. The churning, tightening feeling in his gut began again and he chastised himself - he was a mature man of four and twenty, not some green lad. It didn't help. She had always had quite a different effect on him than any other lady and it seemed time had not eased his body's reaction to the mere mention of her name, nor the chance he would see her again.
"David, I beg you to keep this conversation between us. I know your bride to be is close with Emma, but I do not wish old feelings to colour your wedding celebrations. I will admit to a prior affection for Ms Swan. That is all."
For a moment, it looked like David was going to disagree before he thought better of it and instead placed a warm hand on his shoulder.
"You have my word."
/
A few paces away, behind the wonderful, awful tree that had hidden her from their view, Emma barely let herself release a breath until the pair had began to move away, remaining frozen until their voices had faded into nothingness.
Finally, she sagged against the trunk, the last of the energy she had expelled in concealing herself- and her reactions- leaving her body in a gust of air as she sank to the ground.
Killian was back.
Killian cared for her.
Killian had cared for her….
Her body tingled, her stomach ached and she frankly had no idea what she was going to do.
/
Killian Jones had been her dearest friend. Ever since she was five and he was seven. Since the day when he had allowed her to tag along on a fishing expedition with him and his elder brother, even though his brother had whined that she was 'just a baby'. He'd been kind a patient, letting her use his fishing rod and teaching her all manner of little things about plants and fish and suchlike around the lake between their family properties that she surely was half in love with him then. Well, love as a small child knows it.
They grew more together than apart as they aged. Friends through his time away at school, always keeping an easy teasing friendship, they were never happier than whiling away a summer's afternoon together. Killian spending almost enough time at Brooke Park for tongues to wag- had the Swans not put paid to that.
Until it changed that past summer. She had not seen him so much during his time at university. He did write, promising to visit on his return home, quickly followed by regrets when he found himself visiting with whichever of his college chums had taken it upon himself to arrange some weeks or hunting or shooting or suchlike things that young men did.
Finally, he returned last summer, just in time for the summer festivities at Brooke Park. He was handsome as always, bright eyed, freshly graduated from Cambridge, all perfect manners and grace. He was the same, yet, she noticed, different. She tried so hard to put her finger on what had changed over those two weeks. Every time they spoke, dined, danced. She studied him. But resolution eluded her.
It was not, however, until the final ball of the gathering that the feeling began. He danced with her the second dance, giving her warm smiles and witty repartee. He was so warm and solid, as always, but something in their dance made her breathless. He gazed into her eyes as they moved around the dance floor and it was if she were seeing him anew. Killian was changed.
That night, she lacked neither partners nor conversation, but still found her gaze lingering back to him as the night wore on. Was his hair different? Perhaps it was the cut of his coat? A different pair of dancing shoes? Something had kept her eyes on him, something made her gut twist a little every time another lady joined him on the ballroom floor. Something had made her realise that he was just about the most handsome man of her acquaintance. Which, in truth, she had always known yet still, the thought had shook her and confused her made her so confused that she had even deigned to dance with Lord Baelton- even though she knew he was a fortune hunter and that his father had had less than pleasant dealings with most of the other families in the neighbourhood.
As she danced with him, pasting on a glowing, vapid smile, the ache inside her grew and twisted and swelled until she was quite certain that she would never again return to her usual state of contentment. It was like itch that was impossible to scratch. She let Baelton bring her lemonade and stand with her a while, nodding at his empty conversation as she tried to put together the pieces of her confusion into some kind of coherent mosaic.
She lay awake that night, staring at her ceiling, resolving to address the issue with due haste the following day. She would ride over to his home, confront Killian (though what that would entail she was not exactly certain). She would test herself, see what these feelings meant. They had never been shy with one another. Now was not the time to start.
But of course, this never came to pass. He was gone that morning, leaving with the dawn. Leaving her with confusion and just a little bit feeling betrayed.
/
Ms Emma Swan was not a coward. Quite the opposite - her father had taught her to fence from a young age. Her mother had indulged her passion for powerful horses. She had always been the first to call out any boorish and bullying behaviour.
Indeed, she told herself, she was quite brave. Therefore the reason she was clinging to the edges of the ballroom was nothing to do with cowardice, instead it was all about reconnaissance.
Perhaps if she repeated those words in her mind enough times, they would become true.
The wedding ceremony itself was joyful and heartfelt- and her happiness for the couple had superseded her earlier panic about Killian's return. This was also helped by his choosing a seat at the rear of the church, removing any chance that their eyes should meet across the room.
However the wedding breakfast was a different affair. He greeted her family warmly, took her hand and bowed before her, his eyes lingering on hers for a second longer than needed. Her heart skittered and thudded, a feeling that continued throughout the meal, she was barely able to consume more than a few mouthfuls of food. Even when she wasn't looking at him, she knew he was there. His mere presence was like a warming sun. His gaze upon here, scorching. As the meal progressed heat crept up her neck and across her cheeks… she was never so thankful as when her mother declared it was time for the ladies to retire to rest for the evening.
And so now she found herself, in between dances, half hiding behind one of the sweeping, velvet curtains that lined one wall of the ballroom. She watched him dance. She watched him smile. She watched and she… wanted?
"You look miserable."
Emma started at the sound of Mary's voice.
"I have no idea what you mean."
Her friend chuckled as she linked their arms and drew her towards a small collection of chairs that had been set aside as a resting area. The pair sat, arranging their skirts, silent for a second as the orchestra began to pick up for a rousing country reel.
"Come now, this is my wedding day, I demand you enjoy yourself."
Emma gave her a pointed look. "I am fine." She paused a second before adding, "Merely a little malaised."
She couldn't help but look back towards the dancers. He was there again, partnered with a distant cousin, a pretty young girl with the most beautiful blue eyes.
Emma grimaced.
"My- has someone caught your eye?"
Emma felt the colour drain from her face. She licked her bottom lip, seeking the right reply that would dissuade Mary from this line of questioning-
(Which was silly, really. They never had secrets. They were the dearest of closest friends… but…)
The sickening ache that had plagued her since that morning in the woods returned with a vengeance.
Her friend took her hand, wrapping it in her own until Emma looked up. Mary's face beamed with the joy of a newlywed. Hope and love radiated from her beautiful features.
"I will not press you on the subject. You are not one to keep a secret lightly."
Emma gave Mary a shaky smile. In the five years they had known each other they had become as close as sisters and each other's confidente. If she could not trust Mary with her feelings, how could she ever expect to solve their puzzle?
"Indeed," her friend continued, "I like to think when Emma Swan is laid low by love, there will be little to disguise it."
Surely the ache inside of her could not be that emotion. Emma needed to rule it out. Love could not hurt, could it? "What does love feel like?" she blurted out.
Her friend's mouth fell open with a surprised look on her face. "Oh, my I…" she trailed off, clearly lost in thought, eyes shining and Emma knew she thought of her newly minted husband. "For me, it's happiness. Inside me, around me… A lightness and contentment. But I cannot speak with authority, Emma. I am told the experience is different for everyone.
Emma twisted in her seat, letting out a deep sigh. That was not how she felt at all.
"My parents expect a love match," she whispered, deciding that was a viable excuse for the question.
"And you shall have one. I am most confident. It will appear when you least expect it," Mary squeezed her hand once more as she stood. "I must see to our guests, but I shall come find you, later?"
Emma smiled, knowing dissuading her friend would be impossible.
As the bride left, in a swish of pale gold skirts, she looked once more upon Killian Jones and his young partner and a new thought appeared.
I wish that were I.
/
It was the same ballroom - Brooke Park's facilities being much larger than that of the Blanchard family.
The same place that he had last seen her, last watched her dance with Baelton, watched her eyes smile as they talked and laughed. It was where he had realised that his liking for Emma Swan was far more than that. That he cared for her. That he desired her. And that he could not have her.
Or so he had thought.
Tonight he was aware she was watching him. She hid it well, only glancing in his direction when she believed him occupied, but it was impossible for him to not know. Her gaze was a beacon against him, the awareness of her the best kind of distraction. As he danced with Miss Wolf, undertaking the usual pleasant conversation that took place during a country dance, his mind was half elsewhere. It was there, on the other side of the room, taking in its fill of her bright green eyes and creamy skin. She wore a silk gown in a pretty shade of blue. He knew without doubt that the colour would haunt him now. Whenever he saw that colour from that evening forth, he would think of her and how becoming she was that night, doused in candlelight, cheeks flushed from either the heat or the dancing-
Yes, he was a fool for her. Time and distance had in no way eased his feelings. They were instead more intensely acute for the lack of her these long, 12 months.
He bowed to his partner as the last chords of the dance faded away. After leading her back to the side of the dance floor, he quickly made his way to where Emma sat feigning indifference to her surroundings.
"Miss Swan," he announced as he reached her, holding back a smile as she slowly raised her head and made a show of surprise.
"Killian," she replied, her eyes widening.
"Emma," he said softly, just loud enough for her to hear.
He took a seat beside her - far enough for propriety's sake, but close enough to sense the tension in the set of her shoulders and the way she held her chin. He allowed a moment to pass.
"The ball, it's quite splendid," she shrugged, softly nodding towards the orchestra.
He nodded, "Yes, indeed."
Another moment of silence passed. Conversation had never been awkward between them. It struck him, thence, that he was quite unsure how to bring about a topic in this setting that would satisfy his need to understand Emma. And him. And what was or could or would be between them.
Quickly he stood, giving a brief bow, before holding out his hand. "May I beg your hand for this dance?"
She looked at him and blinked a few times. The first strains of the next set began. He worried that he needed to repeat himself, but she stopped him with a small frown.
"You waltz?" she asked.
Nodding, he replied, "I learned in Vienna, where they say it originates."
She shrugged softly. "I assume the young ladies there dance with greater poise and elegance than we English could aspire to."
He grinned. Emma had always had a tendency to veer towards self depreciation. It was one of the things he had always liked about her. "Impossible. You are lighter than air, my lady, when you grace the dance floor."
He grinned at her- a boyish smile, one he'd replaced over the years with a more mature expression. But not for Emma, one of his oldest friends.
Her eyes lit up and his breath caught.
"Well, as it is more than a year since you last joined me in a dance I dare say your opinion is not one best followed."
"Then let us rectify that. Waltz with me." He spoke softly, words that were almost swallowed up by din of those around them and the orchestra as they tuned their instruments for the next dance. Words just for her.
Emma looked at his hand and swallowed. She had certainly not anticipated his asking her to dance. Women outnumbered men in the Swan family and there were dozens of young ladies clamouring for a partner. She had also told herself he had not noticed her there, clinging to the outside of the room.
But to refuse would have been bad manners and she was many things, but ill mannered was not one.
And oh my, she wanted to dance with him. She desperately held back her pleasure in accepting, instead standing slowly and giving a small nod, placing her hand in his. He paused a moment, met her eyes and laid a soft kiss upon the back of her hand. How she mourned the fact that evening gloves were de rigueur, even at a country ball. How the little ache in her gut lessened and fluttered. How envious was she of a scrap of satin!
Killian led her onto the floor in silence, other couples joining them, the chatter of voices about mingling with the first bars of the waltz. Her hand slipped into his, her other to his shoulder, his left at her waist. Oh lord, how aware she was of his hand there, settled in that little curve, upon the cornflower blue silk she had chosen especially for the wedding. The one now she realised matched the colour of his eyes, eyes that were bluer than ever in the candlelight of the room.
In unison, they began the dance. The gentle rhythm of each step feeling natural and carefree- as if they had waltzed together a dozen times. He was indeed a wonderful dancer. Light footed, he led with gentle strength, swirling her across the waxed wooden floor in time to the strains of the violin. It didn't take long her her to be dizzy with sensation, a hazy smile on her lips as they moved easily together, as one. The room faded as her heart raced, his eyes fixed upon hers. He was studying her face: she watched his gaze track from one feature to the next. She felt breathless and exposed, but she didn't look away, instead she matched him. Her eyes lingering on his full bottom lip, a sudden urge to taste it overwhelming her.
Far too soon the dance was complete, the partners separated and made their bows, Emma suddenly realising that not one word has passed between them, yet so much seemed to have passed between them without it. Still,oh how she wanted to talk, to claw back those absent months, to finally understand just what she felt and why she felt it. Killian escorted her back to her seat and was about to release her arm when she gently placed her hand on his.
"Do you care to take some air? It's rather stifling, is it not?"
She looked up at him, more aware than ever of his slight advantage in height, enjoying the view of his hair as it curled over his brow and the way the angle made his lips look lush and full in the flickering light.
"Of course," he smiled, guiding her through the guests towards one of the two balconies that adjoined the ballroom and looked out onto Brooke Park's pretty lake.
Once outside, Emma moved quickly to the balustrade, anchoring herself against the cool stone, staring out into the moonlit darkness, desperately trying to think what to say. He thought quicker.
"Miss Mary is a kind soul. David is most fortunate."
"She is the best of all women, the best of friends," Emma agreed, "I selfishly mourn that as a married woman she will have less time for our acquaintance."
"Understandable," he murmured, making his way towards where Emma stood. "They seem very much in love."
Emma nodded, still staring of into the distance, watching the reflection of the moon ripple across the blacked lake, concentrating on the shimmering shape as she sought to distract herself from how her heart was racing as he moved closer to her, here on the empty balcony where they seemed so very alone even with a ball mere yards behind them.
"I see it in his eyes, how he cares for her." She tried to keep the envy from her voice. She had seen many times the way they looked at each other. Emma may not have understood what love felt like, but she could see it in another person. Her mother and father had been her example though her formative years. The way they loved each other with just a glance- she could see it so easily.
"You have not married," he said, cutting through her thoughts, causing her to cast a glance in his direction whilst raising her brows.
"I have not," she replied slowly.
"I am… surprised," he responded, slowly pushing back from where he stood to turn more fully to her.
"Why?" she asked, a little breathlessly, quickly moistening her bottom lip as she spoke.
His expression blanked for a second, his brow furrowed, "Well you are… you and... I thought, I mean…"
His tone meandered as he stepped back a little.
"Yes…"
He opened his mouth but no more words came out. His unexpected muteness gave her pause, emboldened her. If he were so affected by the turn of conversation, then perhaps he did care. That he had not been honest that morning in the woods. That a past affection was still a current one.
"I suppose I have not found what I am looking for," she added boldly, clasping her hands together in front of her. Patiently staring him down, willing him to understand where she was taking the conversation.
Finally, he replied, "And what is that?"
Their eyes met. Then she let eyes trace his features once more, skating down the slope of his nose, taking in the sharpness of his jaw, the way his slightly too long hair curled at his collar, the light pinkness at his cheeks that barely showed beneath his summer tan.
She'd missed his face. She'd missed him. With her eyes, she projected the want she felt- the tug towards him that still so confused her, yet seemed to make increasing sense the more she was near him. The more the knot in her gut loosened and warmed and became something altogether more pleasant, and addictive.
His eyes dropped first, a hand ran through his hair.
"I had just thought-" he cleared his throat, "Last summer, I had thought you and Lord Baelton would become- I mean it made sense to entwine your families-"
"Our families?" she cried, "My parents barely tolerate Lord Gold! How could you-" she trailed off taking a long step towards him, close enough to place her palm upon the broad expanse of his chest should she wish.
(And she wished…)
"You danced with him. More than once. Last summer." His words were clipped, breathless.
And the way he was looking at her-
She placed her hand on his arm. "I danced with you. More than once. Last summer. But then you left. You left, before…"
She couldn't finish her words. Instead, she willed him to understand. It was impossible to comprehend why talking with Killian, a man she had known almost as long as any other, was proving so difficult. The words were hard to leave her lips. The ache inside continued and grew and changed and she didn't feel quite so brave any more.
"I thought I was acting honourably." His breath was now haggard, each inhalation in time with her own. The world seemed to melt away a little at the edges.
"You really thought I cared for him?"
His silence was affirmation.
Gently, she slid her hand up his arm to the lapel of his jacket.
"Remember what you used to say when we were children, playing pirates?"
He nodded. "Aye. A man unwilling to fight for what he wants deserves what he gets."
"I didn't think you were a coward."
Emma knew she was playing with fire, she knew that this could all end with embarrassment and blushes, but she also saw the way he was looking at her. She had heard what he had said to David that morning. And she knew, in her own heart, that she cared for him more than she had ever understood before. Somehow, months of distance has shown her that a childhood friendship could grow into something more. If one was willing to take it.
So she took it.
Her hand tightened in the lapel of his jacket, tugging him towards her, boldly dismissing the fear of being discovered by any of the guests and taking what she wanted. "Killian, it's not just men who must fight," she whispered, "A woman must too."
And then she pressed her lips against his, and everything before was nothing.
The very opposite of an innocent, Killian had lost count of the kisses he had shared. Yet, in that moment, those past caresses faded away into nothing. Each one a mere shadow of the moment Emma Swan's lips met his. Everything he thought he knew about kissing flew from his mind as she pulled him close and melted away any doubt about how she felt about him.
Her lips were soft yet firm, teasing his apart with gentle strokes, her tongue tracing the seam of his mouth, a soft groan escaping those lips as one hand threaded through his hair and brought him closer to her. He was wrapped in the warmth of her honeysuckle perfume- light and sunlight and happiness. In this kiss, he knew that resisting was futile. His hand traced the line of buttons on the back of her dress with gentle pressure until barely a hair's-breadth stood between them, the other cupped her cheek, tilting her jaw to further deepened the embrace, pouring twelve months worth of regret and longing into that moment.
She pulled back, placing one palm on his chest. He could see it rise and fall with his rapid breathing. He wanted to resume the embrace, kiss her again. More than kiss her. Make up for all those wasted days and weeks and months- It was only their exposed location that gave him pause. As liberal as the Swans were, he would not lead their daughter into public ruination.
Slowly, he placed his hand over hers.
"That was…"
"Indeed," she nodded, cheeks flushed and lips red from the kiss. And he knew in that moment that his life could be only complete if he were able to make her smile. And laugh. And kiss her…
"I want to kiss you again."
She nodded, reaching up on her toes. He paused her, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder.
"No, you misunderstand. I want to kiss you every day. Whenever I like. I want to make you smile. I want you to tease me and make me laugh. I-"
Before he knew what he was doing, he sank onto one knee, reaching the ground as his purpose crystallised. He had tried to run from his feelings but it was not to be. He loved her.
Taking her hand from his chest, he held it in his, gazing up at her as he asked, "Emma Swan, I have travelled far and wide and yet I cannot escape you. You bewitch me. You have my heart. My soul. Have me. Will you marry me?"
With a gasp and a smile, she studied his expression. And she saw it, love, clear and true. The love of friendship transformed and grown into that of romantic love. And within herself she knew its partner, its equal resided. There was only one answer possible:
"Yes."
Author's Note:
Thank you for getting to the end of this!
It's been so long since I posted or wrote anything, so many abandoned attempts and months of frustration. I hope you liked this version of Killian and Emma, I do adore the time period and writing them in it.
And a huge thank you to my long suffering beta (and friend IRL) nickillian/ztofan- been with me for five years and never stops believing in me. THANK YOU!