Windswept

Chapter 1

Away From the Altar

"Congratulations!" A handful of men clustered around the groom, all anxious to curry favor, approval or perhaps some kind of endorsement from the man.

More bored than peeved, the man waved them all off and reached for the hand of his lovely bride to lead her away from the altar.

She was trembling, not noticeable to anyone else, but he could feel it once he'd taken her hand. It was shaking, all the while she was smiling and nodding at the wedding guests, the very picture of a happy bride. She did not meet his eyes, passively allowing him to lead her out of the chapel and into the sleek black carriage awaiting the newly wedded couple.

He assisted her in ascending the carriage and then, holding his cane in one hand and using the side of the door compartment, he pulled himself up and into the sleek covered transport. He sat across from her, resting his cane next to himself. He glanced at the young woman who had just tied herself to him. He saw that, although she kept her eyes downcast, she was examining him as she could through her lashes. Clever girl. Cautious girl.

He took a moment to examine his bride. Although he'd seen pictures of her and had read through multiple reports from different sources, he'd actually only known this woman for less than an hour, having met her at the chapel's altar. She, as all reports but one had said, was absolutely stunning – a delicate beauty with a porcelain complexion, sparkling blue eyes, and lustrous chestnut curls.

There had been that one report that the woman was 'undersized' and 'wan.' The report had gone on to speak with some disdain regarding the young woman's 'countrified' manners and finished with artfully suggesting that the woman would not be acceptable in the urbane circles in which he moved. That report had come from one of his female operatives, a woman he had come to distrust but was nonetheless still using. He was, after all, not one to discount any source of information, even a biased one.

He continued his examination of his bride. With his cultivated eye for fashion, he couldn't help but notice that her dress was about twenty years, likely more, out-of-date. It had clearly been handed-down and re-cut and altered to fit her tiny frame, but the alterations had not been completed by a modiste familiar with current fashion. Its color had almost certainly faded from a brilliant gold and was now only a soft, muted yellow-gold. There were cleverly placed embroideries and lace appliques, he suspected, there to cover weak spots in the fabric, perhaps even holes. The only jewelry she wore was a simple gold chain necklace with a single modest pearl pendant.

His own clothes reflected the height of fashion - a pristine white shirt of fine lawn cotton with a high collar and an intricate lace jabot, sleeves with extravagant deep cuffs finished with onyx and gold cufflinks, a golden silk vest, a black velvet jacket and black pants of the finest spun, softest animal fibers. His boots, also black, were glossily polished and fit snuggly along his calves.

"I'm going to send you on ahead to Dark Castle," he spoke, startling her out of her examination.

"Sir?" she clearly did not understand.

"I have business in the capital that needs my immediate and . . . personal . . . attention," he explained. "Such a bore, you know. My business affairs are dull beyond measure, especially because they require on-going attention when I'd much rather be out riding or if I must be indoors playing cards. I left in mid-crisis to participate in our wedding, but I must now return."

"So you won't . . ." she didn't finish and he could see in the waning light of the late afternoon that she was blushing.

He spoke softly, "My most sincere regrets, but I shall have to postpone the pleasures of a wedding night." He stretched out as he could in the tight quarters of the coach. "I would send you on to my people at Dark Castle. My majordomo is Jefferson and the head housekeeper is Mrs. Potts. I think you will find both of them to be cordial and welcoming."

"Yes, sir," she whispered.

He reached into the small cabinet he'd had built into the carriage. It was a vehicle that he often used for business travel and he had equipped it with a stationery center, including a serviceable lap desk, as well as a medium-sized box suitable for stashing food and drink, and, in his case, a small bottle of potent whiskey.

"I will be parting from you at Brick Waystation, about an hour from here. There will be one of my airships waiting for me there. I shall give you a missive that you will then give to Jefferson."

He sat back rubbing his sore knee. He took a breath. The next topic might prove to be a delicate one. "I am requesting that he arrange for a dressmaker to attend you immediately. I plan to take you to Hadensburg and introduce you. As my wife, you must be attired in only the most fashionable clothes."

"Yes sir," she whispered her response, her hand nervously picking at one of the folds of her gown.

He continued, "While you're at the castle, you will, of course, be free to wander the grounds. I have a lovely garden and, I'm told, a splendid library."

Her face briefly lit up, "A library?" she asked looking up at him.

So that report was true. She was literate – and more than just able to read, but well-read. He had doubted it initially. Most noble women were not – as were not most noble men – they had scribes to read and write for them.

"I don't think you'll have any difficulty recognizing it when you find it. Floor to ceiling, very nicely appointed," he assured her with a slight smile. "I do request that you stay out of my study in the North Tower – it is a rule that I have for the entire household staff. I conduct my business from that room and cannot risk anything being disturbed."

"I shall stay out of your study, sir," she told him.

They rode in silence while he used the remaining light to write his letter. Soon enough, he sealed it and put it aside.

He noticed his bride was quietly watching the passing countryside. As the sun began to set and she was now enshrouded in shadows, she turned toward him. For the first time, she spoke to him without him addressing her first.

"Why did you marry me?"

"The brutal truth? I require a wife with impeccable bloodlines. My own are rather . . . murky and there are places that are closed off to me, despite my money and my power, because of this . . . deficiency."

He wanted to tell her the truth. He'd wanted – needed – access to her father's property. He'd hadn't even known about her existence until he had sent in agents to bring back information about the Earldom, but the moment he'd seen her portrait, he had thought she was the most exquisite beauty he had ever seen and he'd wanted nothing more than to possess her – another beautiful thing to grace his houses, a beautiful thing that would complement his other beautiful things.

Then the reports about her character, her devotion to her people, her kindness had begun to come in. And the more he heard about her, her spirit, her determination, her desire to help her people, the more he wanted to know her.

Initially, he'd had no intention of remarrying, his time already too consumed, his life too busy. But this woman . . . she was not one that he could risk losing, certainly not to some lout who wouldn't appreciate her. She was perfect in every way for him – her beauty, her intelligence, her loyalty to her people, her family ties, even the desperation that had likely driven her to accept his offer. She was a woman fit to sit by his side, bear his children - a woman he could very well learn to love.

But now, at this moment, he couldn't afford to have weaknesses and telling her all these things, his feelings, his hopes, and dreams - these things would be weaknesses. These thoughts and feelings could easily be used against him. He thought it best for her to think that this had simply been a convenient business arrangement.

She nodded, not at all flummoxed by his reply regarding his less than desirable family lineage. "And my father desperately needed your money and your power to rebuild his estate and provide for his people."

He appreciated her ready insight, "That is true. Your father and I have mutually beneficial interests. Otherwise, I would suspect, your father would never have considered the son of an upstart nouveau-riche gambler and a disreputable actress to be a suitable husband for his only daughter." He caught a small, gentle smile as she acknowledged his statement.

They rode again in silence for a while.

"And why did you agree for me to become your husband?" he asked her he had to ask.

She did not look at him. "I'm a dutiful daughter," was all she said, at first. Then, "And, I recognized that your wealth, your resources could help my people. They have fallen on hard times."

He nodded, "So I've heard." He leaned forward, his eyes glinting in the waning sun. "I shall help your people," he promised her.

"And I shall be a good wife to you, sir," she answered. She met his eyes, her gaze steady. She meant what she'd said.

Brick Waystation

The sun was sitting on the horizon when they arrived at Brick Waystation, a struggling yet stalwart outpost between the outlying fiefs of the two large estates. It was a frayed-edged plain brick structure, which likely had given the facility its name. It was equipped with an array of spartan sleeping quarters upstairs and, downstairs, a common room. Next to the station was a small docking port that could manage one airship at a time. A small transport was already anchored there, the moorings creaking as the wind blew the little ship around.

He had a little while before his airship would be ready to launch, so he had ordered supper for them both. He had autocratically taken possession of the Brick Station's largest suite.

Suite was a generous word for their room. It was a large attic room with a bed, a table and two chairs all set on a bare wood floor. There was an inadequate fireplace and a single smoky-paned window. The wash closet was down the hall to be shared by all the guests. At his request, their food was served in the room and he sat across from her at the table.

She thought the food bland, but nourishing – a bean-based stew with rustic bread. There was water to drink for her. She hadn't eaten since early morning and hunger certainly increased the palatability of the meal.

Her new husband picked over his food, evidently not finding it as tasty as she did.

"The food here is barely edible," he complained. "And climbing all those impossible rickety stairs . . . " he shook his head, rubbing his knee. She had noticed that the cane was less a fashion statement and more of a utilitarian necessity for the man.

"Perhaps one of my first projects could be to upgrade this facility so we'll have someplace decent to stay if we're traveling by carriage back and forth between your father's estate and Dark Castle." He sighed, "The Emperor is responsible for maintaining these waystations, but these outlying posts get little money. If you want base creature comforts, you have to provide them for yourself." And he poured himself some whiskey from the bottle he'd had in the carriage. "Of course, I also want to get an airship landing pad set up by your father's estate."

"I had heard it was dangerous traveling by air, what with the pirates," she said quietly.

"It is," he nodded, pushing his plate away. "And they grow bolder every day. I don't know why the Emperor hasn't done anything about them. They interfere with my business. And of greater importance, they often seem to be the only thing that people can talk about. Such a bore. But for all the chaos the pirates cause, it's still most efficient to ship products and transport people by air." He yawned and adjusted his cuffs. "But I certainly don't want to discuss business with my wife. It's burdensome enough to have to do so with my partners."

"I don't object, sir."

He looked at her. "I'd heard you were a bit of an odd duck. That you read a lot and were always scribbling in your journal."

"I do have unusual interests," she admitted. "I'm also a tolerable dancer. Along with playing the pianoforte, and producing excellent needlework, I can shoot a gun as well as any man and I ride better than most."

"Well, other than riding, I can't do any of those things, but I do play a mean game of cribbage. I'm also rather an excellent billiard player and I can tolerate an excessive amount of whiskey."

"You'll have to teach me cribbage, my lord."

He looked at his new wife, "I'm a trifle concerned that someone of your accomplishments might surpass my meager skills. You seem to be a rather adept person."

"Shall that be a problem?" she asked him.

He didn't respond right away, studying her from across the table. "I don't think so, madam. I don't think so." He pushed back from his meal and spoke slowly. "I will be on the airship and sail through the night to the capital." He paused and spoke even more slowly, "I . . . regret . . . now . . . having to leave you."

He stood and offered his hand to her, pulling her to her feet. He looked intently into her eyes, his brown eyes locking with her blue ones.

"I shall endeavor to finish up my business and return to attend to . . . to you," and he lowered his mouth to hers.

She'd never been kissed on the mouth before, their grazing of lips at the altar hardly counting as a kiss. She initially froze at the unfamiliar contact. But it wasn't unpleasant, his lips firm but gentle against hers. He nudged her mouth open and, surprised, she found herself clinging to him. She could taste their supper and the whiskey he had drunk.

He pulled away from her, his brown eyes darkened. It seemed to the young woman that he was hesitating.

She thought that he might kiss her again.

"Soon," he promised and left her.

The young woman stood a moment in the dimly lit bedroom, pulling herself together.

This had been quite a day.

What Night Brings

"Whatever have you gotten yourself into, Isabelle Lacinda French?" she asked herself.

Things had been bad, very bad, on her father's lands. The family was even older than the Emperor's, but their fortunes had fallen and they were only just managing to pay their taxes and continue to hold on to the ancestral home. Once the market for Avonlea's rare pink marble had fallen off, the rose-to-salmon colored marble abruptly going out of fashion, the earldom had begun to suffer. Of course, even if there had been a market, the emperor's conscription policies had taken their most able workers and they no longer had enough men available to work the quarries.

If they had been left to their own devices, they would have done well enough, but they continually had to pay out ever-increasing tributes and service fees. Without an external source of income and with a dwindling supply of marriable men, they had rapidly depleted their ready resources.

Most recently there had been a trilogy of disasters: a devastating illness that took the old and the young, the emperor's latest conscription for military service that took the bulk of the remaining healthy young adult males, and then, most critically, failing crops that affected all those who had been left to tend the lands.

Her father had already sold off what few material possessions they'd still had. She had barely managed to keep back her pearl necklace, it being one of the few things she had that had belonged to her mother. The horses had been sold off except those few that could also work the land. The peasants continued to work the lands for shelter and a share of the food they helped grow.

Belle had worked as hard as any of the peasants. She'd spent time with their aging healer and began to learn much about medicine. The older woman was now struggling with the physical demands of getting around to see the ill and Belle began to take on this all-important duty. Belle had discovered an aptitude for the healing arts and the aged healer took the time to teach her about some of the more dangerous treatments – such as the dragon's bloodroot which could soothe a cough or stop someone from breathing. There was also the pappara leaf which would make cattle wander in circles and make people see things that weren't there, but in the right dosage could stop mental fits. And there was the orchis seed plant which could calm a rapid heart but, paradoxically, too much would make a person frenzied with energy, driving them to extremes and preventing them from sleeping. There was also the hedge vine, the bark of the white willow tree, the fruit of the sweet linsey, and so many more, all which could do harm if not prepared and administered correctly.

Most dangerous of all was the wild nimbus poppy. The dried excrement from the seed pod of this wild, elusive plant could be used in small doses as a calmative, but in more powerful doses was a euphoric and highly addictive. Belle had become aware that a few enterprising (or desperate) souls had taken to hunting and harvesting the rare plant and selling the white sparkling dust they were able to process from it on the black market. She had not approved of this activity, knowing Dust use led to misery and death, but she had not been able to make any headway on apprehending the Dust dealers.

Along with her healing duties, Belle also taught school three mornings a week, not just to the children, but to anyone who wanted to learn the basics of reading and calculations. She wasn't above spending her other mornings in the vegetable garden and afternoons involved with other arduous jobs, such as soap-making or candle-dipping. To her father's dismay, she'd learned to shoulder a rifle and hunt game.

She'd scrounged to discover other successful subsistence practices, encouraging the peasantry to domesticate rabbits and keep chickens as a source of food. She had looked the other way when the peasants had hunted and fished on the Earl's private lands and had quickly developed a reputation for fairness and common sense among her people.

Belle had realized that she was the last thing of value that her father had. It was up to her to save her father's estate, her people. She had to marry well, to marry a man who could financially restore her father's lands, perhaps even find some sources of revenue and, even more needed, some way to entice young men back into the earldom. For herself, there had been marriage offers aplenty, many men willing to accept both the property and the woman, but none of the men had seemed willing to renovate the old estate and initiate needed improvement. Both Belle and her father had been leery of these men who seemed likely to sell the property and turn out those faithful workers who had served so well for so long.

She and her father had been growing increasingly desperate when the letter from Master Stiltskin had arrived. The man had a reputation – although ruthless, skirting the law in his business dealings, he nevertheless was rumored to favor frivolous pastimes and fashion. Rumors were also that he preferred the company of men, more like boys, over that of women.

But he'd offered marriage and a promise to restore the Earldom of Avonlea to its former glory.

The man was known for keeping his word and honoring his deals.

They had to consider the man's offer.

Stiltskin's property was adjacent to theirs on the south side and they knew he was enormously wealthy. The story was that his father had acquired the duchy (the lands, but not the title) in a card game, but there had also been accusations of cheating. His father had further scandalized the countryside by a liaison with an actress, a beautiful woman for certain, but a woman of dubious reputation. Their only child, a son, had accepted his less than savory inheritance and had gone on to barter it into wildly successful multi-interest business ventures. Although he presented as a dandy, Belle knew the man commanded banking enterprises, shipping businesses, and massive property investments. His fortune, it was told, challenged that of the imperial family. He made deals with the titled and the untitled, the rich and poor and there was little that happened in the Empire that he had not had a hand in, including darker dealings, even criminal activities were said to be under his purview.

But for all his power, all his money, the younger Stiltskin did lack respectability. He lacked any semblance of respectability.

By joining the Earl's family to himself, he not only added a third again onto his own lands, and, as he had clearly pointed out to her, her bloodlines were impeccable. Through her, he could buy some portion of the respectability that he lacked.

When she had met the man, standing at the altar, on her wedding day, she thought him interesting looking. He was not handsome in a classic way, but perhaps it was his eyes, his soft brown eyes, that lent character to his face; they seemed to catch every nuance of movement. She'd seen that he was dressed elegantly, his clothes new, expensive, of the finest material and workmanship, far better than anything she possessed.

His hand was warm when he wrapped it around her own cold fingers. She had wondered if he had felt her trembling. As he had left her at the station, he'd kissed her and his mouth had been hot on hers, stirring something deep within her. Belle was now wondering if her marriage bed was to be as tepid as some others had warned her that it would be.

NEXT: Stiltskin ponders the ramifications of his marriage.

Belle arrives at the Dark Castle.