Lorna Doone: Two Sides Of A Coin

This'll remain an oneshot unless I get some reviews. Basically I adored Aidan Gillen in Lorna Doone, and I really wanted Lorna to end up with him, crazy as it seems. But that's what fanfiction is for.

I personally don't think that what Lorna told John Ridd was entirely truthful, so I'm twisting it slightly.

Because I want something to happen between Carver and Lorna, as well.

Based off the 2001 TV film version.

"Do you love him?" John asked Lorna impatiently, as his eyes boring into hers. Lorna's breath caught. For the terrible truth was that she could not say yay or nay to John's question.

Some part of her loved Carver Doone, as another loved John Ridd. She was caught between the two, between darkness and light; imprisonment and freedom, between obsession and devotion.

But was there any pertinent distinction?

Where did she belong?

Since leaving the valley of the Doones, she'd felt as a fish out of water, once the novelty of freedom wore off, and the attack happened. Despite the kindness of John's mother, she was not where she belonged.

She longed for home, strange as it seemed. No matter what she told John, she missed the rugged, impenetrable valley walls and green, wild waterfalls. Plover's Burrow was not her home, was not where her soul rested.

For so many years Lorna had dreamt of escaping Doone Valley, and yet here she was, yearning for it. For her people, rough and violent though they were.

Inhaling deeply, Lorna replied to John's question.

"If you don't know the answer to that question by now, then nothing I say will make any difference," she said passionately, before tearing away, tears blurring her vision.

It was all she could say; John could take it either way.

Lorna fled around the side of one of the farm buildings, her sobs breaking free. After the pain of Ensor's death, watching as Carver punished the people who sheltered her, and now John's allegation that she loved Carver Doone….

It was too much, because it was partially true.

Finding a solitary spot in which to think, Lorna collapsed against the side of the stone building, and allowed her tears free rein.

The cold wind snaked through her dress, as she stood there in the mud, shivering. Suddenly a hand, warm and rough, tucked her hair back behind her neck. Just before she recognised its touch with dread, it comforted her. Warmed her.

Made her feel loved.

Until that hand turned her head to come face to face with Carver Doone.

She gasped, pressing herself back into the stone wall, but his strong arm wound itself around her shoulder and pulled her against his muscular, rough leather-clad chest. His breeches and boots were soiled and muddy, his face caked with grime and sweat, his black hair lank. His dark eyes entrapped hers, so she was paralysed and couldn't even think about calling for John.

"Come with me," Carver murmured, his hot breath washing over her face. Lorna felt dizzy, as her breath hitched, and her eyes stared at lips that had once before forcibly caressed her own and dark eyes that pierced into her soul.

Lorna couldn't shake her head yes or no.

"Carver, please leave me be," Lorna begged him quietly. The young Doone lord shook his head.

"Never. If I can't have you then no one else will. I will never, ever give you up!" he snarled possessively. His grip tightened on her hair, and she gasped in pain. Something shifted in his eyes, as Carver leant his head in, and kissed her.

This time, Lorna did not fight, some part of her curious to see if Carver's kiss was anything different from John's kiss. A moment later, she had to concede that they were entirely different.

Unlike John's tender yet passionate caresses, the way Carver kissed her was similar to the way a starving man might react when he sees a feast. He kissed her like he might die the second their lips disconnected, and so it was hot and fierce and wild.

As a questing heat slid over Lorna's limp lips, she let him part them, and allowed herself to be claimed. For that was what it felt like, a claiming.

A second later, he left her mouth, as they both panted raggedly.

"You didn't fight me," Carver breathed against her bruised lips, as she looked into his eyes, full of confusion.

She hadn't fought him, on the contrary, for a moment she'd exulted in the wild caress.

"Come back with me, Lorna," Carver suddenly asked her wildly. "Your people need you, the Doones need you. I need you. Come home,"

Knowing there would be a 'but', Lorna arched one brow cynically. "And if I don't?"

"Then I will come back with forty men, and there won't be so much as a brick left standing of this farm when I've finished. I will make you watch as I kill John Ridd, and his family!" Carver spat out venomously, particularly on John's name. Lorna stared at him, seeing the threat, as she struggled against his hold. He let her go, as she slumped against the farm building, breathless.

Carver held out one hand commandingly. "Come with me, Lorna. You know where you belong, and it has never been here."

Lorna recognised the truth in his words, even as her mind rebelled against his command. She was not anyone's to order around.

"Why me, Carver? As you said, you could have a hundred women. Why me?" she asked, her voice a bare whisper on the wind, as the sounds of John rebuilding the farm not a hundred metres away echoed around them.

"What would I want with a hundred women?" Carver scoffed disdainfully. "When not one of them would possess your spirit, your wildness, your beauty? You torture me, and you master me. My desire, the only desire left in my fevered brain, is to make you happy. Come home with me,"

Lorna shuddered, and felt her soul cry out for home. For the valley of the Doones.

For years, the crimes Carver and the other Doone men committed had long stopped her from loving him, except in the darkest recesses of her heart, shackled by the chains of logic and morality.

But their shackles had rusted and turned to dust. John could never love her for who she truly was. She was a Doone, and possessed their hedonistic natures and fiery tempers. She could never be the wife of a country farmer. Too much of an inferno burnt in her breast for her to accept such a tranquil life, and it would destroy everything around her.

From the first moment she'd met John, she had known she loved him. He was exciting and new and so unlike anyone she had ever met, and he offered the freedom and the promise of stepping foot outside of her then depressingly dull home.

But Carver…

Carver was like the thunder clouds massing in the sky. He was the wild cry of the hawk as it flew overhead. He was passionate, tempestuous, impatient, possessive, malevolent and jealous, but just as now, had always made her feel safe and comforted.

He'd comforted her as a child when she'd awoken, trembling, from nightmares. He'd held her tightly when she'd had to have her arm set after she fell from a tree in the orchard. He had protected her for years, cared for her, and only sought her love in return.

Was that so wrong?

A memory came back, of a not dissimilar conversation only weeks ago atop the falls in Doone valley.

Lorna waited impatiently atop the waterfall of Doone valley, hoping that John would come today, but he did not. He was already half an hour late, as the sun moved overhead. Had he grown tired of associating with a Doone, a woman he could have no future with?

Suddenly, Lorna sensed someone's eyes upon her, and she spun in her seat.

Carver.

She gasped and stood abruptly, hoping he would take her gasp for mere surprise at seeing him. Averting her eyes, so he would not see the guilt in them, she made to walk back up the path.

"Who are you waiting for?" Carver asked her impudently, as she brushed past him. Tears struck her eyes for a second, before she wiped them away.

"No one," she muttered brusquely, as she continued on up the path. Carver followed her a moment later.

They were walking back through one of the many clearings, occupied by only a few trees, when Carver suddenly darted in front of her, blocking her progress.

Lorna fought not to let him see how affected she was by his presence, as he crowded her back slightly against a tree, as she reluctantly met his black gaze.

"I wanted to talk to you," he began, as Lorna stared at him, her heart sinking. "You are very beautiful, Lorna…"

Lorna's heart cried out in despair. Was that all she was to be loved for? Her beauty and nothing else?

"…You know how much I admire you. How much I love you,"

"I am unworthy of your affection," Lorna protested weakly, as he pressed her back into the tree trunk behind her, her gaze trapped in his.

Carver shook his head impatiently. "That is for me to decide. We were meant to be together, you know that," he said, his voice and manner gentle and yet firm. His breath washed over her face.

"Because Ensor wishes it?" Lorna asked derisively, sure this was only happening because Ensor wished them to be married. Carver couldn't love her for herself.

Not like John might've done.

But he couldn't. She was a Doone, a hated enemy of the people. Lorna brought herself back to reality, wonder struck in her heart as Carver's next words brought the distinct lie to her original hypothesis.

"Because we do and always have," he murmured tenderly, his hands rising to gently cup her face, tilting it upwards to meet his. Lorna's breath hitched at the feel of his slightly callused hands on her smooth skin, abrading the soft flesh. His lips brushed hers.

Remembrances of all his crimes, all the rumours of the murders he'd committed, the rapes, the pillages and the thievery came rushing back, as Lorna turned her head aside, pushing him away, even as her soul cried out in disappointment.

She made to run, making it as far as the next tree before Carver's longer legs and athleticism allowed him to catch her wrist and spin her around to face him.

"I could have a hundred women!" he snarled angrily, all gentleness gone. Angered by his vanity and arrogance, Lorna retorted before she thought it through.

"Take them then!" she cried bitterly, glaring at him scornfully. What did she care if he took a hundred women? For the crimes he'd committed in the name of their family, she would never give her love to him. But one look at his angered face had her stiffening, reminding her to be cautious. Carver would be the Lord of the Doones soon, if Ensor's illness got any worse, and she wouldn't put it past him to force her.

"I do not mean to offend you," she murmured apologetically, bowing her head, averting her eyes humbly. And truly she did not mean to offend him; how she wished they could just go back to the innocent interaction of her childhood days.

Carver once again crowded her back against a tree trunk. "What does offence have to do with it?" he asked derisively, "What do I care about your sly ways of tormenting a man?"

Lorna stared at him, astounded, before anger once more flared up at his presumption. "You think I'm playing some kind of game with you?" she asked incredulously, before she threw caution to the winds with her bluff. "Then listen to me. I have never loved you, Carver, and I never could…"

It was but a half-truth. She had loved him, and did love him, but his very nature and the crimes he'd committed would never allow it to blossom. It would never be.

"…If you do love me as you say, then leave me alone," Lorna finished through gritted teeth, as she turned around and made to walk off. But a strong hand grabbed her neck, hauling her back to him, so their faces were close, and their bodies crushed together. Lorna could barely breathe.

"You will be my wife," Carver promised her, one hand twined painfully with her trailing waves of mahogany brown hair, a fell promise in his dark eyes.

"Ensor would never let you force me," Lorna retorted defiantly, sure of that. Her grandfather loved her too much to give in to Carver's cruelty. A cruelty he displayed when his eyes glittered maliciously at his next sentence.

"Ensor will not live much longer…" he trailed off, his gaze falling to her lips. Abruptly, he pressed his to them, kissing her passionately, even whilst Lorna fought and struggled, outraged he would try to force her.

Allured by the passion she glimpsed beneath the surface.

Finally he released her lips, an animalistic look of satisfaction in his dark, burning eyes. "We will be married, the day after his death, and you will love me," he told her dictatorially, as she struggled against his hold, against her destiny.

She could never love him, for who he was, and yet that was exactly why she did love him.

She wrested from his grip and ran off, leaving him standing behind her in the clearing…

Lorna's mind returned to the present, as her eyes focussed once more on the gloved hand held towards her commandingly, like the hand of fate itself.

Was this to be her destiny? Was that why she could not let John kill him last night?

Because she instinctively sensed her future lay with him, however reluctantly?

"Lorna…" Carver said, impatience beginning to seethe in his tone, as she became aware of shouts and cries coming from the farmhouse.

Shouting her name.

"Lorna!"

"Lorna!"

"Lorna, come with me now!" Carver said, lunging forward for her hand. Lorna stepped sideways, leading him further around the farm building.

"If I go with you, will you give me your word you will not take any further action against John and his family?" she asked him desperately, her mind nearly made up. Carver nodded edgily.

"Swear it!" she demanded, still refusing to take his hand. Carver sighed through his teeth.

"I swear it," he muttered aggressively. Slowly, Lorna placed her hand in his, and allowed him to lead her away, as the searching cries of the other man she loved echoed behind her.

Carver led her into the forest and over a bluff until they reached his waiting horse. He helped her to mount, before swinging himself up beside her, wrapping one arm around her waist.

Steadying her, holding her.

Safe, warm, loved…

Her eyes strayed to the lights in the windows of the farmhouse, a few miles distant, as shouts filled the air. To the life she might've had.

"He could never know you like I can, my love…" Carver whispered in her ear, holding her tightly, possessively, triumph in his crowing voice, yet it was also seductive, alluring. Irresistible. "…He could never touch you like I can. He could never love you as I can,"

As much as Lorna wanted to think otherwise, there was truth in Carver's words. John would never be able to love her, because she was a Doone. There was too much bad blood there.

It would have destroyed them.

She belonged with her own people, her own destiny. It was time she stopped fighting it, and embraced it. And him.

The man behind her wheeled the horse around with a twitch of his reins, and set off at a canter, as they rode towards the entrance to the valley of the Doones.

Home.

Together, she and Carver would be as two sides of a coin. The lord and lady of the Doones.

It was her true fate, and it was time to stop fighting.

Lorna shivered at the cold wind, as she snuggled back into Carver's warm, supportive arms.

Carver's lips curved into a triumphant smile. At last, at long last, she was his and his alone.