Disclaimer: Still don't own it, nope.
"Hush."
"Don't you tell me to - "
He holds a single finger to her lips and she pulls a face. Together, they turn and peer out from behind the shrubbery. "What is it?" She whispers, eyes alight with excitement.
Without warning, he scoops her up and throws her over his shoulder, taking off down the hill. Rowena laughs and shrieks that he must put her down at once, though they both know she doesn't mean it. Eventually, he throws her down and flops down next to her, out of breath from his jog. The sun shines bright above them, casting down light on fallen leaves, hues of warm reds, oranges and yellows. "Is this what you imagined life would be like when we were younglings?" Gaspard takes her hand in his.
"...no," she smiles. "Better. Much better."
He rolls over to face her and she glances at him sideways. "And you? What did you imagine?" she traces constellations on the palm of his hand.
Gaspard smiles appreciatively, "I knew you were the one for me since I was seven years of age."
"Oh?" she chuckles.
"Do you believe in fate?" he murmurs, kissing the top of her head.
"Oh, no. I believe the universe is all just muddled together, " Rowena replies, though seeing the corners of his mouth turn down slightly, she hurries on, "but if anything has given me reason to change my views, it would be you and I."
His smile widens and he wraps his arms around her small frame. And by Merlin, it's just perfect. They're all flushed cheeks and clammy hands, so awkward, yet so at ease and so, so much in love. They live in their own ever-expanding universe, clinging together as though that universe were stuck within a cupboard beneath a staircase.
And through small kisses and timid questions and spreading out their arms to the wind to pretend they could fly, they clumsily come across the knowledge of how to light the world afire. He loves the little things like the way she names the stars all the same name and scribbles equations in the dust. And she loves that he makes her so happy that she no longer needs to pretend she can fly. With him, she just knows she can.
"There they are! They lovebirds have returned to their nest." Hester, Gaspard's sister grins toothily.
Rowena shakes her head and Gaspard squeezes her hand, as they enter the town square. "We'll make it through the next few days together," he smiles.
They're to be wed. Rowena thanks the heavens it is to be with her best friend, rather than some poppycock arranged marriage with a lord of a far off land. But the idea of her being someone's wife still befuddles her mind. She feels as though the minute speaks the vows she will become another person entirely. Married Rowena, she thinks, will be taller, prettier and will never stain the hem of her gown in the mud or stumble over tree roots. And as she kisses Gaspard goodnight, she glances at the stars and wonders if married Rowena will still adore them as this Rowena does.
The room smells of food, wine and envy. Several dozen fashionable, attractive, and silent young men and women sit in high backed chair at a comically long table. Rowena and Gaspard are perched at each end, chairs a bit higher up than the others so they resemble two captains of great vast ships, carefully steering their vessels away from troubled waters, including the scattered dinner conversation that the guests partake in.
The meal set before them is a sight to behold. Magnificent platters hold roast beef, wild turkey, rolls and rolls of freshly baked bread and cheeses shipped from Bulgaria, France and Spain. Within fine, jewel-crusted goblets lie the finest of wine, its grapes harvested from Italy's own countryside. The food pales in comparison to the people eating it. The women's mouths are all painted various shades of red, their eyelashes swooping up to tickle their eyebrows, their skin pale to give even more prominence to their bloody lips.
The men, on the other hand, sit tall, broad shoulders dominating and emanating a sort of pompous, commanding air. They are clothed in rich, colorful cloth, capes lined with fine fur belonging to animals, conquests captured on arranged hunting parties. Rowena stares down the wide expanse of table to spy upon Gaspard. He fidgets about, sitting quite uncomfortably. She knows that despite his richly dressed title, he is a simple man, who loves the simple things: a clean white shirt, breeches, and a picnic. Gatherings like this make him crazy.
At last, when the expensive platters are cleared away, the musicians strike up a slow waltz. Almost immediately the somber atmosphere is lifted and several gentleman offer up their arms for the fine ladies to take. Rowena's eyes canvas the room for her betrothed. Lords and countesses twirl by, a whirling mass of skirts and tangled limbs, blurring her vision. "Excuse me, miss."
She glances up to find a young handsome man standing above her.
"Yes, my dear?"
"Would you care to dance? And while you're at it, would you care to marry me as well?"
Rowena smiles and rises to her feet, sweeping her skirts about, "I would be delighted."
The gown is beautiful. Really truly beautiful. It's white, naturally. A cascade of ruffles fall from her waist like sea foam while the corseted bodice is tightly fitted. "Now why ye goin' an' wearin' yer dress on the eve o' yer weddin'?" Martha cocks her head, quizzically. "Yull be a'soilin' it in no time, Madame."
Rowena smiles at the young chambermaid. "I'd just...like to know what it feels like. I'd like to practice being married until I've actually got to take it on."
"Well, tha's all fine an' good, bu' make sure ye hang it up before ye go teh bed."
"Actually, I was actually thinking of taking it down to the stables to show Anna."
"The stables? Are ye mad? Tha'd be so much mud, ten men hard at work would not be able teh scrape it off, lass."
"But Anna'll be working all day in the stables tomorrow, to care for the guests' horses. She won't be able to see it if I don't pay a visit now."
Martha shrugs, "Ye do as ye like, silly thing." But Rowena needs no more.
She dashes off down the stairs, carefully holding up the hem of her gown to avoid stains. The familiar smell of horses and hay greet her when she reaches her destination. She begins to call out Anna's name when she hears a giggle and grunt. Rounding the corner, she is careful not to make noise.
And there they are. Anna lies on the hay, a man's lips at her neck. Just as Rowena is about to back away and leave them to it, she notes something awfully familiar about that curly brown hair and black coat. "Gaspard!" Anna throws her head back, laughing, "Stop it, stop. Someone'll find us."
"I don't care. I've missed you." His voice is muffled against her, as he leaves a trail of light butterfly kisses along her collarbone.
Anna ducks, blushing. "I've missed you quite a bit as well."
"Good," he murmurs, huskily. "I'm going to ravage you tonight."
Rowena finds herself clenching her fists, frozen where she stands. Suddenly, she breaks from her statue state and lunges forward. She leaps onto the horse in the closest stall, viciously ripping a small twig from the folds of her skirt and pointing it at the pair of them. A mumbled curse flies from her lips and she kicks the horse into a gallop. The thundering hooves mingle with Gaspard's yells of "Rowena, wait!" as Winter's chill settles into her bones.