I'm so sorry I took so long to update this one, I've been abroad and busy with various life administration. Hope you like this one, let me know!


"Demelza? Demelza, are you in?"

He knocked furiously at the door, his hair whipping around his face as he looked around about him for any sign of a small, red headed girl. He frowned again and jumped back over the gate, heading around the back. All seemed quiet and he took out his phone, dialling her number and leaving a missed call. Again. And again. His lips pursed. He didn't like to be kept waiting. Soon, his phone started ringing, with 'Demelza' coming up as the ID. He grinned and quickly swiped his thumb across the screen, making his way back around to the front of the house.

"Hey, where are you? You said you'd be in, I had this awesome idea with the stable in the next field, like a Christmas theme and stuff. Anyway, do you have any food? I'm starving, I haven't eaten all day—"

"Mister Poldark. Why do you insist on repeatedly calling my daughter?"

"Oh. Mr Carne. Good afternoon."

Ross' eyes widened as he looked up and saw a stern man standing on the doorstep, with a phone to his ear. Demelza's father's eyes were hell itself. Ross felt like Dante being taken on a tour of the seven levels by an absent Beatrice. Beatrice had red hair too, thought Ross absently. Demelza would make a good Beatrice.

"Well?" came a booming voice and Ross suddenly realised he was very close to Mr Carne. Closer than he'd planned to be. Closer, in fact, than he felt he'd ever been to any other living being in his life.

"I…."

"Ross! What are you doing here?!"

A bright chuckle alerted both men and Demelza appeared seemingly out of thin air. She clutched two large plastic bags in both hands, full of groceries. Her hair was askew and her expression comical as she viewed Ross and her father. Her dad seemed to be towering over her friend. She suspected he might have a knife secreted in a back pocket.

"I came to see if you were in. I had a few ideas," he shrugged, gesturing needlessly to his sketch pad and bag.

"Oh, sure, let me just put all this stuff in and get some food for us both. Did you want to go to the field again? Come on in, you can help me with the groceries."

She made her way inside and Ross raised his eyebrows at her father, stealthily slipping past him and down the path into Demelza's house. She deposited the bags on the kitchen counter and started to sort out the produce, talking all the while.

"Bloody 5p plastic bag charge, does my head in. I had to buy two bags for life from the supermarket, can you imagine? They were 10p each and 'reusable,' apparently. I mean, how many times can you use one of these things before it breaks? The handles are already going with six pints of milk. Bag for life? More like bag for two weeks."

Ross burst out laughing. He couldn't help it. She looked up at him in surprise. He had a hilarious grin on his face as he tucked a carton of juice into the fridge door.

"What's so funny?" she asked sternly with her hands on her hips.

"Nothing, nothing," he dismissed, smiling wide and bundling up the now empty plastic bags.

"You upper crust folk, I bet you don't have to worry about plastic bag charges. You keep laughing at me and I won't give you any scotch eggs," she admonished, picking up an old fashioned wicker basket from a cupboard.

Ross turned around from the fridge and peered out with interest.

"Scotch eggs? I want scotch eggs. And what do you mean 'you upper crust folk'?"

"You. You and Verity," she explained as she took out a myriad of boxes from the fridge, tucking a stray wisp of hair behind her ear. He hitched himself up onto the counter next to his sketch pad, nosily munching an apple as he watched her. His boots clinked against the cupboards.

"What about me and Verity?"

"Let's put it this way. You have money. We don't. You have more money that a lot of people. I mean, who else could afford to do a degree in fine art and then a residency? You seen the cars you drive? You only have to take one look at your driveway to know you lot aren't the normal sort."

"The normal sort," repeated Ross in amusement, "no, we're not the normal sort. But just because we have flashy cars it doesn't mean we're not normal. I'm pretty normal. Right?"

At this, Demelza stopped and turned. She stared at Ross purposefully.

"You are so not normal."

"What?! Why?! What's wrong with me?"

"Nothing's wrong with you, you're just….not normal. I don't mind it, though. I think everyone's normal until you get to know them, then everyone's very weird."

Ross couldn't argue with that, so he kept eating his apple until Demelza had finished assembling the picnic basket. She picked up her jacket and pulled it on roughly, grabbing the handles and motioning for Ross to follow.

"I'll be out for a while with Ross, Dad, he has to do some stuff for work. See you soon!" she called, waving vaguely at the living room. Mr Carne turned in his chair and opened his mouth to say something but Ross and Demelza were already out of the door by that time.

"So how's the residency going?"

"Yeah, it's not bad. I don't have to do much. I have to produce work at certain times but the deadlines are always quite far apart and they understand that I can only work if I have good inspiration. They let me wander around the grounds quite a bit."

"Well, I'm glad it's going well."

They walked in comfortable silence across the windy field, grass lashing at their ankles until they reached the large tree in the middle. It was an old oak with sprawling branches, visible from Demelza's bedroom window. It gave her chills to look at it from afar during winter. It reminded her of something out of a Gothic novel, wild and large and uncontrollable, although it never moved. She flopped down against the trunk and set the picnic basket between her legs, opening it up and taking out all the little boxes.

"Scotch eggs," she confirmed, tossing him a small box. He grinned and sat down cross legged, munching away. She picked up a sandwich and began to make her way through it, looking around the field absently as she ate. Ross observed her surreptitiously. She felt his gaze on her but she was used to it. He called it his artist's eye. It had made her feel very conscious of her own actions at first, but then she became accustomed to it.

Ross ate slowly, watching her as she sat up, legs spread at a 45 degree angle, a box of sandwiches in the empty space in front of her. Her movements were free and easy, as if she was listening to some imaginary song. The wind played with her hair, making the little wisps around her face dance merrily. She'd tied it up today. She always kept it tied up unless he asked. Today, she was wearing a soft, grey oversize jumper with a deep V neck, skinny jeans and black ankle boots with studs and zips on them. He raised an eyebrow as he surveyed her attire. She looked oddly on trend today. Usually when he came to see her, she was dressed in a Barbour jacket, wellies covered in mud and a nondescript shirt.

"You look different today," he noted, finishing up his box of Scotch eggs.

"How?"

"I don't know. You're not mucky."

She blinked back at him and picked up another sandwich.

"Who says I have to be mucky all the time?"

"No one."

And with that, he jumped up, taking his easel out of his bag. She sighed and leaned back against the tree, pretending to whine.

"Can't I just have five minutes more? I haven't even finished my sandwiches!"

"Yeah, yeah," he muttered dismissively, fixing his sketch pad on the easel and steadying it with a rock. As he organised his charcoals and pencils, he looked up at the tree through narrow eyes and stood in front of Demelza like a teacher.

"So I've been given a commission for a Christmas piece and I want to do something with you and the horses."

Demelza nodded along as she ate.

"You don't even know what the idea is yet."

"If you want me to be Lady Godiva, sorry, no can do."

Ross waved his hands around in irritation.

"No, no. I have this."

He dove into his bag and took out a large, rusty and very archaic lantern. It creaked. Demelza stared.

"Let's go to the stables."

He promptly spun on his heel, picked up his easel and walked purposefully to the edge of the field. Demelza sighed and crawled up onto her feet, packing the picnic basket again and dragging it into the stables. Ross had already positioned his easel, his jacket tossed carelessly on the hay, a pencil held between his teeth as he lit the lantern carefully.

"Fuck, I thought it was all going to go up," he muttered in relief, setting the lantern down on a sideboard, "alright, so I was saying we sh…..Demelza?"

He turned at the odd silence, his pencil poised as he viewed her. She was staring around the stable in awe, the picnic basket still in her hand. She didn't even know this place existed. The lights reflected in her bright eyes as she looked around. It was like something out of a movie, a stable made entirely out of mahogany coloured wooden boards, the peaked roof supported by wooden pillars and hay everywhere. Five large Victorian-style electric lanterns were suspended along the walls, shining a warm and strangely dim light around the four walls. And of course, in pride of place were three tall, dark horses with glossy coats, one chewing on hay, the other seemingly asleep and the third staring at Demelza curiously. She smiled wide, setting the picnic basket down hurriedly. She loved horses. A laugh escaped her lips as she cupped the smallest horse's face, gently petting her as she nuzzled Demelza's hand.

"Look how friendly she is!" exclaimed Demelza happily, rubbing the horse's neck affectionately.

"Her name's Maria," came Ross' voice from behind her as he reached out to pet her also.

"How do you know? Is she yours? Is this stable yours?"

"Not mine exclusively. It belongs to the Poldark family. This is Maria, that's Seamus and over there, the grossly overweight one, that's Hugh. He's Verity's. Do you ride?"

"Of course, I love horses!"

"Of course you do," mused Ross, cracking a grin as he watched her pet Maria, slowly backing away until he was behind his easel. He sorted through his pencils as Demelza retrieved a half eaten pack of mints from her pocket, feeding Maria.

"Oh, wait, sorry, you wanted me to do something with the lantern?"

"Nope. No, it's fine. Just do what you're doing," came Ross' voice from behind his easel. Demelza knew better than to argue and soon, hours had passed. Demelza had dutifully fed all three horses and was now sitting cross legged on the floor, offering hay to Seamus.

"Shall I still keep doing what I'm doing? Only I'm bored now and I'm sure all three have eaten more than enough."

Ross peered out from behind the easel with a familiar look. His hair was thrown across his face carelessly, his hands black with charcoal and his feet shoulder width apart.

"Yeah, no, of course," he muttered, striding out to stand in front of Demelza, motioning for her to stand up also. She did so and stared at him.

"What do you want me to do with the lantern?"

"Just hold it," he said flatly, picking it up and shoving it into her hands. She fumbled and cradled it in both hands, her eyes blank as Ross stepped back and surveyed her with a discerning eye.

"Hair," he said quietly, folding his arms across his chest.

Almost without thinking, Demelza untied her hair in a smooth sweep and shook it out. Ross noticed it was much longer than the last time he'd seen her. His last two portraits of her had been with her hair tied up. She looked strange with such long hair; it tumbled wildly down to the small of her back. There was a strange allure to the way it fell, though. Not so much the untapped force of nature he'd seen before. It looked heavier, thicker than before. She stared back at him. He usually went into a creative frenzy when it got to this point. His stillness was unnerving. She shifted her feet awkwardly, her boots making light scratching sounds against the dry hay and stone. Her hands ached from holding the heavy, strangely shaped lantern.

He stepped back quietly to observe her. The way she looked at him hesitantly over the lantern, as if she was unsure at what he would do. He liked that. He'd always liked the way she looked at him. Unsure, but never frightened. Curious. The way the flame's warm glow danced across her face, turning her skin from pale to peach then back again in a matter of seconds. He was entranced by it, the shadows that formed up along her neck and across her jaw. He stepped forward and brushed a heavy expanse of her hair back over her shoulder. She flinched slightly at the action but didn't move away. She found it odd that he thought he had the right to touch her like that without asking. He paused to observe the effect of his action and furrowed his brow. Something wasn't right, she knew. She didn't utter a word or a sound as he brushed her hair completely over one shoulder and with effortless ease, pulled the neck of her jumper down to expose a large expanse of her shoulder. She gasped involuntarily at the chill which breezed over her bare skin but he barely noticed. He placed three fingers under her chin and tilted her head back very, very slightly. He turned on his heel and walked back to the easel.

"Just be yourself."

An hour later and the familiar whining had started again.

"My hands hurt."

"So do mine."

"I'm tired."

"So am I."

She made a frustrated noise and gritted her teeth. Ross sighed as he looked at her from above his sketch pad. She was no good when she was like this. When she became tired and irritable, her posture inflected and Ross wasn't able to work.

"Do you want to help me?"

"With what?" she replied sullenly.

"With the horses," he gestured to the canvas. Her eyes lit up and he couldn't resist a grin.

"You'll teach me how to draw? Really?"

He nodded and she set the lantern down quickly, running over behind the canvas. She frowned at the paper clipped to most of it.

"What's that for?"

"It's a surprise. I don't want you to see all of it before it's finished. Now, let's use the charcoal. You can see the faint skeleton I've made, try to keep to that and shade in where you think a shadow is."

He watched for a while as she meticulously worked at the canvas, her tongue sticking out from between her teeth as she almost beat the canvas with the charcoal. Black powder flew everywhere, covering not only the canvas but Demelza herself.

"No, no, not so hard, you have to be gentle. It's only paper and with charcoal, you want a light, smokey, shadowy effect. Like this, look."

He took the tiny piece of black ash from her and softly flicked it across the page like he was skimming pebbles across water. He held his arm steady and flicked his wrist very gently.

"It makes a nice sound, doesn't it? Now you try. Remember to be gentle. That's perfect, see how good that looks? Now let's try something bigger, why don't you try the lantern on the top right? The light and shadow are quite tricky there."

Demelza said nothing but got to work slowly, gently flicking the charcoal across the paper like she'd seen Ross do.

"That's good," he commented, "you're doing well. Let me help you."

He placed his hand over Demelza's as she shaded, pressing the charcoal a little deeper into the paper.

"It's darker here, see? Almost black, we want a layered texture here, and then lighter on the outside. This light play, it's called chiaroscuro," he murmured quietly, "it means playing with light and shadow."

The Italian term rolled off his tongue melodiously with a strong accent. He kept a light grip on her hand as she accented around the shadows.

"I've been practicing chiaroscuro with your figure. The light here gives me an excellent opportunity."

His lips were close to her ear now and she swallowed involuntarily, her eyes going slightly out of focus as she stared at the lantern on the canvas, her movements slowing without any concentration.

"The lantern you carry, it casts a shadow on your neck, somewhere around about here," he murmured, lifting a finger to gently trace down the side of her neck. She shivered slightly at the unexpected touch. His hand felt rough and callused as she'd expected, but also strangely warm against the cold night breeze whistling in through the wooden cracks of the stable. She could barely focus on his words and was acutely aware that she'd stopped shading altogether. The side of her hand rested against the canvas, still clutching the small piece of charcoal.

"Right here," he murmured softly, brushing a finger across her neck and up to her ear, "and then here, the light dances across your skin like jewels." His voice was barely a whisper as his fingers tripped softly over her collarbone and across her shoulder, "this is your décolletage," he instructed quietly. She closed her eyes and gently tipped her head to the side, absently enjoying the feeling of his rough fingers over her skin, musing at how perfect his accents were whenever he spoke foreign words. He was lost in how soft her skin was, almost fascinated by the silk-like texture under his fingers. His artist's eye viewed it as a fabric to work with but his mind responded differently. His fingers left smudgy grey trails over her neck and he brushed her hair away slowly.

"And then the light hits your hair and it's like an explosion…..a volcano," he mused almost to himself, his voice still low and strangely hoarse as he tangled his fingers in her wild mane. She felt a pleasant tugging at her scalp as his fingers worked their way through her mass of hair. All of a sudden, the warmth of his chest at her back was replaced by an abrupt cold wind and a loud crash of wood. Her slitted eyes opened suddenly and she turned around to view a scene out of a horror movie. Her father stood at the door of the stable and had wrenched the door open. She dropped the piece of charcoal and Ross opened his mouth. Her father was obviously angry and Ross was aware it was late and dark outside. The weather had deteriorated since they'd been cooped up inside and her father was dripping from head to toe. Ross stepped forward.

"Mr Carne, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to keep Demelza this long. We were just finishing up, in fact, and I—"

Mr Carne, however, was having none of what Ross was serving. He strode forward and grabbed Demelza's arm, staring into her eyes menacingly. The candle light that had illuminated Demelza cast red, angry shadows over her father's face.

"You're coming with me, right now."

Demelza said nothing, but her uneven breaths could be heard even over the now raucous patter of rain outside. Her father dragged her out towards the entrance and Demelza turned back to look at Ross before staring at her father, who tightened his grip on her arm painfully hard, glaring at her.

"I told you not to stay out past dark. Especially not with him. If you leave my sight again, if you disobey me again, I will not be responsible for my actions. Don't shame me, do you understand?"

Demelza stared up at him, too frightened to say a word, yet aware that she was being asked a question. She didn't know how to respond and her lips opened and closed, but no words came out.

"DO YOU UNDERSTAND?!"

His words thundered through the barn as he shook his daughter hard by the arm, the lanterns flickering with the force of it. She flinched at the sound of his yelling, trying to pull her arm free fruitlessly. He was hurting her, it was clear from his vice-like grip and the look on her face. She nodded, agreeing with her father if only to ease the pain a little. Satisfied at this, he dragged her out of the barn without so much as a backward look at Ross. Ross stared after the pair in astonishment. He leaned down to pick up the piece of charcoal Demelza had dropped, and after a moment's silence, began to slowly pack up his canvas and utensils.

That night, as he lay awake in bed, he did what he usually did every night. He reviewed his day. What had gone well, what hadn't, what needed to be fixed and how to do it. There were a thousand things he could have thought about, but his mind gravitated to what had happened in the barn. Not what had happened between him and Demelza, but what he'd seen happen between her and her father. He'd tried to call her several times since he got home and had received no replies. He'd thought better of sending her a text since he remembered how her father had called him from her phone this morning. He didn't want to send anything in a text that would make her situation worse if her father saw it. And surely if she had her phone, she would have picked up his calls. His thoughts spun around his head as he turned over in bed to face the window. Had her father taken her phone from her? Did he rifle through it like a jealous boyfriend? Was that why he had it in his possession this morning? Ross sighed and ran his hands over his face, closing his eyes tightly. He didn't know what was going on between them, but no one disciplined their child that harshly for something as trivial as staying out late. She was a grown woman, capable of making her own decisions and in the short few months Ross had known her, he had come to understand that Demelza was a cheerful, kind but ultimately strong willed and determined girl. She was stubborn but also very insecure. He remembered inviting her out for dinner once with Verity and their friends from university. She had told him afterwards that the restaurant was 'too posh' for her, and all throughout the night, she had been very conscious of eating 'properly' and looking 'proper.' She always seemed conscious of how other people perceived her. She never cared much about how he himself thought about her, they were comfortable enough together. But sometimes she looked like a lost child, unsure of where the adults had gone, as if she'd gotten lost in a supermarket, and then she'd laugh it off.

He wrapped himself in his blanket and stared out of the window where the raindrops made strange shadows on the curtain. He couldn't get that image out of his head, of her father gripping her arm so tight that she winced in pain. He'd wanted to step forward and punch him in the face and wrench her arm out of his grip, ask him what right he had to touch her like that, but he was too shocked by the way he was treating his own daughter. Ross picked up his phone and the lock screen melted away into Demelza's name at the top of his contact list. He pressed it and didn't even bother to hold the phone to his ear. He heard the faint ringing, and like before, no one answered. He set the phone back down next to his pillow and resolved to get up early the next day and go back to her house. Even if he got in a fight with her dad, it would be worth it to find out exactly what was going on.