Author's note- Just to warn you this story will feature some flashbacks and flash-forwards they will be denoted by an .
"Your life and my life flow into each other as wave flows into wave, and unless there is peace and joy and freedom for you, there can be no real peace or joy or freedom for me…"
Fredrick Buechner
The cool night air bit into his skin, ungloved his hands held a translucent color, but the pain-the numbness he did not feel. Letting out a slow breath he wrapped the black cloak tighter around him. Yet still he watched, every movement recording itself into his memory. The tower bells chimed and he knew it was time; slowly he withdrew himself from the window removing the hand that was attached to the pane leaving a perfect print which dissolved against the cooling glass. With a breath that shown in the crisp night air he turned, retreating into the gray fog that rose from the ground and blended into the darkness of night.
Gently she shifted. Restless and weary she slipped from the covers, each of her foot falls fell silently against the polished wood floor until she reached the window facing east into the night. Reaching out, she touched the glass her warmth sinking into its coolness. Slowly she withdrew her hand and placed it back at her side, however she could not withdraw the emotions that had enclosed around her heart. She did not want to be here, this place, this London, His home For the company and continued peace she was back here- this forsworn place in her heart.
Three years she had been away, three years had numbed her heart, now she was back and she felt him everywhere and no where. Silence nearly reigned within the room except the shallow breathing of her husband which reminded her that she was not completely alone to her thoughts. In this recollection, that traitorous word escaped from her mind, "Bound."
"Yes" she thought, she was assuredly bound.
She had made her bed and she would lie in it, but here in this London, his London, the walls that she'd built around her heart were crumbling and she was loosing her battle of will. With the remorse building in her heart she turned on her heel and faced the bed slowly whispering,
"My fate."
In quick strides she crossed the room, slipping back into the cooling covers making the warmth of her husband's body feel strangely odd as it leaked into her cold skin. She chose to ignore this fact and closed her eyes, willing herself to fall into a dreamless sleep devoid of unspoken words and deferred dreams. He is a "good husband," she thought. But she was guilty and now she lay in the bed she'd made.
As the pale moon lit through the windows of a small London flat as the wind raged outside the small sanctuary, but it wasn't the bagging of her windows that woke Rachel Palmer. She tried to block out the sound but to no avail. It was him and he wouldn't go away until he actually broke the door down in frustration and that would just not due, especially when she could barley pay the 12 pounds for rent. Annoyed, she tossed her scarlet hair off her shoulder and tore the warm covers from her body and made her way to the front door. Aggravated she caught the door latch with one hand while jerking the handle with the other. In protest the rusted door creaked open and her storm gray eyes meet light cerulean, thus revealing the thief of her sleep.
"Drunk," she knew by the taste of liquor now entering within her mouth.
Surprised, she thought "yes," shocked-"not really." He was headed down this path as soon as he heard the news that she was back in London. He was heavy and his caresses, normally tender and fervent, were sloppy and he just did not pay her enough for this. Then again she thought, "his companionship was good as well." Struggling from his grasp, she grabbed his hand and dragged him towards the bedroom, finally able to get him seated. He looked ill, leaning over with his head in his hands. She felt for him, she truly did and that's why she agreed to help, but this man she just did not know. The gallant captain she had known slowly drained from him over the past three years.
"What did you do?"
The words burst from her mouth with an animosity that she just really didn't have. He mumbled something unclear and slurred but she figured what he'd done- he'd seen her. Again, not shocked, she had lain in his arms enough and heard her name on his lips in his passion. His hands pulled her to him, tightly, she knew what it meant, but she also knew that this was not what he wanted. She knew men's minds, their passions, their needs, and wants; but this was not what he needed. Being the friend she attempted to be, she stayed him with the very thing that caused his hurt, talk of her. Yes, she had agreed to help him, wasn't that the very reason she was going to the ball with him. She knew that lust could inspire most women to fight for what they want, but Rachel Palmer also knew that jealousy was a bigger motivator.
He'd grown silent, asleep, slouched on what was her side of the bed. With great effort she moved him into a better position. Tiredly, she headed for the opposite side of the bed. As she closed her eyes she became unsettled. Nagging questions entered her mind,
"Why had he tortured himself so much?"
Whatever the reason he would not tell her and she respected this, this was one line they would not cross; besides- love was not her specialty. She also respected his reasons; she figured that unless he faced her again, there would be no peace within his life, this seeking of peace she could understand. He shifted in his sleep one cold hand found its way across her stomach; this one touch reminded her of the one thing that really bothered her. "What lengths would he go to possess her," "was she worth it?" As sleep crept its way back in, Rachel hoped she was. "No he did not pay her enough to loose sleep over this," she thought. Finally she turned towards him and realized that whatever bond they once had was really worth it, at least to him.
Flash-forward
She could hear the clinking of glasses, laughter, and music coming from the end of the corroder. As she walked down the chamber, she was astonished at bright colors that hung from the stone wall. They were like her, coved with expense and charm but nothing could take away the frigidness of their interior. The sound of foot steps drew her attention away from the silk covered walls.
"Rebecca they are expecting us."
She could hear the placid annoyance in Rolfe's words. Why had she wondered off? She did not know, especially when it increased her odds of seeing him and that was an encounter she certainly did not want. Her eyes moved to her husbands form and she could not help but think how different they were, "how truly different two men could be." "Rebecca," this time he spoke with his usual insistence and she moved towards him linking her hands within his. "Forgive me, I was remembering." His hand reached out and touched her cheek, she smiled but the sensation she felt was in mixed contrast to painted façade of her display. With her nod the couple made their way down the corridor into the gala.
