A/N: Thank you so much for the reviews and all the kind things you've had to say. This is so different from Hozho that I'm feeling my way along. One of the biggest differences is that Hozho was basically a finished story when I started posting it, and Highwayman isn't. I've always got it written to several chapters beyond where I'm posting, but I do a lot of tweaking on early chapters as the story evolves. It's got me scrambling a bit since I've already started posting.
Whew! That's just my long winded way of saying I hope it's all coming out okay and you like it.
As usual-to the people on the SFTCOL(AR)S board--you continually inspire me with your intelligent and well thought out discussions.
Warning: Cursing…and ghosts.
Disclaimer: I don't own them. The incredible fun of playing with them is the only profit I receive from the story.
From Chapter 3:
Sam placed his elbows on the table and leaned forward, resting his forehead against his clenched fists. He was tired, his head was spinning, and the tension in his neck and shoulders was sending thumping pain across his skull.
What the hell was happening to him?
His eyes slid shut as he took a deep breath. Lack of sleep and worry over Dean the night before had apparently walloped him harder than he knew. It was difficult to keep his thoughts ordered. The strange interlude was already losing substance in his mind, the details becoming fuzzy enough for him to convince himself it was nothing more than the working of an overactive, and overtired, imagination.
His shoulders slumped as the muscles began to relax and he allowed himself to drift into a hazy half sleep. Into a deep daydream where soft warm fingers ran over the hard ridges of muscle on the back of his shoulders and massaged the remaining tension away. Where dainty hands pushed the long hair away from the back of his neck so that soft lips could kiss the sensitive skin there…could trail around to his lips leaving a ribbon of heat in their wake. Where his breath could quicken at a touch that was both foreign and hauntingly familiar.
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The Highwayman Chapter 4
Damn…he didn't remember setting the alarm on his phone…
"Perhaps you should answer that?"
Sam's hands fell from his face and his eyes popped open. A pair of light brown eyes was staring at him from just a couple of feet away.
"JESUS!" The wooden chair under him almost tipped over as he jerked himself backwards, his back slamming into the wooden slats behind him.
"Well, not exactly. Although I was referred to as a god once or twice in my youth." Bob's face lit up at the memory as he settled himself against the back of his own chair. "You just missed a call," he said, pointing to the pocket of Sam's shirt.
Sam blinked slowly, taking in his surroundings. The tavern was dark and quiet around him. He had a brief flash of noise and laughter, but it faded before he could capture the memory and he rubbed his hands over his face, trying to marshal his fuzzy thoughts. He remembered sitting down in the tavern, and not a lot more. Except for the remnants of a dream… Heat suffused his face and he glanced quickly at Bob, hoping his blush was hidden in the gloom. This was getting ridiculous. He was worse than a fifteen year old boy. "I guess I fell asleep." His voice was a little gravelly, sleep still thick in his throat. Twinges of dull pain in his elbows reminded him that he had been propped up in an awkward position for God knows how long. "What time is it?"
"A little after 4:00." Bob nodded at a mug in front of Sam. "I replaced your coffee with a fresh cup." He swirled his own mug under his nose and sniffed deeply, his eyes drifting heavenward. "Delores truly creates magic with coffee beans."
The coffee was strong and hot and Sam gulped some down, sucking in a quick breath when the liquid burned the inside of his mouth. If he had drunk the last cup when he poured it he might have avoided a twenty minute nap sitting at a table. "I'm sorry if I'm in the way of you opening," he said, indicating the empty tavern.
"No worries. Jennifer should be in to start setting up soon. We're only open in the evenings during the week." He gave a soft smile and looked around the old room. "I can certainly understand dozing off in here. This room has such a warm, calming, atmosphere at times."
Sam blew across the top of his coffee and took a tentative sip. "What time does the music start? I was surprised to hear it so late last night."
Bob's eyebrows went up. "Dear boy, if you heard music last night, then I can only assume that you have musicians in your head. We only rarely have music here on weeknights, and there was none last night."
"I guess I dreamed it," Sam said, his fingers tightening around the mug. A chill worked its way down Sam's spine. He seemed to be doing a lot of dreaming lately.
The innkeeper pointed at Sam's chest and gave Sam a questioning look. "Remember your phone was ringing." He tilted his head to the side and twitched his eyebrows suggestively. "Or are you playing hard to get? Giving Dino a run for his money?"
"My brother?" Sam's forehead wrinkled as he pulled the phone from his pocket.
Bob's mouth dropped open and he began to laugh. "My goodness! You really are brothers!"
Sam gave him an embarrassed grin as he hit redial on the missed call.
"Sammy! Where were you? I just tried to call you."
"Yeah, I know. Sorry I didn't pick up. I was talking to Bob."
"Technically, I think you were sleeping with me when he called," Bob whispered.
"Who is that? Bob? What did he say?"
"Nothing! He didn't say anything." Sam shot the innocently grinning man a scowl and clutched the phone tighter to his face. "Where are you? Did you find anything yet?"
"Right now I'm working my way through the documents section of the county library. I'm coming up with a lot of facts and figures about the area, and I'm seeing the Quincy name a lot, but I'm not finding shit to tell us who we've got to roast. How are you making out?"
"Pretty much the same. I read a lot of stories about the history of the area, but nothing we can use."
"We'll have to talk to that couple Bob told us about tonight. Look, I've got more to go through here, but I'm about an hour's drive from you. Maybe I'll quit now and you can come back with me tomorrow to finish it up." Dean sounded hopeful. "I don't want you to have to wait for dinner or anything."
"I wouldn't think of dragging you away from the library just to get me dinner," Sam said, trying not to laugh. "I know how much you love all those books."
Bob began waving his hand in the air to get Sam's attention. "I insist you have some dinner with me!" he said with a huge grin.
"I'm going to eat with Bob," Sam added.
Dean's sigh was clear over the line. "Yeah, okay. I'll probably grab some dinner when I'm done here. I'll call ya."
"Okay. Take your time. You don't want to miss something important."
"Yeah, yeah, I know how to do research." Sam could see his brother's scowl as clearly as if Dean was standing in front of him. There was a pause and Dean's tone changed. The scowl had definitely been replaced by a smirk. "And Sam? When I get back we'll discuss your sleeping with Bob."
The call clicked off and Sam shook his head, glaring at Bob.
"Don't make faces, it causes wrinkles," Bob said as he stood up. "Come along, let's go raid the kitchen. I try to eat before the tavern opens and I get busy in here."
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The massive ham sandwich Bob placed in front of Sam was easily twice as big as the one on Bob's plate. Bob looked at Sam's expression and rolled his eyes. "Handsome, I have no doubt that it takes a lot of fuel to keep that magnificent machine…" he flipped his hand up and down to indicate Sam's body "…running properly."
A loud growl rumbled from Sam's stomach and Bob flipped his hand over in a 'voila' gesture.
"Isn't this ham supposed to be for tomorrow's breakfast?" Sam asked as he wrapped his hands around the huge baguette.
"There's plenty in there." Bob nodded at the huge stainless steel refrigerator as he took a delicate bite of his own sandwich.
The inn's kitchen was roomy, a conglomeration of warm woods, shining stainless steel, and polished stone. The old and scarred oak table that the men were sitting at was pushed to the side, out of the way of the long expanse of counters and a large work island.
"And don't forget," Bob said, dabbing at the sides of his mouth with a napkin, "As scary as she can be, I'm actually Delores' boss." He glanced around the room to make sure they were alone and shuddered. "Just don't tell her I said that," he whispered. "Because she actually can be very scary at times."
Sam chewed thoughtfully for a couple of minutes before putting his sandwich down on the heavy stoneware plate in front of him. "Speaking of bosses…I don't get it." He kept his eyes on Bob's face. "Why are you being so friendly to Dean and I? You've already said your boss would do anything to make sure this land deal goes through. Aren't you afraid it's dangerous to be seen talking to us? At a minimum, couldn't you lose your job?"
Bob sighed. "Dangerous? Once upon a time I would have laughed at the idea. Now…I'm not so sure. I told you Richard liked to play in the real estate market. He had a lot of family money behind him, and quite frankly, he was enough of a snake to do very well at it. But recently, the market's in the toilet and I think he's taken some heavy losses. He's getting desperate, and desperate times…yada yada." He waved his hand through the air. "But he needs me. The Benjamin is the most secure part of Richard's wealth, and I'm the thing that makes the inn so valuable. Which he knows. Beyond that—and probably more importantly—I don't think he sees me as a threat," Bob shrugged.
"So you're really not afraid of losing your job."
"No, I'm really not. I almost wish I would, because that would make it much easier to take the next step." Bob gave him a little smile. "I've been saving my money, looking for an opportunity to buy my own inn. Nothing as grand as the Benjamin, of course," he sighed. He looked around the room, his smile softening. "I love this place, but I don't know if I can continue to work for Dick. I truly loathe the man."
"What about the Hancocks?" As Dean was quick to tell him, protecting people from human threats was not their gig. But Sam would have a tough time ignoring it if innocent people were in danger. "From what you said, they're the ones who have the best chance of stopping the deal. Do you think Richard could try to hurt them somehow?"
Bob snorted a quick laugh. "Oh, I'm sure he would if he could. But as big as the Quincy name is around here? So is 'Hancock'. Richard is walking a fine line trying not to alienate the rest of the town's selectmen. For political reasons they are content to sit back and let Richard and the Hancocks duke it out legally. But they are old and dear friends of the Hancock family. If anything happened to George or Margaret there would be such an uproar that the sale would die a quick death. And once again, more importantly, I don't think he sees the Hancocks as a true threat…more of an annoyance. They've been trying, but they still haven't come up with anything concrete about that piece of land. Nothing to stop the sale. And they're running out of time."
"You still haven't told me why you're being so helpful to Dean and I." Sam hated feeling like he was grilling the inn's manager, he truly liked the man. But John had spent a long time drilling it into him that you couldn't take people at face value. Dean had already been hurt on this hunt by a very human foe.
"It's simple, really. I like you, and I don't like him." Bob gave a quick laugh. "I am a surprisingly astute judge of people, and you and your brother…you're sure you two really are brothers? Because there's a level of ease and caring there that you don't normally—" He broke off and gave himself a little shake. "No matter," he said simply. "Anyway, you and Dean are good people, and Richard isn't. And you have wonderful timing."
Bob pasted a smile on his face. He may have been trying for 'devil may care', but the result was strained and sad. "I'm actually ready to blow this popsicle stand. Dick has really gotten impossible to work for. He's even started bringing around two Neanderthals that he hired in Boston. They are…'unpleasant' to deal with."
He dropped the fake smile and began playing with his napkin. "I'm not worried about myself or the Hancocks…but I'm worried about you and your brother. I'm familiar with the Institute you work for, and quite frankly…it's not a heavy hitter. It doesn't carry enough weight to deter Richard if he thinks you're a threat. I honestly can't tell you what he might do."
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The muscles in Dean's back and shoulder were tight and sore, pulling with a harsh ache whenever he moved his left arm. Another muscle relaxant would definitely help, but it would also knock him out. He grimaced as he pulled the Advil bottle out of his jacket pocket and popped the top off with his right hand. He swallowed the pills dry before shoving the Impala's heavy door open with his leg and climbing out in the inn's parking area.
Driving his baby was one of life's pleasures, but he had spent a lot more time behind the wheel that day than he'd been planning on, and his muscles had stiffened up. The local records office had sent him to the county office, which was an hour away. The county office had sent him to the historic documents section of the county library's main branch.
His fingers had itched to call Sam and tell him he was coming to pick him up when he saw the layers of dust on top of those old record books, but he decided he couldn't justify the lost travel time. After his fifth sneezing attack he rethought his decision and called Sam. When they'd finally connected Sam didn't seem too receptive to the idea of a return trip to the library the following day.
If he was honest with himself, it wasn't just the daunting research that had him wishing Sam was at his side, and it wasn't just the travel time that prevented him from fetching his brother. Dean was flat out uncomfortable with leaving Sam alone at the inn for such a long stretch, and Sam would have figured that out if Dean had come back for him. And that would have put them on a road that Dean didn't ever want to travel again.
Dean had spent the last couple of months convincing Sam that he considered him an equal in the hunt. That he trusted him. He wasn't about to undo all that hard work.
The truth was, normally he did trust Sam as an equal on hunts. But this wasn't normally. Sam had been 'off' since they had gotten to the inn, and he didn't think Sam even realized it. So he'd kept his voice light all of the times he'd checked in with Sam, but he had checked in numerous times throughout the day.
He'd felt like a parent who couldn't reach their teenager by phone when Sam hadn't picked up the one call. An uncomfortable mix of annoyance and worry churning in his gut. They had talked again, after Sam ate dinner, and that conversation had been more reassuring. Sam had mostly laughed through his account of the meal. He and Bob had discussed a couple of serious matters, but that had segued into an hour of gossip about the other guests and some of the town's residents. His brother's good cheer had relaxed Dean enough to allow him to stop for his own meal and spend some guilt free time flirting with a very attractive waitress.
He'd regretted spending the extra time in the restaurant on his way back to the inn, though. What tortured soul had decided it would be a good outlet for their unhappiness to share it with travelers in the state? He had tried to head directly back to the inn from the county seat and had spent a frustrating amount of time backtracking on the unfamiliar roads. Massachusetts road signs turned confusion into an art form. His favorite was the fork in the road with the sign directly in the middle of the split, and no indication of which side the sign referred to. Of course he'd ended up passing that particular sign twice. The whole series of events had conspired to get him back to the inn much later than he planned. He wouldn't have minded if it had been a productive trip, but he still didn't know who their horseman was.
The front room was warm and welcoming when he walked through, fires blazing on both sides and a small group gathered in one of the seating areas, talking and laughing. Dean paused before starting down the hallway to the tavern, carefully shrugging out of his jacket. His thermal Henley was loose enough to hide the gun in the back of his pants. He still didn't know who had come after him with the shovel, except that it was no lost spirit.
He stepped into the tavern and was surprised at how quiet it was in the room. Sam had said something about music playing around three in the morning, but this crowd didn't look like it would even be awake at three. There was no music playing tonight, just a quiet hum of conversation coming from the people sitting calmly at the bar and at tables. He moved to the edge of the bar and scanned the room, looking for his brother.
It took him a minute before he caught sight of a familiar pair of shoes. A familiar pair of large sneakers that were currently propped up on a wooden chair in the far corner of the room and not moving.
He edged farther into the tavern and his eyes searched the shadows in that corner. Sam's chair was wedged into the right angle of the walls and his head was leaning sideways, resting against the wooden beam next to him. Son of a bitch. Sammy was sound asleep.
A smirk worked its way across Dean's face as he headed across the room, aiming for his brother. He was trying to decide the most appropriate way to wake Sleeping Beauty when a hand on his arm stopped him.
"Sweetheart, if you wake him up I swear to you I will find a way to make your life miserable." Bob edged in front of him and blocked his way with his eyebrows raised, just daring Dean to take another step.
Dean raised his hands in surrender and took a step backwards, wondering when, exactly, Bob had been appointed his brother's personal guard Chihuahua.
"Oh, thank God," Bob said, his shoulders slumping. "I was so afraid you'd call my bluff and then I had no idea what I was going to do." He took Dean's arm and turned him towards the bar. "You have got to make sure that poor boy is getting enough rest. I found him in here this afternoon, practically asleep at one of the tables. That's why I made your brother have dinner with me." He looked up at Dean's wide eyes and shrugged. "Yes, sweetie, I know you really are brothers. What a glorious gene pool," he sighed.
Dean's good humor edged into concern with the news that Sam was still a little off. He hadn't picked up on it during their phone calls. "What do you mean he was practically asleep? Did he seem okay?"
"He just seemed positively exhausted. Has he been checked for narcolepsy? He seems to have no problem falling asleep in these godawful uncomfortable chairs."
From his tone Dean suspected that the small man was only half joking. He wasn't about to explain that after a lifetime of constant traveling Sam was adept at falling asleep in the strangest places. He also didn't think it was any of the manager's business that Sam hadn't slept well the night before.
Bob didn't seem put off by Dean's lack of response. "You must meet George and Margaret Hancock," he continued as he urged Dean in the direction of a middle aged couple sitting at the bar.
The woman was tall and solidly built, light brown hair falling in waves onto the shoulders of her thick turtleneck sweater. Her husband matched her in height and solid build, but his tousled hair, wire rimmed glasses, and tweedy sport jacket gave him the look of a slightly absent minded college professor.
"George, Maggie, this is the other young man I was telling you about, Dean Collins." Bob leaned over and placed his mouth near Maggie's ear. "Didn't I tell you? Both of them!" The words came out in a breathy rush and Dean gave an embarrassed smile.
The Hancocks both had generous smiles and warm handshakes and Dean found himself hoping they weren't responsible for the man who had attacked him. He wanted to be able to like them.
"So Bob tells us you're researching local ghost stories," George stated with a smile.
Margaret's eyes searched Dean's face before she chimed in. "But from the timing…I think it's safe to assume this is not a random visit. I think you want to know about the spirit who scared the MacDougals off of the road near Robbers Woods."
Bob met Dean's glare with an innocent look. "I didn't share any details with them, they figured it out all on their own."
George spoke in a low voice. "Mr. Collins, believe me when I tell you that it is also in our best interests if the focus of your investigation remains under wraps for now. Richard Quincy firmly believes in the old adage 'forewarned is forearmed'. If he knew about your inquiries I have no doubt he would go to great lengths to stop you. He is determined to have this land deal go through."
"And you think the information Sam and I are digging up could stop him?"
"Oh, we KNOW it could stop him!" Margaret answered, practically bouncing on her seat. "There is a lot of anecdotal evidence that those woods are historically significant, but it's been tough to pin down verifiable details. If you could attach a specific name or story to that tract I'm convinced it would sway Jennifer and Vincent solidly onto our side. And once we have those two selectmen, it doesn't matter how far Phillip is under Richard's thumb, the town won't sell the land to him."
Bob leaned towards Dean and whispered. "Jennifer, Vinnie, and Phil are the town's selectmen. They are the grand poobahs when it comes to the town's business dealings."
"And of course we might be able to help you stop this spirit from causing any more accidents like the MacDougal's." George added as an afterthought.
"Actually the MacDougals were the third accident he's caused," Dean said with a small smile. "This morning my brother called the people involved in those two earlier crashes. Once they heard the MacDougals' version of what happened they both admitted they saw the same thing. They were afraid people would think they were crazy if they started talking about colonial men on horseback."
George had been leaning forward on his bar stool as they talked, but now he leaned back against the bar with a surprised smile. "Would it be terribly ghoulish of me to say that I feel like I just got an early Christmas present?"
Margaret clapped her hands together. "One person seeing the mystery ghost could be a crackpot. But three? So how did they describe him?"
The Hancock's excitement was contagious and Dean began to hope this might turn out to be a quick hunt with their research help. "Dark red—" He broke off when he noticed movement in the corner of the tavern. Dean turned to watch as Sam sat up, pulling his feet off of the chair and dropping them to the floor in front of him.
Sam didn't look like someone who had been sound asleep and had just woken up in a strange spot. There was no wide eyed grogginess or languid stretching. Dean stood up straighter when he realized that Sam looked like a coiled spring, his muscles bunched tight. His eyebrows were drawn down and he was staring into space, his face the picture of complete concentration. He rose smoothly to his feet and made a beeline towards the hallway door with no acknowledgement of the small group at the bar watching him.
Dean's eyebrows crept halfway up his forehead as he watched, wondering what the hell was going on. He gave Bob a small shrug before he turned to follow Sam.
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Falling asleep had been the furthest thing from Sam's mind when he sat down to wait for his brother. But the fireplace warmed the tavern and gave it a cozy feel, the soft murmurs of conversation provided relaxing background music, and for some reason he felt as comfortable and at home in the tavern as he did in his room upstairs.
He sipped at his beer before glancing at his watch with a frown. Dean was late. Bob was buzzing around the tavern, talking to guests. He'd promised he would introduce Sam to the Hancocks as soon as they arrived. In the meantime there was nothing to distract him from the growing heaviness of his eyelids. He and Dean needed a vacation or something. One night of bad sleep shouldn't have left him feeling so wiped.
Sam settled himself back in the chair and leaned his head against the beam next to him with a heavy sigh. His limbs felt like they were coated with lead. Hell, his brain felt like it was coated with lead. The conversations around him were a soft buzz in his ears, lulling him to sleep.
I thought Bob said they weren't going to have music tonight.
It was tough to tell how long he had dozed, but without opening his eyes it was obvious that the crowd had filled in, and was ready to have a good time. The voices were louder, the sound of tankards slamming onto wooden tables was constant, the laughter more raucous. And a violin player was doing justice to a slow Irish ballad.
Sam yawned and lifted his head, wincing at the twinge in his neck from the awkward position. He blinked his eyes trying to get them to focus past the haze of sleep.
Opening his eyes seemed to awaken all of his senses. He could smell the spices and heavy aroma of home brewed beer and mead and hard cider, the tinge of smoke from the roaring fireplace. The occasional snippets of conversation that made it to his ears were carried on in voices bearing accents that he couldn't place and using language that sounded like it came out of a historical romance novel. He looked around the room, taking in more detail. The varied rough clothing, the ragged public notices posted around the walls, the dirt…
And perhaps the most disturbing thing of all was that none of it seemed out of place. In the back of his mind a part of him was screaming that this had to be a dream…but it felt real, and it felt right.
His eyes lifted to the bar, drawn to the woman who stood there. She was watching him with a smile that hinted of secrets shared and he found himself climbing to his feet and walking towards her. The white linen cap on her head did little to contain her mass of black hair. It fell in waves down her back, and wisps of it escaped from the front of the cap, framing her heart shaped face. Her green dress was simple, suited more to working in the tavern than for use as Sunday finery. It fit tight through the bodice and flared below her waist, stopping above her ankles so she could carry things without tripping over it. The petticoats visible in the front were a simple white linen, matching the neckerchief tucked into the top of her bodice and covering the swell of her breasts.
A grey haired man stood with one foot up on a chair, his eyes closed and the fiddle under his chin. He was weaving a slow ballad through the air as Sam approached the woman. Heat flooded through Sam when she tilted her head and lowered her lashes over her dark eyes, giving him that look that always took his breath away.
The fiddle player leaned forward when Sam passed close to him. His eyes cracked open and he gave Sam a smile. "Claim your dance, Danny me boy," he whispered in a thick brogue. He straightened up and his chest puffed out as he took in a deep breath, pulling the bow off of the strings. He brought it back down in a rapid stroke and the strains of a lively Irish reel filled the room, bringing laughter and cheers from the crowd.
The young woman threw her head back and laughed as Sam reached his hands out to grasp hers and pull her away from the bar. He spun them both onto a cleared section of the wooden floor, his feet moving in a complicated pattern. There was no way he could know this dance, and yet he did…slides and kicks that the woman mirrored perfectly, her hand lifting her skirts slightly. Feet stomped and hands clapped in time to the music. Sam could feel his barriers falling as he was drawn into the heat of moment, the parts that made him Sam Winchester slipping away, if just for a little while.
He gave in to the temptation and wrapped his left arm around her waist, pulling her close. Holding her dainty left hand in his right he began to spin her around the room leaning forward and back in time to the music. She was much smaller than he was, but she fit perfectly against him. She was warm and real in his arms, down to the detail of him being able to feel the hard boning in the stays around her torso. A wave of dizziness went through him, and hot on its heels was the knowledge that this woman belonged in his arms.
Arms that were clothed in sleeves of claret velvet with lace dangling near his wrist. He knew what he was wearing without looking down. Brown doeskin breeches hugged tight to his legs…but that wasn't right. He was wearing jeans and a blue flannel shirt…
The wave of dizziness returned and he stumbled, the room shading to grey around him. Sounds faded and he felt a dull ache where his head leaned against the wooden beam. He shifted in his seat and his eyes opened slightly.
Dean was here, he was walking towards the bar with Bob…but that wasn't right. Dean wasn't…couldn't be… He fought to open his eyes, fear lancing through him when he felt himself pulled downwards once again.
His eyes opened slowly, revealing a darkened hallway in front of him. The sounds from the tavern were muted here, as though through a closed door. He took in a deep breath, trying to still his racing heart. This was wrong, this wasn't his time, this wasn't his place…this wasn't his dream.
And yet warmth flooded him when the dark eyed girl appeared in the hallway in front of him. He was in a small alcove, hidden in the shadow, and she didn't see him. He could stay hidden and let her pass by, and maybe this would be over. Maybe he'd be back with Dean in the tavern and he could tell his brother that they needed to get the hell out of Dodge. That something in the old building was screwing with him, and that he was getting sucked in deeper and deeper.
Maybe that would happen if he could just stop himself from grabbing her as she walked by. If he could stop himself from needing her, and wanting her. From feeling the love for her that curled through his soul.
He reached out and grabbed her wrist, pulling her into the alcove with him. Her startled gasp turned into a soft laugh when he crushed her against him.
"One kiss, my bonnie sweetheart," he said huskily, kissing her playfully.
"Daniel, are ye insane? My father would shoot you as soon as look at you! I thought he would have a fit when we danced."
"I'm after a prize tonight," he told her softly. "I shall be back with the gold before the morning light, then we'll fly and he'll have naught ta say." Sam had no control over the words he spoke, but the emotions coursing through him felt like his own. He wanted her to believe, he needed her to have faith in him.
She looked up at him, her delicate eyebrows raised. "And what daft plan have ye dreamed up this time, Daniel?"
His lips quirked up in a smile and she softened against him, raising a hand to run her fingers along his cheek as her dark eyes filled with worry. "I fear for you, love. I could not survive if I lost you."
A stab of pain twisted through him. He had lived through the type of anguish she feared once. It was something he never wanted her to feel.
He held her closer and his fingers were in her hair, brushing her cap aside. Perfumed waves cascaded over his hands and he buried his face in them, kissing the dark locks. His fingers skimmed the red ribbon woven into her hair, the elaborate knot that had been hidden by the cap, and he knew it was there for him. "If they press me hard and harry me through the day then look for me by the moonlight. I swear I will come back to you by the moonlight, Bess…though hell should bar the way," he whispered, his voice breaking.
She leaned back in his arms and fixed him with a steady gaze, her eyes dark with love and longing. "I will be waiting. No matter how long it takes, you know I will wait for you." Her hand went to the neckerchief enclosing the top of her dress and she pushed it aside, revealing a fine silver chain and the small oval locket it held. She reached around to the back of her neck and gave a little pull, untying the ribbon that held the ends of the necklace together.
Silently she pulled the necklace from around her neck. Sam kept his hands on her waist and held her steady as she stood on tiptoe and reached over his shoulders. She was trembling as she threaded the thin white ribbon back through the small rings on the ends of the silver chain and tied it securely. She tucked the locket into the neck of his shirt with a small sigh. He could feel the metal sliding into place against his skin and warmth spread out from it.
He pulled her tight against him again, his eyes filling with tears. He wanted to never let her go. She placed her hand on his chest over the locket with a small smile. "You will bring this back to me."
His head bent over hers, his lips brushing against the red ribbon in her hair. "Though hell should bar the way," he repeated his promise softly.
The pain that tore through him was sharp and hot, and Sam knew that this was the last time they would hold each other.
Sam's eyes flew open in the tavern and his feet thudded to the floor as he sat up. The red ribbon…
He knew that red ribbon. His fingers had touched it before. Snippets of last night's dream came to him, a dark haired beauty…with dark eyes. Not Sarah's green eyes. He hadn't been dreaming about Sarah. This woman was working her way into his soul more completely than the woman of flesh and blood that he had so recently held.
Thoughts of the dark eyed woman both thrilled and terrified him. Her face…he had seen her someplace, recently.
Sam rose smoothly to his feet, oblivious to his surroundings, and headed for the tavern door and the hallway beyond it. A wave of vertigo hit him when he reached the hallway, memories coming back to him of scents and sounds that had surrounded him in the afternoon and then promptly been forgotten.
He barreled forward, passing through the corner of the front room as he moved towards the small hall that led to the library. The book-filled room was dark, the fire going cold earlier in the night. Sam stood in the doorway, his hand searching the wall for the light switch. Light flooded the room and he blinked his eyes as they adjusted after the tavern's softer glow.
His gaze fixed on a point on the wall above a small writing desk and he moved slowly forward, ignoring the soft footsteps that entered the room behind him.
"Sam? Isn't it a little late for art appreciation class?" Dean's words were joking, but his voice was uneasy, concerned.
"Where's Bob?" Sam asked in a soft monotone.
There was a moment of silence before Dean answered and Sam turned his head to look at him. Dean's eyebrows were lowered, his face showing equal parts annoyance and worry. "Where's Bob?" he mimicked. "You got some secrets to share with your new best buddy that you can't tell me or something?"
Sam shook his head. If he'd had more energy he would have rolled his eyes at his brother's reaction. His gaze was drawn back to the painting of the dark eyed beauty on the wall. She was sitting on a wooden chair, turned partially to the side. Her pale blue gown was formal and low cut, her hair uncovered and pulled back from her face, a mass of dark waves flowing down in back of her shoulders. The artist had caught the warmth in her eyes and the slightly teasing quality of her half smile. Sam's breath caught and his throat tightened when he saw the red ribbon trailing from her fingers and over her lap. "Bob'll know who she is," he said softly, nodding at the portrait.
"Why, you looking for a date?" Dean bit out.
There was no way for Dean to know the lead weight that settled on Sam's chest at the comment, and Sam shook himself. He understood his brother's frustration. He was a little frustrated himself with his sudden inability to explain himself. "Dean, she's the woman…" he trailed off. "I've been seeing her," he finished quietly.
A part of me is in love with her.
-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-
A/N Anyone who is familiar with the Noyes poem will recognize parts of the hallway scene between Bess and her lover. I tried to borrow some of the words without it sounding too much like...a poem.
When Dean thinks about the couple of months spent convincing Sam that he is considered an equal on hunts, he is referring to events in my story 'Hozho'.
