The inspiration for this chapter is Ailein Duinn by Meav.

Interlude: Dreams

Isabelle leaned against the railing of the balcony staring pensively across the restless, black waters of the great ocean. There was little to see in the gloomy darkness. A high wind carried roiling rain clouds overhead, quickly overtaking the tiny patch of sky where hung a sliver of moon and the cold, distant twinkle of stars. Nature was seeking shelter from the coming spring rain, the quiet disturbed only by a faint and distant echo of thunder, and the night absorbed the sounds of clanging bells and moaning foghorns that usually drifted in from the harbor. A cool breeze gently nudged at the long braid she had plaited her hair into and she hugged into her shawl, warming her shoulders even as the breeze teased under the hem of her nightgown chilling her legs and bare feet. The day had been eventful in so many ways, the entirety of her future dangling like a rocking pendulum set in motion by one solitary letter offering her a few minutes of a publisher's time.

Killian left soon after taking the photographs on the beach. Upon entering the house, Martha had set upon her with admonitions concerning Jones' character and intentions, her friend uncharacteristically cross and outspoken. They'd quarreled about Isabelle accepting the train tickets, Martha demanding she return them and let her pay for the trip instead. Isabelle refused the offer, telling her she'd repay Jones for the tickets when the book was published. Lucy responded to their quarrel with peckish behavior of her own. Whining and uncooperative, she'd picked at her supper and spent the evening sulking. Bath time had erupted into an argument when Lucy decided she didn't want her hair washed, their routine every Saturday night since she'd been a baby, and the child was still sullen when Isabelle put her to bed. Instead of saying her prayers that night, she simply flopped down into her pillow, pulled the covers over her head and mumbled goodnight to her astonished mother.

Exhausted emotionally and physically, Isabelle had bathed herself and retired to her room, forsaking her nightly ritual of tea in the kitchen, wanting solitude to put her thoughts in order. She little understood Martha's objections to her friendship with Killian. He was very kind to her, was helping her navigate the waters of the literary world, a place she was ill-equipped to traverse on her own. His assistance meant the difference between getting the book published sooner rather than later, and she needed it published now. As much as she loved and appreciated Martha's assistance, she couldn't let her friend and servant support them indefinitely. Neither was she blind to Jones' flirtations, but his attentions were harmless so long as she understood he was not serious about her and she kept her boundaries firmly in place. And then there was Lucy's behavior: she'd been cold toward Killian from the moment he'd entered the house, only warming up to him during the photo session. Afterwards, she'd sulked and pined away as if she had committed some great error over which she felt guilt. Isabelle had never had a cross day under the roof of this house, and now she needed to find a way to make amends.

The last she'd seen of Daniel was at the beach just moments after Killian had taken her photograph. One moment she'd been watching Lucy frolic in the sand and the next she'd felt him standing there between her and Killian's camera. He just stood there, looking at her with love and longing, hope and happiness, and she'd seen everything she'd ever wanted reflected openly in his visage. He'd lingered there only a few moments, smiling at her as if she were his very breath. She had responded to him, drawn by the promise reflected in his expressive face. They held each other's gaze for a few heartbeats, and then he looked toward Lucy playing in the low tide, drawing her attention in that direction only for a second. When she looked back, he had vanished. She'd missed him immediately, a void that colored the rest of the day.

Closing her eyes, she sighed and concentrated on the crisp night air, willing it to settle the turmoil in her mind. She envisioned his face, every line and contour, remembered the feel of his lips, the ever shifting facets of his dark eyes. Missing him, wanting him near, she willed him to come to her and, releasing her breath, she felt Daniel's presence behind her at the telescope. As quiet as shadow, he came up behind her and settled his arms around her shoulders as he had a million moments ago that morning. Peace settled over her and a soft smile curved her lips. "Hello, Daniel."

Pressing a lingering kiss upon her hair, he returned teasingly, "Belle-of-mine." For long minutes they stood thus, entwined before he asked, "what are ye thinkin' about?"

Isabelle, her eyes still closed, lean into him. "I'm dreaming," she said whispered.

"About yer trip to Boston?"

"Mm mm. About the day before I met Gerald."

"And pray, what happened in yer dream, on the day 'afore ye met yer husband?"

"I met you."

Daniel stilled and drew her closer to him. "Aye," he played along, wishing for all the world it had been so. "We were at the docks in Boston."

Contented, Isabelle formed the images in her mind, committing them to memory, making them memory. "Papa took me there to see the ships coming in."

Letting his mind drift back in time, he envisioned the scene she wove for him. "I'm standin' on the deck of the Dagger. The cargo was all unloaded an' the hands ha' put out for shore leave. I'm wonderin' how long it will take to get a new cargo loaded and put back out to sea and home to me lonely house." He rubbed his face against her hair, imagining how wonderful the velvety strands smelled. With barely a whisper against her ear he said silkily, "An' then I got distracted. Down on the loadin' dock was a fetchin' maid with chestnut braids wearin' a dress the color of a summer sky."

"Papa needs to check a cargo in from France."

"England. He had a shipment in from England."

"Yes, a load of furniture and dry goods." In her mind's eye she sees him standing there upon on the deck of a cargo vessel, his compact body leaning against the railing, his head bare and the wind lightly ruffling his sandy hair. "He asks to speak with the captain, and a man boards the ship right away to find him."

"Of course I'll meet with the merchant, and the bonny lass beside him."

"You shook my papa's hand and then . . . "

Trailing his hand down Isabelle's arm, he took her delicate fingers in his own and brought it to his lips, "I kissed yer hand."

He could hear the smile in her voice. "You're very bold, sir."

"Aye. I was afraid I'd never get another chance."

Sighing, she confessed, "I was smitten. The wide world was in your eyes and your face was all I could see."

"And in yers, me love, was the horizon, where the ocean meets the sky."

Isabelle closed her eyes and sighed, for he had called her his love. "Papa was very surprised when I invited you to dinner."

"Aye, even more so that I came. He wondered what me intentions were toward his daughter."

"What were your intentions?"

"To drag you to the nearest church, give you me name and hold you next to me heart forever."

Her heart near bursting, tears welled up and spilled through the closed lids to course down her cheeks. "I'll give you forever," she promised.

They stood locked in their embrace and their dream, still in the cool blanket of darkness as the clouds continued to gather, a breeze flirting at the hem of Isabelle's nightgown. Turning in Daniel's embrace, Isabelle looped her arms around his neck and pressed against him, her watery eyes raised lovingly to his. He could barely see her in the darkness, felt rather than saw the silent teardrops, and he pressed his lips in petal soft kisses on her cheeks to remove them. He felt her shift slightly as she pushed herself up on her cold, little bare feet to fit against him better, accepting his attentions in quiet rapture. He continued to press his lips to her face, her forehead, her eyelids, her cheeks, each one becoming more fevered and urgent, until he seized her mouth with his own. Their emotions already heightened by the sweet fantasy they'd indulged in only moments ago, they clung desperately to one another, the kiss fueled by need, desire and love.

As drops of rain began to dapple the balcony, Daniel reluctantly released her and they ducked through the door and into the bedroom. The warmth indoors struck Isabelle who, between her bare feet and damp nightgown, began to shiver. Grabbing a quilt off of the bed, Daniel wrapped her in it and steered her toward the fireplace. He secured a wicker chair from the breakfast set nearby and positioned it in front of the fire; then he gently seated her, tucking the ends of the quilt in around her small frame. Sitting on the hearth he placed her feet on his lap and tenderly began rubbing warmth back into them. They sat quietly for a few minutes as the heat of the fire and his gentle massaging lulled her into a hazy comfort, "I'll give you forever" resting between them like a healing balm.

He had watched her with Jones and Jones with her. On the surface, Jones appeared to be a worldly man, not wealthy, but a man of some means. He was intelligent and perceptive; a gambler who knew how to assess the players at the table and play well the cards dealt him. He was a free spirit, the typical seaman who sailed into adventure, gave his vices free reign and then returned to hearth and home to adore a virtuous wife, with whom he remains in love if for no other reason than he's never with her long enough to get bored with her. He had placed Isabelle on a pedestal, fancying her as that wife, Daniel could see it in his eyes. Jones motive to assist his Belle had strings attached to it whether she recognized it or not. And she most certainly did not. She saw in him only a friend, one who shared her love of the written word and who had offered to help her navigate the unknown waters of the publishing world. She had no idea what wheels were turning in Jones' head regarding her: strange thought when he considered her otherwise flawless ability to see through others. Perhaps it's the pretty face that throws her.

"Daniel?"

"Aye?"

"What do you think about me going to Boston with Mr. Jones?"

He glanced up, his hands idly caressing the arch of her tiny foot. She was bathed in the glow of the firelight, her expression neutral as she waited for his answer. Sighing, he put her foot down on the floor and ran his hand through his hair before answering. "I donna like it, ye travelin' alone with a man ye barely know."

Pausing, he waited for her to plea her case, but she surprised him. "I don't like it either. I don't like owing him, but I can't let Martha continue to pay for everything." She reached out to him and he placed his right hand in hers. Holding it on her knee, she kneaded it softly between her fingers, tracing over his knuckles and palm. He feels so solid, so here. Corralling her thoughts, she continued, "I need to do this, to take advantage of the opportunity here. The book is good. There may be a few things an editor might want changed, but I have no doubt it will be published." Leaning forward, she stilled her hands and fixed him with conviction in her eyes. "I have to do this, Daniel."

"Aye, I know ye do," he conceded. "Ye'ld be foolish to pass the opportunity up. But, Isabelle," he warned, "I canna go with ye."

Taking a deep breath and letting it go, she affirmed, "I know. I hate that you can't be here for this step. You're sure you can't leave the house?"

"Aye," he answered, frustration evident at his limitations. "The further I go, the less awareness I have."

She shook her head in understanding. She'd resisted Martha's assertion she not travel alone with Jones, hoping that she wouldn't actually be alone with him. "Well," she said determinedly, "I'll have to take care of myself."

"Aye," he said grinning. "I ha' no doubt ye can do that!"

She rewarded him with a pretty, bright smile. "I love you, Daniel," passed her lips almost involuntarily. Daniel closed his eyes, a pained expression on his face as he schooled his emotions and maintained his silence. Isabelle's smile gradually waned at his failure to return the sentiment. Stubborn man!

Quietly, she turned the conversation back to the book, asking his advice regarding the rights, percentages and contracts the endeavor would involve. They spoke for another hour until fatigue from the day, the steady thud of the spring rain falling on the roof and the captains' quiet, familiar tones wove a spell of sleep over Isabelle. Daniel watched her in the dying embers of the fire, her eyes closed and her head resting on her shoulder, her breath falling slowly and steadily. She is so beautiful, too beautiful to spend her life alone. Rising, he leaned over the chair and lifted the petite woman. Cradling her in his arms, he slowly paced the room to the bed. Balancing her legs over his arm, he grabbed a handful of the comforter and pulled it back. Leaving her wrapped in the cozy, warm quilt, he laid her on the cold sheets and pulled the comforter up to her chin. After a moment, Isabelle, turning within the warm quilt, flipped over onto her stomach, grabbed her pillow into an embrace and moaned sleepily as she settled. Smiling, his heart full and his eyes alight with the feelings he tried to hide from her, Daniel whispered, "aye, and I am yers forever."