A/N: Thanks to all who followed and favourited. I'm so happy you're sailing this ship with me.
The Auburn Girl: this chapter should give you some more answers.
ThisIsAGuest: trust me, I really am writing as fast as I can! Thanks for the support x
Guest: one chapter coming up!
Claire: nice to see what you're thinking – all will be revealed…
Wondermorena, cheesyteal'c, RoxyMoron, ShipperQueen93, CharlotteAshmore, Twyla Mercedes, morgananne16, JustBFree, michellelramsey1, estranged-writer, emmaleewhittaker, paulawer, , ecinspired, deweymay, narciscia, jewel415, spacecats, karolprado, orthankg1, Erik'sTrueAngel (thanks for the pep talk): you're all amazing, here's the next instalment.
Elizabeth Willoughby gazed at herself in the looking glass, pleased with what she saw. Her long chestnut tresses were elaborately piled on her head, the ringlets cascading down her back like curls of polished mahogany. She smoothed the skirt of her gown, the golden-yellow silk clinging to her upper arms, leaving her milky shoulders bare. She smiled, full lips curving upwards, her blue eyes shining. Her maid, a pretty, sturdily-built girl in a grey linen dress, apron and mobcap, brushed an imaginary speck of dust from the dress and stepped aside.
"You've done wonders with me, Sarah," said Elizabeth warmly. "The necklace, if you please."
Sarah immediately opened the box of pale green velvet, and gasped.
"Oh, miss! It's so pretty!"
"Father had the stone re-set in this design," said Elizabeth, smiling at Sarah's reaction. "It used to be in a ring, you know, but he wouldn't let me wear it. Said it was too vulgar. Old-fashioned. I suppose the ring was a few hundred years old, but it still seems a shame to change it for the sake of fashion."
Sarah looped the necklace around her neck, the tiny golden leaves sparkling around the gleaming red of the fire opal.
"You look beautiful, miss," she said, with a proud smile, and Elizabeth sighed.
"I had much rather spend the evening in the library than attend this ball," she said regretfully. "But Mama insists that it matters what others think, so it appears I must suffer!" She shared a grin with Sarah.
"Will there be many gentlemen there, miss?" asked the maid, and Elizabeth rolled her eyes.
"Undoubtedly," she said dryly. "And I shall have to dance with many of them, or risk Papa's displeasure. As long as that ignorant boor of a Duke doesn't try to grab me, I think I can bear it." She touched the necklace, running her fingertip over the stone, her lips parting slightly as she felt a slight tingle run through her.
"Miss?" asked Sarah, puzzled, and Elizabeth shook her head.
"A little faint," she admitted. "Perhaps I need to eat something. I just had the strangest thought that I've worn this stone before." She looked at herself intently, deep blue eyes boring into her own reflection, and suddenly gasped.
Belle awoke with a start, to find that she was alone in the bed. Heart thumping a little from the suddenness of her waking, she smiled to herself, fingering the necklace that was around her neck. She had spent the night having extremely vivid dreams, and the last was no exception. She had somehow managed to dream that she was the author of her grandmother's book, that she had worn the very necklace that was currently tangled in her hair, and that she was about to attend a fashionable ball. Belle chuckled to herself at the thought of her clumsiness mixed with formal dancing. She had had other dreams too, of herself, and of Gold, and she rolled her eyes at the memory of a couple of them, surprised she wasn't more tired. The man really was making her lose her wits. She could hear noises downstairs, so she pushed herself up, yawning, and drew on Gold's robe. She spent a couple of minutes untangling the necklace from her dark curls, and left it on his dresser; he could put it back in the safe after she had gone. Rubbing her eyes sleepily, she padded down the stairs to the kitchen. He looked around as she entered, already dressed and cooking eggs.
"I was going to bring this up to you," he said. "Here or the bedroom. Your choice."
"Are we talking about breakfast or something else?" she asked with a grin, and his eyes twinkled at her.
"Tempting though the idea is, we both need to get to work," he said sternly, and she slid onto one of the chairs with a sigh.
"Kitchen, then," she agreed. "Do you need a hand?"
"All under control." He dished up the eggs with buttered toast and brought them to her, following them with cups of coffee. They ate and drank in silence for a few minutes.
"Did you sleep well?" he asked eventually, and she nodded readily.
"I had a dream about you last night," she confided with a grin. "Actually, there were a few. Except, it wasn't really you. I mean, it was you, but not…you."
Gold blinked. "Well, I'm glad we cleared that up," he said dryly, and she shot him a look as she cut into her toast.
"What I mean is, it looked like you, but you were dressed in – I don't know, this wool tunic, or something." Her fingers gestured up and down and she lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug. "Bit of a different look for you. And you were sitting at a spinning wheel." She licked butter from her thumb.
Gold's heart lurched, but his expression remained neutral. "Really? Well, you know I have one in the shop. Did this little fantasy get any more interesting? Perhaps it could give us ideas…"
Belle giggled, swatting him playfully. "It wasn't that sort of dream! Admittedly I did have a few of those, but…" She grinned at his expression. "No, you were just sitting there and – spinning. You looked at me once, and smiled." She looked pensive. "It was kind of nice. You looked peaceful. Happy."
"And what interpretation do you put on this?" he asked, and she shrugged.
"That I've been reading way too much about history and you work too hard," she said dismissively.
"Some say that dreams are memories," he said casually. "Memories of another life."
Belle grinned at him. "So you think we knew one another in a past life?" she teased. "You would think you would have learned your lesson the first time around."
He smiled at her. "One would think."
She gave him a curious, calculating look then, sipping her coffee. "Do you believe in past lives?"
His smile widened. "I never rule out anything."
Gold dropped her off at the university, giving her plenty of time to prepare for her first class, and Belle sat down to go through a few papers. She was half-way through when her phone buzzed to reveal a message from Ruby: O.M.F.G! You need to call me. X.
Sighing to herself, Belle called her, and Ruby answered immediately, almost bursting with news.
"You will not guess what just happened!" she hissed.
"Probably not," agreed Belle. "Why don't you just tell me?"
"Kathryn Nolan just stormed into the diner and slapped Snow right across the face in front of everyone!" said Ruby. "Turns out Snow has been sleeping with her husband, David."
"The vet?" asked Belle, puzzled. "But I've never even seen them together!"
"I know, I know!" exclaimed Ruby. "She's wasted as a schoolteacher; she should be a secret agent!"
"How is she?" asked Belle, worried, and Ruby sobered.
"Not good. Apparently he was supposed to tell his wife it was over and he loved Snow, but he took the coward's way out and told her they just weren't connecting, or some other crap. Someone else told her about Snow, but we don't know who yet."
"Poor Kathryn," said Belle, biting her lip. "Poor Snow! She must be devastated."
"Devastated doesn't cut it," said Ruby grimly. "She had to call into the school and take a sick day. I'm going round after my shift, but I think she'll need some serious TLC tonight."
Belle sighed. "I'll pick up some ice cream."
That evening, having trudged her way home through a fresh fall of snow, Belle shut the door behind herself, dropped her bag, and slumped against the wall tiredly, pinching the bridge of her nose to clear her vision.
"In the kitchen," she heard Ruby call, and she made her way wearily towards the sound of her voice, a wan smile on her face as she saw that Emma and Snow were already there. Snow's eyes were red and puffy, but she looked to have stopped crying for the moment. Belle set the tub of double chocolate ice cream in front of her and went to get spoons from the drawer.
"I feel like such an idiot," said Snow, folding her arms on the table and resting her head on them. Ruby squeezed her shoulder.
"You're not an idiot," said Belle gently, and Snow dashed angry tears from her eyes, sitting up again and tearing the lid off the ice cream tub.
"He said he'd tell her," she sniffed. "He promised me he'd tell her!"
"Newsflash: Man Lies," said Emma flatly, pouring wine for Belle. "Sorry, honey. I doubt Sidney'll hold the front page for that one."
Snow gave a tearful chuckle. "Now the whole town thinks I'm a total slut," she muttered.
"I'm sure that's not true," Belle reassured her.
"Yeah, if anyone's the town slut here, it's definitely me," added Ruby. "I think I should get a T-shirt with it on, stop all the confusion."
"Although it's Belle that's been having all the weird sex, so it's probably her," put in Emma.
"I'm not having weird sex!" protested Belle, blushing, and Emma shrugged.
"Really? Sorry, made an assumption. He looks the type."
Belle glared at her, but Ruby and Snow were giggling, although Snow was still wiping away tears. Belle turned back to her.
"Look, honey, you can't help who you fall in love with," she said gently.
"You can if they're married," said Snow despondently. "I should just have stayed away from him."
There was too much truth in that to argue with, so they stayed silent. Emma refilled Snow's glass and encouraged her to drink it.
"Well, my love life tanked this week too," admitted Ruby. "Archie can't look at me in class without blushing, which I think is grossly unfair since I haven't done any of the things I could do to make him blush, Billy's away, and I let some random guy chat me up in a bar and walk me home."
"Which guy?" asked Emma, interested. "That – what was his name – Hook? Cute, but I wouldn't trust him as far as I could throw him."
"Hmm, well, he was very charming," said Ruby. "He bought the drinks, so no complaints there, and he walked me home. We kissed (that part was great), and then he asked if he could use the bathroom."
"Oh, that old trick," nodded Emma.
"Yeah, so I followed him upstairs to see what was taking so long, and he was in Belle's bedroom." She looked apologetic as Belle frowned. "He said I was hoping I'd change my mind about – well, you know – but something didn't seem right, so I threw him out."
"Maybe he was trying to steal stuff," offered Snow, spooning ice cream into her mouth. Belle wrinkled her brow.
"I don't think anything's missing," she said thoughtfully. Emma turned to Snow.
"Well, in terms of dysfunctional relationships, it looks as though we can give you a run for your money," she said. She took a deep breath, as though steeling herself. "I kissed Graham."
"What?" shouted the other three, and she grinned.
"Yeah, I kind of ran into him yesterday and we ended up getting a coffee, then I gave him a ride back to work, and – we kissed. In the university car park, right under Regina's nose. So it's actually me who's the slut here."
"Maybe we should all get T-shirts," mused Ruby, with a sudden grin. "'Storybrooke Slut-bags' on the front, with our names on the back. We could be one of those girl gangs, without the piercings and petty crime." The others chuckled.
Belle shook her head. "I wouldn't want to be in Graham's shoes when Regina finds out. Are you seeing each other?"
Emma hesitated, and suddenly smiled shyly, an expression none of her friends had seen on her before. "Well, he says he's telling her it's over, so, who knows?"
"Assuming he's not as big a liar as David," said Snow bleakly, digging the spoon into her ice cream.
There was silence for a moment, then Emma nudged Belle.
"So, come on, spill," she said, and Belle raised an eyebrow.
"What?"
Emma gave her a look. "Gold. You've been tight-lipped since last weekend, except when you yelled about orgasms in the street – wish I'd been there for that, by the way. What gives?"
Belle pushed her spoon into the ice cream, and ate some slowly, thinking.
"It's weird," she said eventually, and Emma snorted.
"Knew it!" she declared, and Belle rolled her eyes.
"No, I don't mean like that, I mean: it's weird, because it's like he knows me." She gestured with the spoon as they exchanged confused glances. "I mean, it's like he knows every bit of me, and everything I need. Even some stuff I didn't know I needed. It's like…" She frowned, pondering. "This is going to sound crazy. The sex is mind-blowing, but it goes deeper than that, like we were always meant to be together."
"Like destiny," nodded Snow, blinking rapidly as though she was trying not to cry again.
"Yes," agreed Belle eagerly. "I mean, I never believed in stuff like that, but that's how it feels."
Emma and Ruby shared despairing glances.
"D'you love him?" asked Ruby curiously. "A little soon, isn't it?"
"I love him," said Belle decidedly. "The weird thing is, it kind of feels as though I always have."
"You don't call, you don't write…" Jefferson barged into the house, ebullient as ever, and Gold rolled his eyes, following him into the lounge. Jefferson threw himself onto the sofa, arms spread out across the back and his booted left foot resting on his right knee. He nodded at the wine glass in Gold's hand.
"Wine, is it? I wouldn't say no."
"Do you ever?" asked Gold dryly, but he put down his glass and went to fetch another. Jefferson took a generous gulp, making a noise of appreciation.
"Good stuff! Anyhow, I'm here to give you an update."
"Go on." Gold sipped his own wine, and Jefferson sat forward, running his fingers through his hair.
"Okay, so you wanted to know if there was anyone new in town," he began. "A couple of guys turned up while you were away. Dark-haired. Thirties, I think. They're staying at Granny's. The tale they've put around is that they're doing some work on one of the warehouses down by the docks, but I had a quick scout around down there and I couldn't hear anything going on. They seem to spend way too much time in Granny's and the Rabbit Hole for guys with a steady day job."
"Seeking information, then," nodded Gold. "What else?"
"One of my girls got talking to them last night," continued Jefferson.
"One of your girls?" said Gold, amused, and Jefferson threw up his hands.
"Hey, Storybrooke's a big place, I can't be everywhere!" he protested. "Anyway, I got down there, and it turns out that the younger one had been chatting up Ruby Lucas at Granny's the other night. Walked her home."
"And then?" asked Gold. Jefferson shrugged, pulling his bottom lip up over his teeth in a bemused expression.
"No word. They weren't together last night. Maybe he's just a player trying his luck."
"Perhaps," acknowledged Gold, although he didn't believe it. "No doubt Miss Lucas will inform her friends of what occurred. Anything else?"
"Yes," said Jefferson, with satisfaction, taking another drink. "The other one was asking my friend about the teachers at the university. She says he got a little bit too interested when she mentioned Belle. Tried to hide it, but not very well. He doesn't seem as smooth as his buddy."
Gold's hands tightened on his cane. "Indeed? And the name?"
Jefferson wrinkled his nose. "Kevin? No, Keith. Definitely Keith."
Gold felt a tiny smile drag the left corner of his mouth upwards. So.
"Well, it would appear that these two gentlemen are making themselves unwelcome," he said lightly.
"Yeah." Jefferson took a swallow of wine, looking a little concerned. "Look, I know you and Belle are doing it like bunnies, but you haven't gotten her mixed up in anything she shouldn't be, right?"
Gold sighed. "I assure you that any threat they may pose to Belle will be dealt with," he said. "I'm sure you have their room number at Granny's."
"Number four," said Jefferson, twirling his almost empty glass between his fingers. "They're supposed to be there for two weeks and working down at the old cannery." He gave Gold a hesitant glance. "Look, Gold, you know I'm always happy to do your spying, but I'm really not adept at physical violence."
"I know," said Gold, taking a drink. He raised an eyebrow, and added: "Fortunately I am."
It was approaching eleven when Keith Nottingham made his way up the stairs of Granny's B & B to the room he shared with Hook. The two men had found out a fair bit of information in the past couple of days, but they still hadn't managed to recover the necklace. He suspected that it would take a proper burglary to locate the thing in the girl's room, but she was likely to be home that weekend, and they wanted to avoid any complications if at all possible, particularly as she appeared to be friends with that hot police officer. Hook fancied his chances with that one, though Nottingham could have told him that he was on a hiding to nothing, having already made that Ruby girl suspicious. He pushed his key into the lock and turned it, stepping into the room. There was a tiny, low whistle, as though something was travelling extremely fast, a sharp blow to the side of his head, and darkness.
"Wakey wakey, dearie." A cold, calm voice slipped into Nottingham's brain, pulling him up out of the depths, and he felt pain in his head. Groaning, he tried to move, and found that he couldn't. His heart began to pound with fear, but as he swam up out of unconsciousness he realised that he had been tied to a chair, duct tape securing his wrists to the arms and his torso to the back. He couldn't move his feet; he suspected his ankles had also been taped to the legs. This was not really a comforting thought, and he opened his eyes, blinking groggily. The room was dark, the light from the streetlamp outside the only illumination. There was a shadowy figure standing by one of the beds, slight and below average height, a thin strip of light shining off something held in front of him. A cane? That explained the headache, certainly. One short thin guy with a bum leg shouldn't be too hard to deal with, unless… Nottingham groaned again.
"Who are you?" asked the voice, and he scowled.
"Fuck you, you asshole!"
Moving more quickly than he could have believed, the figure pounced, grasping the little finger of his left hand and bending it backwards in one swift, bone-cracking movement. Nottingham cried out.
"That wasn't the answer I was looking for," said the voice, almost apologetically. "Perhaps I didn't explain the game. I ask questions, and you answer truthfully. Fail in this, and I hurt you. Do you understand the rules?"
Nottingham glowered at him, but nodded.
"Good. Now, shall we try again? Who are you?"
"Nottingham," he spat, pain lancing through his hand.
"And your friend?"
Nottingham hesitated, but shouted the name as the figure lunged again. "Hook! His name's Hook!" He panted with fear as the man before him straightened up slowly.
"And do you know who I am?" the figure asked quietly, the gleam of metal briefly shining in his mouth.
"Short. Thin. Walks with a cane. Total fucking psycho. I'm guessing you'd be Mr Gold," said Nottingham sulkily, earning a soft chuckle.
"My reputation precedes me. Excellent."
Nottingham decided to play dumb. "Look, buddy, I don't know what you want, but I paid the old woman. We don't owe you a thing!"
"Oh, so you think I'm here for the rent?" asked Gold softly. "I highly doubt that. But the question really isn't what I'm doing here, besides tying you to a chair and contemplating beating you to a bloody pulp. The real question is, what are you doing here? Why have you come to my town?"
Nottingham hesitated, tongue wetting his lips nervously. "We're on a job, down at the old cannery…" he began, and shrieked as the handle of Gold's cane slammed down on his kneecap. "You fucking bastard!" he roared.
"Don't lie to me, Mr Nottingham," said Gold idly. "You've been asking questions, poking your noses in where they don't belong. I want to know why. You either tell me, or I make you tell me. That may take us a while – I really don't know how much pain you can stand, but I assure you that I'm very inventive. What's it to be?" Nottingham was silent, and Gold raised his cane again.
"Alright!" he said hastily. "We were sent here to retrieve something. A necklace. That's it. We just need to steal a necklace, okay? We're not big guns, we're not here on a turf invasion. No harm, no foul, right? Right, Gold?"
Gold was silent for a moment, the dark shadow of fingers slowly stroking his chin.
"And so to my next question," he said quietly. "And believe me, Mr Nottingham, when I say a wrong answer will cost you all your points. Who sent you?"
Nottingham swallowed hard. Shit. Shitshitshit! His heart hammered with fear, and for the first time he wished he'd gotten a steady job when he dropped out of school, rather than looking for a quick route to riches. A second agonising blow to his knee made him see stars, made him want to throw up, and he screamed.
"Who sent you?" said Gold, his voice low, dangerous. He lifted the cane again, a shaft of ebony in the dim light, and Nottingham panicked.
"Midas!" he gabbled. "We work for Midas! It's his idea, not ours, we're just here to collect the thing. Honestly! I'm not lying, Gold, I swear!" His voice was breaking a little over the agony in his knee and hand.
"Well, that wasn't so difficult, now was it?" said Gold pleasantly. "Where is your partner in crime?"
"Bar," choked Nottingham.
"Excellent." Gold planted his feet firmly apart, hands on his cane. "Now, this is what I propose. The two of you leave my town and never return, on pain of death. An exceedingly agonising death, at that. Do I make myself clear? Should I write this down, or can you remember?"
"I understand," muttered Nottingham, but his heart lightened a little. He was going to live. From some of the stories he'd heard of Gold, that was a pleasant surprise. Perhaps the man was growing soft.
"You've been most helpful, Mr Nottingham," said Gold dryly. "Do pass on my compliments to your employer, and tell him I'll be in touch personally to discuss this matter further."
The dark presence that was Gold melted towards the door, and Nottingham let out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding, his head dropping forwards onto his chest.
Saturday found Belle in the kitchen, once Emma and Snow had eaten breakfast and left for their own place. Snow seemed a little down, but was better than she had been the night before. When Belle asked her how she was feeling, Snow had simply shrugged and said: "it's meant to be, but perhaps not yet."
Gold had said that he would collect Belle at six for their date, and she spent the afternoon making food for them to eat. She baked a salmon and broccoli quiche and an apple pie and cooked some chicken legs, leaving everything to go cold and preparing salad and coleslaw to eat with them. Ruby sat on the kitchen counter, swinging her legs and looking amused as Belle packed everything into a picnic hamper.
"A little cold for picnics, isn't it?" she asked, and Belle shrugged.
"I don't know where we're going," she admitted. "I'll put on plenty of layers, just in case." She looked up at Ruby. "What are you up to tonight?"
"Oh, Snow and I are having a DVD and cocktail pyjama-party," said Ruby with a grin, holding up her phone with a message on it. "We're gonna watch some god-awful chick flick that you and Emma would turn your noses up at, drink mojitos and talk about our tangled love-lives." She put her head on the side, looking at Belle. "You up for being my study-buddy tomorrow?"
"God, yes!" sighed Belle. "I have tons to do. Plus, I have a heap of papers to grade. And some of them are gonna take ages. D'you know, some of my students don't even bother to read the books I set them?" Her brows lifted with indignation.
"Imagine that," said Ruby dryly. "It's almost as though there's a purpose to publishing CliffsNotes."
Belle grinned, looking at the clock and noting that it was almost six. She carried the basket through to the hallway and trotted up the stairs to dig out a few thin sweaters, in case she really did need to layer up. Shoving them into her small overnight bag with the other things she had packed, she descended to the hall just in time to hear the doorbell. Ruby caught her up in a hug before she answered it, and Belle squeezed her back before pulling open the door to him.
"Hey!" she said breathlessly, shoving her bag at him. "Put that in the car, I've got the food."
He smirked, amused, and inclined his head for her to follow, Ruby waving them off cheerfully.
He was driving the car himself, which intrigued her, as they clearly weren't going to be dropped somewhere by Dover. She was unable to think of where they could be staying, and as the car left the outskirts of Storybrooke she started to look around in confusion.
"Where are you taking me?" she asked, and he simply smiled and said nothing. A few minutes later, he turned the car off the road onto a dirt track that she hadn't even noticed, and drove slowly into the woods. The narrow track wound for a mile or so before ending outside a log cabin. Belle's mouth fell open.
"I had no idea this was here!" she said. "Is it yours?"
"Indeed." He parked the car and turned to her, gesturing towards the cabin. "Our accommodation for this evening, my lady."
Belle giggled, and shrugged out of her seatbelt, bouncing out of the car eagerly. She noted that the cabin had a porch with a large stack of firewood, and hoped that he would be lighting a fire fairly quickly. Running around the side of the cabin, she saw that it sat on the edge of a large lake, mist rising from the water in the night air. There was a clean scent of pine sap and leaf mulch in her nostrils, the rustle and chirp of night time insects and woodland creatures. Belle took a deep breath, inhaling the scent and feel of the dark forest around her. When she turned back to the car, Gold was taking her bag from the bag, and she trotted over to pick up the hamper. She kissed his cheek loudly, and he chuckled.
"I take it you approve," he said, amused, and she grinned and skipped to the front door of the cabin.
Belle got out the food, and Gold opened the white wine he had brought that had kept chilled in the trunk of the car on the way over. The cabin itself had a large living area, with an open fire, couch and armchairs, and a woven rug on the floor. There was a small kitchen area with a tiny fridge, kettle and toaster, and a few cupboards. Through a door beyond the chimney breast, there was a bedroom and a small shower room. Belle thought it was perfect, particularly as there were a few well-stocked bookshelves but no TV. She had brought her grandmother's book with her, but thought it rude to look at it while they were eating. Her gaze was constantly drawn to where it sat on the arm of the couch, however, and Gold kept shooting her amused glances as he tried to engage her in conversation. He had lit a fire as soon as they entered, along with a bunch of thick candles, which gave a warm, pleasant light. Belle arranged their picnic on plates and found glasses for the wine, and now they were sitting side by side on the couch, contentedly full.
"How's the book?" he asked casually, and she looked up, eyes bright and slightly misty with a faraway look he had come to recognise as her being carried away by her reading materials.
"Oh, it's amazing!" she said, curling her feet up underneath her and sipping her wine. "I thought it was a collection of old stories, but it's so much more than that." She brushed a lock of hair out of her eyes and settled herself more comfortably, clearing her throat. "The book seems to have been put together a couple of hundred years ago, in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, by a woman called Elizabeth Willoughby."
Gold's brow crinkled slightly, not recognising the name. "What do you know about her?"
"Not much," admitted Belle. "She seems to have been a member of the English upper class, a gentleman's daughter, with money but no title, at least, there's no mention of any title in the book."
"I thought you said it was a book of stories," he said, confused, and she shook her head.
"Much of it is, but she also wrote snippets in there from her own life; it's a sort of journal with these old folk tales intertwined with eighteenth and nineteenth century everyday stuff." She took another drink. "I haven't gotten all the way through it yet, because there are so many parallels with what I've been reading for you I just haven't had the time, I had to keep cross-checking stuff to make sure I wasn't going crazy."
Gold's fingers tightened on his glass. "What do you mean?"
Belle shrugged, flicking her hair back, and reached for the book. "She seems to have been a bit of a collector. You can see that all of the pages are vellum. That's unusual, paper would have been used at the time she was writing. It's like she wanted to make sure the book survived for a long time, but that's not the only weird thing. She hasn't written all of it; a lot of the stories are in her hand, but there are also old documents, like the ones I've been looking at for you, stitched in amongst everything else and then folded up. That's why there's a clasp on the book; the insides are thicker than the spine." She held it up for his perusal, and he saw that there were indeed vellum documents folded neatly so that they fitted within the overall shape of the book itself.
"You said there were parallels," he prompted gently, and Belle nodded.
"Yeah, I nearly fell over when I found this," she said excitedly. "I mean, talk about a coincidence!" She flicked through the pages, and opened out one of the documents. "Look! A description of what happened to Isabelle Beauchamp! Can you believe it?" She gazed up at him, eyes sparkling, and he reached for the book, taking it carefully from her. She sat back with her wine, not noticing how badly his hands were shaking.
"It's well-written, clearly by someone well-educated, but there's no name," she added. "It tells how she tried to save the people of Avonleigh from the darkness that fell upon them. I guess that was the plague. It says how she tended the sick and dying, and that she was betrayed by her family, by those she thought she could trust. It says how strong she was, how beautiful. A flicker of light in an ocean of darkness, one line says. It's really quite moving."
Gold ran a finger over the small, neatly inked letters, feeling the texture of the vellum. There was a lump in his throat so big he didn't trust himself to speak.
Belle sighed. "It must have been written by someone who loved her," she said sadly. "Her father, or perhaps a brother. It says it was her family that betrayed her, but they can't all have been against her. She wasn't married, so no husband. I thought it could have been Brother Philip, he at least seems to have respected and liked her, but the writing is different. Guess we'll never know."
Gold carefully folded the page back up and put down the book, not looking at her. He stood up, crossing to the fire and staring into it, sipping his wine in an attempt to calm his pounding heart.
"How…" He swallowed, and tried again. "How did this woman come across these documents?"
"Well, that's the weird thing." He could hear the frown in her voice. "The journal starts off with her talking about a ball she attended, and her father and mother trying to get her to catch a man's interest. She mentions this Duke they're clearly set on her marrying." Belle giggled a little. "She's not in the least bit interested, I can tell! She writes that she'd far rather sit in her library than talk about horses and dogs all day, and apparently the Duke's library is less than impressive!"
"She sounds a lot like you," he said, amused, turning to face her, and Belle chuckled.
"Yes, well, she mentions these documents that she found, so I presume they were in the family library or something. Then she seems to get a little obsessed by it; she mentions destiny and fate and that she is meant to reunite the three."
"The three what?" asked Gold, a finger of ice sliding up his spine. Belle shrugged.
"Don't know. It's probably buried in here somewhere, but I've been flicking back and forth rather than reading cover to cover. She mentions her dreams, too, that she sees much in dreams. She says at one point 'when I wak'd, I cried to dream again'."
"The Tempest," nodded Gold. "What is it that she dreams of?"
"A man," said Belle, her full lips curving into a grin. His brow furrowed.
"What?"
"She writes that she knows her true love will come for her, that she can't understand why it's taking him so long," said Belle, and drained her glass. "That's as far as I got."
Gold turned away from her again, his blood running cold. He had to read the book. He was afraid to, but he had to.
He heard her slip from the couch, and approach him on her bare feet. He threw back the wine in his glass and put it down as she put her arms around his waist and rested her head against his back. He turned in her arms to face her, suddenly filled with a burning need to kiss her, to lose himself in her, to be reassured that she was there. He cupped her face with his hands, tilting her head upwards, and lowered his lips to hers, pushing them open to taste her. Belle responded eagerly, running her hands up his back and pulling him close as he devoured her hungrily, his hands tugging at buttons and pushing back clothing until she was half-naked in front of him. He pulled her down onto the rug beside the crackling fire, kissing her deeply and making her gasp and tear at his shirt, fumbling with the buttons until he undid the top three and pulled the thing over his head, throwing it aside so that his skin could press against hers.
"You're very eager tonight," she murmured, her eyes teasing, and he silenced her with another kiss, his tongue sliding into her mouth and gently stroking, his hands undressing them. She helped him off with his pants and underwear, her breathing quickening as he clutched at her, his hands cupping her, caressing her. He unzipped her skirt, tugging it down her thighs and pulling her flush against him as he rolled onto his side, his fingers combing through her hair as he cradled her head. Belle pushed him onto his back, sliding on top of him and kissing him hard, her tongue probing his mouth as he frantically tugged off his socks, wanting all of her, wanting nothing to be between them. She suddenly broke the kiss, falling to the side and whipping off her underwear before rolling back on top of him. She straddled him, her wet heat pushing against him, but he grasped her wrists and rolled her over onto her back, wanting to take her, to possess her. He slid his hands behind her knees, pulling them up, and Belle moaned, writhing beneath him as he lay down between her legs, his mouth running over her breasts and up to her neck, licking the delicate taste of salt from her skin. He slipped his hand up between her thighs, fingers softly probing, the pad of his thumb rubbing her clit and making her squirm against him as her wetness coated him. She could feel him hard against her, waiting for her. He gazed down at her, his eyes black pits of desire, making her shiver deliciously.
"What would please you, my lady?" he asked softly, his accent thickening.
Belle reached up to cup his cheek, stroking his hair back from his face. "You," she said softly. "Only you. Inside me."
He lowered his mouth to hers, and Belle lost herself in the feel of his kiss, in the depths of his passion for her, moaning her pleasure as he slid home. The candles guttered in a slight draft, the fire flickering, and she looked up at him in the gold and amber light, touching his face, running her thumb over his lip as he whispered her name and gazed intently down at her. She watched the small muscles in his shoulders and chest jumping as he moved, his skin warm in the light from the fire, the flames leaping and dancing in his eyes. She moved with him, her thighs gripping his waist, her fingertips stroking down his back, the nails digging in whenever he hit her just right. The firelight flickered over them as they moved, casting dark shadows over his face, and Belle had a sudden, familiar feeling of déjà vu. It disappeared as quickly as it had come and she ceased to think of it as the pleasure began to build towards its inevitable peak. She moaned, arching into him, letting her head fall back against the rug.
"Stay with me, Belle," he whispered urgently, stroking her hair back from her face. "Come with me."
She nodded, and he kissed her gently, keeping his rhythm, as she felt him start to stiffen, the muscles tightening in his back and shoulders. She was close, so close, and if he didn't… He groaned, pulsing within her, and the sensation made her explode, pushing against him, crying out his name as she clung to him. Images burst into her mind, that they had done this before, the wooden walls, the log fire, the two of them naked on the rug, not a woven rug, but a soft sheepskin. The images changed, became real, became something she was experiencing. His hands felt different, rougher, more calloused. She saw his face gazing down at her with love in his eyes, felt his hands caressing her body. She felt her own hands running through his hair, the softness of it between her fingers, the rasp of his stubble as she touched his face. There was a heavy gold ring set with a red stone on her third finger, winking ruby flashes in the candlelight. She could smell his scent, the musky undertone she knew, stronger than she was used to, covering her, mingling with her own scent. She could smell woodsmoke and sheepswool and tallow, pungent in her nose, and the clean smell of the fresh rushes on the floor. She felt the sharp, tearing pain as he took her innocence and the softness of his lips as he kissed away her tears. She felt the pleasure he gave her all over again, her body shaking with it until her mind went dark.
"Belle?" His voice was rough and low, a hint of worry in it, and she shook her head, her vision returning. She was beneath him, on the rug, by the fire. The cabin. She lay in silence, gasping for breath, her heart pounding, fear coursing through her. He was looking concerned, and she suddenly felt that she needed to run: somewhere, anywhere.
"Get off," she muttered, pushing at his chest, and he looked concerned.
"Are you alright?"
"Get off me!" She shoved at him, and he withdrew, pushing himself up so that she could slide out from beneath him. She struggled to her feet, sprawling and ungainly, and rushed to the front door, pulling it open and darting out onto the porch completely naked. The cold air bit harshly at her, making her skin pebble and her breath mist in front of her, and she rubbed her arms briskly, trying to calm herself as she shook uncontrollably. The freezing temperature seemed to focus her mind, and she took deep breaths, slowing her thumping heart. After a moment, the door opened behind her and she shivered as he wrapped a blanket around her shoulders.
"Sweetheart," he said gently. "It's ten below out here. You'll freeze. Come back inside."
He was right, of course, and she was freaking out for no logical reason, so she let him lead her back into the cabin and shut the door. She sat on the couch by the fire, clutching the blanket around herself, her shivering not entirely from the cold. Without a word, he went into the kitchenette. She heard him groping around in a cupboard and a clink of glasses, then he handed her a squat tumbler with a generous measure of amber liquid. Whisky; she could smell it. She took a large swig, and it coursed down her throat like fire, giving her strength and making her fears retreat a little. He put another couple of logs on the fire, then lowered himself carefully onto the couch beside her, clad only in his suit pants. He watched her for a long moment as her shivers subsided.
"Would you like to tell me what's wrong?" he asked.
The honest answer was 'no', but Belle realised he was probably as worried as she was, for different reasons, so she drew a shaking hand across her mouth and turned to him with a tremulous smile.
"Sorry, you must think I'm crazy." He waited, and she continued. "I – something happened. It was like, one minute I was here, with you, and the next I was somewhere else. It was like a hallucination, but with my sense of smell and touch and…" She shrugged elaborately. "It freaked me out, I'm sorry."
"There's no need to apologise," he said gently, stroking her hair back behind her ear. "Do you want to tell me about it?"
Belle bit her lip, thinking. The images and feelings were fading now, but she could still remember them. "I was with you. We were making love by the fire, but it wasn't here. There were sheepskin rugs and rushes on the floor." He was very still, his face expressionless, and she decided against telling him that in the vision he had taken her virginity, in case he really thought she was crazy.
"Are you seeing anything now?" he asked, and she shook her head.
"No, it only lasted a minute or so, probably not even that." She hugged herself, taking another gulp of whisky. "Maybe I have a fever."
He felt her forehead. "You're fine. I'm sure it's nothing to worry about."
"It was so real," she whispered, and he pulled her into a hug, warming her though the blanket.
"You're here with me," he said gently. "I won't let anything happen to you."
Belle nestled against his chest, drinking her whisky.
"Perhaps it was our past life," she laughed shakily, and felt him smile against her hair.
"I have no doubt of it," he said. "The important question is, was the sex as good?"
She laughed properly then, and he kissed her, holding her close.
"Let's get some clothes on you before you catch a cold and Ruby skins me alive," he suggested, and she nodded.
Later, as she lay sleeping peacefully, he slipped from the bed and padded through to the lounge. The flames had died in the hearth, the gleaming red embers reminding him of her fire opal, that stone that had always seemed to capture her energy, her life force, her courage. His gaze strayed to the book, still sitting on the arm of the couch. Tapping the fingers of his left hand against his leg, he walked to the kitchenette, retrieved the whisky bottle, and poured himself a generous measure. Then he sat down, laid his cane beside him, picked up the book, and began to read.
A/N: Hmm, and what will he find?
This was a little longer than I intended, but I'm sure you won't mind. Next chapter will be up just as soon as I can write it.