An update at long last! Thank you for your paitience, and very heartfelt thank you to my wonderful and talented beta, OneMagician! This chapter has a T rating.
Ch. 17: Where Hearts are Anchored
For Inspiration: Per Te by Josh Groban (English subtitles)
It was already hot at mid-morning, a combination of summer heat and humid sea air forcing the occupants of the salmon Victorian to open every window in the house in the hopes of catching a chance breeze. This was merely a lull before a tropic storm due inland on the morrow as the airstreams of the great ocean warred with those of the summer-drenched land. Great flocks of birds had taken flight towards the coast ahead of the depression, snapping up any available food and finding hiding places along the woodlines and eaves of cottages by the shore and the village below. The local fishermen had put out for one last catch in hopes of making some of their weekly quota against the two or three days they'd be grounded, while their land-dwelling neighbors readied shops and homes for the incoming storm. Daniel and Isabelle spent the morning gathering the ripened - and nearly ripened- produce from their little garden, checking shutters for sturdiness and securing some of the tools and such they normally kept outside. Martha and Lucy had gone to town to fetch a few supplies they might need against the storm, as well as a brace of licorice whips Lucy swore was her only defense against the thunder and lightening she'd have to endure for endless hours.
The lack of any breath of wind to cool her had driven Isabelle out onto the porch, and the captain gladly joined her. She was wearing a green cotton dress, the top few buttons of which she'd unbuttoned, her hair pulled up into a messy bun with a few stray ringlets dangling precociously about her face. She looked sweet with sweat beading along her neck where her thick hair touched her skin and Daniel watched distractedly as a slow trickle of moisture trailed down her smooth cheek unheeded as she read. She was seated in the rocking chair, several letters and contracts opened and sorted on the floor in front of her, one of which she was trying to discuss with him.
"Mr. Hopper says the printers have set the plates for the book itself, and the first thousand copies…" biting her lower lip, she looked up at her husband with elation, "the first thousand copies… should be ready to print within three weeks!" She scanned the top of the page for the date. "That was six days ago, Daniel! It's a little over two weeks now!"
"All that far away?" he winked at her from the porch steps. After Martha's admonishment, he'd taken to appearing in a cool cotton shirt and breeches, looking more like a gentleman farmer than a sea captain. He grinned at his excited wife and then returned his attention to the contract he had been reading earlier. He'd found nothing but admiration for Isabelle's attorney, Mr. Shelton, pleased that the lawyer honestly had her best interests at heart and had secured the most lucrative offer for the book and for future publications. Aside from the advance, he'd also garnered a generous percentage for royalties for The Dark One's Dagger for her. True to his word, Hopper proposed an offer for her to write a series of six political articles (from a woman's perspective, of course), as well as future consideration for any further books she'd write. Isabelle had a keen mind and he had no doubt she was well on her way to a successful career as an author.
A light breeze whispered over the porch and teased at the stray tendrils of Isabelle's hair, the movement catching Daniel's attention. Her oval face was flushed from the humidity, and a light sheen of perspiration glistened on her skin; long, dark lashes partially hid the cerulean eyes dancing over the letters on the page. She seemed unaware he was watching her as she studied the contracts and proposals, and he grinned appreciatively as she unconsciously worried her bottom lip with her teeth. He'd have liked to worry that lip with his own teeth. Sighing, she tilted her head back, slowly exposing her graceful throat to his gaze as she stretched. Closing her eyes she used the letter to fan herself, the currents of stirred air cooling her face and neck and the delectable patch of creamy skin exposed under her blouse where she'd opened the buttons.
Mesmerized, Daniel stood up and quietly closed the distance between them. Softly, he traced a feathery stroke over her cheek and down her throat, coming to rest lightly on the delicate bones framing her shoulders. His touch was cool and Isabelle's' breath hitched at the sensation. He lowered his face to hers until his mouth hovered just over hers, her lips parted expectantly. "Donna think, me love," he whispered, "that I donna know you're doin' that on purpose."
His eyes were the earth, and hers were the sky, and when she opened them to look at him she thought she could never exist without him.
"Aye," he smirked, carefully taking her lower lip between his teeth, releasing it while he gazed into her heart. "And what were ye hopin' to gain by such a tactic?"
"Well, you were so far away."
Pulling her to her feet, she looped her arms around his neck as he wrapped his around her waist, "Well now, dearie, what are yer intentions now that ye've managed to get me attention?"
"I'm sure I'll think of something," she answered breathlessly.
"Isabelle?"
Startled, Isabelle pulled back from Daniel, shocked to see Killian Jones standing at the bottom of the porch steps, his face a mask of confusion. She quickly looked at Daniel, an unwelcome scowl twisting his own features, then back to the man watching her from below. She realized that he could neither see nor hear her ghostly husband, and knew how her actions must appear to him. Just how long had he been standing there she wondered. Taking a deep breath and releasing it, she decided the best course to take was to ignore what had happened and go forward. Smiling with genuine warmth, she took two steps toward him and offered him a hand in greeting. "Killian; it's so nice to see you again."
Jones regarded her for a moment, and then gingerly accepted her hand, pausing as he took a moment to study her face. Finally, he offered her a pained smile of his own. "Yes," he responded weakly. Walking up the steps, her hand still in his, he came to stand in front of her, his eyes searching hers before carefully asking, "Are you alright, Isabelle?"
"Of course I am," she answered with a small laugh. Turning, she knelt down and began gathering the contracts she and Daniel had been reading, explaining to Jones in excited tones that she'd been going over correspondence from Mr. Hopper. The task completed, she stacked the papers neatly on a side table, and then poured him a glass of lemonade from the tray resting on the same table. Daniel stood by the porch railing, scowling at the back of the blaggard's head, his arms crossed over his chest in irritation. Gesturing to Jones to sit on a hard back chair, Isabelle resumed her perch in the rocker and asked, "So, what brings you here this morning?"
"I'm on my way back to Florida," he answered with a crooked grin, "for a few days of relaxation before sailing down to the Caribbean to scrounge up some new perspective on the same old news."
"Ah, well, that's good!" Daniel said testily. "Say goodbye and send him on his way."
Isabelle coyly raised an eyebrow in Daniel's direction, finding his obvious jealousy a bit more flattering than she should. Ignoring the remark, she addressed Killian, "That sounds like fun."
Jones noticed Isabelle's attention seemed diverted, as if she was interacting with someone unseen, and his heart sank. He had scoffed at Cora's conviction that Isabelle had suffered a breakdown; had become enamored with the subject of her biography- had begun to believe he was alive in the house. He had suspected as much himself, but he also knew that his employer had designs on Isabelle for furthering her business empire and he'd attributed her accusations to having her plans thwarted by the younger woman.
However, when he watched Isabelle now as she directed her eyes behind or around him, smiling secretly as if listening to another voice, he began to fear for her in earnest. Taking a deep breath, he leaned forward in his chair and placed his glass on the floor. "I thought you might like to go with me, see a bit of the coast?"
"Not on yer life, ye son-of-a-"
"Killian," Isabelle interjected, "that's very kind, but I couldn't possibly go with you."
The journalist looked crestfallen. "Sorry, love, that was rather abrupt of me." He ran his hands through his tousled, black hair and took a deep breath, releasing it slowly. Looking up at her, he smiled apologetically. "Look, I'm not going to pretend I don't have ulterior motives. I . . . I think it would be good for you to get away from here for a bit. You've been working so hard and . . ." taking her hand, he spoke softly, pleadingly, "I think a little fun . . . would be a good distraction."
"Over his dead body!"
Isabelle looked up and gave Daniel a warning glance before dropping her gaze to her guest. "That is very kind of you, Killian, but it really is impossible right now. I've just gotten started on all of this," she said, gesturing to the stack of correspondence on the table. "I have to be in Boston in two weeks to finalize all of the paperwork, and there are to be book signings at several bookstores in the area, as well as a reception to meet the publisher's board. I have a million things to do before I leave."
He shrugged, and there was an awkward moment of silence, a hint of disappointment briefly and inadvertently stirring around his eyes as his guarding mechanism failed. It was there and gone just as fast, though, and Isabelle barely noticed it before he decisively returned to his usual extraordinary mirthfulness. "In that case, I'll give you a rain check," he grinned, "but you have to promise to see me off tomorrow evening."
"See him off?"
"See you off?"
"Of course," he grinned conspiratorially. "A quick drink and a fond farewell, one author to another. What do you say?"
"There's a storm due in tomorrow night," she answered.
"Ah, but I'll be sailing south, so I'll miss it," he replied with a lopsided smile. "Besides, I'll see you safely home before the first drops fall." The smile waned and fell away unexpectedly though, and the sadness he'd been trying to hide finally defeated his front, broke through and became evident in his gaze. "Please, Isabelle . . . come tell me goodbye?"
"Belle, no."
Killian's pain tugged at her heart. She knew that he had been disappointed by her rejection of his proposal, and she had no desire to encourage him to pursue her. But, she still treasured his friendship and she was loathed to disappoint him any further; besides, what could it hurt? Ignoring Daniel's glower, her softer heart sympathizing with the lost man on their porch, she smiled and agreed. "Alright, I'll come by the boat tomorrow afternoon." She was rewarded with a genuinely happy beam from Killian and an evil glare from Daniel.
"Do I have your word on that?" Killian pressed.
"You do," she promised. Daniel looked ready to burst. He didn't like Jones' interference with their lives, didn't like the way he looked at his wife with such longing. Isabelle refused to see the monster quietly lurking beneath the handsome face of the journalist, but Daniel knew it was there. Jones had a pirates' heart: coveting what he didn't own, taking what he had no right to and leaving treasure spent and forgotten once he'd used it for his amusement. He was the kind of man who'd sell his soul to the devil to get what he wanted the easy way. Aye, he'd seen his type over and again on every shore he'd set his feet upon, and he'd not let him betray Belle's friendship.
"Well, that's lovely, me dear; now send the scoundrel packing so we can get back to what we were doin' afore he interrupted."
Isabelle blushed, her eyes going wide and her mouth opening in surprise before she reined herself in to avoid Jones' scrutiny. She was acutely aware of the tension building around her as Daniel became unreasonably piqued and Killian furrowed his brow in watching her responses to her husband's unseen presence. Deciding it would be best to put distance between the two, she seized on the time of day and her necessary schedule to prevent a confrontation. Rising from the rocker, she addressed Jones, saying, "I'm afraid I'll have to cut our visit short; I really need to get ready to meet Martha and Lucy in town."
Grinning broadly, he offered, "Well, that's perfect! I'd love walk with you."
"Oh, ho ho," Daniel scoffed. "I'm sure ye would!"
"That isn't necessary," Isabelle said quickly. "It will take a bit for me to make myself presentable."
"Nonsense," Killian responded, determined to spend as much time as he could with the beauty. "You look quite lovely in what you're wearing. Just get your hat and I'll keep you company on the road."
At a bit of a loss, she chanced a covert look at Daniel, eyes angry and jaw clinching, and somewhat sheepishly excused herself to get ready. Quickly gathering the stack of correspondence, she walked into the house and made her way to the parlor where Daniel already stood waiting for her.
"So, yer goin' to town now with Mr. Jones?" he spat.
"Yes, Daniel," she said resolutely as she stashed away the documents in her hand. Wearily, she turned to face him, thinking how splendid he looked when he was angry even though she thought him foolish to be so. "I did agree to meet Martha in town to help with the shopping, and now is as good a time to leave as any."
"Ye donna need to leave with him!"
Hearing the petulance in his voice, Isabelle walked to him and unlocked his crossed arms. Honestly, he did tend to lock up on himself when he was displeased. Taking both of his hands in hers, she smiled up at him teasingly. "Are you jealous, Captain Gold?"
"Of that gutter snipe?" he asked incredulously.
"Yes."
In one movement, he moved their combined hands around her back and pulled her tightly to him, bringing her face close to his. "Aye, I am, Mrs. Gold. Who would'na be so wi' a wife as beautiful as mine an' him wantin' her for himself?"
"Daniel!" she admonished. "Killian is my friend. He's only trying to help."
"Aye, and he'd like to help himself!"
Pulling her hands from behind her she wrapped them around his neck and rose up on her toes, drawing herself up to mold her body close to his. "He is trying to help. Besides," she breathed in a low voice, pressing light kisses to his bearded cheeks, "I already belong to you."
He leaned in, capturing her lips with his, slowly tasting her, reveling in the quickening of her breath to his ministrations. After a moment, he pulled back to look at her, savoring the dusky tint her eyes and the pink glow her face took on when he aroused her.
"Ye do belong to me, Belle-of-Mine, and I kin ye donna fear Mr. Jones advances," he whispered huskily. More urgently than before, he crushed his lips to hers, probing her perfect mouth with his tongue possessively as he dropped his hands lower to cup her bottom and bring her even nearer to him, delighted when she moaned softly, responding to him hungrily. He released her slowly, smirking as she gasped and laid her head dizzily against his chest. Satisfied that he'd left no doubt as to whom she belonged, he added, "But I'll walk along wi' ye just the same."
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Isabelle put on a straw hat and grabbed her purse and the ever useful whicker basket. Daniel pulled her into a passionate embrace, giving her a thorough kiss, leaving her breathless and a bit giddy. Satisfied that she'd be thinking more about him than Jones on the road to town, he released her and the two of them walked out on the porch. Killian, leaning against the post by the stairs, turned toward Isabelle as she came out of the door. His features were drawn and he briefly met her eyes with a pained expression before relaxing back into his usual casual smirk. Tripping lightly down the steps, he turned and presented Isabelle with a roguish bow and offered his hand to assist her down the steps beside him. Gritting his teeth, Daniel seethed as Isabelle accepted the journalist's help.
Jones walked street-side on Isabelle's left, so Daniel kept to her right, unseen by Jones, intending to go with his wife as far as he could while the rogue accompanied her. Passing through the front gate, they headed along the pathway, turning right on the road leading to Storybrooke. Killian was uncharacteristically withdrawn, walking quietly with his hands in his pockets. Sensing her friends' melancholy, Isabelle filled him in on her plans for the trip to Boston. He only engaged in the conversation when she began questioning him as to his own impending journey to the southern hemisphere. Daniel, caring not a whit for the other man's plans for his upcoming trip, slipped his hand into his wife's, gently squeezing her slim fingers as a reminder of his presence. She rewarded him with a covert flirty glance.
Although the day was hot, the road itself was quite pretty. It had been many years since the captain had made this trek, and he found himself drinking in the sights and sounds of the day like a famished man. On Daniel's side was a lush wood line of oaks and maples and ground foliage crashing together in a canvas of lush greens and deep browns. The tall grasses between the road and woods were flecked with bright pops of gold, red, blue and white wildflowers, alive with insects hopping about the flora and fauna. To their left was the vast blue ocean lined by the sandy beach, populated with fishing boats and hovering gulls; above them was an azure sky brightly lit by the sun, the clouds of the incoming storm barely discernable far to the east.
In his present condition, Daniel could neither discern the oppressive heat and humidity of the day - something he was grateful for - nor smell the elements of the earth and air around him. What was quite evident to him, however, was his growing receptiveness to Isabelle. In the weeks since they'd taken vows, he'd become aware of the increasing physicality of his interactions with his very alive wife. From the softness of her skin and the feint rose-like fragrance she exuded to the honey-sweet taste of her lips and the silkiness of her chestnut tresses, her presence was awakening sensations in his ethereal body. Her touch evoked the long forgotten sensations from his earthly existence, grounding him to her in the world he'd been cut off from when he'd died. Even now, he was acutely aware of her warm, little hand clasped in his, and he found the sweat and honey fragrance of her sun kissed skin a very pleasant distraction. The fear he once had that the physical aspect of their relationship would be strained and awkward had all but vanished as they'd discovered their unique connection. He craved her caresses and found himself attuned to her essence more often than not. Even during the times he busied himself at occupations away from her, he could discern her effervescent presence, his spirit seemingly anchored to her as if tethered together no matter where she was.
He glanced at her as she walked beside him, her head turned away as she listened to Jones on her other side. Without thinking, he raised her hand to his lips and pressed an affectionate kiss on the back of it. She glanced back at him, her eyes alight with promise. How he loved that expression!
Near town, the road veered sharply to the right, a wood rail fence marking the boundary of Leroy's dairy farm. Several beige and white Jersey cow were grazing within its confines, contenting themselves on mouthfuls of tall, swaying grasses. Scattered here and there were spring calves, half-grown and fat, playing amongst the larger bovines grazing lazily in the sun. The pasture held a gentle slope that moved upward toward a small, white house in the distance, and behind it a large red-stained barn. All was neat and organized. He'd forgotten this pastoral home was laid so closely to his. Two boys, a slight one around Lucy's age and a taller, stockier youth were pitching a baseball back and forth in the upper pasture, no doubt training for a weekend against a local rival. Leroy's tall, thin wife was hanging her wash on the line between house and barn, and she paused to raise a friendly hand to wave at Isabelle on her way to town.
Having been alerted to the travelers presence by their mistress, two energetic border collies came barreling from the house and under the lower rails of the fence, barking a friendly greeting at the two they saw walking up the roadway. Tails wagging, the black and white bundles of energy fairly danced around the familiar Isabelle and Killian, having come to expect affectionate patting or small treats from them. The travelers laughed and accommodated the lively pair, scratching them behind the ears whenever they managed to wiggle in the right direction. Daniel watched nearby, chuckling at the display. "Playful, aren't they?"
As one, both dogs snapped to attention, the hair on their backs standing on end, each growling low and menacingly in his direction. Though unseen, they obviously sensed her husband's presence, and Isabelle tried to calm the beasts. "There now, Tripp, Shep; there's nothing to be afraid of." Neither her words nor her tone proved effective, and they continued to snarl as Killian stepped forward, pulling Isabelle behind him protectively. As many times as he'd passed this farm, the pair had never been anything but friendly. It puzzled him when the collies continued their uncharacteristic aggression at the place the petite woman had been standing moments ago.
At the same time, Daniel dropped to his knees where he could speak to them on eye level, their brown eyes keenly narrowed on him as they were suddenly able to see him. "There, now lads, I mean ye no harm." Both animals cocked their ears in his direction, their hostility abating into confused whining. The larger dog, Trip, sniffed the air in his direction but detected nothing. Tentatively, the captain reached out and rubbed the dog's silky fur, settling the brown-eyed fellow considerably. "Good lad," Daniel crooned gently, stretching out to pet the smaller dog. The dogs responded to his touch, whining and tucking their tails between their legs as they shivered at his feet.
"See?" Isabelle said, coming out from behind her friend to kneel down next to Daniel. "No one's going to hurt you," she consoled the dogs, scratching the ruff of the pacified Shep. Looking over the canine's head, she grinned at her husband. "They aren't afraid, after all."
Running his knuckles affectionately along the collies' necks, he smiled up at Isabelle. "It's all in the voice," he teased.
Isabelle laughed and continued to caress the dogs playfully. Killian watched her, a shudder prickling up his spine. Her responses seemed off; the dogs had gone from hostility to friendliness in moments and he had the strangest sensation that something unseen had happened between the woman and the beasts. Trying to shake the feeling, he offered her a crooked grin and a hand up. Accepting, she busily brushed the dust off of her skirts, and tugging her hand, he pulled her back in the direction of Storybrooke. Scowling indignantly, Daniel resumed his place on her other side.
Killian took the lead in their conversation for the rest of the way, talking about his expectations for his upcoming journey and the weather forecast for the rest of the summer, anything except her odd behavior. It wasn't long before they emerged on the outside of town near the harbor, and he prepared to take his leave of her, offering her a lopsided grin. "You'll remember to meet me here tomorrow night? Around five o'clock?"
Giving him a parting grin of her own, she promised, "I will." Jones gave her a quick peck on the cheek and then walked off in the direction of the harbor where his boat was docked, the fact that the Rabbit Hole was on the way not escaping his attention.
Continuing into Storybrooke, Daniel suddenly looked around him, taking in the town, its streets and shops, the people scurrying too and fro as they ran their errands. It had been more than five years since he'd set foot in Storybrooke.
It had been five years since he'd set foot anywhere outside of his property.
Taking his wife's hand, he pulled her into the alley behind the Storybrooke Savings and Loan. Issuing a startled squeak, Isabelle found herself tucked betweena couple of trash cans and some stacked lumber. Meanwhile, Daniel peered around the side of the building, excitedly scanning the street, noting the people scattered about the town walking past him, a wagon parked by the drygoods store, the horses startled by Cogsworth's infernal motorcar stirring dust as it passed them. Shops, all painted in myriad colors yet managing to look uniform, stood exactly as he remembered them, and he chuckled contentedly as the clock in the tower over the library chimed eleven times to note the hour.
It only took a few moments for Isabelle to understand what he was so excited about, and the realization spread across her features in an incredulous smile. "Daniel . . . you're in town . . . away from the house!"
He was astonished. "Aye, love; I am." Raking his fingers through his hair, he asked shakily, "How is that possible?"
"I don't know," she answered. Grabbing his upper arms, she squeezed her hands around the muscles, testing his solidity. "How do you feel? You aren't going to fade away, are you?"
He responded with a sharp laugh. "I donna think so."
Afraid he might actually disappear in spite of his assurances, his wife ran her hand from his shoulder down his chest, testing his viability. "How are you able to do this?"
He had no idea. When he'd first entered his present existence, he'd been obsessed with boarding a ship and sailing to Scotland to find his son. As soon as he'd leave the confines of his property, he'd find his thoughts becoming muddled, the world around him became foggy as he faded away like a dream. He'd become conscious minutes or hours or days later in some room of the house, encumbered by feelings of weakness and depression. Every attempt to leave ended the same way, and eventually he'd given up as he discovered longer gaps occurring between his leaving and his awareness.
What had changed? Looking at his wife, her eyes shimmering with tears, he realized that his focus before had been caught up in bringing his son to him; the energy of his life force concentrated in the home he'd built to share with him. Now, his heart was anchored to Isabelle. A feeling of complete freedom swept over him. He wrapped his arms around her and, lifting her off of her feet, spun her around laughing. When he realized his wife was crying, he set her down and began wiping at her eyes with his thumbs. "Ah, no tears, Belle-of-mine," he gently admonished. When she continued, he grew a bit concerned. "What is it, sweetheart? What's wrong?"
"Oh, Daniel," she said, her voice catching, "you're here; you aren't going to disappear, are you?"
Grinning, he answered quietly. "No, I think not." Leaning close to her, he whispered conspiratorially, "I think it's because I'm with ye, me darlin'."
A hopeful and incredulous smile spread slowly across Isabelle's features and suddenly she threw her arms around his neck, pulling him down to plant kisses across his cheeks and jaw and, finally, his lips. "You can be with me anywhere?" she asked, and then, drawing back from him, she said mischievously, "Let's see how far you can go!"
Wiping tears from her eyes with the back of her hand, she smoothed her skirts and picked up her basket. Taking his hand, she pulled him to the edged of the alley. Peeking around the corner, she looked back at him one time before tugging his hand and leading him from their hiding place into the street. They walked past several shops, Isabelle keeping Daniel firmly in her sights, afraid he'd suddenly dematerialize if he took one step too far away from their home, which now seemed so far away. It didn't help her confidence that the reflection she saw in the shop windows was hers alone, a proof that her husband was neither substantial nor corporeal.
As for Daniel, he was caught up in the sights and sounds of the village he'd last seen five years before. All around him, people scurried about running their errands, several of them greeting his wife with open friendliness. He chuckled with absurd pride that she was well liked by their neighbors; people whose friendship he'd never coveted for himself. The cursory well wishes and salutations served to relax her from her worrisome vigil over his well being enough to allow him to look over the town itself. The shops were much as he remembered them, all well kept and rather modern for a little port side town a bit off of the beaten track. Several of the older buildings had been painted to keep face with the newer, modern business that had sprung up, all of them neat and trim. He'd chosen well when he'd picked Storybrooke to build his home in. He wondered what had become of the cannery and little import business he'd built, hoping the new owners had been able to keep it profitable. He knew they'd not have time to see it today, but now that he could venture out, he'd find his way there in the near future and look in on it, the prospect of which gave him a bit of a thrill.
Several horses hitched to waiting wagons patiently waited next to the stores, and children, freed from school for the summer, darted about the wooden walkways and ran about the open ground in front of the white clapboard schoolhouse across the street. Lucy, clad in pink gingham, was among the small players skipping about in the grass, and he watched her frolic about with several boys and girls of her own age. The braids her mother had plaited for her that morning bounced wildly about her as she ran squealing from the girl who was apparently "it" in their game. Her face was flushed; her eyes alight with her exertions. A long smudge of dirt streaked across her cheek, and he could see her complexion freckled from her many hours in the sun. Such a beautiful girl was his little Lucy, so vibrant and alive; every inch her mother's daughter. There were many years ahead to watch her grow up, and he felt both privileged and blessed to be a part of her life. He smiled as she evaded her young pursuer by cutting through two of her fellows, thus providing new targets. She stopped running as Martha called her name sharply, the remainder of her discourse obscured by the snicker of a horse.
He felt Isabelle slip her hand along his arm, and he turned to see her smiling up at him. He acknowledged her with a nod of his head, and the two of them stepped into the street and crossed over to the Liddel Mercantile, arriving at the door at the same time Martha and Lucy did. The housekeeper raised an eyebrow in question at Daniel's presence, but the little girl merely offered him a lopsided grin. Looking down at her, the captain winked at her before pressing his finger to his lips, imploring her silence regarding his rather unexpected appearance in town.
A half hour later, the family emerged from the store with baskets filled with last minute purchases. In minutes, the town was at their backs and they rounded the bend in the roadway leading homeward. The shadows had lengthened considerably, the cooler breeze from the ocean tempering the hot air so that the walk was pleasant. The family chatted happily until they were well past the dairy farm and the beachfront was visible. Falling back and slowing down, Daniel pressed a light kiss on Isabelle's cheek before reaching around her and relieving her of the basket she carried.
She took his arm possessively and walked close in-step with him. "Daniel," she asked hesitantly, "what does it mean, your being able to come to town today?"
He hesitated, not really knowing the answer. "I think it means that things have changed." Strolling further down the road, he thought about the implications of this newly discovered freedom. "I think it means that me life is tied to ye, me little wife."
He glanced down at her as she mulled this information over, biting her lower lip as she thought. Meeting his gaze, she said breathlessly, "if that's true, you'll be able to go anywhere with me. We can go to Boston together, maybe other places on a book tour." Stopping on the trail, she squeezed his forearm where her hand rested. "Oh, Daniel, we may be able to go to Europe – to see your son!"
He grimaced, his face strained with emotion. What she had voiced he had dared not contemplate. "Perhaps, me darlin', perhaps; but I think we have much to prove before we go too far." He gently nudged her to continue up the road. "Let's do this in increments; town today, and a bit further later." Smiling self-depreciatively, he pointed out, "I'd surely hate to get halfway across the Atlantic 'afore discoverin' it were too far."
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The next morning was gray and overcast as clouds from the east continued to sweep over the land. The hours after breakfast were spent securing the house against the upcoming storm. Daniel and Isabelle piled sandbags against the basement windows to stave off any high water, and followed those efforts by securing the shutters over the windows to protect them from debris tossed about by the expected winds. Martha busied herself in the kitchen baking bread, meat pies and a chocolate cake to tide them over for a few days should their gas service be interrupted. On the stove simmered a large pot of soup, which she intended to last through several days of relentless rain. Meanwhile, Lucy had found an abandoned kitten in the well house. Clutching the skinny, grey-striped tabby with white paws to her pinafore, she pleaded with her mother and Martha to let her bring it into the house for the night.
Martha was adamant the desolate creature was able to fend for itself and should be put out immediately. Isabelle, in spite of her tender heart, was put off by the fleas she saw crawling in its matted fur. It was Daniel, however, championing the poor thing cradled in Lucy's arms that decided the kitten's fate. Declaring the fleas would succumb to a little pine soap and a good scrubbing, Martha raked him over with a scowl before directing him to the wash pan to take care of the little beastie himself.
Both women then watched with amusement as the normally stoic captain cooed ridiculously at the scared kitten, carefully holding it by the scruff of the neck before dipping it in the tub of warm water and suds of pine soap. "There now, lassie," he soothed the suddenly feral feline, "no need to make such a fuss." Wet and growling with all the volume and ferocity of a full grown mountain lion, the angry kitten snarled and hissed, its claws extended as it thrashed the suds violently. "Reminds me of an old Tom cat we had on the ship to keep the mice at bay; same color," he said, reminiscing. "Old Frankie was a good cat."
Lucy drew as close to the tub as possible, fascinated by the tiny feline's transformation from a purring, shivering baby to a howling terror. "Why is she doing that?"
"Ah, the wee lass is scared, is all," Daniel explained. Holding the kitten firmly by the scruff, he instructed Lucy to ready the towel as he lifted it by one hand and poured clear, warm water over the unhappy tabby to rinse away the soap and dead parasites. He deposited the shaking, pitiful mess in the soft, white towel the child held up for it, she cradled it to her, wrapping the towel around the now mewling, shivering baby. "There ye are, darlin'. All she needs now is saucer of milk and a proper name."
Lucy gently rubbed the lump in the bundle, smiling thoughtfully. "I'll call her Frankie."
"That's a funny name for girl," Martha interjected from the side.
Shrugging, Lucy answered, "I like Frankie." She finished drying the water out of her charge's fur and fetched a saucer of milk from Martha, who grumbled about the entire affair under her breath as she puttered about the kitchen.
The afternoon was spent at the beach. Having been instructed to keep back from the turbulent, gray tide lapping angrily at the shore, Lucy busied herself filling two pails with sand. These she intended to fill a box for her new kitten to use during the stormy days ahead. Her task complete, she headed back to the house, leaving her mother and Daniel alone on the beach.
They walked up the stretch away from the house, toward an area secluded between the forest and the open Atlantic. All the world about them was gray as the clouds churned across the sky to block out the sun, and the misty ocean coughed up angry waves to slap at the sandy shore. Gusts of briny wind spiked off of the ocean, tugging at Isabelle's clothes and whipping pins and needles of salt and sand in her face as Daniel walked beside her undisturbed. Releasing her husband's hand, she flashed a wicked grin at him, hiked up her skirts and broke into a run giggling unreservedly. He smiled as he watched her retreating form, her blue dress standing out starkly against the murkiness of the coming storm, and he marveled for the thousandth time how adversity always brought out the best in his little Belle.
She laughed as she ran up the beach, and risking a quick look behind her, she discovered that Daniel had vanished. Turning her face forward in bewilderment, she shrieked as she ran headlong into her husband's chest, his arms wrapping around her as he absorbed the impact. Laughing heartily himself now, he dipped enough to grab her around her thighs, lifted her up and began spinning her around. Isabelle threw her head back and opened her arms wide, soaring in Daniel's firm embrace. Her skirts fluttered about them, and he wished that this moment would never end as they danced to the music of the wind and surf and her ever present melodious, contagious laughter.
After a few moments, he loosened his hold on her, allowing her lithe body to sensuously slide down his own until her feet sank down into the moist, gritty sand, her arms falling over his shoulders to embrace him. Her eyes, so vibrantly blue, spoke of love and longing and desire, and her soft, full lips, so suddenly silenced from her mirth, were slightly parted, expectant. He was aware of the slightest movement as she pulled her sweet body up, trying to get as close to him as possible. His thirst for her was reflected in the intensity of his dark eyes. He tightened his arms around her, pulling her flush against himself, his hold on her almost too tight while his mouth took possession of hers. Brown and blue, their eyes were open, each of them peering silently into the soul of the other while they explored with tongues and teeth and breath, yearning for more.
Breaking free, Daniel gave her a smug look as she fairly panted with wakened desire. His eyes devouring her, he entwined his fingers with hers and determinedly led her to a small open brick pavilion hidden in the woods a little way off. Ivy and honeysuckle vines had grown over the structure, blending it in with its background so completely that you had to know it was there to see it amidst the trees and bushes. Sand from the beach had found its way inside, and dry leaves covered the old wooden plank floor.
Daniel knelt down in front of her and she joined him, trailing hungry kisses across his jawline and pushing her fingers through his hair before pressing her lips to his fervently, want and need in her every movement when she began to tug at his shirt. He could feel the tension building within him as he let her undo the buttons and shrugged it off, dropping it behind him, and he slid his hands down her sides, grasping her waist gently as she lowered her head to explore his smooth, cool body with her hands and mouth.
He relished her every touch on his skin as though he'd never been touched like this before, and each single contact was searing him, rippling through his very essence; he felt more alive now than he had when he'd actually been alive.
He cupped her face in his hands and recaptured her eyes with his own, intently studying her in the shadows for a moment. She was so beautiful, both inside and out, and he was suddenly struck by how much she meant to him. There was nothing he would not do for her, and panic welled inside him for just an instant – he never wanted to be apart from her ever again because every last fragment of his existence craved her presence, yearned for her warm and loving embrace, and he was convinced that he could not exist on any plane in any world should he ever lose her.
"I love ye, Belle," he murmured in her ear and tenderly laid her down on the leafy floorboards, following her and supporting himself above her as he slid one hand around her back to help her with her dress. "I'll always love ye…"
Grazing her neck with his lips, he pushed the dress down over her shoulders and stroked it off her tiny frame without leaving her unkissed for more than a second, his caresses growing more and more ardent as she rid herself of the bodice she'd been wearing underneath.
"I'll love you till the end of time," she responded, her voice barely above a breathy whisper. He felt her trembling all over beneath him, his bare, tingling skin on hers, her hands stroking him everywhere, and he could hardly take it anymore when she softly but decisively told him, "Show me forever, Daniel," because forever was what he wanted.
XXXXXXXXXXXX
A little more than an hour later, Isabelle slipped out of the front door and made her way up the road to Storybrooke. Daniel wasn't happy about her meeting Jones, but she insisted she keep her appointment. The rain was still a few hours away, and she needed Daniel to make good on his agreement to replace a few shingles on the roof over the kitchen. She promised to meet Killian for a moment to say farewell and then straight home in plenty of time to bolt the doors and shutters against the coming storm.
Sure footed on the crunching rocks and packed dirt under her boots, she followed the familiar path to town. The weather was steadily cooling and gusts of sterner winds snaked through the canopy above her as she cocooned herself by drawing her shawl close about her shoulders. She felt alive and cherished in the wake of her afternoon in Daniel's arms, and she welcomed the kiss of the cooler temperature on her flushed and heated skin, her thoughts lost on memories of her tryst with her husband on the soft, velvety leaves in the pavilion. Even though she was alone, a faint blush spread across her cheeks at the memory of his sweet caresses and a secretive smile played about her lips where his taste lingered still. His attentive sensuality had wakened a kindred spirit in her and she had never felt as fulfilled and happy as she was in this moment. Daniel's love not only slaked a thirst for life she had not known existed, but made her insatiable for more. She marveled at what forces had brought them together. Love, true love, was hers and she never wanted to let it go. It seemed too good to believe sometimes.
That the connection between Daniel and her was strong enough to allow him to travel with her was most prevalent in her thoughts. Mr. Hopper had advised her that a tour of several bookstores throughout New York and New England to promote her book would help her sales. He also told her that her political pieces would require she travel a bit. The prospect of long weeks and many miles away from home had seemed a daunting task before; now, with Daniel as a possible traveling companion, she looked forward to exploring the wide world as she once dreamed. It was true that they didn't understand this new freedom he'd discovered, but they planned to test his boundaries very carefully for she would not risk losing him.
Before she knew it, she had rounded the corner of the road into the nearly deserted town. Lights were already lit in those few shops that hadn't closed early, the comforting illumination from the windows contrasting starkly against the gloominess of the street. She turned left toward the port side of the town and quickly made her way to the little harbor. In was only a few minutes later she was greeted by somber crafts bobbing helplessly in the restless waves furiously churning beneath their hulls, each secured to their moorings by only a slender tether. A lone buoy clanged mournfully in the gray distance, and the world was void even of the usual gull cries as she climbed the rough wooden steps of the dock. Her little boots clicked hollowly over the planking as water sloshed over the sides and up between the gaps, the spray surging up, spitting droplets onto the bottom of her clothing. Killian must have been watching for her, for he emerged from his boat several yards away and hurried to meet her as she made her way to him. He flashed a crooked grin while offering her his arm. "Hello, love."
Gratefully, Isabelle accepted his support as the turbulent water surrounding them gave her the unsteady feeling that the dock was moving. He led her to his boat a few yards away, a red, 40 foot Schooner named Pirate's Heart. Three masts rose over a clean vessel of polished wood, lowered sails and endless catches of ropes and cables. Guiding the petite woman along the dock, he waited for her to gather her skirts in one hand, and then held her elbow steady as she climbed the ladder at the side of the boat to help her aboard. He quickly followed her up and then stood beside her as she turned in a slow circle, taking in his world with an appreciative eye. Killian's boat was impressive and he was obviously very proud of it. A sea-worthy schooner it was, all neat and trim and orderly, it smelled of wood wax, oil and something spicy like cedar. It was quite a vessel for one man to manage, but it was sleek and trim and was suited to its owner. He had sailed many waters in the craft and obviously had great skill to operate it alone on the Atlantic.
"Killian, it's wonderful," she pronounced sincerely.
Jones watched with mixed emotions as she looked over the only home he really loved, anxious now that she was aboard. He wished he had time to give her a real tour, wished that their circumstances were more in his favor. He wished she loved him; would go with him as he'd asked her to. He promised himself that he'd take her wherever she wanted to go some day; another time when things would be better, when the present was behind them. As for now, a storm was brewing and he needed to get her below deck. "How about that farewell drink you promised me?"
"Of course," she agreed. "The weather looks like it's coming on a bit faster than we thought."
It did, indeed. Already a light drizzle had begun to fall on them, the precursor to the coming gale. It made the deck a bit slippery so he took Isabelle's hand and led her to a door near the starboard bow. The door opened inward to reveal a set of enclosed stairs leading below the deck. He let Isabelle precede him, and he followed her down after shutting the door securely behind him. With the door closed the stairwell was pitch black, but he encouraged her to continue downward and soon the steps opened to a small room.
A lantern hung from a wooden beam, its low flame illuminating the center of the room while leaving the corners in dark, flickering shadows. Killian stood before her for a moment, studying her features with an enigmatic smile that didn't manage to reach his eyes. Isabelle peered up at him, her own face alight with the glow of happiness she'd carried with her from her earlier musings. His gut began churning unpleasantly and he frantically took her hand, holding it desperately in his own, face pale as if he had just glimpsed something terrible.
His sudden demeanor alarmed her, and a slight frown crossed her brow. "Killian," she asked anxiously, "are you alright?"
Averting his eyes, his voice gravelly through clenched teeth, he said, "I'm so sorry, Isabelle."
Jones gripped her hand like a drowning man clinging to a life preserver, his breathing ragged as he fought whatever demon tormented him. "Please, Killian, you're scaring me; what's wrong?"
"I'm sorry, Isabelle," he repeated, "I wish there was some other way."
Confused, she pressed him, "Some other way? What are you talking about?"
"I'm afraid he's referring to me, dear."
An icy stab of fear gripped Isabelle's heart as she turned toward the familiar voice behind her. A cold and deadly smile greeted her as Cora Mills emerged from the ebony shadows at the back of the room.