"...I do think he was trying to propose, but you know how shy Sam can get when it comes to these things, and besides, we are both a bit young to get married, anyway--why, he's barely even seventeen, and I won't be turning fifteen for another month," Rahne was confiding to Amara and Tabitha a couple of paces in front of her. "In fact, now that I can reflect about it, I believe it was more of a courtesy proposal than anything else--you know, after I fell down from my horse last week and he had to carry me home in his arms."
"You're probably right there," Amara analyzed, while Tabitha laughed cheerfully and freely admitted, "No kidding--the county was in an uproar when word got out about your little moment with Mr. Guthrie there, Rahne."
"Oh, Tabby, you say the most tactless things," the pretty Irish girl protested, blushing furiously, but there was nevertheless a pleased sparkle in her grass-green eyes as she remembered that particular evening with Sam, who, usually so awkward and timid whenever any physical contact with a girl was involved, had acted like the sweetest and most respectful gentleman in the world when he'd carried her home. Kitty, for whom this kind of conversation would have usually held the utmost interest, now tuned out the other girls' eager chatter as she observed instead the stranger and his horse, straining her eyes to catch the last glimpse of his form as he slowly left her range of view.
"...In fact, I'm surprised that hothead hasn't gotten hauled off to jail by now; he should really learn to control his temper better--and his trigger too, for that matter--and as for..." Tabitha's voice drifted back to her, and Kitty glanced up with a start, realizing that she'd straggled behind the group, despite the efforts of their chaperone. Kitty knew she should strive to catch up and forget all about the stranger...but then her eyes drifted wistfully back toward him, as she remembered all the times she'd seen him around the county and all the times she'd told herself she would approach him and introduce herself only to back out at the last minute from cowardice, and told herself that now was as good time as any to at least find out his name. Sparing one last look at her friends, slowly riding away and too caught up in their talk of beaus and proposals to notice that a certain chestnut-haired member of their group had drifted off, Kitty bit down on her lower lip before softly clucking at her little mare to set off in the direction of the stranger, immensely grateful that Tabitha's chaperone was as carefree--and careless--as Tabitha herself when she failed to realize one of her charges had slipped off elsewhere.
Kitty
rode around the rolling green acres in vain, wondering where he could be
and mentally kicking herself for having followed him in the first place.
She frowned as she slapped away some dewy foliage blocking her view, then
stiffened when a distinctly male voice casually spoke up, so suddenly and
from seemingly nowhere that she nearly let a branch hit her right in the
face in her surprise.
"Hey,
it's the sweet little sister from the Xavier plantation," the now familiar
voice drawled in languid tones different from any Southern accent Kitty
had ever heard. Feeling a wave of guilt and embarrassment wash over her,
Kitty turned her horse around until she could see him, lounging casually
atop his own coal-colored mount and grinning down at her. His lips parted
as his hand moved up to remove a straw dangling from their corners, flicking
it away before he spoke again.
"How
nice to see you under more pleasant circumstances, sweet little sister...and
how pretty you look," he complimented, throwing that now all too familiar
wink at her blushing form seated on her mare. "Dare I hope a respectable
young country belle like you actually came here just to look for Yankee
riffraff like myself?" Kitty turned even pinker, and she quickly lowered
her face to the ground, sensing rather than seeing that his eyes were now
fixed on her face, following her every movement.
"I...er...didn't
know you were a Northerner," she finally stammered when she found her voice,
opting for the more respectful term for his kind of people, much to his
amusement.
"Well,
I am. Born in Illinois, but hitchhiked West during the California gold
rush of '49--I believe I was actually a couple of years younger than you
are right now when I set out for the desert to make my fortune," he admitted
carelessly. "Say, I don't believe I caught your name...unless you'd prefer
I just keep calling you sweet little sister?" Why was it that she couldn't
stop blushing around this guy? Kitty wondered helplessly to herself, even
as she heard a voice that must be her own faintly answer, "It's Kitty...and
yours?"
"Kitty,"
he repeated to himself, then grinned and added, "A very pretty name for
a very pretty girl."
"Thank
you," Kitty smiled, despite herself, feeling some of her old confidence
come back as she looked up and prodded playfully, parroting his earlier
words, "You still haven't told me your name...unless you'd prefer I just
call you Yankee cowboy?"
"Don't
let the chaps and hat fool you--I'm no cowboy, just been living in the
West for too long," he told her. "And as for my name, it's, er...Dominic
Petros."
"No,
it's not," Kitty accused pleasantly, a wide smile spreading across her
face when she saw the surprise flash across his eyes. "You can stop lying
and tell me your real name--men like you simply aren't called Dominic Petros.
Besides, I can tell you're not Greek."
"Sure
I am," he defended himself, then added as if to prove his heritage, "Um,
dulce et...something--see, I'm Greek."
"That
was Latin," Kitty corrected him, still smiling. "So when are you going
to tell me your real name?" His face fell, cowboy hat lowering itself over
his tousled dark hair, before he lifted his head and admitted, "Kay, I
might as well tell you my real name--but you've got to promise not to tell
anyone else, all right? To you, I'm just...well, I'll think of a better
nom
de plume, but in the meantime, I'm just that damn Yankee who broke
into the Xavier plantation--oh, sorry for my coarse speech, it just fell
out." Kitty nodded, wide-eyed that he was swearing her to secrecy over
something as simple as his name. Just what was so important about it, anyway...?
"It's
Lance," he said earnestly, absently scratching the back of his head, and
this time Kitty could tell by his eyes that he was telling the truth. "Lance
Alvers. Promise you won't tell?" His eyes sought out hers and held them
for an instant, and in that one moment she would have promised him the
moon if she could reach it.
"I
won't tell," she breathed in a voice barely above a whisper, a sudden shyness
washing over her that made her lower her eyes and avert his gaze. "But
Lance...why all this secrecy?" Lance flashed a laid-back grin in response,
and she couldn't tell whether he was joking or not when he drawled, "Because,
pretty Kitty, I am wanted dead or alive--but preferably dead--in twenty-eight
states all over America...and I can't say I'm in a particular rush to make
Mississippi number twenty-nine."
A heavy,
tattered old sofa went flying through the air, smashing noisily against
the wall and shattering the cracked window into a hundred pieces. Lance
glanced up and rolled his eyes, sneering insolently, "We might have to
pay for that, Rasputin...and come time to high tail it out of this state,
I ain't gonna be pocketing the bills for this." Piotr, the one who'd thrown
the sofa in his burst of rage, glared bitterly at his leader, who coldly
returned the glower, before forcing himself to swallow both his pride and
anger as he growled resentfully, "I just do not t'ink it was such a wise
idea to reveal so much to this little girl. What are you going to tell
her next--that you're the leader of the notorious Brotherhood gang? That
there's a ten-t'ousand-dollar price tag on your head alone? That the only
reason you're bothering yourself to even look at her is because
you plan to use her to--"
"That's
enough, Rasputin, God damn you," Lance snapped coldly. "I already told
you, I had no choice but to tell her my real name--she was too smart to
believe any aliases I could throw at her. Besides, I seriously doubt a
country belle like pretty Kitty has ever heard the name Lance Alvers before,
let alone that of the Brotherhood."
"You
said she was smart," Piotr pointed out sullenly. "What makes you t'ink
she doesn't read the newspapers?"
"For
God's sake, Rasputin," Lance exploded, losing both his temper and jeering
facade, "she's a woman! What's more, she's about as impressionable and
eager-to-please as her namesake! What's more, she's the daughter of a planter-aristocrat!
What makes you think girls like her read newspapers? All they care about
are their dresses and their parties--girls like her don't take it upon
themselves to worry their pretty little heads over outlaws and gunslingers!"
"Even
if she knows not'ing about the Brotherhood," Piotr gave in grudgingly,
"you still had to show off by bragging about how we're wanted in twenty-eight
states." Lance twirled the tip of his cowboy hat around on his index finger,
as if demonstrating with that careless gesture how non-problematic that
particular detail was.
"Like
I said," he drawled, his voice returning to normal from his earlier outburst,
"she's a daddy's little princess--she can't possibly believe that, she's
far too sheltered to know of any real evil in this world."
Wanted!
In over half the United States! Kitty fretted in anguish, tossing restlessly
on her bed and tangling the sheets around her body. Had he been joking?
He'd certainly uttered those words casually enough, almost too casually.
His voice and body language had held the same boastful swagger of the county
boys she knew so well whenever they were bragging and embellishing random
acts of gallantry to impress her. Perhaps that's it, she told herself
hopefully.
Yes, that must be it. Lance was just trying to impress me,
that's all. The very thought that someone like Lance--older than all
her other suitors, darkly handsome, and intoxicatingly mysterious--was
trying to impress a down-to-earth country girl like her brought an exciting
tingle, even as the well-born lady in her tried to smart with both shame
that she should be enthralled by such an unpredictable character like Lance
Alvers, especially when she was as good as engaged to Kurt, as well as
righteous anger that Lance would be so crude as to insinuate he was an
outlaw just to try and impress her.
"Either
way, I know that he was just joking," she said aloud to herself, as convincingly
as she could while pulling her sheets around her in an effort to get some
sleep and forget about Lance.
Her
desires to rest and forget about Lance were soon both broken, when a small
clinking sound attracted her attention less than five minutes after she'd
persuaded herself into believing that Lance was merely joking about being
wanted all over the country. Kitty frowned, half-rising from her bed, and
cocked her head to listen, even as a second clink followed, in time with
a small pebble lightly flying against her window. Now that she knew what
the sound was, Kitty got up from bed and hastily tripped over to the window,
half-sliding into her slippers but forgetting to pull a modest wrapper
over her nightdress in her haste as she threw the heavy glass wide open
and leaned out, her eyes eagerly scanning the darkness for the one who'd
thrown the two pebbles.
"Hello?"
she half-whispered uncertainly, wondering who could be calling--and specifically
on her--this late at night. Surely Kurt or Bobby were much too gentlemanly
to just launch stones against her window, and would have gone directly
to the front door and spoken to her father or Miss Ororo if they'd wanted
to see her. Then that left only one person...
Lance's
familiar face met her eyes from amongst the tangle of jasmine vines and
yucca trees that grew under her window, a boyishly lopsided grin accompanying
his even more familiar wink and a third pebble being tossed into the air
from the palm of one gloved hand.
"Nice
to see you again, pretty Kitty," he called up pleasantly, his smile growing
wider as he added, "You seem to get more beautiful with each passing hour."
"Oh."
Kitty blushed softly under his praise, all her doubts about his standing
with the law momentarily flying out of her head. "What are you doing here,
Lance? Mr. Logan will kill you if he sees you here--"
"Mr.
Logan? Oh, he must be your grumpy Canuck of an overseer who tried to skewer
me that morning, huh?" Lance quipped playfully. "Well, would it make me
seem more dashing and romantic if I said I would risk getting slain by
the whiskered dragon in torn denim, if only I could see you again, that
I would die for your smile and--"
"Lance,
please stop," Kitty protested, blushing furiously. "You're getting to be
just as bad as Kurt." A small flicker of unreadable emotion briefly flashed
across Lance's eyes, before he asked devilishly, "Kurt? Who would that
be? A suitor of yours that I'd have to duel to win your heart?"
"As
a matter of fact, yes," Kitty informed him coolly, trying to emulate Jean's
elegantly quiet grace. "Now please, you must go away--this isn't appropriate,
my talking to you like this in my nightgown."
"And
a very flattering nightgown it is, pretty Kitty," Lance agreed amiably.
"You might however want to throw something over that, though--I may be
no Southerner, but even I know that it's generally frowned upon for men
to be looking at women in their night clothes." Kitty turned crimson, suddenly
remembering that in her haste she'd forgotten to pull on a wrapper, and
now she ducked as fast as she could behind her curtains, peeking out at
Lance from there and whispering, "Just go, please...unless you have something
very important to tell me?" Now where had she gotten the boldness to hint
at that invitation for him to stay?
"I
do...but you must come down for me to tell you," Lance wagged his eyebrows
with mock suggestiveness, while Kitty decided that if she blushed any more
when around him, he might start wrongfully suspecting that she was tawdry
and lowered herself to wearing rouge and powder.
"I
will do no such thing," she informed him, trying to freeze him right then
and there with the utmost ladylike dignity. "Do you realize how scandalous
that would be, climbing down here in my nightgown and meeting a gentleman
without a chaperone?"
"And
do you realize how over-bred and old-fashioned Southern society is?" Lance
playfully retorted. "Come on, pretty Kitty--I'm insulted that you even
think I'd do anything inappropriate with you!"
"Oh!"
Kitty colored at his frankness, sputtering for excuses. "Well...I still
won't do it. I don't care how prudish you think I am--"
"Aw,
come on, pretty Kitty," Lance coaxed again. "What harm could come out of
it? I just want to talk to you. I really need your help on something..."
His voice trailed off despondently, and Kitty hesitated, wavering under
the suddenly forsaken look he gave her.
"Can't
it wait until tomorrow? I can meet you somewhere, I promise I will, and--"
she started to suggest in a tiny voice, and below Lance smirked at himself,
knowing that she was beginning to cave in. Kitty's excuses gradually died
away, and she finally took a deep breath and asked, "Well, is it honestly
that important?" A broad smile broke out on Lance's face at hearing that,
and he replied by merely nodding. Kitty still hesitated, as refinement
battled curiosity, with the latter emerging the victor when she huffily
chastised herself, "I can't believe I'm doing this. Poor Miss Ororo, she'd
be shocked if she knew." Lance's grin grew wider when he heard those words,
before he tossed away his pebble and lithely scaled up the walls, wrinkling
his nose slightly at the overwhelming fragrance of the droopy jasmines.
Kitty leaned back in surprise at his swift agility, then smiled back and
took the hand he offered her, teasing lightly as she started to carefully
climb out of her window, "Such a gentleman."
The
two walked in amiable silence, Lance apparently preoccupied with his thoughts,
Kitty too bashful of her current outfit to notice the slowly growing frown
that had begun to appear over his features. When she finally spoke, it
was to question him about another subject, as she inquired in a timid voice,
"So, um...what exactly is it that you wanted to tell me?" Lance turned
to face her, the frown quickly vanishing as he asked offhandedly, "Say,
pretty Kitty, do you happen to know an Erik Magnus--?"
"Oh,
you must mean Mr. Maximoff--Pietro and Wanda's father. Why, of course I
know about him--he's one of the most prominent citizens in the Deep South,"
Kitty assured him, wondering in puzzlement to herself why he would choose
Mr. Maximoff as a topic of discussion.
"Then
you must know he's giving a ball this Sunday." Lance stopped walking, turning
around to face her and causing her to halt as well.
"Of
course..." Kitty's voice drifted off, as realization suddenly dawned upon
her. "Why, Lance Alvers, did you drag me down here just to ask me for a
dance at the Maximoff party?"
"What
makes you think I was going to ask you for a dance?" Lance whistled innocently,
and Kitty turned bright red at her bold assumption.
"I...I..."
she stammered, mortified and wishing she could turn on her heels and flee.
But Lance was smiling--albeit in obvious amusement over her words--so it
couldn't altogether be so bad, could it?
"Don't
be embarrassed, pretty Kitty, I've got at least good enough manners not
to laugh at you--in fact, I rather like your spirit," he coaxed charmingly.
"But I have to be honest, I didn't "drag you down here" for nothing--I
was going to say that it would seem rather ungrateful on my part if I were
to turn down the invitation to the party. However..."
"However?"
Kitty prodded, her injured vanity beginning to recover at his earlier reassurance.
The
two had resumed walking, when Lance suddenly stopped again.
"Can
you climb over this fence?" he asked out of the blue.
"What?"
Kitty looked startled at his abrupt change of subject, turning incredulous
cornflower-colored eyes on him as Lance repeated calmly, "Well, there's
a fence right in front of us; now, I can jump over it perfectly fine, but
I don't know about you, pretty Kitty." As confusion slowly lifted from
her features and understanding dawned upon them, Kitty gathered the flowing
skirt of her white nightgown around her legs and huffed indignantly, "Of
course I can't just scramble on over the fence like some little boy--a
true lady never does such unrefined and masculine things!" Lance arched
an eyebrow, teasing playfully, "Just like how a true lady would never let
herself be cajoled into climbing out her bedroom window to meet a fellow,
unchaperoned?" Kitty scowled, insulted, beginning to turn on her heels
and stalk back to the mansion while grumbling sulkily, "Fine, I can see
where you're getting at--I won't stand around and be insulted by you!"
Lance hastily chased after her, grabbing her arm to stop her in her tracks
and quickly withdrawing it when she turned around and frowned at the offending
hand on her elbow.
"Come
on, pretty Kitty, I was just joking with you," he mumbled sheepishly, using
the hand that had been on her arm to scratch absentmindedly at the back
of his head. "Please don't go...What I meant to say was, there's no sense
in walking the mile and a half around the fence, when we can easily climb
over three or four feet of split oak railing, right?" Kitty hesitated,
wavering under his sincere gaze, before giving in and complaining, "You're
beginning to become a very bad influence on me, Mr. Alvers." Lance grinned
carelessly in response as he led her toward the fence, easily jumping on
top and then twisting around and offering his hand to her. Kitty hesitated,
glancing up uncertainly at him, before impulsively taking his hand and
allowing him to help her up. Neither of them noticed the faint tearing
sound as they leapt down, he before her, although Lance quite probably
heard it but chose to refrain from mentioning it until a more opportune
moment.
"However,"
Lance casually picked up where they'd left off as soon as they'd descended
from the fence, "I'm afraid I'm not quite as familiar with Southern dances
as I ought to be." Kitty began to frown as she realized where he was getting
at, stopping abruptly and making him halt in his steps as well as she glared
at him and guessed angrily, "So that's why you've wrangled me into coming
here in the middle of the night--you wanted me to teach you dances so you
wouldn't make a fool out of yourself at the ball Sunday evening, isn't
it?" Lance was the picture of innocence as he replied, "Is that so terribly
offending, pretty Kitty?" Kitty made an incomprehensible, and, she was
afraid, quite unladylike growling sound of displeasure from the depths
of her throat, as she huffed, "Yes it is, and it's also not so urgent and
important as to drag me out of bed and make me break several unwritten
laws of refinement and delicacy along the way! I'm going back!" And she
pivoted on her heels and started to stomp off with her head held as dignifiedly
high as possible.
"Just
to let you know, though, pretty Kitty," Lance's voice, full of laughter,
called out after her. "Your nightgown has ripped and your legs are showing!
In quite the refined fashion, though, of course!" Those words were enough
to freeze her in her tracks, as Kitty's hands flew down toward the back
of her legs and felt around there. Realizing that Lance was right and a
wide tear had indeed practically slashed the lower half of her nightgown
in two--no doubt received from when he'd cajoled her into jumping that
fence, she thought angrily--she let out a strangled wail of humiliation
and dismay and quickly turned around so that Lance wouldn't get an eyeful
more of what he'd already seen, lacing her hands protectively over the
torn part of her nightgown. Kitty raised mortified blue eyes up at Lance,
wondering what she should do or say next, and when she saw the playful
grin on his face, she reluctantly made her decision.
Fifteen minutes later, Kitty, with Lance's long black coat tied protectively around her waist and over her tear, was trying to teach Lance the first steps of the Virginia reel.
*A/N: Don't worry, all you Kurtty fans--I know this chapter was pure Lancitty, but the, well, not-so-blue-and-fuzzy dude in this case (he kind of has to be, considering we are talking about antebellum South here--if he were in his regular elf form, the poor guy would probably be lynched twenty times and then drowned in holy water! x_x) will definitely show up in the next chapter. See, Kurt's the nice, dependable suitor who'll always be there for Kitty, while Lance is just the bad boy who'll continuously pop up to encourage Kitty's more daring, less refined side. Ciao for now, and please review.*