Hero stirs into waking. Voices murmur above her. She stares into darkness before it occurs to open her eyes. When she does, she finds Margaret beside her, a smile flooding her features. "Oh lady, you are determined to frighten us."
Hero blinks, her mind slow to comprehend. She notices she is laid out on a lounge chair.
"Is she awake?" Beatrice darts into view. "Hero, how do you feel?"
Hero pushes herself into a sitting position. For a second the room swims, then at last it steadies. "Ahh… confused. What… happened?"
"Don John proposed and you fainted," Margaret chirps.
Hero thumps back into the cushions. "What?"
"Really, Margaret?" Beatrice mutters.
Margaret chatters on, "You swooned straight into his arms. It was fortunate he was not on one knee. The poor man looked terrified when I arrived. Was the thought of marriage to him so distressing?"
Hero groans, pulling a cushion over her face to smother herself.
"Margaret, do not tease her," Beatrice scolds, rubbing her cousin's arm. "Hero has been much taxed and borne it with commendable strength. This shock was her limit."
Hero sits upright. "Where is he?"
"Beatrice shooed him out, along with your father and uncle. I have seldom seen a man more pitiable than Signior Benedick after suffering Beatrice's taunts—" the latter glares at Margaret but she goes on, unperturbed, "—but a drowned kitten could not have produced a more sorrowful sight than Count John. Though his reputation is treacherous, I do believe him sincere in his devotion to you, my lady."
"I must speak to him." Hero scrambles to rise — a sudden dizziness and Beatrice's hand on her shoulder prevents her.
"Not until you have eaten something. Lest you collapse again." Her cousin gestures to the platter of cold food placed on the table next to her.
Hero slumps and begrudgingly picks at the plate, snapping the grapes from their stems.
"Borachio tells me Don John has a sour humour but he is not violent in his cups and would never strike a woman," Margaret says "He is proud, stubborn… calculating… and vindictive. Borachio likes him a lot. But Borachio likes money. He says Don John is as generous with his friends as he is ruthless with his enemies."
"And you think these the qualities of a good husband?" Beatrice asks sceptically.
Margaret shrugs, mouth curling in a sly grin. "That, I cannot measure. But… if a prince, who looked like he, asked me to wed… I would not hesitate to the marriage bed."
Hero chokes, coughing up grapes.
Margaret cackles. "Ah ha! I see your blush, lady! You agree!"
"Fie, Margaret!" Beatrice snaps. "She cannot breathe!"
Margaret holds out a water cup as a peace offering and Hero drinks, the cool liquid soothing her throat.
Margaret waits until Hero has finished before speaking again, "Borachio also tells me Don John mopes like a lovelorn pup over you."
Hero's cheeks heat, a fluttering in her stomach, and she seizes her companion's arm. "Mercy. Please. I need to speak to him." She looks at them both. "Where is he?"
:-x-:
John treads through the orchard, the ground soft beneath his boots, grass damp from the shower. He hears the voices of labourers not far off, coming to the end of their working day, but no one disturbs him here. Far from his brother, his followers, and their hosts, John is free to ruminate in solitude.
The sky has cleared, the downpour passing as quickly as it started. Raindrops glisten on the leaves, a gentle breeze ruffling the trees, stirring a light, sparkling spray. The air is crisp with the purifying scent which arises after a storm. He does not know the hour, but the evening sun peaks from beneath lilac clouds, casting Messina in its amber gaze.
As he nears the bower where the honeysuckles bloom, a sweetness tangs the air. Hidden within the shrubs, he finds a bench to rest himself. He bows his head, reflecting on all that has transgressed since he stepped foot in Messina, and closes his eyes.
When he opens them again, Hero is there, as if conjured from his dishevelled mind. He jolts upright, "Hero."
She smiles, colour pouring into the world. "John… the gardeners saw you walking here."
He stares at her, aware of a desperate burning in his chest. Will he always feel this breathless around her? Or will in time the sensation ease into something softer… but no less devastating?
She hesitates, like a fawn hearing a twig break, then in a rush seats herself beside him. There is a pause as they gaze at one another, neither speaking, then both at once —
"Are you—"
"I must—"
They break-off.
"Your pardon." He gestures for her to continue, "My lady?"
"No, no. You first. Please."
He shifts, the bench creaking beneath him. His eyes flit around the orchard before landing back on her. "Are you… well?"
Her smile is bright if nervous. "Much better, thank you." Her gaze drops to her lap, fingers un-lacing and re-lacing. "I… I owe you an apology for… for scaring you as I did. This day has been… strenuous. And I had little eaten."
"You do not need to apologise. I should not have sprung such a…" he grimaces "...thing on you."
She dips her chin, sable curls curtaining her eyes. "It was… a shock. With how our conversation ended last night… I did not expect an offer from you."
Guilt twists its sickle inside him. "My handling of last night was… poor. I acted like a cad. It is I who must beg your pardon."
Hero hides her cheeks. "Ohh, no. You were not — I was far from my best self. If you can excuse me then I, of course, pardon you."
John swallows. "That is… not all I must apologise for." He averts his gaze as he speaks, "It… it was my fault Claudio attacked you. Because of the lie I told him — about Pedro being in love with you."
"John." Now, Hero's voice comes crystalline, "You are not responsible for Claudio's actions."
"But I knew what he was." John stands, shaking out his arms, his body buzzing as he starts to pace. "I knew the violence he was capable of. I goaded him, hoping he would injure himself in his temper. But he hurt you instead. He hurt you — and it was my fault. I blame him for his actions and, mark me, he shall pay dearly. But I blame myself too. This was my fault."
"John, look at me." Her voice compels his gaze to her own. There is so much kindness in her face, it tears something open deep inside of him and he stands, bleeding out before her. "There is every chance Claudio would have reacted as he did regardless of your misleading him. But if this troubles you then be assured, I absolve you of all guilt."
John thinks of the awful words inked over his skin, proof of her suffering at Claudio's hands. All because he abandoned her in that square. He shudders and drops to his knee before her, humble and penitent as he never was before. "Let me make this right. Marry me? I will be a good husband for you, I swear it."
Hero goes quiet, folding an arm around herself. She turns from him, a hollow note to her voice, "Be honest… do you ask for my hand because of what Claudio did? What he said?"
John considers her, remembering again the shivering wraith he found at the mausoleum, the whites of her eyes as she fainted. "Marriage will quell any rumours against you and restore your good name."
"Then I am an obligation! You feel honour-bound to offer for me."
Her voice quivers and John realises his mistake, lunging forwards to grasp her hands. "No. Hero. I have made a mess of this. Please, allow me the chance to right it… I am no good with words."
Hero sniffs, "You have been honest with me."
"No. I have not. Hero. Please. I am bad at this."
Gold-green eyes glimmer as she meets his gaze, offering him a reassuring smile even as she trembles. "Proposals?"
"Love," he rasps and hears the hitch in her breath. The words spill out of him, "I never imagined myself married. I could not conceive a woman I would trust enough. Who would want to be a bastard's wife. At most, I expected a cold, political alliance. I never hoped for love. That is… until you. Hero…" he tugs on her hands, bestowing a kiss to each finger, as his confession claws out of him. "You are more than anyone… more than anyone I have ever met. You are the first kindness… the first true happiness I have known in a long time. I have spent most of my life surviving a world that wished me gone, out of sight. With you… I am alive, I am seen. And I see you too. There are practical reasons for our marriage, yes. But if you think I do not want you… that I do not love you… Hero, how could I not love you?"
She grips his hands, holding on to him. "But… but last night…"
"I — I was taken off-guard. I handled it badly. You called us soulmates, showed me that mark… I could guess what other cruelties littered your skin. You who are good, and kind, and gentle…" His thumb strokes her wrist. Gazing up at her, he expels a shuddering breath. "I did not want it to be true. Not because I do not want you. But because you should not want me. Not when it must be written all over your skin what a villain I am… a wretch, a bastard. Hero… you cannot want me. You should not."
Hero untangles her hands from his — stopping his heart — and leans forward to cup his jaw. "What should I not love? A man who respects me? Who values my word? Who is good and gentle in his own quiet way?" Her fingers glide over his beard, brushing his eyebrows, and combing back the hair from his face. "Many times have I been warned against you, John. I do not care for the words of others. It is you who has won my heart. No tricks, no disguises. Soulmates or not. I want you. I choose you."
John holds onto her forearms, anchoring himself to her. "I do not wish you to be hurt. It is not easy loving a bastard."
"Really? Because it feels like breathing."
The burning in his chest intensifies, but it is not pain he feels. "You are.. impossible."
She laughs, warmth filling the cracks inside him. "You are a fine one to talk." She rests her forehead to his own. "Hear me, and know I am wholly sober as I say this — I love you, John, my villain, my wretch. I love you."
He stares at her, mesmerised and half-believing, "Can this be?"
Her eyes crinkle as her smile spreads. "It can. It is."
His arms encircle her waist, lifting her from the bench as he stands. He kisses her crown, her nose, the dimples in her cheeks. "Marry me. Make me your husband. Let me serve you, love you, be at your side always."
Her laughter tickles his beard as she leans into him. "Yes. YES. I will marry you. I will be your wife. But kiss me first, please. Do not make me wait any longer."
John cradles her face, taking a moment to appreciate her loveliness, the anticipation in her eyes, then — he seals his mouth to hers.
For all her impatience, Hero's response is slow, tentative. She watches him through half-lidded eyes, attempting to mirror his movements. Heat curls inside him at the thought that he is her first kiss and he restrains his baser instincts in order to ease her into it, adjusting her head to a better angle, taking care not to overwhelm her. Her lashes shutter, a soft whimper escaping her. It hits like a punch to the gut and takes all of John's strength not to lick the sound from her.
Despite his care, it is Hero who increases their pace, her fingers digging into his shoulders, gaining confidence as she catches his bottom lip, sucking it between her own, the barest scrape of teeth. I am here, she seems to say, I love you, come, come, be with me.
His hand sinks into her curls, a gentle rhythm building between them like sea to shore, their mouths meet again, again, again. John's world narrows to Hero, her touch, her taste. She kisses him like he is air and she has been holding her breath. Like she has never kissed anyone and only wants to kiss him. She kisses like she loves him and is going to stay.
And John loves her. He loves her. He loves her. He loves her.
:-x-:
"We should — we should tell — tell your father," John pants, delirious with Hero sweet on his tongue, the friction of her hips where she straddles him.
Her smile stretches against his lips and she tightens her thighs, pushing him further into the bench. "Let him stew a while more. I have been waiting for this far longer."
And, who is John to refuse her?
:-x-:
When they do return to the villa — hair patted down and their clothes smoothed — the apricot sky is bleeding into crimson, the last droplets of golden sun trickling into the hillside.
Margaret is the first to pounce on them. She takes in her mistress's flushed cheeks and swollen lips, and throws Hero a catlike grin. Hero's blush deepens and the serving woman cackles, flinging her arms around her
"Many blessings on you, pet." She kisses her close to the mouth and pulls back, casting a critical eye over John. She flicks her finger out at him. "Be good to her." Her lips curve, eyebrows raised with meaning. "In all things."
"Margaret," Hero hisses, flustered.
Margaret laughs, unabashed. "Oh, God send every one their heart's desire!"
She runs cackling down the hall. With a sinking feeling, John realises Borachio will soon know all and be around to taunt him. He restrains a groan.
Hero's fingers touch his wrist and she peers at him with concern. The weight lifts from his chest and he entwines his hand in hers, offering a reassuring half-smile.
They find Hero's father next and hasten him aside. Leonato is ecstatic upon hearing their news and hugs them both in quick succession. John throws a panicked glance to Hero over her father's shoulder and she smiles, eyes sparkling. John's breath catches and he thinks for that look he could bear anything.
Leonato seats them in pride of place at the banquet table and toasts their betrothal over supper. The announcement is met with applause, though John notes the confused and subdued reactions of the soldiers who find themselves celebrating the fortunes of their vanquished foe. (Claudio is absent. John heard he had been banished to his uncle's home. Luckily for the whelp. For John is not sure he could restrain from claiming that pound of flesh ahead of their scheduled duel.)
With a broad grin, Pedro raises his own cup. "My felicitations to you both. A most worthy and virtuous bride you have secured yourself, brother. Good lady, I will be honoured to call you my sister. I wish you many long years of happiness together."
Hero beams at Pedro, thanking him, and there are cheers all around. Loudest amongst them are Antonio and Borachio, the latter hollering and drumming the table to his companion Conrade's chagrin.
John nods his appreciation to Pedro. By acknowledging Hero as his kin the Prince will further silence the tongues against her. It does not resolve their troubled past or recent conflict, nor Pedro's earlier accusations, but John does not allow these thoughts to poison his good mood. For now, at least, the brothers are reconciled.
After supper, many approach John to offer their congratulations, shaking his hand and clapping his back. Amiable gestures which John accepts with civility, aware that these same sycophants will have spat 'bastard' and 'traitor' behind his back, if not to his face. He keeps glancing back to Hero — smiling radiantly as her friends and family fuss over her — and the old anger eases its claws from his chest. She is all who matters.
John watches as Pedro approaches Hero, welcomed with a warm smile. A throat clears and he jerks around to find Beatrice before him.
She levels him with a considering look. "So… we are to be cousins."
John does not baulk, though her sharp gaze has his hairs standing on end. "So we are. I would offer my condolences but they would not be sincere."
Beatrice's mouth twitches and she holds out her hand. He stares at it a moment then goes to shake it. Her hand closes around his in a vice — tight enough to make a lesser man wince, but not John. He is accustomed to others' intimidation tactics and he holds Beatrice's gaze.
"You will treat her well." It is not a question.
"No less than she deserves." It is a promise.
Beatrice loosens her grip and circulation returns to John's hand. She steps into him, her voice low and sweet. "Do not kill Claudio too quick."
"It was never my intention." For a second, he allows her glimpse the devil in him.
Beatrice's eyes flash in recognition and she smiles. "God bless you, coz."
She leaves him, heading for Benedick. John suspects there will be another announcement soon. He weaves through the crowd to Hero's side. Her bright gaze immediately alights on him and she slips her hand into his own.
"My lord," she coos.
John feels his smile grow in answer to her own. "My lady."
She lifts her free hand to his cheek, thumb nestling in the corner of his mouth. "I have thought you handsome since I first saw you, but… oh, yours is my favourite smile."
John takes her hand, pressing his lips to the centre of her palm. "It is for you… because of you."
Hero beams.
"Oi! Give her a proper kiss!" Someone bellows, sounding a lot like Borachio.
John tenses as the crowd takes up the chant, but Hero laughs, leaning into him.
"Go on, cousin!" Beatrice calls. "Spare the man from speech!"
"Come, brother," Pedro joins the chorus with irritating cheer. "Cherish the lady!"
"We do not have to," Hero murmurs.
Fondness warms through him at this concession and John cups her jaw — hope and joy illuminates her eyes — then, as he did in the orchard, he leans down and kisses her. The crowd erupts into hoots and cheers. He blocks them from his mind, lost in the sensation that is Hero as she melts into him. There is no one else but her and John is home.
:-x-:
Beatrice watches Hero bounce before Don John, skirts swishing with each animated gesture. Colour blooms in her cheeks and she is smiling with a happiness Beatrice feared she would not see again after Claudio's assault. Don John is his usual stoic self, but Beatrice observes a softness to features as he gazes at Hero, leaning into her like a sunflower does the light.
"They are a strange couple," Benedick muses next to her.
Beatrice hums. "As strange as the thing I know not."
And yet…
"And yet…" Benedick voices her thoughts, his tone wondrous and wistful. "They look happy."
"They do," Beatrice sighs.
"I think he loves her."
There is little doubt about it. Don John is reserved but not imperceiveable; anyone who witnessed his surly countenance upon his arrival can see the change Hero has brought out in him. Like sunlight breaking through dark clouds.
"Yes," Beatrice's shoulders slump, "I think he will love her for the rest of his life."
Benedick looks at her with kind understanding. "Not your choice for your cousin?"
"No one is good enough for my Hero," Beatrice says, matter-of-fact. She lowers her lashes, gazing at the couple over the rim of her wine glass. "I would have kept her with me forever. But her heart is meant for more… she is to love and be loved by more than myself. And she loves him. Truly loves him."
"She loves you still," Benedick assures her.
Beatrice casts him a wry smile, swirling her cup. "I know. Hero is unwaveringly faithful. But she will have more to love soon… a husband… and children…" She takes a swig of wine. "Ughh, what maudlin is this? Don John's melancholy seeks to root in me now his betrothal has ousted it from its master. Come, come, let us speak of nothing but mirth."
Benedick springs to life, flourishing a bow. "Do you require a jester, madam?"
"Yes," she regards him, a stuttering behind her ribcage as the corners of her mouth rise. "Yes, I believe I do."
Benedick swipes her hand and kisses her knuckles. "Then… I am yours." Beatrice's breath catches and he smiles. "Impossible slanders and all."
Beatrice laughs, breathless and on the brink of tears. "Good." She leans into him, not caring that they are in a crowded room as she clasps his hand. "Good."