Author's Note: We are so terribly sorry for the long wait! Real life has been extremely unforgiving and though we had quite a bit of this already finished, those last touches were just not easily attended. But we're here now with a new chapter! Hope you enjoy it, be sure to leave a review and check out our Tumblr where the ask box is always open!
Rose could barely keep up with James' long strides on a normal day, but to chase him through a castle wearing a full ballgown was asking too much of her. She tried to call out to him, begging him to slow down but he either could not hear her or he just chose not to. Her heart was beating hard, her breathing began to hurt as her stays seemed to grow even tighter with every step she took. Her mind was a jumble of conflicting thoughts. What was happening? How had Abigail suddenly vanished? What was that shadow and had it something to do with the ice on the ramparts? Where was Abigail? Rose's heart felt as though it might break and she cursed herself. Why had she stayed behind to dance? Those few moments in the ballroom could have been used to follow her beloved, even just to check on her. If she was hurt while Rose was laughing on the dance floor, the auburn haired woman would never forgive herself. Just before the door to the hall, Rose held herself against the wall to catch her breath...and fight back tears.
"Abigail," her lips trembled as her girlfriend's name echoed in her ears. Where could she be? What could Rose do? Her mind tortured her with the worst scenarios imaginable. She might have slipped off the ramparts, fallen into the sea. That shadow creature might have stolen her away. Rose wanted to cry but knew she could not, not at this moment. She could not lose herself, or else she would lose Abigail too. And she would not lose her beloved, she had to pull herself together. A roar from the ballroom made her jump. The clang of steel made her blood turn cold. She rushed through the doors just in time to see her James charging at Charles Vane.
"Where is she?" James screamed. She did not have to see his face to know his eyes had gone red, his voice was evidence of his fury. Vane said nothing, too shocked for words as he fought to keep his head.
"What do ye think ye're doing?" Grace shouted over the astonished crowd. But Hook did not care to answer. Instead he fought on, spinning with sword and hook flaring out in a tornado of steel. Rose pushed through the party goers, muttering hasty apologies as she forced her way towards the fight.
"Answer me, swine!"
The sword nearly carved out a hollow in Vane's chest.
"The hell are you talking about?"
A sharp clang rang over the shouts of the crowd, Vane had just barely parried another blow. Around her, Rose could hear the shock of the captains as they tried to cease the fighting and the wagers going on behind their backs. But when the crowd would not move for her any more, when they began to enjoy the horrible display, she let her manners fall to the wayside. She shoved, kicked and scratched her way through, not caring when she sliced open the cheek of one of Vane's blond companions. The woman shrieked but Rose didn't even bother looking back.
"What have you done with her?"
The Hook took off several hairs from the powdered wig.
"With who?" Charles Vane bellowed back as he finally caught his footing and began to fight back in earnest.
"My Abigail!"
Rose had at last made her way to the inner circle, where the many guests had formed a ring around the duelers. Her hands flew to her mouth, muffling her gasp as she found the blazing eyes of her lover almost sparking in rage. She had never seen his eyes so scarlet, never had she seen them light his face with a glow that reeked of the infernal. He frightened her.
"Why should I know where you left your whore?"
"You already confessed to your crime! Now give her back to me!"
Hook charged, throwing all his strength into an arc of incoming metal that Vane hardly escaped. The sword crashed into a buffet table, nearly splitting it like a log. Vane's powdered wig toppled off his head, revealing mussed brown hair half slick with grease. The once haughty captain looked to the table, then his attacker, and actually paled. Hook left the sword where it was, trapped in the wood like some warped and wicked Excalibur. As he reached into his coat, Rose knew she had to act before he ruined what little chances they had to find their beloved.
"James, stop it!" she screamed just as he used his hook to cock the pistol. Her arms latched onto his, taking him off guard and twisting the weapon from his hand.
"Rose! What the hell are you doing?" he shouted in her face.
"Saving you from yourself!" Quickly, she turned down to see where the gun had fallen and kicked it to their allies. Silver's page rushed forth at the barking of his master and snatched it up.
"We have to make him talk!"
"And we can't do that if you give into your rage and shoot him! We need him alive!" It took all her strength to keep her hold on him. James was so much taller and stronger than she, but like Janet with Tam Lin she would not let her lover go no matter how he hissed and clawed at her.
"Keep him alive for what?" Their hostess had made her way into the circle now. Green clothed guards armed to the teeth stormed the hall, pushing back the crowd and forming a line between the two men ready to tear out one another's throats.
"Ask the dog himself, he knows well what he has done," Hook growled.
"What care have I about your sluts?
"Damn you!" Rose was nearly pulled off her feet as he lunged for his enemy, but her grip held true and her weight held him back. Her voluminous skirts swirled around them, hard enough to give Hook a short pause as the heavy silk hitting his legs.
"Please, James," she begged now and he finally turned to look at her. Though his eyes were still glaring red, they did not hold that hellish light from earlier. "Don't let him play you, don't give him what he wants." Slowly the blue returned to his furious gaze and at last she allowed herself to breathe a little easier. Her trembling hand reached up to cup his cheek, he only slightly leaned into her touch, still wary of an attack if the twitching of his fingers was any indication.
"Were you not saying something similar to this earlier this very evening?"
"I was," she nodded. "And if we want to find our spitfire lady, we need Vane alive and you not imprisoned by your council." James looked as though war was being waged behind those forget-me-not eyes. He thirsted for blood, for vengeance, to tear the world apart inch by inch until Abigail was again in his arms. It was the exact battle being fought in her own mind, though it took every ounce of self control to remain as calm as she was pretending to be. Abigail...Abigail was worth more than a filthy scuffle on the floor. "Please, James do not do this, not yet. We need a plan of action if we are to find her, use that brilliant mind of yours and then we can rip the realms to pieces until she's home again." He considered her a long time, and for a moment she truly feared that he might rush off with naught but his hook to protect him. And then he sighed, as though all the fight had gone from him and he nodded. Extracting his arm from her clutches, he wound it around her waist and drew her close to his side, shielding her.
"Has the French Hen talked some sense into ye?" Grace snapped, hands on her hips.
"So it would seem."
"Good. Now will one of ye great buffoons tell me just what in Saint Brigid's name happened here?" With every word Grace's voice grew louder until she shrieked like a banshee and not a few guests flinched and cowered.
"That bastard drew his sword on me!" Vane snarled and tried to charge forward but the line of burly guards held him back. "Not a challenge uttered, not a duel set! He is a shameful excuse for an Englishman! Bad form indeed!" The arm around Rose tightened and she nuzzled her face into his coat to whisper gentle and calming words. Turning Hook's own words against him, Charles Vane was the one picking a fight now.
"Well? What do ye have to say to that accusation?" By now Anne had joined her lover's side, a scowl on her thin face. And behind her came John Silver, his crutch clicking on the floor.
"Abigail is missing," James said bluntly though every word was spoken through clenched teeth. "I have good reason to believe that he had something to do with her disappearance."
"The lady has gone missing?" Silver looked shocked at first, then angry. "Who would dare?"
"That cretin," James continued and pointed with his hook to Vane, "flaunted his dislike of my ladies not an hour ago. And after she went to take some fresh air, he comes to me and has the care to warn me to 'keep my bitches on a tight leash lest they wander off'." Around them the captive audience gasped and gossiped loudly. Grace snapped at them to shut their lips lest they wanted her to sew them shut. As the volume finally lowered, James stood still as a statue with Rose held close. Only the witch herself knew that keeping her near and in his grip was all that was preventing him from ripping out the first throat that came too near.
"And then?" their hostess prompted.
"It was then that Rose noticed Abigail had yet to return. We searched for her, all over Cragside, but could find no sign of her. And then we came to the ramparts," he began to shake with the recent memory played out. "There were signs of a struggle, broken vases and the shadow of a person running away just as we came upon the scene!"
For half a moment an expression of shock and worry crossed Grace's weathered face, but it was quickly pushed aside as she spun to face the accused.
"Any here claim witness tae these words, supposedly spoken by Captain Vane?" For a few agonizing moments no one said a word. Were they too afraid to speak? And then a few people, Rose couldn't recall their names but had met them during the long line of introduction, they actually stepped forward.
"I heard him," a woman clad in ochre said in a clear, steely voice. Her dark eyes were harsh as she looked at the disheveled Vane. There were gilded baubles in her braided hair, and golden bangles on her wrists, all jingled as she pointed one ebony finger in accusation. "He warned Captain Hook not to let his ladies out of his sight, or something untoward might befall them." So eloquent, this woman. Were the situation more...well any better at all….Rose would have desired to know her. More party goers came forward, agreeing with the woman. "Until Lady Abigail is found, I say to the Council that Captain Vane is to be held under house arrest."
"This is absurd!" The accused man shouted.
"There be a missing woman and more than a few witnesses saying you foreshadowed her vanishing," Grace said carefully.
"I am a member of the ruling body as well, O'Malley," Vane ground out. "And as we are one body short of a true vote, you cannot place me under house arrest." Green eyes glared at the woman who had made the suggestion, Rose felt a tinge of worry for the brave lady. "And I refuse to make a plea for this trumped up charge!"
"You are on thin ice, man," Silver lowly. "We all saw your first meeting with the Mistresses Hook."
"And how would I have made a plan to kidnap of them when I had never laid eyes on them before tonight?"
"You're a sly snake," the Sea Cook tilted his head, leaning heavily on his crutch. "It wouldn't surprise me if one of your men knocked the poor lady out while she was walking."
"You're all mad! That Irish tramp has bewitched you all!" Vane grabbed his wig from the floor, violently shaking the dust from it. "Kidnap a captain's woman, in a castle full of people both revelers and guards? With next to no men at my service and only a single sabre for my defense? I'm an exemplary thief but that is too ambitious even for me!"
"And yet half the people here are well into their cups," Anne spoke up. Her slender frame was fairly vibrating with rage. "Well do I know what a man can do when the spirits are flowing and a woman is unawares." She stalked across the circle of onlookers, winding her arm around Rose's shoulders. "My sister pirate, Rose, shows great honor to you, Vane, asking her man to stay his hand rather than gut you where you stand. As it is, I hate to say that you are right, we cannot place you under house arrest while our sixth seat remains empty."
Vane's women and his entourage made sounds of triumph. But one glare from Captain Bonny quickly shut them up again.
"Instead I make this motion, to forbid you from leaving St. Erasmus until Lady Abigail is found - alive. Do I have a second to this?"
"Aye!" Grace answered. "Who votes with me?"
"Aye!" Silver and Hook shouted.
"Opposed?" Grace looked to the little crowd of Vane's followers.
"Why bother? You're all set against me anyway," the accused hissed. His vile gaze found James and Rose, he took two heavy steps toward them, the room around them grew tense and quiet. The only noise was the singing of blades as they slid from their scabbards. "I don't know where your bitch went, nor do I care." He spat at their feet. "If I do ever see her again, she'll regret making a fool of me this night." And then he lead his men and whores away, trailed by guards in green. The door slammed with a reverberation that shook Rose to her very bones.
When they came home, empty handed and heartbroken, it did not surprise Rose in the least that James stalked upstairs with nary a word to her. No doubt he would fall asleep at his desk, the floor strewn with empty bottles and a fair number of books thrown violently from their shelves. To be honest, she preferred he get his rage done with now, away from her. Rose longed to be held, to at least hear the pretense that things would turn out alright if only to give her something to strive for. As it was, she vanished into her gardens, her loyal familiar hurrying behind her. When she came to the out of the way corner she had been planting with rare night blooming flowers she finally fell to her knees. The wide skirts of her scarlet ball gown flared out around her and a shuddering breath echoed in the empty glen. King James curled up in her lap and purred, she stroked his soft black fur and began to sniffle.
Her Abigail...her guiding star...was gone. Vanished, taken, the only trace left behind was a sheet of ice and shadow which may or may not have really existed.
Tears began to flow down her cheeks, her lips quivered and it became difficult to breathe.
In her past, the auburn haired sorceress had been used, beaten, emotionally abused and thrown away by those she thought cared about her. She had given her heart and had it broken so many times that by the time she met the blue eyed dream that was Abigail O'Rinn-Sheehy, she really started to believe that she was just unlovable. In the dark corners of her mind, she thought perhaps that love was just not something meant for her. And then she met a beautiful, aspiring actor and everything changed. There had been times in their past when they had snapped at one another, damaged feelings, fought and hurt each other deeply. Not all those arguments were over quickly, and some wounds took longer to heal, no couple was perfect after all. But Rose loved Abigail, and Abigail loved Rose. It took time to mend those hurts but they did so together and always came out the stronger for it. But now...now they were separated, torn apart...and Rose felt lost.
Sobs began to fill the night as the world came crashing down around her. She cuddled her pet close and the feline let her hold him, as though he could sense his mistress's pain.
Could there have been something she might have done to protect her better? Had she only gone with her, not wasted time dancing, perhaps she might have been able to stop whatever had happened. What kind of lover was she, if she allowed those who held her heart to be hurt? She was angry with whoever had done this, she was angry at herself for allowing it to happen in the first place. It might have been prevented, if only Rose had been paying attention, and she hated herself for it. Until James, Abigail had been the single greatest thing to ever come into her life. They fit so completely well together, friends at first while at university and before Rose knew it she had fallen head over heels in love with the younger woman. Though her heart was open to new loves, and her body was hers to share, Rose adored her Abigail...already she missed her. Her star...was she scared? Was she alone and worried for her lovers too? The elder witch's hands began to tremble, her breathing becoming erratic.
A tormented scream rang out through the moonlit garden as Rose wailed her heartache. She fell to the ground in a sobbing heap, her cat nudging her tear drenched cheek.
There was no happiness in her world without both her lovers safe at her side. As she sobbed, Rose realized how none of the arguments, snapped words or painful mistakes they had encountered during their relationship could equal the agony she felt now. Was she safe? Was she hurting? Did she miss Rose as much as Rose yearned for her? King James meowed softly, pawing at her cheek until her watery eyes looked up. He darted off to play in the vines which were growing unnaturally fast. Rose looked around and gaped. Around her, the night blooming flowers slowly emerged from their buds. New sprouts shot up as her tears watered the soil, and the garden she had lovingly and painstakingly made for her beloved began to come to life.
"What…?" Wiping the tears from her eyes, she sat up and looked around. This garden would not have been done for weeks, and yet it was growing to its full glory right before her eyes. Was this some sign, some hint from the powers that brought them to the Never Sea in the first place? As an arbor of cyrus blossomed before her, Rose fought to keep her control.
"You're out there," she whispered to herself. Abigail was alive and waiting for her, somehow she knew this, deep in her bones. "I'll find you, I promise!" she shouted to the inky black sky studded with mocking twinkling stars. She lifted herself up, determined not to torment herself any more than she already had. Rose was nothing if not determined. Though still filled with sorrow, still ready to break into a thousand little pieces at any moment, she knew she had to keep going. They had been through so much together, had fought for one another, held each other as they cried and supported one another in times of great duress and pain. She would fight for her beloved, with tooth and nail and every ounce of magic in her body and nothing in this world or any other was going to stand in her way.
As Rose picked up her cat, holding him close and pacing her garden deep in thought, a far less composed sight was to be found high in the northeast tower of the Barony. Just as the nature witch had predicted, Hook had already fallen in the bottle in his despair.
He had thrown himself onto the pale blue and gold couch that sat before Abigail's modest fireplace, eyes already glass from the bottle he had swiped from his office when he had stormed through the house to find the room that belonged to his lost lady. He could smell her perfume on the cushions, see the embroidery project she had laid down on the pillow when Rose had fluttered into the room to remind Abigail to get dressed for the party. Black branches twisted across the blue fabric stretched across the hoop and Abigail had just begun stitching in snowflakes gentle falling among the twigs. He ran his fingers over the neat stitches, remembering how delicate and careful her hands had been as he watched her bring beautiful images to life with nothing but thread.
He should be angry, livid, still vibrating with rage that she had been taken. And he had been, the entire journey back to Black Barony had been filled with seething silence, his hook thirsting for blood to avenge his lady. He had exploded from the carriage and stormed through the house. But when he had wrenched open the door to her blue drawing room, the wrath had vanished almost entirely. He was left tired, exhausted, despondent, filled with despair. He had sank onto her plush, sky blue couch, bottle by his feet, and cradled his head in his hand. There was nothing else he could do. He had no idea where to start looking for her. He was tempted to tear Vane's house apart, to raze it to the ground, leaving no stone unturned until he found her. But he was forbidden from such things by the ruling of the Council. And what if she wasn't there? What if Vane had spirited her away somewhere else?
Spirited away…
Vane was the obvious and mundane solution, the clear culprit. But there was another part of James that whispered of magic. The ice and scattered shadows on the ramparts where they thought Abigail had last stood, what if they were evidence of magic? She was a witch, both of his ladies were powerful witches. But they were not all-powerful or undefeatable. What if another witch, another magical being, had overpowered her and taken Abigail away? What if the shadow they had seen was working for whoever had taken her and they had startled it from covering up the evidence? What was that human shadow?
Pan.
His eyes burst into a fiery red colour, rage once more sparking in his breast. His ladies had told him of how the brat had lost his shadow in the Darling's house, how he had returned to claim it and the Wendy. The Boy could send his shadow away from his body, he had sent the shade back to cover his tracks while he made off his the Hook's woman.
The last time Pan had taken one of his ladies, Rose had been terribly wounded. He would not allow the same to happen to Abigail. He would learn from his errors. He would get his starlit storm lady back. No one could take his treasures from him and get away with it. Not after he had finally learned what true, beautiful happiness was. He would never give that up.
He lurched to his feet, swaying slightly as the brandy numbed his body, and sucked in a deep breath.
"PAN!" He bellowed, throwing his head back, "I'll gut you for this! I'll hunt you down and tear you to shreds! I will find her! I will take her back! I swear to Hell!"
Later, much later, that night, Rose found her captain nearly passed out from drink before the fireplace in the blue drawing room. By now she had removed her heavy ball gown, her maids taking it to be cleaned in the morning, and donned a thin silk chemise and a dusky pink dressing gown. Her bare feet were silent as she moved across the floor. Hook never even raised his head when she kneeled at his side. Still, his hand came to rest atop her head, running through her loose hair over and over again.
"Please come to bed, James," she pleaded softly. "I need you there."
"It's too quiet," he whispered hoarsely. "Too empty."
Tears filled her eyes once more, seeing her beloved Hook so broken. Despite her resolve to find their Abigail and bring her home, Rose's heart was still as fragile as glass in this moment. Was it selfish of her to want him to hold her? Her hands reached out, gripping his knee and laying her head in his lap.
"It's empty without her," she whispered. "And I want her back…...but please don't pull away from me now. Not when we need each other the most."
"It's wrong," he croaked, "Wrong and sinful to take pleasure, to be happy when she is not with us." Watery hazel eyes looked up at him through his matted curls, her sorrowful face lit by the dim fire.
"There's no pleasure, or happiness just now, not when our beloved is missing," her words were careful yet her voice cracked a little even so. Her fingers gripped his thigh a little tighter, as though she feared he might vanish from her too. "But I cannot be without you right now, and I'm sorry if that sounds selfish, but please don't leave me alone tonight….and don't let yourself be alone either."
"It is no less than I deserve," he said, his voice rasping over the words, "Villain, despicable, reprehensible as I am. I let her slip through my fingers, I deserve nothing more from the world. I deserve this sorrow and despair and loneliness. Villains do not have happily ever afters. And I never will." Rose drew back a little, gripping his face in both her shaking hands. She lifted his face to be even with hers, pressing a harsh kiss to his lips.
"Do not go into that darkness, again. I'm here, I'm here," she begged. "We'll find Abigail, we'll start first thing tomorrow. But please don't leave me behind, I need you now...I can't lose her and then you in a single night."
"We've already lost."
Her hands delved into his hair, pulling tight enough to make him wince.
"No we've not! This is the drink talking and I won't lose both the loves of my life within a few hours. You're coming to bed if I have to drag you there myself."
He seized her wrists and shoved her away, "Leave me here, damn it! Go to bed and curl up with your thrice-damned cat! Let me drink, let me grieve, leave me alone!"
Rose stumbled back, her leg catching on a table and causing her to fall to the floor. The iron fireplace tools that were placed against the fine marble clanged and toppled on her. A pained whimper escaped her lips as the sharp edge of the poker shredded her gown and cut her forearm. She gripped her wound, clutching her arm to her breast and glared up at her lover.
"I will not leave you alone when you're half mad with sorrow and drink!"
"Get out!" he roared, lurching to his feet, the bottle gripped tightly in his hand, "Go away! Leave me!"
Furious, bleeding, with fire in her eyes, Rose stood silently. There was a coldness to her that he had never really been seen before. She stalked up to her rampaging lover, shoved him back to his seat and in his stupor she stole the bottle from his weakened hands. And threw it into the fire. The little explosion lit the room in an infernal glow, the scarlet magic crackling at her fingertips lending an eeriness to her usually soft and loving self.
"I gave you a chance," she said lowly as she walked around him. She paused in the doorway which lead to their bedroom, letting her frightened pet run inside.
He stood, staring down into the fireplace where the remnants of the alcohol were burning away among the shattered glass. And it was only when the door to their bedroom had snapped shut behind Rose that he allowed himself to crumple to the floor. He blamed the drink, it was the fault of the rum, but he was leaking. Tears dripped from his eyes and he pressed his face to the rug spread across the dark wood floor, letting no one hear or bear witness to his sorrow and pain.
On the other side of the door, Rose was clutching her cat, leaning against the door and weeping. What had she done? Broken things and actually left James behind in his agony. But she was hurting too, she just wanted to be with him, but he was too far gone right now to even hear her. On shaking feet, she stood, and made a feeble attempt to reach the massive bed. The silks were wet from her tears in seconds, even as her dear pet nuzzled and purred as he curled up next to her. Holding the little fellow close, Rose cried herself to sleep.
Morning dawned all too soon. The pale light of the sun seeped through drapes, stinging Rose's eye and rousing her from her blissfully dreamless slumber. She didn't want to leave the little sanctuary of her mind where peace frolicked just within her reach. As soon as her mind came to consciousness, she felt the pain of waking in a world where she woke alone in a large and empty bed. The soft purring of her kitten only eased her sorrow a little, and for a time she just lay there enveloped in the blankets and petting him. She knew that she had to begin the difficult work of finding her missing loved one, and soon. Her eyes were still sore from weeping, her head ached and her body felt heavy and listless. Slowly, she noticed the sting of her wound. That would need cleaned and dressed, a voice in the back of her mind said. It might get infected, but to the dismay of her better judgement, she found that she really didn't care. The telltale signs of a long and lasting bout of depression were glaring at her as bright as the morning sun. It was an old battle, one she had fought for years, pushing back her inner demons lest they overwhelm her. This time….this time she wasn't sure she had the strength to fight them. The situation seemed to hopeless, where was she even to start?
She left the bed, carrying King James in her arms, telling herself that she had to find breakfast. If she went about her day, sad, lonely and worried there was the very likely chance that she would forget to eat at all. It had had happened before, in years past, when her world was nothing but shades of gray. But there was too much at stake now, she had to care for herself if she was to care for those she loved. And so she left the bedchamber, creeping into the the blue drawing room. The place was silent. Not eager for a repetition of last night, Rose searched for Hook with every little step.
And found him crumpled on the floor before the fireplace, a bottle lay at his side.
As much as she yearned to make him something to ease his hangover, she knew he wouldn't accept it. He wouldn't accept anything from her right now. He needed his time to grieve, and space to find himself without their beloved. Ever so gently, as not to wake him, she pushed a soft cushion under his head. It was the very least she could do and he wouldn't rightly remember it hadn't been there the previous night anyway. With her little gesture of caring done, the witch sighed with a heavy heart. Her sharp tongued lady, and her rakish captain, so lost they were. She had to find them, find some way to bring them together again, and it seemed as though she would have to do so by herself. So Rose walked around him, casting sad eyes at his weary form, and made her way to the kitchens.
When James woke, the first thing he noticed was pain. His head felt as though there was a spear prodding the inside of his skull. But as he was no immortal, and the onslaught on his brain could only be of earthly means, he knew it must be the usual aftermath of drink. But this was far worse a hangover than he was used to, it pounded like a hammer and the minimal sunlight pierced his eyes until tears threatened to fall. Why had he drank so much? It was all a blur, all the events from the night before merged into one terrible smear of color and sound upon his memory. He finally noticed he was not in his bed, but on the floor, with a pillow under his head. Why was he sleeping on the floor? Surely he should have woken in a nest of silk and the embrace of his mistresses…
But he couldn't. He remembered that now.
How could he sleep peacefully when one of his precious sorceresses had been taken hostage?
His sorceresses...he could not be without them. Looking around, he could see through the double doors to their bedchamber and found it empty. He called out, no one answered. On unsteady feet he arose, barely noticing the cluttered mess of the fireplace tools and staggered from the drawing room into their private chamber. Not even their feline was to be found, he hurried to the next room, his library and study but that was as silent as a tomb. His hand began to shake, a cold sweat breaking out across his skin. Where was his Rose? From the library he rushed into the private dining room, the doors echoed as they hit the walls upon his entering. No one, not even a servant to be seen. His shoes fell heavily on the floor, every step beat in tandem with his aching heart. Where was she?
He had not awoken without his women in so long...he could not bear to have them away from him. He could not easily sleep without them by his side. Now he woke alone, on the floor, cold, and utterly devoid of their gentle presence.
Abigail was lost, gone in a swirl of ice and frost. Taken by his most hated enemy, no doubt. He would take her back, no matter how much blood he had to spill to do so. And once he did she would never leave his sight again.
All he had left was Rose, but where was she?
Storming through the portrait gallery, the terror began to seep into his veins. Would he find another sheet of ice at some distant peak, his lady vanished? He almost stumbled down the stairs, cursing his weakness for the drink which robbed him of his senses. Through the whole of the ground floor he tore, desperation taking its formidable hold on him. From the formal dining room to the golden drawing room where his Rose had left her plans for extending the manor's vegetable gardens strewn all over.
Where the hell was everyone?
He was just about to leave the gilded dining room, ready to make for the gardens, when a young kitchen maid appeared from a hidden door in the wall.
"You, girl!" He bellowed and his own voice resounded with a sharp sting of pain to his temples. The maid jumped in alarm, her arms clutching at the tray she almost dropped.
"Master Hook!" The cutlery shook, a bowl of porridge and a small plate of buttered toast nearly toppled to the floor.
"Where is your Mistress?" he demanded.
"Which-which one?" the girl stuttered.
"The only one who came home last night, daft git! Where is she?" He stalked towards the shaking maid, who took a step back with a white faced expression of fear.
"L-lady Rose is-is in the kitchen! She ordered this b-brought to your room!"
Not waiting for another word, uncaring of the platter of food, he shot around the quivering serving girl and made for the narrow servant's stairs. He wasn't sure why he was going there, lest of all why his mind screamed at him to find the kitchens as quickly as he could. If Rose was there as the serving girl said, than surely he had no need to see her for himself. That was the remains of his logic talking, whispering from a distant corner of his mind. Logic had no place with him just now, he was propelled by fear, a fear of being alone again. The door to the kitchen had been left open, the sounds of crockery clinking, the pop of the fire and the idle chatter of women reached his ears.
"That's a rather nasty cut, Mistress," he heard Gladys, the head housekeeper say.
"It's not too deep, thank goodness. I don't think I would be able to handle stitches," the voice of Rose replied. She was wounded? How had she been hurt? His head was assaulted with a sharp pang, as though it hurt to try and remember last night. Something had happened, but what? Truly he was far gone if he had blacked out parts of the evening.
"What are you making there?"
"A poultice for my arm. White sage, yarrow, and comfrey. Perhaps a little honey too, keep the air out until the flesh mends." It sounded as though she were rummaging through a cabinet now. Did he dare to step in? What would he even say to her?
"And you say you slipped in the drawing room? What on earth did you catch yourself on, Mistress?" Gladys was a kind and motherly woman, her concern was clear in her lilting voice. Rose however did not answer, at least not very quickly. For a few excruciating moments all that could be heard was the grinding of mortar and pestle, and the delicate breaking of dried leaves. Why did she not answer?
"I fell into the fireplace tools, one of them cut me."
"Goodness gracious!"
"No need to worry about me, Gladys," her sweet voice was strained. "It's really not so bad, and really...silver lining and all I can practice healing on myself."
The fireplace?
He had woken before that mantle, and now that he thought about it, the shovel, poker and bellows were still scattered across the floor.
"Gladys, can you check on Miriam for me? I should have brought that tray up myself…"
"I'll see to the girl, Mistress, the poor thing looked petrified when I gave her your orders. Can't say I fully blame her though, I know how the Master can be in the mornings, if you don't mind me saying."
"Oh no need to worry about me in that regard. Just...make sure she doesn't think I'm punishing her or something. I'm afraid he's in a bad way…."
"We all are, Mistress, we miss her Ladyship too." A slight pause, he barely noticed as his head truly began to pang and images from the night before at last began to emerge from the fog of his mind. "I'll take the back stairs and be back soon." In the distance he heard a door click, the iron latch lifting then slamming down again. And then silence. There was so much silence in his house now, and he hated it.
Rose seemed to go still in the kitchen. No singing as she worked, no clicking noises from her knives on cutting boards. There wasn't even the scraping of the chair legs against the stone floor. She was just so very still.
James turned the corner, and met the startled gaze of his auburn haired lady.
"You're awake," her voice was surprised, but tired and lacking of its musical luster.
Keen as his eyes were, he noticed the bandage, slightly red with blood, on her right forearm.
"You're injured."
She looked curiously at the wound, then back at him.
"Don't you remember last night?"
His head hurt once more at the mention of that terrible evening.
"I overheard you say that you fell and cut yourself on the fireplace irons," he walked more fully into the room and the smell of baking bread hit him hard. His stomach growled painfully and Rose instantly set into action. As he took a seat at the old, pock-marked table, a miniscule hiss drew his attention to his left. Felis catus Rex was apparently none too keen on sharing his own breakfast, guarding his pile of minced meat like a pirate guards his treasure. "I have no interest in your scraps, little beast."
Rose pet the kitten on his head as she passed by and the creature seemed appeased by the attention. She took a seat across from him and placed a platter of boiled eggs, unbuttered toasts, porridge and weak tea. Hook eyed it with disdain.
"You're hungover, eat what I give you," her words were clipped and full of unfamiliar ire. He made to retort but she held up one hand to silence him. "I take it you blacked out and can't remember our….disagreement?"
"Disagreement?"
"We had a fight, you pushed me, and I tripped into the mantle."
Again he looked at her wounded arm, eyes going wide as at last the fog cleared and the memories came crashing down on him like a rogue wave.
"You were in pain, drunk, and I shouldn't have pushed you so far like I did," he could hear her words but their meaning was nearly lost on him.
"Apologize not for your actions….." he stared at his plate and felt a burning sensation at his eyes. "You did nothing wrong….tis I who acted the fiend…"
"James….we simply need to talk this out-"
"I need to pray," he said abruptly and lept to his feet. Rose looked up at him in confusion.
"Pray?" But he was already making for the door.
"I'll be in the chapel, see that I will not be disturbed."
When he reached the grotto chapel beneath the house, he fell to his knees. The candles around the base of the statue of the Blessed Mother bathed the white marble in beautiful light. Her pure eyes looked to Heaven, her white hands outstretched. Hanging from one of her carved hands was an old rosary. Reaching up with trembling hands, he pressed his mother's rosary to his lips and his villainous heart turned to prayer.
Their lives seemed dull and grey without their stormy lover. Rose snorted at the analogy as she poured milk for her cat. King James sipped his supper, his big eyes looked soulfully around the room. He had slept on Abigail's side of the bed for two nights straight, clearly missing his vanished owner. They had not been wholly alone however, a new presence had appeared the night Abigail had gone missing. Rose had been walking with the kitten in her arms around the manor's grounds when she decided to pay some attention to the neglected front lawn. Meaning to choose placement for new trees, she had nearly trampled John Silver. The burly, flamed haired man had camped on the grass, and there remained as a sentinel. She had tried to talk him into a guest room but he wouldn't have it. Silver also told Hook, after Rose had lured him outside with the threat of hiding the key to the wine cellar, that a friend had offered to search the nearby islands for them. Captain Hawkins it seemed was a rather kind hearted sort of pirate, to do the favor for them. Still, the days passed slowly and dismally. Word reached them on the third morning of a meeting to be held, at their own home, to formulate a proper plan of action. All this ran through Rose's mind as she kneeled on the Persian rug and stroked the soft fur of her four legged companion. Three members of the Council were due to visit them today, she wanted to ensure her beloved pet was well cared for as she might be away for a few hours to speak with them. The maids could have easily taken care of the little feline, but Rose would not let anyone attend her pet but herself anyway. And she needed the company.
Grace O'Malley on the warpath was a frightening sight. James seemed rather used to the screeching like one of the Furies, the breaking of vases and the swinging of many deadly looking blades. Rose kept herself well out of the range of said blades and was very glad not to know any Gaelic at the moment.
"If I could have strung up that smirking prat from one my gibbets I would have!"
"Gracie, we all know that wasn't an option," Anne tried to placate her lover. "No evidence means no angry mob. As attractive as that might have been."
"Damn right it would be!"
A poor side table took a terrible beating.
"The most we can do now is start sending out spies, have them infiltrate the lower docks. All the dregs take their business there, someone might know something." Captain Bonny began to pace. Her blond hair was loose, lit by the gleaming sun filtering through the open windows. She moved with a feline like grace, a striking figure with intent clear on her golden face. "Anyone could have hired a kidnapper down there, hell I've done it myself more than once."
"Other than the jackanape, who else might be wantin' tae hurt ye, James?" Grace pressed. "Hurt a man by hurtin' his woman, it's an old and dirty trick."
Beside him, Rose tensed. Oh she knew that her beloved captain had a theory, she had heard him screaming it the night before. Though she supposed it could make sense, she wondered how the Boy even knew where they were. But, it was all the lead they had.
"There is one who would be so bold as to steal my Abigail right from under my nose," Hook said darkly. "The same one who took my hand."
"The fairy child?"
"That beast is no fairy," his words were more of a growl. "God only knows what he might be, but he lives to torment me. To take one of my women whilst we attend a party? He and his motley band have already shot Rose, they must have been fairly salivating for the chance to hurt Abigail."
"But Pan has no idea that we're even here," Rose said. She hid her exasperation well, but the last few days had been nothing but Pan this, and Pan that. James swore the shadow they saw at O'Malley's must have been the boy's. But it might have, it might have been only a trick of the light. They had no evidence either way, and her researcher's mind was desperate for a source, a lead, anything more substantial than a single shadow. "He's never been sighted on this island, has he? And how would he have created that ice we saw on the parapet?"
"And what theory would you propose in his place?" James hissed. Plumes of sweet smoke hovered around his dark head, the grey clouds only bringing attention to the pale refraction of red in his narrowed eyes. A pile of cigar nubs overflowed the silver and crystal ashtray, James had been chain smoking each and every day their Abigail was gone.
"Nothing," she admitted without an ounce of defeat in her voice. "Because we just don't know enough yet. What we need is a pair of eyes and ears to scope out any place on Erasmus where talk of Abigail might turn up."
"You need a spy, that's what," Silver said from the the lounge where his good leg was propped up on a coffee table.
"And do you know any decent spies, John?" Hook rolled his eyes.
As one, Captains Silver, O'Malley and Bonny turned, in an almost rehearsed fashion, to stare at the silent figure whittling in the corner.
Chase Strand looked up like a startled meerkat with the sudden silence.
"You cannot be serious," James said drolly.
"Ye've been gone for a long time, Jamie," Grace rolled her steel grey eyes. "Chase has been workin' for me for ages. I hired the gangly thing long after ye had left for Never Land and he's been following ye since ye stepped foot back here."
"You had me followed?"
But no one was caring much for Hook's wounded pride. Chase looked halfway pleased to be the center of attention and half prepared to sprint for the door. Rose snatched a tumbler of scotch from the sideboard, downed in and set her narrowed gaze on the pick pocket.
"You can be our eyes and ears? In places James would be too obvious and I just cannot safely go?"
"Begging your pardon, Mistress Rose," the blond thief grinned as he put away his knife with a flourish. "But I highly doubt there's a place where you would be unsafe, men would painfully regret troubling you."
"Oh for Lucifer's sake."
"Your flattery is appreciated," Rose continued, again ignoring her lover's grousing. "But you can? Be our spy and report back the moment you get the first hint about Abigail's whereabouts?"
"Madame, it would be my honor and pleasure."
Translations:
Felis catus - cat (Latin)
Rex - king (also Latin)