He started so suddenly he nearly fell from the tree. He cast his eyes left, right in a panic. It was dark, so dark. It was nighttime. How had he fallen asleep?
He jumped down and landed in a soft pile of snow, nearly losing his balance and falling. He grabbed onto the tree for support.
It was completely dark inside the castle, not a glimmer of light coming from the windows. Belle. What had happened to her? Why was it so quiet inside? Was she alright? Was she cold? Was she scared? Or maybe she had escaped. Maybe she had slipped right out the front door after he had fallen asleep. Maybe she had walked right past him, not even thinking he might be there.
He bolted – a dead run – through the freshly fallen snow. He slipped and came down hard on his hands and knees and then jumped back to his feet and continued running. His heart pounded in his ears. Why hadn't she come? Was she alright? Had something happened to her? Was she hurt? Or maybe somebody had taken her – taken her away while he was sleeping. What if she were gone? What if she were gone, and he hadn't had the chance to even say goodbye? What if she were gone? What if she were gone? What if she were gone?
His hand was shaking when he raised it to open the door. His magic was weak – so weak he could barely get the latch to move. On his second try, the bolt slid slow across the inside of the door, and he had to push the door open with his hands. Inside, it was dark, pitch black and he could see nothing. The air was so still inside the dining room, no one could be in there. His hand was shaking when he raised it to light the candle on the wall behind him – shaking so hard he couldn't snap his fingers and had to settle on a clumsy little wave.
The candle lit, the flare lighting the room only dimly, and he saw it – the spinning wheel, large and still against the backdrop of the curtain. It was exactly in its place, but where was Belle? His heart pounded in his ears and he ran – he ran around the table to see. There. His heart stopped, and the floor dropped out from under him. He approached her slowly, carefully so as not to startle her.
Her arms were curled close to her body, making a little nest of a pillow for her head. Her cheeks, pale from the cold, were resting lightly on the surface of her arms and her delicate fingers dangled loosely by her chest. She laid so still, with her arms resting on the surface of the spinning table, and her breaths made little steam puffs in the air.
"Belle," he whispered. He hadn't meant to use her name. And his hands encircled her delicate shoulders and squeezed.
She took a breath and made the slightest movement toward sitting up, rubbing her face languidly against her arm. She dragged her lips slowly over the surface of her arm, raising her head but not yet opening her eyes.
"My dear girl," he whispered, stroking her hair, her back. She was freezing.
She turned her face toward him, propping her chin briefly on her own shoulder, and opened her eyes. He had meant to back up so he wouldn't be so close when she did, but she smiled anyway when she saw his face inches from hers.
"You're home," she whispered. And she let out a big yawn that made him release the breath he'd been holding. She smiled and looked up at him, seeming not to notice his hands on her shoulders and back. "I was starting to get worried," she said, sitting up.
"I can see that," he said. He laughed.
She giggled. "Well, I was starting to get worried before I got sleepy," she said. She smiled again and stretched her long, bare arms out in front of her. She shivered hard and let out another yawn.
"Come, my dear, you're freezing," he said. He slipped his jacket off without thinking and draped it over her shoulders, wrapping her arms inside of it with her body. He rubbed her arms from the outside of the coat to warm her, and for once he didn't notice that he was standing so close he was touching her back with his chest.
"It's always so cold when you're not here," she murmured.
"What?" he said.
"What?" she asked.
"What did you say?" he asked.
She seemed to startle then and come fully awake. They stared at each other for a long moment and then their gazes snapped apart like shrapnel.
He cast his eyes around looking for something – anything – a distraction.
"Did you," she started. "Did you fall?"
"What?" he said.
"Your coat," she said. She touched the edges of the jacket he had put on her. "It has snow on it. Did you fall?"
"Oh," he said. He laughed nervously, and it came out a slightly higher than normal trill. "Yes. Yes, I did."
"Oh," she said. She laughed and flushed, all pink and coquettish, and he would have wanted to grab her and pull her back to him if she weren't so dangerous as to be radioactive.
He nodded.
"Well," he said. He brought his hands together in front of him. "I suppose you're anxious to get those off now, aren't you?" he said. He pointed to the cuffs on her wrist.
She nodded, her lips pressed lightly together in a half-smile and held her arms out to him like a child. She waited patiently for him to open them and kept her eyes in the vicinity of his chest when he took her wrists into his hands. He opened the cuffs slowly, watching her face, but she wouldn't bring her eyes up to meet his.
"There you are, my dear. I hope they weren't too tight on you," he said.
She shook her head, holding one wrist in front of her chest with her hand.
"What's the matter, dearie? Cat got your tongue?" he asked. He dipped his head lower and tried to catch her eye, tried to make her smile.
She did smile and shook her head. "No, I – I suppose I'm just cold still – a little," she said. She hugged his jacket around herself tightly.
"Of course you are, my dear," he said. "I should have lit the fire for you before I left." He waved his hand, and the fire roared to life in the fireplace.
She turned around when she heard it and let out a startled little laugh. She turned back to him and shook her head. "So, that's why there were no matches," she said.
He wasn't sure what she was referring to, but he smiled anyway and gave a gentleman's bow, ending by clasping his hands together in front of his chest.
"Go on now, my dear, go stand in front of the fire and get warm," he said. He put his hand on her back and turned her gently in the direction of the fireplace.
She smiled and ducked her face ever so slightly behind the edge of his upturned collar. "Thank you," she said. She turned and walked away.
He watched her, trying not to look too long at her back, and then turned his attention back to the spinning wheel. He took one of the metal cuffs in his hands and unwound it from around the base of the wheel. And that's when he noticed the bolt.
# # #
She stood in front of the blazing fire, holding his coat tightly around her bare arms. It smelled like him. It felt like him. It made her feel as if he were holding her. Had he been touching her, stroking her back when he had woken her? She had felt the heat all over her bare skin but hadn't been able to focus, really, on what he had been doing.
"You were gone a long time," she said. She looked over her shoulder at him.
He was making his way around the edge of the room, appearing to give her a very wide berth.
"Yes, I had a long way to go," he said. He stopped in front of the glass cabinet and pulled out one of the low drawers beneath the case.
She turned back to the crackling fire in front of her. "Did you finish what you set out to do?" she asked.
The heat from the open flame warmed the jacket around her, releasing more of that cedar, honey scent she smelled whenever he was near. It was starting to make her feel dizzy.
"Not quite," he said.
He circled the room, keeping his distance from her, and sat down on the chaise lounge chair on the opposite side of the fireplace. She saw that he held a heavy down quilt on his lap. He leaned back, draping his arm over the back of the chair and let his gaze wash over her.
"Come over here, my dear, and sit beside me," he said.
She felt her cheeks warming. She turned from the fire and walked over to him slowly. She liked when he was like this – unguarded and warm. She unwrapped herself from his jacket and hung it up on the back of his dining room chair. Then she smoothed her skirt underneath herself and sat down next to him.
He handed her the blanket with a Cheshire cat-like smile, and she giggled.
She took the blanket and shook it out. It looked like it hadn't been used in many years, but it still smelled like him. She wondered if everything in this house smelled like him. She wondered if she would eventually start to smell like him. She gave the blanket a final shake, and it settled over both of them like a parachute. Then she lifted her legs off the floor, pulling the blanket up to her chin, and laid back against his outstretched arm.
He jumped.
She sat up quickly, pulling the blanket off with her.
"I'm – I'm so sorry," she said. She looked at him, eyes wide. "Are you alright? Do you want me to move?"
"No," he said. He smiled at her, no trace of discomfort on his face. "Not at all."
"Are you sure?" she asked. Her brows knitted together in concern.
"I'm fine, my dear," he said. He gestured to the spot at his side. "Please."
He watched her lay back down, very, very slowly by his side. He had not been expecting that. He had brought the blanket over for her to use. And he'd been surprised when she had spread it over both of them, but not shocked. But when he had invited her to sit beside him, he had actually meant for her sit beside him. He had draped his arm over the back of the chaise to claim his spot. He had expected her to avoid it, to take a seat on the other end near the fire. The last thing he had expected was for her lie down like that, right on his arm, as if they had been married for a hundred years. It was no wonder he had jumped.
And then she had leapt up like a cat, stared down at him, scrutinizing him. He had tried to brush it off, but she'd wanted to examine the thing in the light, to turn it over from all different angles. She would not let it be.
He was relieved – but terrified – when she took his challenge and laid gingerly back down onto his arm. He wanted to move it away, but he was trying to disarm her, and he couldn't very well do that if he were running from her like a frightened child. He took several deep breaths to slow his heart. Maybe it was better this way, to have her close to him, so that he could watch her face more carefully. He had to ask her about the bolt, about what she had done with it while he was gone, and he would need to watch her closely for any deception.
She glanced up at him and smiled. "Are you uncomfortable?" she asked softly.
"Not at all," he said. He smiled.
She smiled back, and her cheeks flushed a little.
Alright fine, if she wanted to play it this way, two could play this game. Keeping his arm wrapped around her, he began to sift through her hair gently with his fingers. She stilled for a moment and then laid her arm down on his chest, her delicate hand resting right over his heart. Clever girl, he thought. But he wouldn't make it that easy for her. No, if she wanted to test him – to feel the trip hammer pounding of his heart – she was going to have to do it another way. He captured her tiny hand in his free one and lifted it up higher, resting it near his neck. He held her hand firmly and didn't let it go. He watched her for her reaction.
Her eyes followed their joined hands, and she lay quietly on his chest looking up at them. She wasn't even breathing quickly. What? Did she do this for a living?
"So," he said. He forced his voice to be steady. "Were you a good girl for me while I was gone?"
His hand stilled where he was sifting the silken strands of her hair, and he looked down, directly into her eyes. His lips were parted and teeth bared, ready to pounce on her because he already knew the answer.
She looked up at him and pressed her lips together. Then she dropped her eyes briefly to their joined hands again.
"Not particularly," she said. She looked up at him again, her clear eyes round and unguarded.
He gave a startled laughed. Of all the things he had expected to come out of her mouth, the truth – the truth – was the very last among them.
She laughed too and shook her head, slipping her hand out of his and covering her face with it briefly.
He pulled her hand away and slid his finger under her chin, tilting her face back up to meet his. "What do you mean, my dear?" he asked. He was trying to get back to the script, but he could hear the laughter in his own voice.
She looked at him, all shy and embarrassed, her every edge softened beyond belief. She pressed her lips together, those lovely dimples appearing again, and began moving her hand down beneath the blanket.
Somewhere in his mind he registered danger – danger of the utmost kind. But this was danger of such a brand that he could not move an inch, could not even jump away to save himself. He was tethered to a sinking boat running straight toward the bottom of the ocean. He watched the snake of her hand descend toward the center of their bodies, and he thought he would burst into flames if she didn't stop.
"I took this. I'm sorry," she said simply. She was holding the bolt – the one from the base of the spinning table. She was holding it in her hand. She had taken it – unscrewed it – put it in her pocket. She had removed it completely, and now she was holding it in her hand.
He took it, bewildered. "Why?" he asked. He hadn't meant it to sound so desperate.
"Because I was going to escape," she said. She looked up at him sadly.
No, no, no, my dear – not why did you take it, but why didn't you leave me?
"But if you removed this," he said. He barely even whispered it. "Why didn't you move the spinning wheel? Was it too heavy for you?"
He had to check himself. He didn't want to make it seem as though he had planned the whole thing out – even though he had.
"No," she said. She shook her head. "I – I don't know."
"What do you mean, darling? What do you mean that you don't know?" he asked.
Don't call her darling. You shouldn't call her darling.
"I don't know if it was too heavy. I didn't try to move it," she said.
He stared at her hard.
She wasn't looking at him. Instead, her eyes were on her fingers, and her fingers were absently playing with the buttons on his shirt.
Dear Lord, have mercy upon me, child.
"But why? Why didn't you try to move it?" he asked.
She pressed her lips together a little tighter and for a terrifying moment, he thought she was going to cry.
"Because I – I made you a promise," she said. She looked up at him then, so full of sorrow and compassion it made his heart ache.
"What promise, child?" he asked.
She looked down at her fingers and didn't answer him.
He gently cupped her face in his hand and lifted her eyes back up to meet his.
You're getting too comfortable touching her. You shouldn't touch her so much.
"Do you mean when we made the deal, when you agreed to come stay with me forever?" he asked.
She chewed on her bottom lip.
"Is that what you mean, my dear?" he asked.
She pressed her lips together. She opened her mouth, like she wanted to say something, but then she didn't. In the end, she just shook her head no.
"What promise then did you make to me, child?" he asked.
She closed her eyes and pulled her face away from his hand. She laid her head down on his chest and closed her eyes tighter, clutching a fistful of his shirt in her hand. She kept her eyes closed and rubbed her face hard, fiercely, against his chest, like she was trying to wipe away a bad memory.
"I don't want to talk about this," she whispered. "Please don't make me talk about this."
He looked down, trying to see if she was crying.
"I don't – I don't want to talk anymore," she said. She pressed her face so hard into his chest that she was hurting him.
"Alright," he heard himself say. "Alright, you don't have to."
He wrapped his arms around her tight and laid a hand on the back of her head, shielding her face from him. He knew she didn't want him to look at her just then.
"It's alright now, my dear. We don't have to talk anymore. Sshhh. Sshhh. It's alright. You don't have to say anything," he whispered.
He held her tightly in his arms and rocked her just a little, like a baby. He kept squeezing her and rocking her until gradually he felt the tension start to ebb away from her body. He felt her sigh, the warmth wet against his chest, and she released the tight hold she had on his shirt. She turned her face to the side, resting her cheek against his chest instead of burying her whole face into it the way she had been. She uncurled her fist and laid her palm directly over his heart, but he didn't move it away this time. This time he let it stay right where it was, and he didn't worry that she'd feel his heart pounding.
As she relaxed, he relaxed, and he found that he wasn't clutching her so tightly. He leaned down, and he knew he shouldn't do it. He knew it was like putting your hand into a flame. Even if you could bear the pain of it, the fire would spread and all too quickly it would engulf you. But he did it anyway because he was weak and maybe even because he was a little reckless. He pressed a kiss to her creamy forehead, letting his lips linger there a long time. She smiled and opened her eyes, looking up at him – so adoring. And that's when he knew – when he really knew – that he was in the biggest trouble of his life.