A/N: Thank you to Sora Resi, GogofishKt, and Redwhale6 for the reviews. They're like a hug from the internet.
Thank you to Greece, for being the first of my cosplay friends to read one of my fanfics, and then threatening me if I didn't update soon. France gives you love.
Chapter Three
When Madeline was woken up by Elizebeta, she tried to recall the dream she had. It was one of those dreams that are wonderful and make your sleep perfect, but upon awakening, you find you can't remember any of it. Just that it was good.
In no time, she was dressed and having her ash blond hair brushed.
"Elizabeta?" She asked, a thought creeping up on her.
"Yes, miss?" The Hungarian replied, not stopping the rhythm of the hair brush.
"Ha- have you ever been in love?"
"I was married, yes." Elizabeta managed to stop her voice from cracking.
"But did you love him?" The young blond persisted, feeling the brushing stop.
The maid sighed, looking at her hands and starting to pin up Madeline's hair. "I learned to care for him, but no. I never loved him."
A heavy silence descended upon them, broken by small words in a gentle voice. "I'm sorry."
Those words brought the slightest bit of a smile to Elizabeta's face. "Thank you, miss. That means a lot to me."
Arthur's eyes widened. "Who are you? Where am I?"
Alfred squatted down next to the soldier, pulling at the bloodied bandages. "Jones. Alfred Jones. And this is my stable."
The Brit sucked in a breath as the horse blanket was pulled away from the wound on his side, but continued to let the Colonist tend to him. "May I ask what I'm doing here?"
Alfred stopped his work, looking right into the green eyes. "Healing."
Arthur desperately wanted to ram the palm of his hand against his own forehead. "Yes, I got that. But why the bloody hell am I in a stable, and why am I tied up?"
With a shrug, Alfred completely pulled the scraps away from Arthur's torso, revealing a slim, if not leanly muscled, body that didn't squirm, instead allowing itself to be tended to. "You're tied up because I didn't know when you would wake up, or what you would do. You're in the stable so that no one would find you."
Arthur's eyebrows nearly met, his face the picture of confusion. "Why wouldn't you want anyone to find me?" He asked suspiciously.
"Because you're not exactly welcome by anyone here right now."
Something clicked in the Redcoat's mind, and he began to struggle. "You! You're a Re- Reb-!"
Alfred moved back a bit, allowing Arthur the distance he seemed to crave. "Rebel? Actually, I prefer Patriot. A rebel is one who fights against their ruler. A patriot is one who fights for their country. It's also got a more heroic feel."
Arthur managed to wedge his body in the corner, as far from his savior as he could get. "Whatever you want for ransom, yo-"
"Whoa, wait. Who said anything about ransom? Is this how you treat everyone who tries to help you? Face it, you're to weak to move until that wound heals, and you have nowhere to go."
That was true. Arthur was lucky to be alive, and he needed help. Pride would do him no good, because he needed help no matter how much he tried to deny it.
"Now, if you want some breakfast, I'll bring you some. But I need your word that you won't yell or try to escape. I've got some er, friends that might not be too happy to see you."
Arthur didn't want to agree. He want to spew curses and wrestle this man to the ground and get the hell out of there. But he couldn't. And so he bit his tongue.
"Fine. I promise." He spat bitterly in surrender.
Allistor took a heavy drink of whiskey from his flask, then replaced the cigar to its rightful place between his lips. It was nice to spend part of the evening relaxing, if only for a little while.
The soldiers under his command were getting restless. They had been marching for four days straight, hadn't seen a single Rebel, and then came the worst part; news was coming of British defeats. They were just small skirmishes, hardly worth worrying about, but there were rumors of the French aiding the Colonists.
And Allistor really didn't want to have those damned frogs in his way later.
He sighed with content and leaned back on his seat atop a few supply crates, just letting his eyes close and the tension unwind from his neck...
... To be interrupted by a young voice. "Major Allistor Kirkland?"
Eyes shot open, and a boy, probably around 16, stood with a letter in his hands in front of a thin horse.
"What th' bleedin' hell do ye want?" Allistor demanded, upset at his loss of free time. He took another gulp from his flask.
The boy quickly saluted. "I'm to report to you that your younger brother has gone missing in the line of duty, and is suspected dead." He began to pry at the wax seal of the envelope.
Allistor nearly choked on the alcohol in his mouth. "Dylan?!"
The boy shook his head and tried pulling at the edges of the wax with his fingernails. "No sir, your other younger brother."
Allistor nearly dropped his cigar, worry digging further into the center of his chest. "No. Not Peter. He was just going to town." He whispered.
The boy's brow furrowed and started to peel the seal off. "No sir, your other younger brother."
"Seamus? But he's in camp. Ah saw him just an hour ago."
The young messenger clawed at the wax, pulling it to no avail. "No, sir. Your other younger brother. I can't recall his name, but it's on this letter."
Allistor took the document, breaking the seal with ease and shaming the messenger, who's job it was to transport letters and information.
The major scanned over the brief message, rolling his eyes and sighing with irritation when he found the name.
He refolded the letter and stuck it in his coat.
Allistor left the boy and horse, searching for Seamus' tent.
He pushed the flap open, finding his brother reading a book, and handed him the letter.
Seamus took it without a word, shaking his head slowly as he read. "Damn." He muttered under his breath. "Did you know he joined?" He asked his older brother, green eyes meeting green eyes.
Allistor had his fingers laced together behind his head, which he shook in reply.
Seamus handed him back the letter and returned to his reading. "Peter's been getting letters from Ma. He might know something about it."
"Thanks. I'll ask him if I see him."
He didn't see Peter around the camp, and returned to his own tent for the evening.
The Irishwoman inside didn't notice him enter the structure or come up behind her, at least not until his arms closed around her waist, effectively hugging her from behind.
She yelped in response and he released her, laughing.
"Allistor!" Carlin Kirkland exclaimed, slapping her husband lightly on the upper arm. Only a moment later, her hands flew to her rounded stomach, a grin appearing.
"What? What is it?" He asked with concern in his voice.
In reply, his hand was taken and moved to replace the smaller ones.
"Do you feel it?" Carlin whispered. "He's kicking."
"Yea." Allistor nodded slowly and the movements against his calloused fingers, a careful smile lighting up his face and pride swelling in his chest. "I feel him."
"He's strong." The pregnant woman commented. "Like his father."
"I just hope he doesn't get my grandfather's eyebrows."
Carlin laughed. "Like Arthur." She added.
"Oh, that reminds me." Allistor suddenly said. "I got a letter saying that the little rat went missing in battle and is probably dead."
"I didn't know he enlisted."
"Neither did I. Or Seamus, for that matter." They chuckled together for a moment, just enjoying each other and the unborn infant between them. They were filled with a warm feeling, flooding through them and caressing them.
Without the stables to take care of, Lovino's chores were cut in half. Thus, he was given the tasks that Elizabeta had on some list she had long since forgotten about, things Toris fell asleep cursing himself for not getting to.
Like scrubbing the inside of the fireplaces, dusting the chandelier, or what he was doing now, polishing the wooden staircase rail. And of course, how could Toris not remind him that he needed to make sure to get the out facing side that was twelve feet off the first level and no one ever looked at closely enough to notice whether or not it was polished in the first place.
His feet scooted nimbly on the very edge, his own lazy grip and perfect balance alone stopping him from plummeting.
He was so bitter in his mutterings about how unfair it was that he wasn't to work in the stables that he didn't notice the doors to the outside world open behind him. He just kept scrubbing, then he bumped his toe sideways between the elegantly carved sections of the upper railing piece.
Then there was only fear and empty air.
Antonio Fernández Carriedo was always lucky. He was always in the right place at the right time, avoiding risks and receiving rewards. But he didn't realize how fortunate he was. Being lucky just came naturally to him.
Naturally, while doing a delivery for his father, he had been offered a job as an apprentice for a merchant. He traveled all across the Mediterranean, meeting his two best friends, who he kept in touch with.
Naturally, the childless, unmarried merchant died only a few years later, and Antonio took over the company. Naturally, that was just before his newly acquired ship and warehouse full of fine lumber would have been purchased by a large Portuguese trading company.
Naturally, a mistranslation of his Spanish made the man he was dealing with believe that his "I'm not sure if I should be selling it." meant Antonio wanted more money.
And naturally, the young man was given nearly twice the original offer.
Naturally, for succeeding in such an impressive business venture, he was offered a role with one of the largest Spanish trading companies that frequented the Caribbean.
Naturally, of course, his luck got better. He was sent as a business representative to the British colonies, finalizing a deal for his employer. Naturally, the trip faced only good conditions and he arrived four days ahead of schedule. Naturally, his journey north and east had been even better, giving him a full week early.
When he found Mr. Jones' property, his horse easily trotted up the path to the manor.
It was a lovely home. The mare beneath him rode on carefully, despite the lack of attention her rider was paying. He slowed her in front of the doors, tying her reins to one of the wooden pillars that supported the shelter in front of the door.
He knocked lightly and opened the doors to the grand home and stepped inside. Looking around, he only saw a servant polishing the staircase railing in a rather dangerous fashion.
He shrugged. It was none of his business how the boy cleaned. Coming closer, Antonio saw that he was older than he seemed at first glance. More of a young man than a boy, really.
Soft swears in Italian could be heard under the servant's breath, sending strange shivers up the Spaniard's spine.
Something on the floor caught his eye, quite close to directly under the servant's place above. Antonio picked it up and examined it. It was a small white flower. He stroked his thumb over the silky petals.
A gasp alerted him from his daydreaming, and he looked up in time to see the Italian slip. Dashing forward with his arms out, Antonio caught him from out of the air.
There was a moment of silence after the impact, and Antonio cradled the young man to his chest.
Naturally, Lovino got out of his arms as fast as possible and slapped him across the face while screaming angry Italian curses.
A/N: Well, here it is, you crazies! Hahaha, I said that as though I myself am sane.
Reviews feed plot bunnies, and plot bunnies have babies. And babies grow up into accountants and electricians, among other things.
Still a one-shot for my 10th reviewer, and we're getting close. The end is nigh.