A little while later,
Ichabod emerged from the room, fully dressed and limping horridly,
but walking at least. He looked quite pleased as he looked down the
stairwell at Anabelle.
"Finished," he said, smiling. The
smiled fell however as he looked down at the stairs and then over the
banister at the floor below. He cleared his throat. "My balance
is rather off, though, Ana," he explained. "I may require
some assistance still, down the stairs."
Immediately she turned
and ran up the stairs two at a time to offer what assistance she
could. It took a while, and though he tried to hide it, it was more
taxing on him that he predicted. About halfway down, they stopped to
rest, Anabelle's arm lingering around his waist as he rested his
across her shoulder.
"Too bad you can't just slide down the
banister," she teased him lightly. "I loved doing that when
I was small. My father hated it, so naturally I did it at all the
inopportune moments...particularly if there was distinguished company
to dinner."
It was a silly, pointless little story, but
perhaps it would make him smile and take his mind somewhat off of the
pain that his leg must have been causing him.
It succeeded too.
Though he was puffing for air and wincing slightly, Ichabod's lips
curled into a gentle smile. He squeezed his arm about her
shoulders.
"I am sure you looked positively adorable, sliding
down, making a grand enterance in your dresses and petticoats,"
he said. "And your mother must have been glad of the free wood
polishing." He chuckled and leaned carefully on the banister,
testing it. There was a quiet creak from the wood. He shooked his
head.
"I would be terrified of trying for fear that it my
break or that there might be... splinters." He winced, though
Anabelle could not be sure if that was from his leg, or the thought
of slivers in such a spot.
Anabelle wrinkled her
nose. Splinters were definitely not a pleasing idea. But, she ignored
that aspect and tightened her grip on Ichobad's waist, her thumb
gently stroking up and down on his side.
"Sadly my mother
never got to see those frequent escapades," she bit her bottom
lip. "She had died before then and my father, although a good
man, was more concerned with keeping the 'upstanding reputation of
his name' than any family devotion."
Anabelle snickered at
her memories of gravely embarrassing her father.
"What you
do not know about me is that I can be rather antagonistic. Sometimes
I even do it on purpose, usually if an action warrants such behavior.
Most of the absurd things my father did after my mother passed away
fell into this category. In fact, it used to be a favorite past time
of mine."
She shouldn't have said that. If Ichobad thought
highly of her, he certainly wouldn't now. What kind of person admits
that they actually enjoyed making someone else cringe with
embarrassment, particularly a father? Anabelle winced, but knew the
damage was done.
"Oh?" Ichabod
looked at her seriously, trying to read her expression. Then, to her
surprise, he shrugged and glanced away, thinking. It was hard to find
anyone, especially in the city, without similiar faults. Tempers,
sauciness, and greed ran rampant through the world. He hardly
considered this news from Anabelle particularly dissappointing on
that respect. Katrina, even, had been willing to burn evidance to
protect her father. That was just one of the many examples throughout
his life that Ichabod had seen of human faults. They were, afterall,
humans. They were who they were, and they were not perfect. After a
moment, he thought up a sufficient reply and looked deeply into her
eyes again.
"I suppose it does give you character," he
said, pulling a little smile back on to his face. "You said if
an action warrants such behavior... What precisely did your father
used to do that warranted such contrary decorum from his daughter?"
"If you had met my
father," Anabelle began slowly, working out exactly what she
wished to say in her mind as she spoke. "You would not believe I
am his daughter. I am a faint immitation, a weaker copy of my mother.
She was a very beautiful woman, tall, graceful with eyes of the
deepest brown and hair that matched cascading in waved down her back.
She was as accomplished as she was beautiful. She could play the
piano and sing and was well read. I believe she could even speak
French. My mother loved us, my father, Nathaniel and I and did all
she could to protect us out in the country. I was young and did not
know all the dangers, but there were witch hunters about, along with
threats from highwaymen, bandits, animals...I am not sure what
else."
Anabelle could not meet his eyes, instead she stared
at the worn wood of the stairs, studying the texture of the grain and
the little lines that coursed through the varnished wood beneath her
feet.
"When my mother died, her body had barely been laid to
rest when my father removed his wedding ring and put it away in a
trunk with her belongings. Immediately he began hosting dinner
parties for the most prominent villagers around our little house. He
never mentioned my mother, seeming to turn his eyes from me whenever
I would approach. Father did not wish to remember his wife...the
witch...and that was something he did not take issues with until he
heard someone from our village mention that I 'favored the witch.' At
first, I did not wish to believe it was true, but..."
She
paused to think of how she wished to phrase this next bit. She was
divulging too much information, but she was too far on a roll to
desist.
"...but the more my father remained in this society,
the less anyone spoke of my mother. He became the talk of the town,
noted for his dinner parties, for making something of himself even
from such humble beginnings. He forgot all about my mother. Once he
was asked by someone who knew he had been married previously who was
the mother of his strapping boy, and he couldn't even remember her
name..."
Her voice dropped to a whisper.
"He
couldn't recall mine most of the time. I had already began to follow
in my mother's footsteps although I hadn't discovered her books yet.
My personality is as much hers as my looks. She would never have
stood for the behavior my father exhibited. For her sake, I would not
stand for it either..."
Anabelle paused again, shaking her
head, not wanting to continue down that path. She took a deep breath
and returned to her previous line of thought.
"Father's mind
became occupied completely with the opinions of his new upperclass
society, spending hours away with his new friends and Nathaniel,
even. The house that I have recently occupied, the one in the city,
that was Nathaniel's. He moved there with Father shortly before my
father died. I stayed in our little house in the country. When
Nathaniel was died, I thought a short stay in the city would be
exciting...I had no idea it would be this exciting. I hadn't
fathomed Horsemen and crazed drunken magistrates," she added
with a bitter laugh.
Ichabod gazed steadily
at Anabelle as she told him her tale. His mouth hung slightly agape
for a long time afterwards. He was a bit in awe. Never would he have
guessed she had had such a life. It was so oddly similiar to his own.
He shivered as a little breeze swept up the stairwell. A moment
later, he had reached out and wrapped his arms tightly about her,
bringing her close against him.
"Anabelle... I had no
idea..." he whispered, resting his lips to her forehead. He
wanted to pour his heart out to her. He wished to tell her
everything, his past, his dreams. Yet, he could not. It was so hard.
He had only breifly spoken about his mother and father to Katrina
long ago, but never more than mentioned either to anyone else. He
wanted so much, just to tell he, but... no, not yet.
"Thank
you, for telling me this, Ana," he said at last, pulling away to
look down at her tenderly. "You know you never need feel
obligated to tell be anything. You can have your secrets from me, and
from everyone. I am, though, very glad you told me about your
parents. I..." He trailed off. He could not do it, not now. "I
am sorry about your mother..."
Anabelle closed her
eyes, resting against his shoulder, taking in his scent. She did not
lean fully into his chest, not wanting to topple him over. She smiled
against his shoulder.
"There is one thing wrong with your
statement, Ichobad," she laughed lightly, her eyes still closed.
"I cannot have secrets from you. Even if I wanted to, I would
probably end up telling you anyway. There's something about you that
makes me unable to keep anything hidden from you."
Ichabod could not help
but laugh at this.
"Well, I am glad I know that. I could ask
you anything I wanted, and you say you will have to tell me?" He
playfully blew her hair into her eyes and held her waist tighter.
"Perhaps I will both have to use that to my advantage, and try
to remedy it. Tell me... what is you favorite color?"
Anabelle lifted her
head, her lips against his ear. She breath passed by his ear, her
lips closing around his lobe, pulling gently. She pressed a light
kiss to the lobe after it passed through her lips.
"I always
did favor red," she answered. "But, perhaps it is rather
too bold a color."
Ichabod's breath caught
in his throat. He pulled away slightly, looking down at her with a
bit of a confused expression. He shivered at the sensation tingling
through him now from her lips.
"Ana...," he whispered,
eyelids closing partially. "I wish I could tell you about my
parents. But I...cannot." He bowed his head in shame, sighing.
"To share my life with you..., my story, I mean, it would be an
honor, but..."
Anabelle took his hands
in hers, her thumbs coursing over his palms. Her eyes watched his,
patiently.
"I am curious, Ichobad," she admitted. "But
I am not asking. You do not have to tell me anything you do not wish
to."
"I want to!" Ichabod felt highly obligated to make sure she realized this. "I do want to, my dear... to tell you anything you want to know about me, but it is so hard. Even...thinking about it, dreaming about it." He closed his eyes tightly. "I...cannot."
She stood on her toes
and pressed a tender kiss to each closed eyelid. Anabelle still held
his hands in hers, her thumbs tracing over his palms. Her cheek slid
across his, her mouth brushing his in a feather light kiss as she
pulled back to look at him. His head was bowed, eyes clenched tight.
Anabelle brought a shaking hand to his cheek, stroking her thumb over
his skin.
"Perhaps..." she did not want to end this
topic, but knew he could not pursue it now. "Perhaps we should
get downstairs. Are you well enough to walk some more?"
"Oh...yes,"
Ichabod said. "Yes, I am fine now. Let us go on." The
continued down the stairs. Progress was slow and, for Ichabod,
painful. One instance was particularly straining, when Ichabod lost
his balance and was forced to clutch onto both Anabelle's waist, and
the railing to keep straight. He let out a low, shaking breath,
trying hard to calm himself.
At last, they reached the bottom.
Ichabod wrapped his arm about the pillar at the doorway, leaning
heavily on it and grimacing.
"I'm alright..." he
whispered, to nobody in particular. "Just... Just need to
rest."
Anabelle watched as he
leaned against the pillar. He was trying to hide the pain he was in.
Perhaps this was a foolhardy idea to have him up and about so soon.
Placing an arm about his waist, she urged him so sit on the stairs,
stretching his leg out in front of him.
"Wait here and I'll
bring you something," she brushed back the matted hair from his
forehead. "And no, it's not going to be any more of
my...concoctions," she reassured him.
A moment later she
returned with tea and a honeycomb.
"See? Just as I
promised," she offered the cup to Ichobad, the honeycomb leaving
sticky residue on her fingertips. "Nothing you've never seen
before, is it?" she teased him lightly.
Ichabod forced a smile
onto his face.
"I was not concerned," he said. "Even
if it hadn't been tea, I trust you. I know you would not poison me,
on purpose, or accident." He took the cup and, after taking a
deep breath, swallowed a sip of the hot liquid. He sighed, resting
his head back against the banister supports. "Thank you, for all
you have done to help me, Anabelle. I am in your debt."
Anabelle sat beside him
on the step.
"I'd say you are welcome, but Ichobad, I
haven't done anything. I should be thanking you. You've been keeping
me safe, from the Horseman, from the magistrate...you believed me
when no one else would...even after the incident with
the...medicine...and," she cringed. "even after I slapped
your boss, you still stood by me," she smiled at the
unintentional irony. "So to speak."
Ichabod, too,
smiled.
"Ah, yes, but without you, my dear..." he
paused, unable to think of anything specific to say. Then a joking
grin grew over his normal smile. "I would be either at the top
of the steps still, terrified to come down on my own, or fallen at
the bottom, with a broken neck."
Anabelle couldn't help
but laugh. Laughter felt so good right now. Unfortunately, hiccoughs
also followed. She blushed at the little squeaking noises that she
tried to fight, but emmitted regardless of how hard she tried to hold
them in. Of course, this only made her want to laugh more.
She
burried her head in her knees, her lips smiling, her back hitching
with each hiccough.
Ichabod watched her for
a minute, eyebrows raised in slight surprise. Then his face cracked
and he, too, started to laugh. He threw his head back and let out a
ringing tone of merriment that echoed in Anabelle's ears. Not in the
longest time had he laughed like that. Still shuckling he wrapped his
arm about her waist and reached under her hair to take her chin. He
pulled her gaze up to his, looking into her eyes and his grinning
broadening more.
"You should laugh more often. You are
completely iresistable." He leaned in to kiss her cheek. "So
beautiful..."
Anabelle's eyes
fluttered closed as his lips touched her cheek, her heart skipping a
beat as he called her beautiful...and irresistable. How could the
simply stated words of this man fill her with such longing? His lips
brushed over the skin of her cheek, traveling lower. She turned her
head away slightly, fighting another hiccough.
"I'd kiss you,
dear, really I would," she managed before hiccoughing twice.
"But I'm afraid I will hiccough hiccough." Anabelle met
his eyes in an appology. "Like that," she hiccoughed once
more.
Ichabod snickered
loudly, unable to help it.
"I don't mind it, actually. It is
rather adorable," he said. "Come here." He pulled her
carefully onto his lap, cautious of his knee. Once she was there, he
wrapped his hand about her neck and pulled her lips to his lightly.
They parted soon as the continued to hiccough, but a seond later, he
pressed the kiss back to her lips, smiling against her lips.
Anabelle fought with
every fibre of her being not to hiccough, but they were relentless.
She pulled away from Ichobad's lips and hiccoughed as he turned his
head to another angle before reclaiming her lips. Feeling rather
bold, she began to gently suck on Ichobad's lower lip, one of her
hands resting on his arm as the other trailed down his shoulders to
rest on his chest. What surprised her was that she didn't hiccough.
Perhaps she had unconsciously found the cure. She smiled against his
lips.
Certainly not a bad way to get rid of hiccoughs, she
thought as she waited for Ichobad to accept her lips into a deeper
kiss.
It only took Ichabod a moment to do so. He deepened the kiss slowly, gently. His long, pale fingers tangled in her dark hair as he held her closer. Their embrace grew in strength and the kiss grew in affection as the minutes wore on.
Whether his lips became
more demanding first or hers, she could never discern. All she was
conscious of was the way they felt against her own, working hers with
passion and tenderness, parting hers gently and molding her to him
like they were made for each other. His hands were tangled in her
dark hair, running the silken strands through his fingers.
The
hand on his arm had moved around his neck while the hand on his chest
absently toyed with the first button of his vest.
There simply
was no way Anabelle could ever get enough of this, enough of Ichobad,
enough of his kiss, enough of the way he made her feel...
Taking in he smell in a
deep breath, Ichabod paused againt her lips, his eyes half-closed. He
was about to return to the kiss, as gentle as he had always been,
when therewere footsteps behind him. Someone coughed quietly. Ichabod
pulled his lips from Anabelle's with a faint sound as their moist
lips lost contact. Leaning back on the stairs, with one hand still
resting on Anabelle's waist, he looked over her should and a bright
pink tone rose in his pale cheeks. He cleared his throat, and uttered
only a few words.
"Young...Masbeth...," he said slowly.
Then, "Is it time for us to be...departing?"
Anabelle glanced from
Ichobad to Young Masbeth. Both of their cheeks were flushed, and she
knew her own were as well. In fact, she doubted she could discern who
was more embarrassed in this situation, Rupert for walking in at an
inopportune moment, herself for being caught kissing Ichobad, or
Ichobad for kissing Anabelle and being discovered by Masbeth who knew
how Ichobad loved Katrina...she shook her thoughts from her head,
rising to her feet and holding out her hands for Ichobad.
"You
must let me know when you need rest," she squeezed his hands
lightly as she teasingly grinned at him. "I'd hate to have to
make that pain reliever again. It is rather...potent..."
Ten minutes later,
Ichabod and Anabelle were making slow progress in their way to the
city hall. The sky was turning grey, starting to darken as the
evening approached. Ichabod knew they could not stay at the library
for long, but he just needed to check a few books. Tomorrow..., he
thought. Tomorrow we will get much more done.
He glanced at
Anabelle. She had her arm carefully about his waist, doing what she
could to help him when he needed it. As of yet, they had not stopped
for a break. Walking down the street, despite the cobbles, was much
easier than descending the steep steps of the house. He frowned at
the prospect of having to climb them again tonight, and tomorrow
trooping down them once more.
At last, they reached the steps that
led to the huge, stone library. There were only about six stairs, but
Ichabod peered at them as though it were a grand staircase in an
opera house. He sighed, slowly extending his good foot to begin the
ascent.
Anabelle tightened her
hold around his waist, leaning in so only he would hear her
words.
"If you lean more on me, it will be an easier ascent,"
she looked up at him from beneath the arm he had strewn over her
shoulder. "I'm positive I can bear more of your weight for six
steps."
She knew this was something he'd argue against, so
she set her eyes with a determined gaze and did not blink once as he
searched her deep brown eyes with his own. Finally she heard him sigh
and lean slightly more against her.
"I can bear more than
that, Ichboad," she insisted, still keeping her tone low enough
to disappoint any eavesdroppers.
He leaned further into her frame
and Anabelle nodded as they headed up the stairs. With a small jerk
of her head, she indicated to the bench just inside the main doors.
Night was falling and they could not sit long, but, try as he could
to hide it, Anabelle could tell Ichobad needed a rest.
"Perhaps
we should refrain from sleeping upstairs," Anabelle suggested as
she joined him on the bench. "I can get the chaise lounge from
Nathaniel's house and we could easily tie the legs together and make
a bed for the library," she offered, fiddling with her ring.
"Actually I am inclined to think that you would like another
particular chaise in Nathaniel's house. It has wheels."
She
paused as an elderly couple passed out of the library. Wedding banded
fingers or not, somehow she thought they would say something about a
constable's wife discussing the relocation of sleeping arrangements
in public...and she was not going to get Ichobad into any more
trouble.
"If you like this idea, I will send word to
Nathaniel's house and have the two delivered after we finish here."
The...chaise has
wheels?" Ichabod asked, raising an eyebrow at her is mild
surprise. "Why, what is the point of that?" He shook his
head. It was hardly important, now, or ever, he supposed. Relief
flooded through him at the prospect of being freed from climbing the
stairs again.
"Well, nevermind. Thank you..." He
reached over and touched Anabelle's hand. "I do have the one
chaise at home as well, in the library." He leaned closer to
her, choosing to continue in a whisper. "Please feel welcome to
remain upstairs, Anabelle. You might feel safer... But if you, in
fact, feel safer...closer to me, that is fine too."
Anabelle laced her
fingers with his, her eyes sparkling as she tried to refrain from
kissing him in the library foyer.
"There are so many things
I feel when I'm close to you, Ichabod," she murmured.
"Especially safe..."
She paused to run her thumb over
his.
"Can we both fit on the one in your library though?"
she asked. "I can send for the one at Nathaniel's and we could
push them together if we needed more space," she could feel her
cheeks flush at the tempting image of them tangled together on the
library chaise.
"And the one with wheels is available if
you'd rather have one that I can move from place to place without
needing assistance. It was something my father favored. Shortly after
he arrived in the city, he began to have trouble walking and standing
and had the chaise fitted with wheels."
"I see," Ichabod said. He smiled faintly. "And I would be honored to have you stay downstairs with me, of course. We will tie the two chaises together and try," he gave her a teasing look, "to give each other a barable amout of space." He paused, glancing around at Masbeth who was standing about ten feet away. "I shall close the sliding library door as well, and do my best to secure it. The large windows of that room make me nervous. They looks, but it would be all too easy for them to be broken, and we would be so close, with no stairs be-" He stopped and looked deeply into Anabelle's eyes again, his fingers tracing circles on the back of her hand. "We will be fine... The windows can be beautiful with the stars out..."
Anabelle stared back
deeply into his eyes, her mind turning over the idea of watching the
stars in the heavens pass through the sky with Ichobad's arms wrapped
tenderly and securely around her, sharing those tender kisses that
made her feel weak with longing, Ichabod increasing the passion
behind his lips as he pressed them to hers before trailing over her
neck and down her skin. A faint, hazy smile graced her lips and a
small sigh escaped her, jolting her from her fantasy. She blushed
hotly and turned her eyes to study Ichabod's shoes.
"I
suppose we should continue inside," she tried to hide her
embarrassment and her wandering thoughts. "Are you well enough?"
Ichabod peered at her
suspiciously, wondering what one earth she might have been thinking
about that caused that reddish flush in her cheeks and the averted
gaze. With an oddly brassy smile, he took her chin tween finger and
thumb and turned her face to him.
"Very well. You have...a
way of making me simply smile. I cannot help but feel better."
Shifting to grip the back of the bench, Ichabod stood carefully. he
succeeded in rising on his own, and then looked down at Anabelle. "We
daren't stay too long. Dark will fall, and I would rather not be out
of the house when it does."
Anabelle watched as
Ichabod stood before her without any assistance, a proud smile
tugging at the corner of her lips. She rose also, setting her arm
lightly around his waist, trying to look as inconspicious as she
could. Ichabod may not mind her assistance, but she doubted he wanted
it to be commonly known.
"Where to first, sir?" she
arched an eyebrow playfully up at him. "I await your requests."
"Ah, just in here
and to the left..." He trailed off as he directed her to a
section near the back. Once there, he released her shoulders and
slowly limped up and down the aisles, running a single finger over
the dusty notebooks and files. Finally it came to rest upon a leath
bound folder with a few numbers printed in gold on the spine, that
might have been a set of dates. Carefully, Ichabod slipped the volume
from the shelf and limped over to a table, setting the folder down
and then opening the cover. A thin layer of dust covered each page,
and Ichabod did his best to blow them off as he flipped through it.
He scratched his chin absently, thinking hard, then snapped the book
shut and tucked it under his arm.
Without a word to Anabelle, he
hobbled away toward the opposite side of the library, leaning heavily
on a few shelves as he went. He reached the new section, and without
needing too much time to search this instance, he pulled and small
leather bound book from a shef and tucked it into his arms, behind
larger binder and out of sight from Anabelle so that she could not
make out what it was.
"I am finished," he said. "We
can go, and tomorrow, we will take a trip to the city hall."
Anabelle nodded, slipping her arm back around his waist as he leaned against her. With Young Masbeth in tow, they left the library just as twilight had begun to fall.
