Chapter 3: The Evening and the Morning

"What do you mean, it's Rose? Your Rose?"

"Yes."

"You mean, your actual Rose? Like she's…traveled back in time?"

"No, I don't think so. I think Rosalind must simply be an ancestor. Still, the resemblance is remarkable. Well…minus the hair dye and mascara."

The Doctor had recovered himself somewhat, but he still looked deeply shaken now that he was alone with Donna. He had heard the door when Rosalind emerged into the courtyard, but had not immediately looked at her, absorbed as he had been in studying the earl's interaction with his son. He was quickly coming to the conclusion that the earl was a nasty piece of work. When he had turned his eyes to the young woman who had roused her father's ire, he had to use all his restraint not to shout. Or faint. It was Rose. His beloved Rose, the face he had longed to see for so many years, now in front of him, albeit in an unfamiliar costume. He had felt a moment of wild hope that this was indeed Rose, somehow transported into the past, and that she would at any moment recognize him and run to him. He had quickly shaken off this idea—he didn't even look like himself, after all, and it could not be Rose, not really. After Donna had roused him from his reverie, he had been able to meet the girl and bow over her hand without incident, although when he met her amber eyes he had felt a spark at the appraising curiosity he found there. Now he merely felt exhausted by the waves of emotion that had crashed through him. He had no time to indulge in this, however; there was a major banquet planned that evening to welcome them, and he would be at the head table with his sister, the earl, Robert, and presumably Rosalind too. Not to mention all the functions leading up to the wedding where they would be together. He needed to get over this coincidental resemblance so that he could function around her without his mouth gaping open like a fish's. Certainly odder things had happened to him in his lives. But he was struck anew by the fact that the women who were most important to him—Rose, his great love, and Donna, his best mate—seemed destined to have their timelines intertwine with his.

He shook himself. The important thing here was not Rosalind's resemblance to a woman eight hundred years in the future, it was keeping the marriage between Blanche and Robert on track. He could avoid Rosalind as much as possible, and when it was necessary to speak with her, he would keep their interactions pleasant and shallow. He could do this. He turned and saw the worry in Donna's gaze as she considered him. He smiled and hoped it reached his eyes.

Of course, he thought sourly, they had been placed next to each other at dinner. Of course. He shook a mental fist at the universe for foiling his plan to avoid her. On one side of him sat the earl, who ate his dinner in silence and drank with grim determination, emptying cup after cup of ale. This left the Doctor no option but to turn to the woman on his left and engage her in conversation.

"Lady Rosalind, your brother told us you hunt."

Her eyes turned to him and she set down her knife. "I do, yes, and I ride every day."

He smiled. "It must be a great passion of yours."

"One among many, yes. I grew up trying to keep up with my older brother in every way, including on horseback." Her mouth curved and then she turned her attention back to her plate, but after she ate another bite she spoke again. "Is your sister nervous about staying here?"

"Is she…what?"

"Nervous? About being left here in the wilds of northern England?"

He smiled and shook his head. "I don't know. I have not asked her. She knows it is her duty and she seems to have developed a good rapport with your brother very quickly."

She met his eyes, those disturbingly familiar amber ones raising goose bumps on his skin, despite his best efforts to remain unaffected. "I would find it difficult to leave my home," she said softly.

"You would miss your father, no doubt."

Her brows drew together, but after a moment, in a steady voice, she said only, "My brother in particular."

"Yes, you wouldn't want to give him the impression you'd miss me, would you, you ungrateful little bitch?" The slurred voice of the earl boomed from over the Doctor's shoulder. The Doctor froze, his eyes still on Rosalind's face. She did not move but her pupils dilated and her lips parted slightly; she looked unsurprised but wary. When she did not speak the Doctor turned back to his right and considered the earl, who appeared angry indeed, but it was a coiled anger, held under control, and the look on his face was one of… enjoyment? Anticipation? It was an impression that chilled the Doctor's blood. He strove to break the uncomfortable silence that reigned as father and daughter fixed their eyes on each other, neither willing to look away.

"My lord earl, the Lady Rosalind and I were discussing the quality of the hunting in your forests hereabouts. I hope to join the hunt on one of the days before the wedding."

From behind him came Rosalind's voice, quiet and polite but—did he imagine it?—with the slightest drawl of defiance. "Yes, father, perhaps the king will ride with us tomorrow. Might you join us as well?"

Tame enough words, it seemed, and yet the earl's face darkened to an alarming shade of red. He took a step toward his daughter and the Doctor wondered for a moment if he would have to stop the man from assaulting the girl. But from behind the earl the voice of Robert came, soft but commanding: "Father." It was enough to stop the older man in his tracks. The Doctor considered Robert, who had risen in his seat on the earl's other side. The young man continued, "I thought I might ask the musicians to play. The Lady Blanche has told me she enjoys dancing. Would this be acceptable?"

The charged atmosphere in the room drained away as suddenly as it had arisen. The earl's shoulders seemed to slump and he nodded, returning to his chair. After a few minutes the music began, and Robert, with an elaborate gesture, led Blanche to the part of the hall apparently used for dancing. The Doctor sat back in his own seat, and after a moment watching the young couple, who were soon joined by other dancers, he turned his head to consider Rosalind again. She was flushed and breathed a little quickly, as if from the adrenaline of the interaction with her father. Gods, but she was beautiful.

He dragged his thoughts from this direction and considered the simmering tension that appeared to exist in the Northumberland family. The earl, who apparently drank more than was beneficial to his health and mental stability and who seemed angry and embittered. The young daughter who rode and hunted and most definitely did not dress with the care and refinement and elaborate clothing expected of a woman of her status. Who seemed to wish to bait her father, however subtly. The seemingly affable son who could phrase a respectful question in a bland voice that nonetheless seemed to carry the power of an unspoken command. There was a history here, he thought, and apparently not a happy one.

The next morning dawned gray and rainy and the Doctor assumed, despite Rosalind's words the night before, that there would be no ride. He was surprised, therefore, when, standing at the window in one of the great rooms of the castle, he saw the lady herself pound out of the courtyard on horseback, followed at a little distance by what appeared to be two bedraggled male escorts. He smiled. It was not an inviting day for riding; she must be dedicated indeed. Peering through the thick, swirled glass of the window, he noted with surprise that she rode astride, in what was, for the day, the masculine fashion.

A voice from behind him said, "Good morning, my lord Philip. I hope you slept well and found your chamber comfortable."

He turned and bowed to Robert. "I did indeed, thank you."

"My lord, I want to apologize for the scene at dinner last night. I have already extended my regrets to Blanche that her first evening here would be disturbed by family quarrels. I hope you were not excessively upset by our rudeness."

"My dear Robert, please do not think twice about it. But…if I am not being too forward, may I ask about your sister and your father? Why do they seem to be at odds?"

"You are giving your sister in marriage to our family. It is only natural that you would wish to know." Robert sighed and moved to stand next to him at the window. After a moment's thought he turned to meet the Doctor's eyes. It really was remarkable, studying him up close, how much Robert resembled his sister. The large golden brown eyes were exactly the same. "My sister is…a wonderful woman, my lord." At the quirk that appeared at the corner of the Doctor's mouth, Robert smiled sheepishly. "I say this as an indulgent older brother, I admit. But she is. She rivals any horseman in this land—partly because she loves riding so. As you just saw, it takes more than rain to stop her. She is also a scholar. I know no one more intelligent, much as the bishop and the cathedral clergy think it unseemly to discuss theology with a woman." He paused, seemingly lost in thought.

The Doctor prodded him. "It is unusual for a woman to ride alone—and astride—with only male escorts. And I noticed her dress was rather…simpler than one might expect from a woman of her status."

Robert sighed. "And did you notice the ink stains on her fingertips? She learned to write and likes to copy books for her personal library herself—at least the books she particularly values and does not trust to scribes. With her various activities she is rarely presentable, at least in the terms expected of an earl's daughter."

"How did she come to be so highly educated? If your father thinks so little of her, why would he allow it?"

"It is not a question of allowing it, my lord."

"Then?"

Robert opened his mouth to speak and shut it again. He looked wary. The Doctor suddenly realized what might be bothering him. "Robert, I have no intention of breaking this match. I am giving Blanche to you, not your father. And I have already seen enough of you to be happy with that choice."

Robert looked relieved. "Then I will speak frankly. It is no less than you deserve." He took a breath and sat in the window seat, gesturing for the Doctor to sit next to him. "My sister is nineteen, five years younger than myself. Her birth was exceedingly difficult. It is one of my earliest memories, the sounds of screams from my mother's birthing chamber." He paused and swallowed. "My father loved my mother very much, my lord. And she died that day, giving birth to my sister. And my father…he never forgave God, or Rosalind, for that."

The Doctor sat back against the stone of the wall. "Ah. What a tragedy for your family."

"Yes. But not uncommon, sadly. In most families, the father would remarry and life would slowly recover normalcy. It is to my father's credit, I suppose, that he loved my mother so much, but…well, you saw him drinking last night. I wish he had found joy again, or at least comfort. It might have softened his attitude to Rose."

The Doctor stifled a gasp. "To…whom?"

Robert looked mystified by his reaction. "My sister. I call her Rose."

"I see." The Doctor had a few stern words with himself and then prompted Robert again. "So, your father was never close to his daughter?"

"No. He basically avoided seeing her. You may have noticed that Rose and I do not resemble our father. We take after our mother, and Rose's resemblance to her is apparently remarkable—I do not remember my mother well enough to confirm this, but my aunt and others have said so. I think that from her childhood it pained my father to see her. It was always best to keep them separate. My sister, it soon became apparent, was high-spirited, and it seemed she almost enjoyed goading my father. He has struck her in the past, during their arguments. He is no longer in the physical condition of his youth, but he is still a powerful man. It is my goal to keep them from arguing, as it rarely ends well." Robert paused and the Doctor felt anger thrill through his body at the thought of Rose—Rosalind—being harmed.

Robert continued, "The result of my father's aversion to Rosalind was neglect. He never hired tutors for her, or maids…so she began tagging along with me to my lessons, both in riding and in the schoolroom. I don't mind admitting that she quickly surpassed me in the latter. As soon as I was old enough I took it upon myself to make sure she got what she needed and wanted in the way of schooling; as it turned out, she developed a real thirst for study. I was able to find one or two sympathetic clerics at our cathedral school who were willing to teach her the scribal arts as well as theology and philosophy."

The Doctor could not help but smile at this description. It seemed only right, somehow, that this ancestor of his own Rose should be remarkable. But he noticed that Robert appeared distressed, even as he described his sister's accomplishments in loving terms. The Doctor laid a hand on the younger man's arm. "It sounds like you were a very conscientious brother."

"I wonder, my lord. I did what seemed best when we were younger, but now…what will become of her? What man will want to marry her? My father makes no effort to make a match for her, and most of the men she meets are put off by her demeanor and lack of the usual feminine accomplishments. But what options are there besides marriage? Believe me, Rose is not meant for a convent." Robert gave a short laugh at the thought. "Rose claims she has no desire to marry, that she will remain with me as my 'spinster sister', as she puts it. But I would like her to be loved, to have children."

"Are there no friends of the family who might be interested? Or, when you are earl, might you not arrange a match for her? She is, after all, a member of one of the most powerful families in England. Many men would put up with a great deal for that connection."

"You're right, of course. I would have hoped to have her marry someone who would actually appreciate her, however. But I imagine that such men do not exist in great numbers." The two men lapsed into silence, only broken by the sound of hoof beats entering the courtyard below the window. Robert stirred and smiled. "The weather must be foul indeed for Rosalind to be back so soon."

A wave of rain striking the window confirmed his statement. Moments later, the two men heard a commotion in the stairway and shortly after that, the lady herself emerged into the room. She was absolutely drenched, her gown mud-spattered as well as sodden. Her hair, which had apparently been wound into a tight bun at the nape of her neck, had, through the effects of wind and rain, begun to escape. Tendrils clung damply to her neck and face. She glowed with health and lively enthusiasm. Spotting her brother, who had left the window seat when he heard her voice and approached the stairs, she ran into his embrace. "Oh Rob! You should have seen the river! It's roaring with all the water from this rain."

"I am surprised to see you back so soon. When has a little rain ever stopped you? Although," Robert looked down at his own tunic, now damp where they had hugged, "you certainly managed to get thoroughly soaked."

She pulled a face. "Ned and Jamie complained the entire time. I took pity on them. I wish you had been with me instead." She glanced around her. "No sign of Father yet?"

"No, I haven't seen him."

"I had better change my clothes. I don't want to incur his wrath by appearing like a drowned rat. Heaven forbid the king should see me like this. I'll never hear the end of it."

Robert looked as if he would respond to this, but then glanced at the Doctor and said instead, "The king is here, Rose."

Rose's eyes widened and turned for the first time to the man still seated in the window seat. She dropped a curtsy. "My lord. I did not see you there. Please forgive my appearance."

The Doctor grinned in return and rose. "My lady Rosalind. Please do not apologize. I only wish I had known you would ride in this weather; I would have accompanied you and could have seen the wild river you speak of."

She tilted her head and looked at him with increased interest. "I assumed, my lord, that you would have no desire to ride in the rain. I will not make that mistake again."

Robert spoke from behind her. "Do you think, my lord Philip, that Blanche might be awake yet?"

The Doctor turned from Rosalind's gaze and took in the young man, who was bouncing slightly on his heels and looked anxious and happy. He smiled. Obviously Robert had taken a shine to his soon-to-be wife. "I think you might inquire, Robert. At worst, Donna and the other ladies-in-waiting will send you away."

Robert left them with a grin, heading in the direction of Blanche's quarters. Rosalind's eyes followed him, an unreadable expression on her face. The Doctor watched her for a moment and then said, softly, "Do you fear the distraction of your brother's attention from you, Lady Rosalind?"

Her head turned and she regarded him with a look that was difficult to place. There was sadness in it, and perhaps slight affront that he should ask her such a question, but undoubtedly also a touch of amusement. "My lord, the match is a brilliant one and the Lady Blanche is gracious and beautiful. How could I be anything but pleased for my brother?"

"Indeed."

"My brother will be the finest earl that Northumberland has ever seen. He needs a great lady by his side to aid him and give him heirs."

"Quite."

She leaned a little closer to him, an intriguing mix of mischief and warning in her eyes. "And if I felt otherwise, what possible motivation would I have to confide in you, my lord Philip?" And with a raise of her eyebrows, she was gone, taking the fragrance of rain with her.