Nearly six years earlier.
The single cry woke Ashleigh up from the deepest sleep she'd had in weeks. She threw the bed covers from her, and was half way to her feet before she realised that the crying had already stopped. Groggily, she paused, slumping back to the thick, cushioning pillows, relishing their soft support. She was so tired. Her body had never ached so much, and she was beginning to wonder if she would ever recover from this experience. Other women had, and with so much ease, yet three days after her daughter's birth, Ashleigh was still struggling to stand up without thinking that she was going to faint.
The birth had not been easy. Ashleigh had been frightened, and the pain had been far more unbearable than she had expected. She had heard whispered talks of caesarean sections, breech positions, and hushed requests for blood to be available in case the worse came to the worse.
In the end, her daughter had come quietly into the world, with a final, almighty push from Ashleigh, an action she had been convinced would kill her. But it hadn't, and the nurses and midwives had smiled at her, and congratulated her, and had seemed delighted at the arrival of a such a sweet little child. The girl had been cleaned up quickly, and handed to her proud father with a deferring speed. Ashleigh had lain there, exhausted, desperate for a glimpse of her child while Alec had stared at his own flesh and blood as if astonished that he could have had a hand in producing such a miracle.
They had finally released her from the hospital yesterday, telling her the birth had been far easier than they had first thought, and that she should enjoy motherhood. Ashleigh wish she could, but so far, she had felt nothing but terror.
And failure.
Her daughter was a quiet, calm baby until she was placed anywhere near her mother. Then she just cried until the nurse, or Alec, took her away and calmed her. She had tried to feed her but the baby girl wouldn't latch on, and when she finally did Ashleigh had felt nothing but pain. As the baby grew hungrier it was clear that she would have to be bottle fed, and Ashleigh had felt even more like a failure.
Now they were back in their own home, miles away from any sort of assistance, and Ashleigh was getting more anxious. She wanted to do nothing but sleep, and at least Alec understood that. To be fair to him he was being sympathetic to her, it was just that he seemed absolutely fascinated with his new daughter.
Ashleigh glanced around her. Their bedroom was lit by soft lamps, throwing shadows into the corners of the room. She was alone in her bed, but the rumpled bed clothes on the other side suggested that Alec had been there. She gingerly began to get to her feet, wincing as the familiar pains deep within her started up. Even her breasts hurt, and there was nothing she could do about it.
She padded barefoot across the room, savouring the fact that she could actually see her feet again. Her body was already beginning to bounce back into shape, but she missed the comforting weight of her child inside her. But there was no time to dwell on that, no, now she had to focus on the child she so desperately wanted to love, a child who should be sleeping in the adjoining room next door.
She leant on the door frame, taking in the sight before her. Alec was already in the room, leaning over the high wooden cot where their daughter was sleepily looking up at him. He was dressed for bed in a pair of dark pyjama bottoms, his chest bare. From this angle his scars were visible, creeping down the side of his body. She moved carefully into the room, deliberately moving to his unscarred side, and slid an arm around his warm naked waist, curling her hand around until she could feel the hard muscle of his stomach.
'You should be sleeping,' he growled softly into her hair, but he matched her gesture, his arm gently encircling her tender body. She leant into him, enjoying the heat from his naked skin.
'I heard her crying,' she murmured back.
'She's quiet now. I think she wanted some attention.'
'Making demands already? I can see she's going to take after you,' the words were said lightly, and with humour, but Ashleigh still held her breath, waiting for anger from Alec. To her surprise, she heard a low laugh, and she dared to take her eyes away from her daughter for a moment.
'I hope she does,' Alec reached down into the cot, and picked up the child from where she was lying. He carefully supported her, letting her rest against his chest, and against her will Ashleigh felt a flicker of jealousy that fatherhood came so easily to Alec. Once more his attention had been diverted from her, and onto his daughter instead. She swallowed hard, trying to force down the horrible feeling of jealousy that swamped her whenever she saw her husband and her daughter together. It was wrong, surely to feel like this must be wrong?
But Ashleigh had no one to ask, no one to talk to about her fears. Once more she felt the heavy oppression of her isolation, and realised how desperately she longed for company. Female company.
More than anything she wanted her own mother. The feeling was acute, she desperately wished she could ask her own mother for advice, but her mother had been dead for over twenty years. Emma Kain would never see her granddaughter, in fact, Ashleigh's baby daughter would never know any of her grandparents.
Ashleigh sighed again. She was getting maudlin again, and she made a silent vow to herself that she would get through this. There was no point on focusing on the family that she and Alec had lost, instead she should focus on her family here, in front of her. She curled back against Alec, one hand reaching to stroke the mop of dark hair that covered her daughter's head. Sleepily, the child opened her still blue eyes and looked at her mother, blinking slowly. The pouting mouth opened, and Ashleigh tensed, expecting the crying to start again but instead her daughter merely yawned.
Alec felt his Ashleigh's body tense next to him, and he knew that she was terrified. His wife was a proud., stubborn woman with a temper to rival his own, fiercely independent and unable to take criticism from anyone, especially him. He knew that motherhood was difficult for her, and their daughter appeared to be taking after both of them when it came to stubbornness and simply refused to settle for her mother. Carefully, he lifted the baby from his chest, and passed her to Ashleigh.
Ashleigh froze, her daughter an awkward shape in her arms. She watched as her daughter clenched her tiny fists and gave a pitiful wave in protest at being removed from her father's warm skin.
'Hold her,' Alec said softly, and gently he moved Ashleigh's arms into a more supportive position. The baby gave one small cry, and then realising she was once more safe and warm, settled down against her mother. Ashleigh looked down in disbelief, feeling the comforting weight of her daughter, smelling the soft sweet smell that surrounded her, and finally, finally, something clicked inside her. She could do this. She had saved the world once, she could be a mother she thought, allowing herself a small smile.
Alec stepped behind Ashleigh, wrapping his arms around his wife and child. Ashleigh leant back against him, and was rewarded with a tender kiss to her throat. Alec ran a hand over his wife's untidy hair, brushing a stray lock behind her ear. 'I thought of a name for her,' he whispered in her ear.
'Have you?' Ashleigh asked, surprised. The name of their daughter had so far eluded them, with neither able to agree on anything that they both liked. Instead they had decided that they would wait and see if a suitable name presented itself.
'Natasha.'
Natasha. Ashleigh smiled. Russian enough for her to like it, English enough for it to appeal to Alec.
'What does it mean?'
'Christmas child,' Alec smiled.
Ashleigh nodded. 'Natasha it is then, Natasha Trevelyan.'
They stood there for some time, the newly named Natasha contentedly asleep in Ashleigh's arms, and Ashleigh feeling equally content in Alec's. Suddenly Alec tilted his head towards the window.
'What?' Ashleigh asked fearfully, wondering what on earth he had heard.
'Listen,' Alec smiled.
In the distance, above the December wind, Ashleigh could hear the faint peel of bells, a joyous peel, followed by twelve steady chimes. 'I'd forgotten,' she admitted.
'I hadn't,' Alec wrapped his arms tighter around her body, one hand resting tenderly on his daughter's sleeping back. 'Merry Christmas.'
'Merry Christmas,' Ashleigh turned to face him, and as his mouth found hers, she said a silent prayer of thanks for the family that fate had given her. This Christmas would be a stalk contrast to the loneliness and devastation of the year before when she had feared she had lost him forever. Now she was here, with Alec and Natasha, and she knew their future was safe.
Cradled between her parents' bodies, Natasha Trevelyan slept peacefully on, blissfully unaware of anything except the sweetness of her dreams and the love surrounding her.
It would be the life she would know for the next six years.
Natasha Trevelyan was running. She was running faster than she had ever ran in her life. She couldn't get caught, if they caught her they would throw her back into that room, and then she would never get out again.
She dashed down corridors, all looking the same as the one before, hearing the voices shouting behind her, hearing the heavy footsteps of the men chasing her, voices and footfalls that seemed to be getting ever closer.
She was tired, and breathless, she seemed to have been running forever. Her time spent confined in the small room had drained her natural energy, and the girl who had been brought up in brilliant sunshine next to a cobalt sea had not fared well being inside for so long.
She had been watching them for days, noting the pattern and routines of her day. When the man brought her clean clothes, or fresh linen for her bed. What time they brought her food at. Even when the man who wanted her to call him Grandfather would come to see her. He always came at the same time, and she would listen out for his steps in the corridor outside and prepare herself to be strong while he tried to coerce her into friendliness.
The man who brought her fresh bed linen had grown lax. He had been cautious at first, careful not to leave the door open, making sure it was locked behind him, making sure he could see her at all times, even when he was smoothing the bed sheet down into the corners. But she had always sat so still, always seemed so lifeless and unanimated that he had relaxed, even occasionally chatting to her as he worked.
It had been two weeks ago that she had noticed that he didn't lock the door. She had watched carefully, each time making sure to be as bland and childlike as possible, and she had seen that on the next four occasions he had neglected to lock it as well.
He had been reaching down to tuck the corner of the sheet into the far side of the bed when she had pushed him - a sharp, quick jolt to his back that had sent the already off balance man head first into the wall. Natasha had been surprised at how easily he had fallen, and she had nearly stopped dead at the shock of this. At the last moment she had realised she had her opportunity and had dashed out of the door.
She had no idea where she was going, in her mind she had never got further than the door, and now the never ending identical corridors where beginning to confuse her. She couldn't remember where she had been, it was all the same, and she felt tears of frustration beginning to prick at her eyes even as she ran.
She came to a T junction of two corridors and skidded to a halt. Right or left, she thought frantically, this way or that. There was no time to think, the voices were getting louder, and so she darted down the corridor to her left.
She realised her mistake almost immediately. The corridor was a dead end. She turned, ready to dive in the other direction, but suddenly, they were there, blocking her way, men in the same military like uniforms, some with weapons, guns that frightened her so much.
Instinct took over, her body demanded either flight or fight, and as running was out of the option, her body slipped into fight mode. Her small fists clenched by her side, she backed up until she was close to the wall, instinctively making sure that no one could get behind her. She even bared her small white even teeth.
One man laughed, and said something in Russian that she didn't quite understand. Her parents had taught her Russian from an early age and she spoke it well, but the comment was too adult for her to understand. She knew that he was laughing at her though, and that made Natasha angry.
A man grabbed at her, and she skipped easily out of the way, lashing out with her foot as she did so, her small boot clipping the man sharply on the ankle. He cursed and tried again, more viciously this time, trying to catch a handful of her long dark plait.
'Enough.'
The deep voice made every man stand to attention, and Natasha knew that the man was coming, Le Loup the men called him, and Natasha had started to think of him as that in her mind. She had no other name to call him, and she would not call him Grandfather.
'Hurt her, and you're a dead man' he ordered, sweeping through the gathered throng. He glanced disdainfully around. 'Ten men to one girl, and by the looks of it, she's got the better of you,' he snarled. The men looked abashed, but defiant. One man took the challenge to heart, and lunged for Natasha, and grabbed her by the arm, dragging her towards the group.
'Let her go. Now!' Merkalov dove at the man, grabbing him by the lapels and slamming him against the nearest wall. 'No one touches her. Do you hear me? No one. No one is to touch her, no one is to hurt her.'
He let go of the man who slid slowly down the wall. Merkalov shoved a boot into the battered man's ribs for good measure.
'You all know who her father is,' Merkalov addressed the men, almost conversationally. 'Do any of you want to face him if he finds out you've hurt his daughter?'
There was an almost imperceptible mass shaking of heads.
'I didn't think so. So unless any man wants an exceptionally painful death, I suggest you remember that this girl is not, I repeat, not to be harmed. Not one hair on her head, and believe me, I'll know. I'll know if any of you scum touch her.'
The men nodded.
Merkalov held his hand out to Natasha. 'Come here, darling. There's no need to be frightened, no one is angry with you.'
He wasn't angry. He was more amused by the spirit she had shown, but then he didn't expect anything else from a Trevelyan.
'No.' Natasha lifted her chin stubbornly.
'Come here.'
'No.' This time she only just managed to stop herself sticking her tongue out at him.
Merkalov glared at the little girl, who stared back with those cool, haughty eyes. The look was far too adult for a young child, calmly appraising, and finding what she saw seriously lacking.
It was Alec's look, in his daughter's face and it completely unnerved Merkalov.
'Now.' It was an order. And one that was expected to be obeyed.
Natasha shook her head. She folded her arms across her chest.
He stalked towards her, his height towering over the small girl. Still she looked coolly up at him. He stretched out a hand towards her.
And she sank her teeth into it.
She could taste blood in her mouth, and it disgusted her, but still she held on, her jaw locking tight, even as she felt the men trying to physically pull her off their leader. Merkalov was shaking his hand, try to dislodge but she wrapped her hands around his wrist and fingers, and sank her teeth in deeper until he howled with pain.
Finally the combined effort of the shaking, and the men pulling at her waist and ankles was too much for her young jaw, and Natasha let them pull her off, her teeth tearing a chunk of flesh from Merkalov's hand. They restrained her back, and she stared at up the huge, bear like man who's blood dripped from her chin, giving her a grotesque vampiric look. It was even smeared on her teeth.
She had given him a message, and a very clear one at that.
You don't mess with a Trevelyan.
Even if they were only five years old.
