What the Wind Brings

by Faiseuse d'Histoires

In which by some weird twist of fate, Rhett becomes Scarlett's childhood friend, and it all changes the destiny of every one of our characters.

47. Chapter 47

Hello my dears!

Well, that was quite the chapter! It took me long enough, and longer than I would have (and it is huuuge), but here it is, and I think (I hope!) it will please you, after all these chapters with them so intent on seeing the other as enemy.

Many, many emotions in this chapter. Anger, sadness, hope, fear... but always a lot of love.

Grand-père Robillard is a mischievous one, but his work here brings results.

Well, there's also a scene with a trigger warning (SA attempt), don't hit me. But it's fine after, I promise.

As always, the translations are in the end.

To those I have not yet wished it, happy new Year. I wish you the best in health, love, and all the things that could make you happy.

Love,

Elise

.

.
.

Scarlett's feet could not drag her swiftly enough as she ran, breathless and excited, her heart sharp with emotions she could not control anymore. The hoop jumped and jumped. Her heel almost got stuck in a gully grade before she climbed back to her carriage and went home. There again, once she arrived at the front, she did not wait for anyone to help her out and rushed inside, crying excitedly.

"Suellen is here!".

Her hair was in disarray, cheeks flushed with a deep crimson as she tried to regain her breath in ragged drafts that heaved her chest quite indecently.

She must have looked like a mad woman, but she did not care.

Rhett stared at her, his hands still holding his head with a pained expression. He had not quite moved since her departure, still sat in front of a cup of coffee, his eyes as dark as the fuming liquid.

"Can't you be quiet, woman?" He groaned.

Other than that, he appeared unfazed, a fact that Scarlett did not see quite yet as she was too absorbed by the strength of her own excitement. The fingers over his painful head stretched to show a bloodshot, but watchful eye, and he uncrossed his long legs as she tried to recollect what had happened. The nervous sound of her heels clattered against the tiles, like the pulse at her temples.

"She is here! My sister… "she whirled swiftly toward the door, gesturing eloquently toward it. " She's…" she blinked and paused, her nervous hands falling powerlessly as she finally took notice of 0his barely intrigued face. "You are not surprised."

Wearily, he gave her an irritated nod.

"Of course, I know they are here. I was the one to suggest it. Now, would you please lower your voice, I…"

"Then why didn't you say so?" Scarlett cut, dismissing his obvious pain. "Oh, you are such a cad and…!"

He sighed deeply, as if she was being unreasonable. His hand raised in a gesture of appeasement.

"Calm down, Scarlett. I did not tell you, because I knew you would react like this, and the matter needed discretion. Not to mention…" He let out a skeptical little smile. "with your rejection of Elias and Elena, I was not sure it would be profitable for any of us."

"Profitable? She is my sister! And what's that foolishness with Elias and that woman?"

His lips stretched in a crooked grin. "Well, you did find their situation scandalous."

Blood rushed angrily to her cheeks.

"Great balls of fire, this absolutely does not compare…"

His hand raised to interrupt her speech, as he looked at her with his little mocking eyes. Oh, would that she could scratch them! Then he would see! Yes, he would see!

"My little hypocrite, of course that compares. I dare say, the situations are a bit similar – except the parents' dramatic refusal before death, though had my father known… well!-" he gave a short laugh. "The only thing changing is that you are bound with blood to one of them."

"You don't understand!" She cried. "You don't listen to me."

"I've heard you, and you're making it bigger than it is. Come on, Scarlett, now you know. I admit it wasn't good of me not to inform you…"

"It was cruel!"

"My dear, you are acting like a child." His voice drawled in intent, and to Scarlett 's ear, the accent was so thick and condescending she wanted to scream.

"I am not a child!" She stomped her foot. "And you should stop… stop being so Charlestonian! You're a boor! A Charlestonian boor! You should cut that tongue of yours, I can't bear to hear that accent anymore and..."

This made him smile in amusement, his eyebrow raising with such terrible insolence, and she hated it. She hated it especially because she knew her behavior was childish. She couldn't help it, and it was a frustrating fact by itself. How he made fun of her, and still treated it like that! And, under his gaze, how she was led to make a fool of herself!

Nonetheless, her hurt was that of a woman, of a sister, and he still couldn't see that. Perhaps, this was what hurt the most.

He leaned toward her, as if willing to compromise, though not to surrender.

"Listen to me. Correct me if I'm wrong, Scarlett, but I presumed you and Suellen still did not get along, and you were quite hostile to a girl in a similar position, thus I thought you would not like…"

"Aren't you the voice of reason?" She tried to ironize, before her temper got the best of her, flaring in her belly like a roaring fire. "You presumed wrong! You're never on my side! Why should I care to listen when you never respect me? You want me to listen to you, but you never listen to me!"

He froze, and a curious light twinkled in his suddenly inquisitive eyes.

"Scarlett … look at me."

"No," She turned her head and crossed her arms. "This is always just a game to you, and I am always losing! It's useless to talk to y.."

Lightly, her chin was pushed toward him, forcing her to meet his eyes. A terrible tremor shook over her body as she tried to find the strength to push him, to no avail. He took her stubbornly closed hands in his, the thumbs lightly grazing her knuckles. It was a strange thing, the way he could still freeze her world and quicken it at the same time, how she could lose control so easily with a simple touch. How she could crave a simple touch.

He examined her for what seemed a long time, and she fidgeted, innerved by his scrutiny. Finally, he seemed to reach a conclusion. Very begrudgingly.

"If it is how you feel... then I was indeed wrong," He shrugged, as if what he was about to say was inconsequent. "If that soothes you, perhaps….Perhaps I also wanted to spare your feelings, and ended up just hurting them."

Her eyes darted to him. "Don't do that again," she sibilated. "Don't presume. I love her, you know. I might not have shown it, but I do! She is my sister, and I missed her. Even more when she has not been there to bother me. I want her to bother me. Even if it makes me want to scream! I love her, you hear me? I don't care about other strangers in her situation. Mother of God, they can all go to Halifax if I care and you with them if you're determined to be mean! Do you think my love is fickle and fleeting? I am no child that can be appeased by any replacement, I want her! I. love. Her!"

He seemed struck by that. Struck by the fierceness of her declaration, that flared in her, around her as she faced him.

He nodded slowly.

"And I shall not presume of your love that quickly, then."

With the loss of his opposition, she felt her great fury being snuffed out like a candle.

Her fingers quivered against his hot palms, nails turned painfully against herself as she feared to unclench her fists. To unclench and be left with nothing at all to hold on after that.

"The Great Rhett Butler, admitting he can be wrong and should not presume?" Her voice was too shaky and disbelieving to be confident and jesting. Are pigs flying?

His eyes gleamed. The tension seemed to leave his shoulders as he looked at her, the lids dropping slightly, giving his gaze a terrible hint of fondness that left her unsettled. The pressure of his fingers increased with tenderness over her trembling hands.

"Sometimes," he murmured. "More than I would like to admit. Don't push it, though."

Her cheeks warmed as she tried to fixate her gaze. The buttons of his shirt had such a pretty, pearly glow, delicate though still elegant. They moved subtly as his chest heaved, tiny little things that seemed to be tempted to slip sneakily from their openings. The pads of her fingers twitched with the need of securing them. Perhaps she should buy him new shirts, she thought. Weren't wives supposed to do that? It was indecent, and she wondered why she hadn't noticed it before.

Her eyes closed stubbornly, until she felt the image lost their attraction. But as soon as darkness enveloped her, it was all the futility of her anger that faded. Her sister had not wanted to see her.

Her shoulders fell in powerlessness.

Her voice came out as a murmur, her breath cold as the words left her lips.

"I don't know what to do now… I don't even know how to begin…"

His hands released hers, letting them fall helplessly like leaves as he cupped her face, urging her to meet his gaze.

"Would you like to see her?"

"She…" She gulped. "She ran away from me."

"Perhaps because she was apprehensive," He offered soothingly, and his thumb drew little circles on her skin, a touch that made her feel like a puppet having lost its strings, barely held by his hands.

"What if…" she paused, chewing at her lip.

"Stop doing that," he berated lightly. "You have such a pretty mouth, it'd be a crime to keep hurting it. Tell me, what is it, honey?"

Honey! Why was he calling her honey? Such a silly nickname, however he made it seem so tender. Her pulse pounded at each side of her face.

"What if it's worse than before? What if… what if she hates me?"

"Then I shall delight in seeing you making her unable to do anything else but love you."

Her chest warmed with a quiet little fire. She looked at him through half closed lids.

"So, you do think I can do that, now? That I am so lovable?"

"Ha!" He let out a laugh. "How you like using my words! My pretty little coquette, don't be presumptuous…"

"Another hope dashed," She could not help but drawl. "But I think I know the truth of it!"

They stared at each other. "Do you, now?"

She backed down quickly. Oh, why had she done that? It was so foolish.

Her cheeks flustered and she tried to leave.

"I… well, never mind, I just wanted to tease and…"

"It's alright."

She gaped, unbelieving.

"What do you want?" He repeated quietly, as if it was the most important thing in the world.

Timid, almost like a little girl, she took a small, hesitant step.

"I… I want to see her," She finally said.

And he nodded simply.

"Then you will. Is there something else you would want?"

Her head shook. Why wasn't he always nice like that?

"Can you forgive me now?" He said.

She looked at him and nodded, with an air of profound relief. Her eyes gleamed with gratitude.

"You are quick to forgive," he muttered aside. "Easy to trigger, but quick to forgive…"

The old man was right about that, he found himself thinking. Perhaps was he right about other things. Perhaps had he built an image of Scarlett that never was true. Perhaps the image of his perfect enemy had never been true at all, though he knew she had all the power to become it. Perhaps she was just a woman, hurt like him, weary like him, trapped like him.

She pressed her lips and tried to regain her hand. "Well, if you don't want it…"

His grip increased just a little so not to let her slip as his thumb caressed her knuckles soothingly. She looked at it, at the contrast between porcelain and bronze, and it made something in her melt and fall all over her. He was continuing, and she could barely listen.

"I don't trigger easily, Scarlett, but I am at heart… I suppose, a resentful man," he admitted softly. "It had never been easy for me to forgive. And my resent, once set, is hard to appease. It festers like a wound. But you… you are no resentful woman."

Her heart slowed, and she felt herself softening as he set his dark, surprisingly earnest eyes on her. There was something vulnerable in this gaze.

"I take it," he said, and his words felt gentle, like a balm when she had been prepared for salt. "If you don't regret offering it."

"I suppose I don't regret it now," she grumbled with flushed cheeks. He pressed her insistently and she flared. "Oh, stop bullying me! I don't!"

He gave her a grin.

"There, I prefer it."

Their hands were still joined.

She pulled back, pressing her fingers to her chest in a nursing manner, unsure on how she should feel. And he kept looking at her with these eyes!

"I… I have to refresh myself," she murmured, embarrassed. "I must look like a fright."

He seemed about to say something, but the words did not leave his mouth.

So she left and he stayed, a thoughtful expression lightening his face as he looked at his hands. He flexed them quietly, a hopeful smile slowly coming to his lips, until a sudden clap made him raise his head and scowl in direction of the sound.

There, Pierre Robillard looked from his post near the door.

"Bravo, mon garçon. C'était de toute beauté! The début was terrible, mais la touche finale?" He hummed, pursing his lips in dramatic approval. "Pleine de promesses!. A nice step. A little tendresse can do many things. Especially make her confused to the point of submission. Bravo!"

He clapped, laughing with mischief this once.

Rhett smoothed his features to familiar blankness.

"I did not ask for your opinion, vieillard."

"Oh, but you clearly need it", he relented, before looking at him with serious eyes. "bien, you've seen that you can turn tables on a perilous situation. Granted, it might provide less entertainment, but it is a lead to what you truly want."

"You need to stop thinking of yourself as my teacher."

Scarlett 's grandfather ignored him.

"Little touches of tenderness may be a great help for your cause. She may be as flippant as a cat, but I do believe she is very sensitive about it. It can be simple. A hand to hold. A kiss on the temple after a long day…"

A deep scowl scrunched the usually sharp aristocratic features.

"Enough ! I know what I'm doing! I know what she likes!"

He knew it as much as he knew for himself. All the little touches… the way her pupils would dilate. Her fingers that curled ever so slightly by the merest graze. The little goosebumps on her chest, and how she would gasp when he…

"Then why aren't you doing anything?" Pierre Robillard pestered, breaking the train of his thoughts. "it is getting tiresome, watching you two dance around one another, and you seldom make it better, with your flippant ways, so I am, en toute honnêteté, wondering…" And his eyes became stern this once. "One day, she will break and cry. Will you be there, or will you let her face it on her own?"

He stared at the man. "Is it not obvious?"

"Nothing is ever obvious in life.. C'est la…"

"Don't you throw any "c'est la vie" at me."

Pierre laughed cruelly. "But it is the truth! I wouldn't know how to say it better. Now, you better make the right choice, or you're bound to repeat on and on the same mistakes. Granted, you already are. But it's not too late to escape that cercle of unending hurt. You'll see that I am right when she'll begin to do the same to you. Isn't it all you want from her? Some tenderness? Some love?"

The blow was hard and cruel. Rhett kept his composure, but he could feel his soul retract in defense

"You think you are so smart and understand everything."

Pierre sniggered, his hand slapping his hip as if he had made the funniest of jokes.

"Oh, parce que tu penses savoir? Mon pauvre garçon ! A little after fifty, and then you will see how ludicrous everything was!"

.

.

.

By the beginning of the afternoon, Scarlett finally managed to leave her room, a little ashamed of her previous outburst, and terribly unsure of how she should then greet Rhett after their last discussion.

It was much easier to face him when she was angry, she reflected. Much easier when she had the strength of temper to wear as an armor. With anger, she could dismiss all that had been said. With anger, there was no hope to be had.

Of course, it would have been much better if she had stopped caring. But no matter how she tried, she never seemed to be able to do it.

However, now, she was bare and more vulnerable than she would have wanted, so she resolved to do the most reasonable thing.

To avoid her husband a little more by going to see her son in the nursery.

Nevertheless, as luck would have it, Rhett seemed to have already outmaneuvered her. A delightful trap that worked like a charm, for she was irresistibly drawn in.

She gripped the hard wood of the threshold, taken by the power of that simple scene between father and son, all curled up around the other. Rhett was tickling her boy, their boy, and the sound of their mingled laughter echoed in the room like pounding of one's heart.

She did not linger on the fact that there was enough space for her to lay with them as well. Nor that with Rhett's big arms, there would be no avoiding any accidental brush over her body.

Her mind stopped however on the idea that he could embrace both she and their son, and it seemed too pleasant and warm to be anything else than a sin.

He then went back sitting sleekly with crossed legs, and affected a bow, to Wade's pleasure. The little hands clapped cheerfully.

He had always been as graceful as a feline, she thought. No gentleman should be that way, and yet it suited him.

Why, he looked ridiculous ! She forced herself to think. One would think him an Indian !

"Now, enough play," he said with false sternness. "Time to work, cub. Look at my mouth as I tell you," he said, pointing at his lips, and pulled a little wooden bird. That's a bird."

The boy straightened and took on a serious expression. "Burrrr," he drawled.

"Bird, good bird !" Apollo chimed in, flying around until it landed on his shoulder.

Scarlett grimaced. She was sure the room would be all dirty, with that bird in the room! What had he been thinking?

"Birrrrd !" Wade laughed. "Bird on papa !"

"Excellent, excellent !" Rhett said eagerly. "I knew you were bright !"

The boy beamed, his round cheeks flushed with pleasure.

"The bird in the hou-se."

"Hoo-seee !" The bird repeated.

Rhett gave a big, wolfish grin and gave him a snack. "Good bird, Apollo. Now, your turn, Wade."

"Burrr…" he frowned. "Burrrnin the woose ?"

Rhett chuckled in amusement. "Not yet, my boy, I'm not sure your mother would like that."

"Mama ?" Wade tilted his head, meeting her eyes. She shook her own vigorously.

"Yes, Wade," his father approved gently. The big, bronze hand came cupping her boy's face with a tenderness that made her weak at the knees. "Your mama..."

"Mama pretty!" The boy beamed, and such a flattery surprised Scarlett, she who had never heard such words from him. "Wade love mama."

Rhett's laughter came out sharp.

"You truly are your mama's boy, aren't you ? And she loves you terribly much. Perhaps too much."

He shook his head. "Well, enough distraction. That was quite good for a cub's roar, but not quite for a man. Now listen again…"

"Snack, snack !" Wade demanded. "Wade want snack !"

"Well, for that, you have to earn it, little man."

She stiffened. His eye had caught her. The corner of his mouth stretched, making the cheek slightly wrinkle in half. His voice came out slower, the rich, drawling Charlestonian accent oozing out of each syllable.

"Your Ma is in the house."

Her face creased into a scowl. He wouldn't dare…

Wade hesitated, his nose scrunching in concentration. "Mamaaa… izzzz in the hooo-…." He scrunched his nose in concentration. "Maaaaa…in de…"

She had to stop this aberration.

What, he would take her son's adorable, tender "mama" from her ? He would see, that scoundrel !

"Oh, no, I won't bear it !"

"What, my dear ? "He had the audacity to look surprised. Oh, but she knew what he was doing !

She stomped her foot.

"I shall not tolerate you imposing your Charlestonian's… blur on Wade ! My son has to learn to say the words in a proper way !

He jumped gracefully to his feet, his muscles supple like that of a panther as he took one long stride toward her, leaving Wade watch them curiously from his position on the carpet.

"Oh, and what is the proper way, darling ? For him to sing the vowels or drop a few 'h' for good measure, as your father, bless him, does ?"

"You do run on !" She protested. "Better some 'h' and singing vowels as you say than a complete transformation of the words ! I tell you, Rhett, I shall cry if I hear Wade say hoose instead of house, paams instead of palms, or Maa instead of Ma ! And you are out of your mind, Rhett Butler, if you think I shall let you influence how he talks and calls me ! I am his mama, and I shall not hear myself being called otherwise !"

Wade had first called that, she would not bear any change from it.

Rhett had the audacity to grin.

"Oh, really ? But it is our house, You little Maa. Our house, our son."

"My house," She corrected through gritted teeth. "My son."

"Your hoose, for us all," he repeated with twinkling eyes, willfully accentuating his words. He gave her a false mournful condescension, betrayed by the mischief of his eyes, and his warm, big hands took hers in their embrace as he leaned toward them. "But if it bothers you so much, I shall kiss your paams in forgiveness, there, one paam, two paam…"

"Maaa-maaa !" Wade cried, before erupting in laughter as the two adults turned to him. "Maa-maa's in the hooooose !"

Rhett's laugh boomed across the room.

Scarlett wriggled her hands from his grasp, raising them in defense.

"Oh, you're driving me crazy !"

Rhett tipped his head to the side, watching her with a lopsided little smile.

"Good to know you are crazy about me."

Mother of God, why did he have to be so ridiculous she wanted to laugh and could not refute it ? She stomped her foot once again in frustration.

"Both of you ! He's your son, alright ! I shall leave you to it !"

At no time did she ever acted on these words though.

"Oh, not me alone ? How disappointing."

He looked at her expectantly, with moving eyebrows, and she found it so silly she could not help an unladylike snort. His smile widened, eyes sparkling with delight.

"But it's good to know even my voice goes against me charming you."

There, she could stop it, and the merry feeling exploded in sparks from her.

Her hand found its way on his arm, pressing as she tried to regain composure, the waves of laughter almost bringing tears to her face.

"If that shall reassure you, you are the only Charleston man for which the accent has… its charms."

His eyes gleamed with mirth.

"Oh, some little crumbs, finally. You're very stingy with them. And so, I shall tell you I find your voice completely enchanting. Though it does have its cracks, especially when you are flustered. My darling little cat. But don't presume…"

"Darling cat !" The parrot sang, interrupting. "Love you, love you !"

He cursed as the bird flew from its perch to the shelf, eyeing him with what he interpreted as a devilish expression.

"I shall kill it one day."

She chuckled, maliciously amused by his discomfiture.

"Don't ! He's a sweetheart."

With a smile, she went up to her toes to reach it and caressed the bird's head with the tip of her fingers, and it rose in appreciation.

"Love you, love you," it cooed. "Sweetheart ! Lillcat !"

At this, Rhett scowled, but an unserious scowl that told her he was more amused than vexed.

"I thought you gifted it to me, my dear, not to yourself."

"Well, it's not my fault if it likes me better." She purred with satisfaction.

"Or perhaps it is broken," Rhett commented flatly.

"Looooove you," it repeated eagerly.

"Mama?" Wade tilted his head from his spot on the carpet. "Burd broken?"

She chuckled. "No, my love. That bird just has a remarkable taste."

"Ma-ma!" The bird repeated, nodding vigorously. "Ma-ma!"

"Mmm," the boy suddenly groaned with a frown, and Scarlett suddenly felt his little arms swiftly creep around her legs. "Ma Mama. Mamama!"

"There are too many vying for your love in this house, Scarlett," Rhett remarked smoothly. "It is getting ridiculous."

She let out a crazy little laugh. "Mother of God ! There's never enough, and if you're determined to be unpleasant, I shall stay with these two ! And Grand-Père and Carreen, of course," she added smugly. "I'll keep all of those that love me, by my side !"

"That's terribly impractical."

He looked at her strangely suddenly. Had she something on her face ?

"I am glad to see you are less nervous, my dear," he said.

She stopped. Indeed, the deep anxiety had faded a little.

"Tomorrow, we'll go."

The declaration surprised her, and she nodded, flushed and struck. Before humiliating herself further, she drew back, and left bird, father and son alone.

They were such a pretty picture, she thought, and her heart felt tight with loneliness.

She pressed her lips. Tomorrow would be another day. Tomorrow, she would see Suellen.

.

.

.

And tomorrow came, and with it came choices. Which dress to wear, which jewelry, which way to dress her hair...

Hair that seemed definitely uncooperative, and had Scarlett lash out her frustration at the maid, who, to be safe, quickly found a way to leave the room.

A hundred strokes never seemed enough. Especially when each one seemed to uncover a new knot to untie. She could not even recognize her own face, so distorted it was by pain and frustration.

"Are you done, my dear?" She heard Rhett's voice at the door. "I believe I saw someone running from your door as if pursued by the devil, so I figured it would be a good place to make a good deal."

"I can't," she seethed. "I can't with that hair that is getting everywhere!"

"Let me," he said, and his voice was as light and soft as silk as he took the comb from her. "You will only tear it, and it'll be a shame."

She froze. She had not heard enter, nor even go closer. Until then, he had always stayed on the threshold, mocking her with his gleaming eyes. Her gaze went to him, curious, and a little apprehensive.

"Why are you so nice ?" She muttered.

It hit his heart to the core, to see her so uncertain, so doubtful. This was not how he wanted to see her.

"Perhaps because I want to be," He said simply, and his hands twisted the strands expertly, with a lightness that was fresh and soothing. "Tell me, Scarlett, I may be late to ask you, but… do you keep a weapon on you? That little gun I offered you?"

"Why would I?"

"That's what I thought," he sighed. "Never leave without a loaded gun, Scarlett."

"To see my sister?" She scoffed.

He cracked a smile. "It does sound like a bad idea. I'm afraid you and she would get some bad idea. But you never know when it will be useful. My brother… well, let's say he tends to have bad judgement when it comes to choosing a good neighborhood to live with. Granted, until then, he never had to choose. All had always been prepared for him."

"Do you mean to tell me he settled my sister in a bad place?"

"Not quite so bad, however not quite do good either."

"And he hasn't seen it," she insisted, alarmed at his non-committal answer.

"I dare say his own occupation doesn't let him see how bad it can be. He's learning though."

Her voice grew sharp.

"So, you mean to tell me he hasn't been thinking all of this through, and my sister is on her own with this?"

He smiled, unwillingly amused.

"Quite so. Though it is to your sister's credit she still manages to hold her own in this strange place. I must say, contrary to you, my dear," he loomed over her with the mischievous show of one who was about to say something in confidence. "I've heard she did learn the tongue quickly and took care to know the people around her."

She pouted and stayed silent for the rest of the time. Until finally, he sighed with an unmistakable pleasure and murmured.

"There, all beautiful."

And indeed, she was. Her hair was drawn up in an elaborate, beautiful coiffure that however left her nape exposed, susceptible to the warmth of his breath.

"Thank you," she breathed out.

"You're welcome," he said simply. "I knew you would want to look your best when meeting her. By the way, it seems it would be only the two of us going to meet them today."

"Is Carreen sick?" Scarlett asked, surprised.

"I believe the girl made herself sick," Rhett wryly remarked.

"Made herself sick?" She huffed. "Whatever for?"

"Too many complex emotions, my dear, you wouldn't know the end of it," he jeered lightly. "And I believe she does not want to get in the crossfire."

"Crossfire? This is no war!"

"It might as well be," Rhett smoothly replied. "But speaking of crossfire, give me your little gun. I need to show you something."

"Oh. I left it on my bedside."

He cocked an amused brow. "What did I tell you moments before? And why would you need it on your bedside?"

She rolled her eyes. "I thought it was only a jest!"

However, still, she obliged.

"Keep it always," He sermoned as she finally put it in his hand. "There, look. I made sure to ask for a special trick, to load faster. There's also a little security, so you won't accidently shoot . Now, do it."

And she did. He was pleased by that, from the little twitch on his mouth.

"You're a fast learner. When you want to."

.

In the carriage, he explained her briskly the situation, and most of the information went over her head as she anxiously watched through the window, and jumped at each bump in the road.

He pressed a soothing hand on her. She startled.

"Don't worry."

"I'm not worried."

"Your hands are clammy," he stated. "And your grip on that skirt is too tight."

She was about to retort, when he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and gently wiped her palm with it. His eyes darted to her and narrowed.

"No reproach when you see her, Scarlett."

"I won't… !" She hissed.

"It will all be alright… if you bite your tongue and let things go on their own time."

There, they finally arrived, and he helped her out of the carriage.

It was a little, little house, as Rhett had described to her, and he had sneakily added that not everyone had the money to purchase a hacienda, especially in this period of high demand.

Even the overseer's house had been much bigger, she thought as her gaze swept over it. There was a little porch at the front, and only one landing. The paint had flaked off in some parts, and seemed almost gray when you looked at it.

She gasped when her eyes finally placed her sister, a still figure in a matronly dress, and beside her, Rhett's brother, tall and supple like a reed, the perfect image of the gentleman farmer when her husband was a pillar of muscles and menace, with that malicious air of his.

She had only seen Ross Butler once or twice, in passing. But she could see the difference now. The delicate, though dynamic feature, was now more rugged, though it had kept its elegance.

Her sister seemed thinner, she noticed. And yet, beside that man, she was beautiful and glowing. The color was back on her cheeks, her eyes more vivid, alert. Her hands were knit at her skirt, and as he touched her, she gave a little nod. Scarlett felt a tiny sting of envy, seeing the secret smiles exchanged between the two. There was a complicity here, a mutual understanding that needed no word when it came to their feelings, something Scarlett did not have.

Seeing Suellen, she stopped, her tongue stinging with all the things she wanted to say, angry words that hid a concern she had never been used on showing.

No reproach, Rhett had said. She looked at him briefly. He knew her. For among all the things that she had thought she would be only to say, only bad things seem to come to her now.

The two sisters finally came forward, face to face, red like the clay of Tara, red like the blood they shared.

A tentative step.

"So, you came," Suellen said, and she already seemed scowling.

She nodded. "Yes."

Suellen took a step forward, leaned in so as not to be heard by more than Scarlett.

"You're infuriating. You can't let things go, can you?"

"You as well," she snapped. "You knew I wouldn't give up!"

"You…"

There, happened the most surprising thing. None present that day would entirely know (or admit, in the case of the two concerned) who did it first (though Rhett had the suspicion Scarlett did it, and would add later as a jest he was sure it was an attempt to strangle Suellen), but before even the sentence was finished, they were tight in an embrace, holding the other fiercely.

"I missed you," Suellen whispered.

"And I you, little sister," she finally admitted. Her little sister smelled of warm dust and apricot.

She drew back, feeling she was about to cry, and bumped into Rhett's chest.

"Good, Scarlett," he whispered to her ear. "I think we will be able to send for Carreen, after all."

She was about to retort, when she felt the faint graze of a kiss on her temple. Her pulse quickened, and she almost gasped, taken aback, her eyes eagerly trying to find what he had meant by this. But he wouldn't look at her.

She was flabbergasted. It was as if it was a mundane thing !

.

.

Carreen was sent for two hours after that, and her pale little face was the sign she had been considerably anxious by the issue of the meeting.

Suellen appeared at first cautious when presenting Ross, to Scarlett's surprise. But it soon faded when the three of them finally were alone, and it quickly became clear to Scarlett why there had been so.

She is insecure about Carreen, she thought. She thinks her lover would prefer her better, as she is quiet and studious. It is silly, for Carreen would never even have the thought to steal her beau! But it was what it was.

However, once they were left alone, it did not seem to matter, and Suellen relaxed.

Here, far from home, far from Georgia, they were the O'Hara sisters, and it didn't matter who was the prettiest, the cleverest or the gentlest of the three. There was something between them here, a neutral ground, that kept the old quarrels from thriving openly.

And, to be honest, Carreen was proving to be the angel out of the three, keeping the peace between the two sisters when old pettinesses threatened to shimmer and trigger them once more.

"… and then Stuart had to ruin it all and put that monkey on the table…."

"You forgot to say, Scarlett, that you were the one to defy him, and of course…"

"No, I did not !"

"And do you remember how it screeched and threw the biscuits ?" Carreen intervened with a smile. "I had never seen Mammy as angry as when he ruined Grandmother's teapot !"

"True, and how she ran after it !" Suellen laughed.

"And when she did catch him !" Scarlett added merrily. "The monkey looked like a berated child ! Even Stuart was impressed !"

But all subjects could not be all joyful, each memory brought back the home they had left, and the people they had loved, all far away from them.

"We are our mother's daughters," Carreen softly reflected after one particular memory of the quiet afternoons spent at their mother's side, watching her as she sewed." And when we fall, it is her sadness that shines through us."

"You've always been the poet of the family," Suellen said fondly. "Always in your books, your dreams... Are you still writing ?"

"I…" Carreen lowered her gaze. "I don't think I would have anything good to share."

"Oh, baby, I didn't know you wrote!" Scarlett exclaimed, before scowling at Suellen's slightly triumphant expression. "Well, I don't like poetry. But if it's you, darling, I am sure I will love it !"

The girl offered her a timid smile, while Suellen scoffed. "It is kind of you to say…"

She looked at Suellen for a moment, before hurriedly adding. "I wish… I wish I could bring everyone together. Mammy… Pork, Rosa, Teena… Pa… and Mother… it seems I can't ever remember what she smells like. I used to known it by heart…"

"Lemon Verbena," Scarlett swiftly said. "Yes. She smells like lemon verbena…"

The three girls fell silent in their reminescence.

"I suppose, like she, we did go far from home, didn't we ?" Suellen tried.

"I suppose I must agree," Scarlett replied with the same tentativeness. "I think… yes, I think I have felt it myself. Don't you ever think about Tara ?"

"Scarlett. Only you think about Tara," Suellen scoffed. "It did not matter that you were a girl, you were always supposed to be the one getting it, while we stood there, and that was so un…"

"It was always in your blood, indeed," Carreen quietly said. "I never knew where I would belong. I hope I will find it one day."

There, Scarlett's heart warmed.

"You will always belong with me, baby," she softly replied, pressing her sister's hand. She narrowed her eye on Suellen. "And you as well, I suppose."

Suellen huffed. "Well, I belong with Ross so, I don't need…" Carreen stared pointedly. "Alright, but only a little bit."

.

Unbeknownst to them, they were being watched in the next room, through the slit of the slightly ajar door.

"Are they still bickering ?" Ross murmured.

"Like two little hens," Rhett said fondly.

Ross stared curiously.

"She always is so composed and mature with me," his eyes crinkled at the corners. "It's… amusing. Endearing. I wonder why she's so different with me…"

"Do you, truly ?" The older brother poked. "Now, why had she that attitude when Carreen don't

"It surprised me as well," Ross admitted.

"She so obviously seeks your approval," Rhett commented. "Having seen her young, it wouldn't surprise me if she thinks you would prefer a softer woman."

"You think?" Ross tilted his head, examining his lover's profile with anxiety. "I should reassure her, then."

"Always the people pleaser. Don't fret, brother. It wouldn't hurt her to be more pleasant for your affection."

"Do you make your own wife run for you?" He argued. "Tell me, brother, how does she live it? Being your wife in name, yet without the trust and respect that should be her due?"

Rhett's sharp gaze flicked to his brother, before his mouth twisted. He drew a long cigar from his case and clipped it, a mean little smile coming irresistibly to his lips.

"How does Suellen live it ? Being mistress in name, but without even the compensation of the sin that goes with it ?"

Ross was vanquished in that one strike.

"I am a selfish monster. Ross Butler is dead, and she deserves to be married. "

Rhett huffed, displeased by the defeat drawn so obviously on his brother's face

"Yes, I've seen it. I don't understand you at all. If you are so bothered by it, why not marry her under another name ?"

His young brother gave him a pointed look.

"I am not. And you are one to talk. You did not give up on the name. And I would know it ! It drove Father crazy, you know, to know you are still roaming with his name branded on you. I believe he would lose it if he knew you gave it to your wife and her child."

"And I believe he would die of shame, knowing you fled the country and live in sin, having rejected that name he so wanted you to honor," Rhett sighed, swiftly changing the subject as he saw the pallor on his brother's face. His tone was softer then. "You told me. And I would have been fine without it," his lids lowered as he conceded. "If not for Scarlett and my son. They deserve the best, and that name carry a history far grander than us. Far grander than the man who threw me out."

"So, that boy is your son. Well, may everything work your way, brother," Ross said bitterly. "As it always does. I have made my peace, having failed Father."

"Have you ?" Rhett taunted. "Then why is that girl throwing you such long looks ? Why are you all defeated?"

The look he gave Rhett was that of pure shameful suffering, one he understood instantly, for it was one that cut deep.

"I can't… I can't."

"He did cut you, didn't he ? Our Father. He put you under his wings and kept you like a little boy. It does not matter that you are whole in body, you are half a man in spirit. Left to yourself, you are as powerless as a boy."

Ross looked away.

"I was made to be what you were not. I was made for duty. I was never made for having desires of my own."

"You were made. That's all you should say. Duty should not be all that you are."

Ross' gaze was a caress full of painful longing over Suellen.

"She is imperfect, terribly imperfect," and this time, the laugh was softer, intimate even. "She is no conventional beauty, and she is greedy. Perhaps a bit petty. But she is what I need. Her lacks are my fulls, and my lacks are her full. She is bold and brave, she has a pragmatic mind and a tender heart and I don't know why, but she wants me. She loves me. And I love her. We are two pieces that seem so entirely different, and yet we are the same. And I think… in the end, she will be the only one to understand and love me as I am, without wanting to change me. And I don't want her to change. We… Just fit."

"Though the carnal sense has yet to be tested, you mean," Rhett could not help but press.

"You're being coarse. Father is stronger than me. You can't understand, you who never had your desires thwarted by anything."

"I did not let my desires thwarted by him."

Ross chuckled bitterly.

"Ross Butler is dead," He repeated. "I thought it would set me free, to kill him. But why do I then feel like his ghost is lingering? Why when I touch, it all seems to come to ashes, and I see their eyes, judging me..." His voice became stronger, and here, the flame of anger, one that Rhett could understand, grew quickly in his eyes. "Alright, II lie. But if you made your own peace… why are you so restless, brother ? Why do you always have to seek where the bad end of the deal is?"

And this time, Rhett could not reply.

.

.

By the night, when they returned home, Scarlett surprised Rhett with scissors and a razor, and he was almost afraid for his life.

He settled with, he must admit, a little anxiety.

However, she was soft and precise, her eyes focused, all for him, and he found himself mesmerized, completely charmed but the deftness of her fine fingers, the tenderness of these white little hands that sometimes, by accident, grazed his skin in a delightful caress.

He waited until she was nearly finished with the cutting to attack.

"Aren't you a pretty little Delilah."

"What ?" She startled, cut in her focus, before frowning "Oh, you are so conceited. Of course you're still thinking you are like Samson ! I should have cut all your hair !"

"Please don't. I would not be pleasant-looking for the ladies."

"All the more !" She roared, taking pleasure in the last sharp clap of the scissors.

He was afraid the strand was shorter than the rest. However, he had no care for it, seeing how he managed to make her flushed and fiery.

The scissors were fortunately put away. Her hands became erratic with the comb, almost striking in aggressive gestures.

" Are you saying you do not want me to please the ladies ?"

This sent her on edge, and she almost threw the comb at him.

"I… Oh, you do whatever you want to do !"

"Not so fast, Scarlett," He stopped her, catching her by the arms to gently set her back to his side. "You're upset."

"You're unbearable," She retorted. "And I am not upset."

"Of course, you're not," He smiled. "But I am. I mean, without such a mane, what would be left of the great Rhett Butler ?"

She let out a soft laugh. Her fingers raised to his short hair, so soft and dark.

"What would be left, indeed ?..."

She combed it slowly this time, trying to slow time, oh, just a little more. She was touching him, and he leaned on her, silent, compliant. For once, the lion was almost well-behaved, a cat by any other name, and her caress could make him purr.

Could she dare?

"Finding any loose yet? " He had the audacity to break such a precious moment!

"Not yet," she retorted softly.

Her fingers curled, letting the comb slip through. Still, he did not move, and after a moment of inattention she abandoned all pretense. Her belly was filled with soft warmth. His eyes were closed, on his lips a little smile, a smile she had seen many times when Wade was deep in sleep, cuddled at her side.

"Thank you, Scarlett. I feel much lighter," he breathed out, She froze. A frown knit between his brow, the mouth opening in protest. "Don't stop."

Her heart thumped anxiously. The itch in her fingers increased.

"Is… is there something you want me to say ?"

"At that precise moment ?"

He held her so very tightly. It had been such a long time he had held her so, and it made her want to weep.

"Scarlett, what is it ? Is it once again about Suellen?"

She avoided his insistent gaze.

"No… It's just the other night, you said you wanted me to say something."

"Well, as I seem to have asked you to cut my hair, I doubt I was in my right mind."

"Oh !" She waved her hands, trying to escape him.

"What did I say ?"

"You're dishonest !"

"Me ? I lay myself bare to you, as genuine as a new born… well, not quite litterally, but you know what I mean. Tell me, honey," he said more softly. "What is it ?"

She was so close, and he was looking at her in a way that made her feel safe and warm, as if…

"You aren't going to be in a crying jag, are you?"

"I loooove you !" Apollo chimed in.

Rhett cursed. I'm going to kill that parrot.

The laughter burst from her lips before she could even stop it. Then, she would not even know what she was upset about.

"I don't want to go to the Confederados' party tomorrow," She found herself saying instead. "Last time I went, the old peahens told me I should read to Wade some classics." She scoffed. "Fiddle-dee-dee ! As if reading a book would make my boy clever ! As if he needs it ! The audacity of the old peahen ! They are worse than Atlanta's!"

"Then don't, if you don't want to. They are far from their homeland, of course they would need to compensate. But I dare say it wouldn't hurt the boy," Rhett replied. "Well, reading does have the effect sometimes to enlarge the mind, even at his young age. You should try."

Of course, as he said so, she would not agree openly. She even bickered with him about it, though he did not take the bait, and seemed even more amused by it.

But the next evening, she resolved to do it. Rhett found her on the sofa with Wade on her lap, a book spread in front of them.

"What are you doing, Scarlett ?"

She sighed like the heroine of a tragedy.

"Sacrifying my sanity for the enlargement of my son's mind."

He gave her an amused smile.

"With a fairytale ?"

She looked at him tartly.

"That is the first book I took that did not give me a headache."

"Oh. Which was the actual first ?"

"Descartes's Method."

"A bit too ambitious, I agree," he said with a teasing smile. "And you seek to enlarge Wade's mind with Beauty and the Beast. Though for yourself, perhaps it may be enlightening. No, no, darling, that is certainly not any insult on your intelligence."

"Then how so ?" She scolded. "That poor girl gets herself stuck with a beast because of a rose !"

"She found happiness in the end, by looking beyond the appearances."

"Are you saying I should ?" His smile grew larger. She scoffed. "With you ? The beast is gentle. Even if it was terribly rude of him to keep her like that."

He snickered. "Only rude ? "

"And the Beauty never threw a slipper at the beast. Nor tried to shoot him."

"She should have. That would have shown him."

"No one ever read you any fairytale."

She swayed uneasily, wrinkling her dress in the process with her nervous fingers. Wade did not protest. In fact, the boy was taking advantage of his mother's inattention to turn the pages himself, until his eagerness made him tear parts of the paper.

"Mother was always busy. Oh, Pa would tell me about Irish legends, but they always seemed to end dreadfully. Only Carreen read them herself. She could, she was the baby of the family."

"And what you read was to be strictly useful."

"Useful to you. I could have survived without reading a thing !"

"So it was for me you read ?"

Her lips pursed at his remark.

"You were always so insistent about my education…"

"And it did not bring you any happiness, did it ?" She flinched. "I did forget you were a child at that time. I shouldn't have done it."

She made a show of shrugging this off.

"You wanted to throw me at the first honorable, rich gentleman at that time."

"Oh, Scarlett, had I truly wanted that, you would have been thrown at the first honorable, gentleman. I would have had no remorse."

She startled.

"So… you did not want…"

"I am a very selfish man at heart, Scarlett. When I want something, I do everything to get it, and I make sure until the end I will get it just as I want it. More than that, I cared for you, and I wanted the best for you."

"But… you just sent them…" she fumbled with her words, fearful to get it wrong. "You… did not want them for me ?"

His eyes kept staring at her.

"Wouldn't it be surprising ? just as surprising as you refusing them", he said quietly. "Oh, you may have let some kiss you, and I am sure it made you feel quite wicked. But you accepted none of them."

She fell back into her chair, irritated.

"You're a real beast," she grumbled.

"In prince's clothing," he grinned.

Her gaze swept over his figure.

"Well, it's true that you always have nice clothes."

He settled next to her with a laugh, and she watched him with hungry eyes, every part of her body aware of his closeness.

He remarked it quickly, and his eyes seemed to darken even further.

"Life is no fairy tale, Scarlett. No happy endings are ever granted."

"Oh, I know." She said simply, before pausing. "What's your favorite story, Rhett?"

He looked askance.

"Why the question?"

"Oh, I am just curious."

"You never were curious for nothing, my dear."

"Your doing."

His dark eyes gleamed with amusement.

"Oh, you weren't curious at all from the start, admit it!"

"I admit nothing. Now, what is it?"

"I suppose… I have a fondness for tragedies. Most Southerners do, perhaps, those that know the world they lived in is doomed from the start."

"Hush!" She interrupted, putting her fingers on his lips to stop him, before swiftly taking them back as the burn of it, and the widening of his eyes made her reconsider. "I don't want to hear about… we are not there anymore and… I can't bear it!"

His eyes softened.

"It's inevitable, isn't it? We are far away and still… "

He sighed.

"So, what is your favorite story?" She insisted.

His mouth quirked in a lopsided grin.

"You're relentless," He remarked, before sighing deeply. "I guess I am all for the classics. Oh, not boring stuff about morality and honor," he waved the idea off with withering contempt. "No, what I always preferred when we could see men, warts and all. Like in the Illiad, though I must admit… I had always been fascinated with the Odyssey, by Homer."

"I've never read it."

"Never?"

He did not seem disappointed. Rather curious.

She lowered her gaze.

"I… I read the Illiad. A little. I quite liked the character of Helen. But then I stopped when they began to be mean to her. It's not her fault if men like her because she is so beautiful. Reading more seemed more like a bore if she wasn't about to be treated right."

"Of course you would, my little apple of discord."

"Well, I still think if Ag… well, whatever that man's name was, would have been nicer, perhaps she would never have left. He deserved it, and he had the audacity to take her for granted!"

"I knew I had to keep an eye on you, you sneaky thing!"

"How so?"

He did not reply. She gave up.

"But, what I liked more about her…" she took a deep breath. "I guess she did not hesitate. She did everything to get what she wanted, even if she knew it would go awry. What happened to her after that?"

"Her lover died and she seduced her husband back and went home with him," he said silkily.

Now, that made for quite the scandalous story.

"Oh," she said. "I suppose he must have learned better manners, then."

"I don't think he ever changed at all. Why should he?"

"Well, that's a shame. Perhaps she must have loved him anyway despite it. Perhaps.. she just needed to know if he cared for her."

He stared at her with a strange look.

"You think?"

"What's better proof for her that he loves her," she said simply. "If he is willing to fight for her? "

"Don't you think he might have fought for something else?" He quipped. "Honor, perhaps? Pride?"

She waved that off with the same withering dismissal he had earlier.

"Fiddle-dee-dee, no! His honor is already in pieces, his pride as well. He could have just dismissed it, said she was mad and worthless. No one fights for years for someone he doesn't care for. To take her back and allow her to seduce him when she ought to be punished for what she has done? And with that he would not care for her? No, I think he must have loved her silly."

"Very silly, then," he added, and his smile seemed to mock himself.

She hated that smile. She hated it all the more because she did not know what it meant, and it irked her, to have the reminder she still only knew parts of him.

"But anyway, that's such long story and…" she admitted begrudgingly. "I hate verses! Couldn't it have been written in a more direct way?"

He laughed.

"You're mocking me!" She whined.

"You're a delight!" And he laughed some more.

She attempted to get back to her reading, but already, her boy had gone too far, and she could not, in her state, find the page again. She sighed in frustration, before giving up.

"You know… I think Suellen is good for my brother," Rhett idly said.

"You think?"

"Oh, my brother certainly has more things in common with Carreen. He's by nature soft-spoken and compliant, and has a dreamy, romanesque side to him, that is unfortunately not quite a quality as the heir of the Butler family. But your sister balances him. She has a way of bringing him quietly to a more practical side, and act on it."

"They do make a good couple. And they love each other."

She smiled at Wade who had tilted his head at her at her sudden softness.

"Some loves have the terrible ability to destroy us," he said, while watching her kiss the boy and hold him.

"So that is why you don't love."

"No. That is why I don't say it."

Her heart faltered, and blood rushed with a sudden cold to her cheeks.

"You… you can't say things like that and then…"

"And then what ?"

"And then nothing. Oh, nothing !" She cut, tucking her son closer. "I'm going to bed."

Wade pulled at her sleeve.

"Yes, mama… Wade sleepy… bed time, now…"

She nodded, melting at her little one's endearing face.

"Yes, sweetheart, we'll go to bed."

Rhett cocked his brow.

"Bed with Wade, Scarlett?"

She did not reply. Instead, she winced as she held Wade in her arms and left the room.

He was getting too big for her to do that. Still, she went on.

The way he was so obviously leaning on her with all his trust, already sleeping with his head on her shoulder, was worth it.

.

.

"Grand-Père… Do you know the Odyssey?" She asked Pierre Robillard the next day.

He stared at her, flipping the paper aside with a curious expression. His legs uncrossed as he leaned in, his too observant eyes sweeping over her.

"Why do you ask, chaton?"

"Because… well, I am curious. R… someone said it was a good story and…"

Pierre barked in laughter. "Of course the renegade would like that kind of story! Oh, quelle ironie ! "

"I didn't say it was Rhett!" She protested.

"It is written all over your face. But more than that, I wonder why he told you that," Her grandfather whispered with a hint of mischief and speculation that would have told her, if she weren't so distracted, that he actually had his own idea about it.

"Oh, I asked him to," She said simply.

"That man never says things because one simply asks him."

"Now, what it is that story all about?"

"It's about coming home chaton."

Coming home? For a moment, her mind went back to Tara. They must be ploughing that dear, moisty land , she thought. Or was there still harvesting to be had?

"Coming home?" She whispered. "…He does miss his family, then...".

"I doubt it is that home he would particularly be thinking about, ma chère," he replied. "Your Rhett is one that plans for the long run and does not linger in the past. He knows the strings to his family aren't ones that can be repaired enough for him to get what he wants."

"And what does he want?" She quickly asked, before composing herself. "Well… I am just curious."

He grinned. "I see it. Eh bien, ma petite curieuse… what he wants is what every everyone having had his strings cut out would want."

"What?"

"To be sure, of course."

"I am not sure I understand."

"How can you be sure of anything, of the people around you?" The old Frenchman sighed, for a moment deep in his thoughts. "(1)C'est l'ultime test. L'attente. Penelope a-t-elle changé? Est-elle assez forte pour résister aux affres du temps, à la tentation et l'incertitude? Accueillera-t-elle ce misérable vagabond qui se présente à elle, celui qui l'à déjà testée a maintes et maintes reprises, les bras ouverts, sera-t-il condamné à errer de nouveau? Et que trouvera-t-il, ce vagabond? L'endroit où il pourra sereinement ancrer la fin de son existence, ou un autre champ de bataille ?"

She jumped, alerted by the familiar name.

"Penelope… I think I heard that name from him once… oh, he was angry, and going, and I don't know what it was all about, but…"

"Of course he would," he scoffed. "Oh, if I was several years younger…!"

"Could you tell me what he meant?" She interrupted him. Her eyes were pleading as she asked him. "What happened?"

His eyes gleamed in mischief.

"Don't you want to read the whole Odyssey, like he would like you to?"

"I can't bear the length of it!" She complained. "And I don't want to play his games by doing all this work!"

"And yet, you still ask me," he whispered, visibly amused.

"Then tell me!"

"It is not for me to tell, ma chérie. It is for you to find out. He wants you to find out."

"I will not! "She cried in outrage. "This doesn't mean anything. I don't care. "

He cocked a brow, and hid his mouth, so obviously about to laugh at her expanse.

"What's with that look?" She asked, suspicious.

(2)"Ma chère, je suis inquiet."

She tilted her head, perplexed.

" Inquiet? Mais de quoi?"

"Les signes sont pourtant clairs…"

"Je ne vois pas de quoi tu veux parler."

"Y a-t-il un problème avec tes oreilles?"

"Pourquoi ça?"

" Tes yeux?"

She frowned. What was he going on about?

"Je vois très bien!"

"Ou alors est-ce ta précieuse petite cervelle qui dysfonctionne comme cela?"

She stomped her foot, exasperated.

"Oh non, Grand-Père, pas vous aussi! Je ne supporterai pas qu'on m'insulte dans ma propre maison!"

He chuckled.

"Je ne suis pas Brutus, Je ne veux que ton bien, ma petite. Un jour, toi-même tu riras de ta réaction. Je ne veux pas que tu regrettes…"

"Regretter quoi?"

There was a mournful tenderness in his gaze.

"De ne pas avoir vu les choses telles qu'elles le sont avant qu'il ne soit trop tard. D'avoir eu trop peur d'être blessée pour oser être heureuse."

"Peur, moi? Taratata!" She dismissed. "Je suis heureuse. Très heureuse. J'ai Wade. J'ai ma maison. Je t'ai toi," she said with a cajoling smile, switching to more tender, persuasive familiarity. "Quand tu n'es pas méchant avec moi. "

"Et tu as un mari que tu ne peux t'empêcher d'aimer, et qui a l'air… plutôt gentil en ce moment avec toi. Un mari qui a fait en sorte d'avoir tout pouvoir sur toi, et qui pourtant, ne l'a utilisé que pour t'éloigner du danger. Qu'est-ce que cela peut vouloir dire, dis moi? Ces petits moments de gentillesse, ces taquineries incessantes, et le fait que mine de rien, il fait ce que tu veux qu'il…"

Her shoulders fell as she felt the sting. "Et j'ai un mari. Point," she gave him a cajoling smile with accentuated dimples and teeth. "Laissons les choses là, grand-père, veux tu? Je ne veux pas me fâcher avec toi."

He patted her hand softly, his eyes still twinkling with mischief. He was getting better, and that soothed her for a bit.

"Ah, ma douce. Tu es têtue comme une mule. Ne dis pas que je ne t'ai pas prévenue!"

Well, he could say whatever he wanted, she shrugged. She was too old to believe in these kinds of stories.

"Fiddle-dee-dee ! You just played with me as he did! I will not read that book."

"If you're lucky and a little bit tender, he may not resist the need to read it to you yourself."

.

.

The next day, they were invited to Ross' land of research, and Scarlett learned then what her husband had meant when he had once told her his brother was buried in deep in the past, and it seemed that for the short time here, he had managed to encourage others to do the same, to seek old, very old artefacts from the ground, and keep them lovingly in a well-kept storage with pretty labels.

A very queer occupation, Scarlett thought, though she did not dare to say it.

Surprisingly, to Scarlett's bewilderment Suellen was also helping, quietly organizing it in categories, her voice, the southern accent slipping in her Spanish (and Rhett looked at her with a teasing smile at that, reminding her she had not even tried), respected by those who worked with her lover.

Like that, she looked so much like their mother that Scarlett wanted to cry.

But the visit had its own amusements. Especially when they found Ross crouched next to a half buried vase, carefully brushing the soil from it.

"What is he doing?" Scarlett asked, dumbfounded.

Suellen stood proud, her eyes fond.

"He's uncovering History."

Scarlett squinted her eyes.

"I'd say, that's a lot of dirt on your History!" She could not help but remark.

Rhett tried to hide it behind a cough, but she knew better. He was terribly enjoying it. She grinned.

"Of course, you cannot understand!" Suellen scowled.

"It's alright, my dear," Ross finally raised, and put his hand on her elbow. "You do, and that's all that matters."

Suellen preened, her cheeks flushing in pleasure, not caring of the dirt on her sleeve.

Now, that was another surprise!

Scarlett's eyes softened. If that man had the power to melt her sister's ire in just a few words… then maybe it had been the right choice.

She yearned for their obvious complicity.

However, unobservant as she was, there was still to her something missing. Or perhaps added. A wall, between these two people that looked at one another through holes, yearning, but unable to reach.

"You really don't, though, do you?" She murmured when she finally managed to get closer. "Understand."

"Oh, shut it!" Suellen scowled. She flushed. "No, I don't. Not entirely. But I love seeing him loving what he does. Talking about it. And when I ask questions, he always answers so patiently… Sometimes, I feel so ignorant, but when he explains, I feel like… I am his equal."

Scarlett softened.

"A man not condescending to a woman? You have found a rare sort, sister."

Her sister nodded, though her smile broke in two with a sudden thought.

"I did. But Scarlett…"

Looking left and right, she pulled her to one of the tents in the camp and closed it. They sat in silence for a moment, as Suellen seemed to consider her next words.

"What is it?" Scarlett insisted.

Suellen kept her head low.

"I… I need to ask you something. You have to promise not to laugh."

"Say it, Suellen! I am fearing the worst!"

"Oh, Scarlett, if you knew!"

She fell apart.

"I am so unhappy!" She cried, though still in low sobs so as not to make too much noises that would alert the other men on the camp. "What is so wrong with me, that he can't love me, as a man loves a woman?"

"What do you mean?"

"He cannot make love to me..." She admitted. "No matter what... Oh, he cannot!"

"What do you mean, he cannot?" Scarlett scoffed, finding the idea ridiculous. "If what a man is unable to do, it is rather not to make love to any woman he thinks pretty. And you are tremendulously pretty."

Suellen only sobbed harder.

"Fie, Suellen!" Scolded Scarlett. "There is certainly something you're doing wrong, if you want it, and he wants it… oh, stop crying. Just tell me…" she couldn't believe she had to go through it. "Tell me what is going on!"

Suellen tried to regain her breath, taking it in sharp, painful puffs, before attempting to explain.

"We kiss. He tells me he loves me. I… I want him. I want him so, I want… I want to touch him everywhere!" Scarlett flushed at the crude thought. "He seems to like it, and I do, and I tell him he's the greatest gentleman I know… But then, he looks at me, and it's like he has so much pain! And he kisses me goodnight, on the brow!

"I love him. I do! But I feel… i feel as if something is missing. Perhaps i shouldn't think so. Our love is so pure… but I can't help… but want more. I resigned myself that I would not become a wife. But I am not even a mistress!"

"And you're right to do so. Oh, I'm going to show him, that idiot! Making you wait like thar when he..."

"Please, don't Scarlett!"

"No, Suellen, I won't bear it! I am sensing some foolishness, Suellen, and I won't bear having you suffering from it!"

Still, in the end, she had to resolve herself to promise not to do anything.

Which did not stop her in the evening to find Rhett to talk to him about it.

He would know what to do with them, she thought. He always had a solution.

She found him in the study playing with Wade, Pierre's eyes watching over them with a fond gaze.

It faded as soon as he saw her, and especially took note of the determination in her expression. Then, he went closer and took Wade from his spot on the carpet and sighed.

"Viens avec moi, mon petit Télémaque."

"Ganperrr?" Wade cocked his head, surprised.

"Ton papa et ta maman vont encore se chamailler."

Folding his leg, Rhett glared at him, but let him go.

"Rhett… I have to ask you something."

"Obviously," he blandly noted, though she could see he was still open to the discussion. He rose to meet her and hovered over her, a hint of curiosity in his eyes. "So, what is it?"

"It's about Suellen and Ross," She began. "They love each other. It's true."

She had started too defensively, and she knew that. He exhaled.

"But that does not mean they are happy. So, she did tell you, after all. And you want me to intervene. I am sorry to tell you, my dear, but I won't. I've considered it already, and know it would be a waste of time. They have to do it themselves."

She scowled, if only to hide her disappointment.

"A waste of time?" She began to badger him, poking him on the chest with her fingers. "Of course, you would say that! You can't understand that feeling! You've never loved anyone but yourself. OH, I don't know why I wanted to ask you..."

"Spare me of your hysterics, Scarlett."

He drew her to him, and she felt the burn of his big hand on the small of her back, seething through her clothes. Her hands were now trapped on his chest, and through the cloth, she could guess the curls of his hair.

Would that she could pull it, she thought with fury. Then, this would show him!

She just stared back defiantly, and for a moment he was almost intimidated. It was a sharp hand on his heart, and it made him gasp.

"Or perhaps you just don't know how to love," she shot, and he would have preferred her voice to be self righteous as before. All except that clear dismissal of his own heart.

"Are you offering to teach me, Mrs. Butler?" He said silkily.

She faltered then.

"I don't think anyone could ever teach you anything."

His brow went down.

He released her.

"Giving it up, already, then?"

She shook her head. She did not want to have this conversation. Not if it could hurt her.

"No?" He whispered.

Her eyes become pleading as she finally found courage enough to look at him.

"Oh, don't play with me."

"I admit I am curious what you would do."

A frown on her face, she seemed to contemplate whether he was serious or not, and he waited, with his usual smile, waiting for a burst of color, a spark, anything.

She scowled, then whirled away, her skirts hissing like a mistral.

"Do you know the most interesting difference between dogs and cats, my dear?"

She went still. Why did he keep bringing that up?

"What are you on about again?"

He took this as an invitation to go on.

"Dogs like you even more if you have the scent of other dogs on you. It means you're friendly with their kind. But if you have other cats' scent on you, the cats will certainly be most upset with you. A dog wants to be owned. A cat wants to own. And you, my dear, are the perfect definition of a cat person."

She huffed, deciding that if she had to bear this nonsense, she might as well sit.

Which was a terrible idea, she realized as he went closer.

"That's false. I quite liked you being liked by other women. After all, you are handsome, it is a fact. And we do make a handsome couple."

"You like other women's envy," he corrected, his lips grazing her ear, effectively trapping her. "However, you don't like to share."

Her nails dug into the deep cushions of the chair.

"I hate the gossip that it brings."

He grinned.

"Oh, that too. God forbids one hears you have trouble at home, or that you heard about it. You do like to be blind until the final straw. But if I told you I was with a lovely woman last night…"

Her head snapped painfully, her vein throbbing.

"You would be so mean as to say it!"

He took a step back.

"Just offence, then? No jealousy? No wondering who would be that woman?"

"It's that Belle woman, isn't it?" She snarled, finally turning her head toward him.

After a dumbfounded glance, he gave out a loud guffaw.

"Do you think I have packed Belle Watling in my suitcase, my jealous little fool? I have not seen Belle since I cut her out after her last stunt, and that was long before our wedding. And even then, our relationship had never been more than a kiss to the cheek since I found you again."

"I don't want to hear…" Her eyes snapped, alerted. "You've cut her? Then… Who is she?"

He laughed louder. She twisted in her seat angrily, then rose from it, prepared to leave.

"Oh, never you mind, I don't care, I…"

He stopped her. Gently, so very gently.

"It is you. You are a lovely woman. When you want to."

She turned, little limb by little limb. His eyes were bright on her, and under that light, they seemed almost a rich brown, like mahogany.

"Isn't it shocking? "He said with a softness that unsettled her.

"I? Oh. Well, we did see each other yesterday, but why… oh, you just want to make a fool out of me!"

"So, would you want to share me?"

Her eyes blazed.

"Don't you dare!" The words left her lips before she could even stop them.

"How very ungenerous," but his eyes were sparkling with good humor, and she could not resent him. "That's one of the many differences between you and your friend Miss Hamilton."

"And what about you?"

He leaned over her.

"We are of the same sort, you and I," he whispered. "I wonder when you will realize it."

She shivered.

"I doubt so," she replied weakly. "You're a skunk."

His chortle was soft, humming, and warm.

"Don't be too sweet on me, my darling," he said as he kept her here for a moment. "I might not survive it.I do smell better than a skunk. "

"That remains to be proven!"

She pushed him away, her knees buckling. He let her go with a little smile, until it turned to a scowl, seeing how her presence was soon replaced by her grandfather, who made a show of looking at her retreating figure, and then the room.

"Mauviette," Pierre Robillard finally whispered when he came to his side.

"Mêlez vous de vos affaires!" He snapped. "Et arrêtez de nous épier!"

"An elegant reply when one has nothing to say for himself. And that Charlestonian accent with the French, oh mes oreilles! You have usually a better accent than that. Oserai-je dire que ma pique a atteint sa cible?"

"You're a poor marksman."

He threw his slipper viciously, and Rhett had to dodge. "Did you just…"

"You're taking too long, gamin, the rascal had the audacity to show he was about to throw the other shoe. You do like to lead her on. To blow hot and cold on her. To get her the keys to understand you, while making sure she doesn't even have a clue what door they open."

"Fermez-la."

"Charmant. But don't be surprised if she doesn't want to rest on you with that attitude. It is so tender on one's chest, the little body of a woman that trusts you with all she has."

"Shut it."

"And the eyes of the woman in love…"

"I said…"

"Grand-Père?," The door opened a little, revealing a hint of Scarlett's face. " I wanted to thank you for tucking Wade to bed. He is sleeping so soundly, I wonder what you did."

She barely looked askance. "Is that scoundrel bothering you?"

"I am the one doing the bothering, chaton," Pierre Robillard replied with a self-satisfied little smile.

Her eyes darted on Rhett and narrowed. "Good. Keep going."

There, she quickly shut the door behind her, and he could almost imagine her, very satisfied vicariously that her husband was being scolded like a child.

"From what you've said, it doesn't seem to be your experience," Rhett bit as Scarlett's light footsteps grew farther away.

Pierre dismissed it with a lazy smile.

"Oh, Solange and I had our moments. Granted, it became easier when we grew old and lost a touch of the impetuosity of youth. But you do not want to wait that long, do you? You… are quite starved, aren't you? It's even laughable how you crave it, and she doesn't see it!"

The man seemed to ponder on it seriously for a moment.

"Bien sur, sa petite tête n'est naturellement pas très clairvoyante à ce niveau," he admitted in a low voice. "Mais à ce point! Tu as dû y aller fort!"

"I'm thinking of tying you to a ship to France and reveal all your scams to the French authorities," Rhett groaned.

A grin came to his opponent 's face.

"Oh, please to so. And don't forget to put me on the prow. I prefer to be eaten by fishes than to bear with all the bureaucracy that would gleefully tear me apart only for the crime of being rich."

"You have quite the morbid imagination. "

The man pursed his lips in dismissal, the matter judged foolish and worthless in his eyes.

"When you come to my âge the survivor of the most deathless love -which I do not wish you to be – you would find that death is a thing to laugh about, that friend that takes their time to come and then always manages to come unexpectantly."

A hint of still good teeth showed through his thin lips.

"Au fait… you know, I always thought sons should listen to their mothers."

"If you have something to say, say it quickly. I'm not in the mood for your dramatics."

Pierre grinned maliciously.

"I found one interesting letter laying somewhere… you should take better care of your thing, mon pauvre garçon. They are lying for all to see. Well, at least for all that are curious enough. And I was curious to see your mother's pretty handwriting…"

Rhett scowled.

"You dared look through my own mail?"

"Lurkers often find interesting things… I believe you would very much agree with me. If you weren't the victime of it."

"You are infuriating."

"And Scarlett is softening. I see it. She is opening herself. But one word and…"

"Have I told you how much I hate you?"

The smile widened.

"Not today, but I'm glad to hear it. That means I am still in your mind."

How could he ever defeat someone who turned everything into derision?

"You are so very French," he sighed.

"As in free of spirit, realistic and charming? Highly capable of critical sense?"

"As in frivolous, highly pretentious and meddlesome. And terribly provoking."

"And you are quite the epitome of propriety. People are often the caricature of their own group when far from home, and others certainly prefer them to be that way. The Englishmen are pince-sans-rire and prudish, the Americans are bold and full of themselves. And prudish. A gift from the English," he could not help but add. "These are simple pictures people like, because they are simple, and they make them feel good about themselves. But in truth, despite our different ways of upbringing and cultures, we are all flesh and bones, looking for happiness. I should not be limited to "being very French", nor should I be ashamed of it. And why shouldn't I be? They are my roots, and I am proud of them. For you, perhaps, the best way is your way, but for me, it is mine, and I won't budge on that. I am happy with my way. "

The speech had been grandiloquent, overly passionate and long.

"I just made a remark and you turn it into a grand tirade."

Pierre grinned sheepishly.

"Well, I guess thar's à very French thing to do."

They shared a laugh.

"You know, I could like you quite a lot if you weren't such a busybody."

Pierre countered. "Isn't the American way to take the most simple way to happiness and wealth?" He insisted quietly. "To think anything is possible, if one works for it? Tell Scarlett you love her. Tell her at the very least that you care."

"How many times are you going to say it to me?"

"Until you just do it, you idiot!"

"If you weren't her grandfather, I'd shoot you for telling me that."

"Oh, that's another thing you Americans are known for being… how do you call it. Trigger-happy? But have you considered, boy, that it is exactly because I am her grandfather that I tell you and delight in it?"

"Oh, you quite show it the other days. And I do find it funny you would call me trigger-happy when the Muskeeters aren't known for thinking before drawing the swords."

"L'hôpital se fout de la charité, n'est ce pas?" Pierre snickered. "She is right, you know. And from that letter, it seems there was one especially for Scarlett. Where is it?"

"It does not concern you."

"But it does concern Scarlett," he said softly. "You are closing doors on yourself. Now, I suggest you something. We play chess tomorrow afternoon, when both of our heads are clear. I win, and you tell her. You win and..."

"You'll cease harassing me about Scarlett and give me the letter back."

"That's something I can't hardly promise ! You would deny an old man his greatest pleasure?" He chided, before wincing. "As for the letter... I may have lost it."

Rhett's eyes blazed. "You lost it."

"Let's say my memory is not what it was," Pierre said, before conceding quickly. "Alright, a day."

"A year."

"A month."

"A week. And we'll do another game after that."

"Deal. If only for the pleasure to beat you over and over, vieillard."

.

.

Scarlett and Carreen found them indeed on the morrow, deeply engrossed in their game, even as it was becoming late in the evening. Wade was already sleeping, safe and comfortable on his father's lap, some drool dampening Rhett's cloth.

She stared as both men continued engaging, lost in a fight that seemed even bigger than a simple game of chess, while Carreen quietly settled, observed them play, her brows crunching in contemplation at the pieces.

"Encore perdu!" Pierre shrugged. "Fine, you can keep your secrets a little longer, petit Ulysse en herbe."

He finally saw her and smiled widely, his arms raising in rambunctious welcoming.

"Ah, la belle, la plus rusée, la plus fidèle! I believe you must beware! Your husband is about to start a war! Prépare the haches! The bow! The arrows!"

Rhett startled, then threw him a dark, murderous glare.

"Whatever for?" She laughed at his antics. "This is so barbarian!"

Pierre Robillard winked mischievously.

"I dare say it's greek. But I do believe the whole adventure that led me here is as interesting!"

He was still barely noticing Carreen, and she could see it pained the girl, as she wilted like a faded flower.

"What did you do?" Scarlett engaged. "Are you finally going to tell us about it?"

"That never was a secret, and I thought your husband had already told you about it," He narrowed his eyes at Rhett, before puffing out his chest. "My dear, I managed to snag many pièces of art to my dear Mère Patrie," he said, like a boy proud of his mischief. "For a good price, of course."

She turned to Rhett, baffled.

"Isn't it what part you did as well, Rhett, with Melly's… Mr. Goldin?"

Pierre's eyes gleamed strangely.

"Oh, you did it as well?"

"It is not the same, vieillard. Do not even try."

They were about to bicker again, Scarlett thought, and she did not want to hear it.

They were infuriating, the both of them! Like boys in the playground! It seemed they always seemed to do so these days.

"Could you..." She began then to ask, turning herself toward Rhett. "Could you help me get Wade's upstairs? He's becoming too heavy for me."

He nodded, surprised by her demand. A sneer came to Pierre Robillard's face, at the expense of his opponent.

But this was a chance to get closer he could not pass by.

So he took a sleeping Wade to his arms and followed her out of the room.

"Not the nursery, Scarlett?" he said after passing by it.

"The nursery is unprepared," She briskly replied.

"Is it?" He repeated, doubtful. "It was, yesterday."

Yesterday, Wade had cried for her, breaking her heart over again, and she had led him back to her bed.

So she changed tactics.

"He doesn't like to wake up here after falling asleep elsewhere."

"Well, I have to bow to that wisdom..." He said, and she could see he was unconvinced.

"There," She led him commandingly. "You can put it on the bed."

He did not. Instead, he still had to protest on it, to her dismay.

"Dear God, Scarlett, I had not given it proper attention, but that bed is far too big for you!"

"Oh, yes? What about it?" She crossed her arms, pouting at his intervention.

"What can you do with so much place?"

"What kind of question was that?"

"Whatever I want. And Wade is there too."

He stared at her, utterly flabbergasted, and put the sleeping boy down, to the little chair near the hearth.

"By God, I had known you sometimes took him in times of nightmares, but to think… Scarlett, that bed is no place for the child."

She stood her ground. Or rather stomped.

"I decide who gets in my bed or not. And Wade is staying!"

"You decide?" He repeated. "YOU decide?"

"Yes, I do!" She fumed in frustrated whispers. "Now, help me... What are you doing?"

Her mind went numb as he walked with determination to the bed, and climbed it, laying his big body on it until it ruffled the covers, and the mattress creaked under it.

"I'm claiming the bed." He said it as if it was the simplest thing in the world.

"You won't do such a thing!" She caterwauled.

Gathering the blanket around him, he defied her by laying his head on her pillow, his nose and cheek rubbing against the fabric where she laid her own head, and she was sure his scent would stay on the cloth.

"Get your filthy..." She struggled, trying to climb the bed. "nose out of my pillow!"

"It smells good," He taunted her. "It will smell better with me on it."

She let out an angry, wrathful roar as she tried to get it back from him.

"This is MY bed!" she pulled it, and smothering him with blows.

This only seemed to make him laugh. He did not try to fight back, only raised his hands in mock surrender.

"Now, it's mine," He thundered, triumphant. "And then, I'll be the one who gets to decide who goes in there."

He had the audacity to wink at her as she raised, prepared for another battle.

If you are nice enough, I may invite you," his voice was like silk.

"Argh!" She cried, hitting him once again with the pillow. Feathers flew away from the unfortunate thing, surrounding them in fluff, and she had the wild thought of a night where the moonlight had crept through the door and caressed their intertwined bodies as clouds of cotton flew around them.

Crouched at his side, she tried to regain her breath, but it came out ragged, insatiable.

His eyes twinkled, and she could not help but laugh.

"Oh, mocking me, are you?" He murmured. Before pulling her in.

She squealed, the tables turning so swiftly she could not do anything but submit to it as he pressed her to the bed, trapped her wrists with one hand and considered her with his impenetrable eyes. She stopped, her chest heaving painfully as he loomed over her, blocking almost any light. No, in fact, he was the darkness, and slowly, slowly she was lost in it, lost in him, and there was no turning back.

He tickled her mercilessly, and she laughed, laughed until her voice cracked.

A loud knock on the wall interrupted them.

"Bon dieu, les enfants, vous en faites, du bruit!"

"Oh!" She gasped, while he, the hellion, grinned.

His eyes were an unending night, with stars glinting down at her. He was over her, filling her space, and she could not help but look, waiting, waiting...

Wade's cry broke the tension.

She stared, anxious, her nervous eyes sweeping over his relaxed frame.

He kissed her cheek. "Goodnight, Scarlett. I'll take the boy to his bed."

She watched him, gathering the blankets around her. Her mouth opened, then closed.

She would not sleep that night.

.

.

.

April 2rd 1864, Clayton County

It had almost been a fool's day.

Or perhaps, Hetty reflected, it still was. It was her wedding day.

Her plain red hair was severely tucked into a crown on her head, and the most ironic thing of all was that her dress was white, as if she was a pure and innocent bride.

No one was a fool about it either.

Hetty looked at this man at her side and his red-gold hair, and his eyes filled with a painful sense of duty. A duty that was not without a potential of friendliness.

Could he come to love her?

Would she want him to?

All these weeks, she had learned to know him, to know he was a good man, and that he would make for a good husband. She knew his patience. She had even seen a hint of his passions, though quickly, it seemed as if the mention of it brought painful memories, and he would draw himself away from her.

Now, it did not seem to be enough, and she continued looking at him, looking for a sign that it was what should happen...

"No!"

She startled.

The cry was heartbreaking, the cry of a woman in agony. Edward's eyes darted with a frenzy right and left, his body finally filled with life, as if that cry had awakened him, forcing him to face the horror he was about to commit. He turned on his heels, until he stared at point in the disturbed crowd.

Melanie Hamilton. She had raised from the crowd, her eyes big and distraught in her pale, pale face. They stared at each other, so deeply, obviously desperate for the other, until it was too much to bear. Trembling, Melanie's arms opened, a last appeal to her lover before her body could not bear it, and she fainted. And Edward ran to her, rushed and fell to her side, fabric screeching and ripping at his knees as he did so, though nothing could tear her from him. His arms cradled her body as if she were the most precious thing in the world.

"Melanie!"

Looking at him holding the unconscious Melanie Hamilton, patting despairingly her cheeks to make her come back to life, Hetty realized two things.

He was just the man she had dreamed for herself, passionate and loyal.

But he wasn't hers.

"I want you! Oh, Edward, I want you!" Melanie whispered, and it rang to the church like a payer.

He embraced her fiercely, as if afraid to lose her. Once again.

"And I am yours, Melanie. Always."

"I shouldn't have come" she shook her head. "I know, but.. i couldn't… i couldn't…"

"My love…" Edward's voice was hoarse, and now they were kissing and…

"Miss Tarleton?"

Hetty blinked. She met expectant eyes.

It had been all her imagination. Melanie Hamilton was not there. Yes, she had heard of it. The girl had gone to Macon with her aunt, as diligent and dutiful as she ever had been.

But the shadow of her still lingered. It was a long shadow, so discreet you could think it was not here. And yet once the eye was drawn to it, there could be no avoidance of it. It was a sad thing, a thing of duty and lost love.

She had lost love. She was to take another's. She could see Melanie Hamilton, petite and shy, and her mournful wide eyes on her. The eyes of à martyr that had sacrificed her heart on the altar of honor.

Hetty's honor. The crumbs of it, scattered away.

Don't look at me, she wanted to say. But the eyes kept looking. They waited on the final "yes" which would settle their fate.

What if I say no? she thought.

"No," she tried, before repeating it loudly. "No."

"What are you doing?" Edward angrily whispered, taking her by the wrist as she tried to whirl and leave.

"Delivering you," she replied back in kind. "People say I always make the worst decisions, but so be it, I will do it!"

"And I do. Say no," she repeated softly, before raising her voice so everyone may hear. "I cannot marry you, Edward Goldin. You are kind and loyal. You are my friend. But you are not mine."

And, this time, this was not a dream.

.

.

.

At the same time, in Matamaros

There was a party to be had at Matamaros, one to lift the spirits and have hope for the future.

Scarlett had asked for Ross and Suellen to attend, hopeful that such a setting would bring them closer. Would bring them again to the world they had been forced to give up.

Suellen had seemed excited at first at the opportunity of a party, then hesitant when seeing her lover's conflicted expression. She had promised her she would try.

Rhett had been utterly skeptical until the end, but she would not hear it.

She needed to help them, and help them, she would!

As the clock rang five o'clock in the afternoon, she excitedly knocked at her husband's door. Her heart stuttered as he opened the door and looked at her over, at her hair falling down her shoulders, and the gown she was tucking closed to her chest.

She persevered, though how tempted she was to just give it up, and curse her impulse.

"Rhett, could you help me with my hair?" She mumbled, and her voice seemed almost timid. "This was so pretty the other time and… well, I liked it."

His eyes widened in pleased surprise. He obliged, and this time, when he came to her room, it was by her side, so natural she could almost see them do this every day.

Rhett next to her, talking with her while playing with her hair, gently braiding them, gathering them with these swift, strong fingers of his. The room seemed then more intimate, warm, something she could get used to with pleasure.

"You're good at it," She said dreamily.

"And I'd make good money too," he smiled. "But I'd easily get bored and frustrated with the way some treat their hair. And oh, all the louses, the grease! Dear God, no, none of that for me!""

She giggled. "Still, you do it for me! You're no husband, but my personal hairdresser!"

"I could be a lot more if you let me."

It took the breath from her. She opened her eyes wide, not knowing what to expect. If it was another one of his jests...

"I… "

"Your hair is soft, thick and bright," he continued matter-of-factly, as if that last part had never happened. "It is a pleasure to work with it. It smells good too."

She flushed tremendously, and her gaze went back to her dressing table, feverishly counting the bottles of perfumes laid on it, until it stayed on the one she used most.

"What are you going to wear, my dear?"

"Oh, that's a surprise!", and here, her eyes darkened with childish pleasure.

"Then, I cannot wait to see it," He said, and it pleased her. "Will you dance with me tonight?"

She looked at him, for a moment indecisive, and finally gave him an encouraging smile. "That would be another surprise, wouldn't it?"

His brows went up, and something bright came over his features. She felt her heart flutter.

.

.

The dress was a marvel of purple, so coquettishly lavish with intricate laces.

The color attracted the gaze to the creaminess of her skin. It revealed the roundness of her shoulders in a terribly alluring way, which made her smile with satisfaction.

For the first time in a long while, she felt pretty and excited for what was coming.

But, to her chagrin, it did not appear to attract the same amount of admiration from Rhett who, after a satisfying widening of the eyes (and, had she dreamed of it, a sharpening of his breath?), knit his brows in an expression that was much less flattering.

"London purple?" He cautiously remarked.

"Do you like it?" She said excitingly, at first unseeing at the change. "It is new, and the dressmaker told me it was all the rage in Europe."

"I am sure it is the highest of fashion, my dear," he said with a cocked brow. "But I hope you will not put it more than once."

"You don't like it on me?" She said, horrified, and hurt.

"Well, it is a bit revealing for the occasion. You will draw quite a lot of men's eyes."

"Why would I care about their eyes?" She huffed. "I am married, they should know better. I don't dress for them."

"Oh, so you've dressed for me?" He needled her with a sudden smile.

"I dress for myself!" She retorted, flushing. "I don't care about others."

"Oh but you should. More than that…The color is beautiful on you," he said softly. "But the dye might be dangerous. My dear, I have seen this color makes many persons sick in the long run."

"How ridiculous!" She scoffed. "To be sick because of colors!"

"It can be when the color is made with arsenic. I had wanted to tell you this," he said on a softer tone. "Especially as I knew how you like your green dresses. Some also are…"

"Oh, but then I would have nothing to wear!" She protested. "Oh, don't mock me!"

"It's difficult not to."

"I won't get sick," she said stubbornly, still stuck in her vexation. "I never get sick. And I'll wear it anyway!

He sighed. "Suit yourself. But don't say I never told you so if it begins to itch!"

He was his same berating, killjoy self, when they finally made to the party.

"Stay close, Scarlett. The streets are dangerous these days for a woman alone."

"You already told me that," She snarled. "Do you intend on leaving me alone?"

"Not it I can help it," he quipped. "But I know you enough to be prepared."

.

Unfortunately, nothing went as planned. The party was not as joyful and liberating as Scarlett had hoped it would be, and it seemed like another one of these reunions where some men and women lamented over the war, each trying to up the other in their grief, while others played generals and tried to guess the advancements of the Northerners' troops, with a map and ivory pawns laid on it like a vulgar game of chess.

And no matter what, they all seemed to believe Atlanta, and the County with it, would soon be besieged.

The thought was as depressing as it was alarming to her, and both sentiments made her turn away quickly, though it seemed she could never quite run from it. It was still here, lingering, a ghost at her side, telling her she should not be there, that she had not fulfilled her promise to her father who still waited for her to take Rhett back.

She shook her head, trying to dismiss it. However, another thought came nagging her.

"You are frowning quite awfully," She heard Rhett's voice, and relaxed. "What is it, my dear?"

"They did not come," she said sadly. "And here I thought… and it was supposed to be such a pretty party…"

"Scarlett…" His hand pressed over her elbow, and the warmth of it gave her a little comfort. "it came from a good intention."

"But you knew they wouldn't come, didn't you?"

He sighed deeply.

"Sometimes, the people we care about aren't ready to step out of the shadows they made. We should accept it. They need time. The world needs time as well. You cannot force things."

"It's easy for you to say."

"It needs not ruin our night," He said softly, almost cajoling. "Scarlett… do you want to dance ?"

She crossed her arms, too saddened by her own disappointed hopes she could not see anything but it. Not even the little flicker of hope in her husband's eyes.

"No. I need to take a step outside."

He stared at her. "I'll come with you."

"No. I need to be alone. A little walk. Please," She pleaded. "Just for a moment. Just this once..."

"Fine, "he finally conceded, and he almost looked sad. "But do not go too far."

.

She did, in fact, get farther than she would have thought she would, though her steps had been quiet and her head cloudy. When she stopped, her head still a bit obscured by her dark thoughts, she realized her feet had dragged her almost on the way that been used to go to Ross and Suellen's house, to the streets Rhett had especially told her not to go. She pulled her shawl closer to her body and turned back.

"Mrs.?" She heard.

She stopped, suddenly frozen, her arms pulling the shawl closer on her shoulders..

"Missus, is that you?" And she exhaled in relief and whirled toward the voice. She knew it. It was that of one of the teenage boys' that swept over Rhett's ship. John... no, Josef... Jeffrey! Jeffrey! "'tis dangerous, Missus., to stay here!"

"Jeffrey," She smiled, the name finally coming to her. "I am that glad to see you. Could you help me find my way to the L*'s house? I believe I am lost."

He must have had the same age as Phil Meade, she thought, and just as shakingly brave despite his gangly limbs. Nonetheless, she truly was happy to have him by her side, rather than being alone in that dark place.

"Of course, Missus."

Someone whistled. They turned toward the sound.

Here, there was a man, a little shorter than her, with ragged gray clothes hanging on his emaciated body, and he was coming toward them, before stopping at least ten feet before them.

He stared at her with a recognition she did not share.

"Oh, you're that woman. Not hiding behind your husband? No brat at your skirt?"

She stared.

"Who are you?"

He seemed offended by that.

"You don't remember me?"

"Now, do get away from my Mrs..." Jeffrey finally intervened.

"I'd be damned if 'tis your Mrs, lad! Not with these clothes on her back!"

She knew she should have tried to appease his pride. Say some nice thing, like how could she forget such a remarkable man?

But she just couldn't.

"Should I?"

He was too close. She could already smell his fetid breath. She needed to distract him. Just enough to prepare the gun like Rhett had shown and threaten the man.

Goosebumps came flaring at her arms. That voice... it was familiar, though. The accent... Where had she heard it?

Jeffrey took a step forward.

"You, get away from..." He repeated

A punch at the jaw knocked the boy down, and she cried in horror. But the stranger was already coming closer.

At least the gun was prepared. If she could only...

"You're such a pretty little piece. What did you think you were doing, dressed like that? Pieces like you make men doubt themselves… I'll make you remember me."

He grabbed her by the elbow and shook her violently. She cried a loud 'no!' and hit him with her head as he leaned on with his predatory grin, and kicked, kicked with her pointed shoes, and he grunted, surprised. His hands reached to her throat. She kicked again, and again, her body flushed with fear. His trousers were torn at the knee, showing a hint of dark, sunburned skin bleeding.

"Bitch…" he cursed, and the rest of his speech went unheard by her.

With shaking hands, she took the little gun and almost dropped it. Her fingers were terribly clumsy and she failed at first to arm it. His hand grabbed her tight fist , while the other pressed her to his body, a hard, dry body that disgusted her.

He gave her a mean grin.

"Now, what d'ye think you do? Shoot me? Yer sort don't know anythinh about it."

She shot.

The man dropped dead.

She looked at the fallen body dumbfounded at first, though her head was cold. He was even uglier now, she could not help but think. He was ugly and disgusting, and if he ever raised again, she would shoot him again.

"By God, Scarlett! What on earth…"

She turned, the gun rose once again in reflex.

"Rhett!"

He saw her! He saw how she was a murderess!

Her hand was trembling.

He stayed quiet for a moment, his eyes never leaving her face.

"Jeffrey," He called softly. "Are you alright?"

A grunt answered him, and she startled, her heart almost tightening in relief. "I am, sir."

"Take care of the body," He said with a cold voice. "Ask Donaldson, he will know what to do. Quick."

The boy nodded, still a bit dazzled, and quickly set to action, a bruise already forming on his temple.

"It's me…" Rhett then whispered to Scarlett, and she realized she had not moved at all. He reached out for her slowly, as if trying to appease a frightened horse. "Scarlett, it's Rhett… your husband." He gave a wry smile. "I know you've been tempted many times, but don't shoot me yet. Let me…"

He tried to get a step forward.

"Don't!" She cried, and she moaned in pain as the pistol slipped from her hand.

Was it for her benefit, or his?

She began to tremble. She was light, like fallen leaves, on and on moved by à violent wind.

"I hate Mexicans," she stupidly whined, with a weak voice she hated.

"My dear, this was no Mexican. I suspect it's one of our dear Confederate boys, not having had the same luck as us. Beside, don't confuse an entire nation with brutes, that can be found anywhere, no matter the culture or religion," he countered sharply, turning slightly his head toward her. "Else you will never be able to feel safe. This would be beneath you."

Her heart plummeted, gaze darting quickly to the face of the man she loved, dark in its severity. She could not quite see his eyes, for they seemed a bottomless pit of darkness.

"You are going to say I had it coming, that I should never have exposed myself so…"

"No," he cut firmly, the scowl growing painfully on his face. Of course he was angry with her! This was all so very wrong… she had been so very wrong!

He sighed deeply, the tension leaving his jaw as he examined her. "No, I won't. I knew you were upset, and I still let you alone. And you're full of charms, Scarlett. You should not have to hide them, just because a man cannot understand 'no'""

Her heart leaped. He wasn't angry at her?

"I think he wanted revenge," She timidly confessed, feeling the goosebumps prickle her skin, climbing up her body with a vicious bite. "He said… he said he'd make me remember, and that you weren't there and Wade… oh, God!"

She gasped, falling on her knees with shock.

Rhett cursed and crouched to her side.

"There, my dear, there…" She felt the strong warmth of his hand through the thin fabric covering her shoulders, first in a light touch, testing, then with more pressure "You've done what should have been done."

" I killed a man, Rhett!" I killed him!" She repeated, and her voice was no more than a whisper.

"You defended yourself." He rectified softly, caressing her shoulders soothingly now, until she felt the hint of his heat through the clothes. "There, my brave one, my sweet… I'm proud of you."

She lifted her head, surprised.

"Proud?"

"You are an incredible woman, brave and strong. I am proud of having such woman as my wife. I wouldn't stand a ninny, don't you think?"

She could not help but giggle through her sobs. "You certainly wouldn't, you varmint."

She shivered. The cloth clung to his arms, and she could guess their strength and their warmth. She wanted that strength. She needed these arms around her.

Her eyes darted to his face, pleading.

He went still, kept looking at her with that obscure gaze of his, and she lowered her head, to his chest that fell abruptly, as if taken by an intense emotion.

"Hold me, Rhett… Please. If you don't, I…"

If he didn't… if he didn't she would break, she knew this.

"Darling!"

There, he took her in his arms, and she nestled on the front of his body with abandon, letting herself falter as she never had done. She cried, and trembled, and broke several times. Her fingers kept a desperate grasp on his cloth, the fabric dampening with her tears.

"Don't go," she whimpered. "Oh, don't go… I need you so!"

He hummed, burying his face in her hair. His breath was warm on her nape, and she clang even more.

"I'm here, Scarlett. I'm always here."

"You are so strong and I…. Oh, Rhett, I can't… I feel so weak..."

He sighed.

"Strength has to be fed, love. You don't have to stand on your own. You've been so strong, so brave... Oh, my fierce little woman!"

Oh, to be called his fierce little woman! She could have wept!

In fact, she already was. Like a little girl. It was more than her, incontrollable like a storm. Tears like rain that slid endlessly on her face, and she could not do anything about it but submit.

"You've held on for so long…" she heard his deep, warm voice muse, felt the warmth of his palms slip through the fabric over her shoulders.. "Tell me. Scarlett, what do you want? What could make you stop breaking my heart like that?"

For a moment, she looked at him curiously, looked at that little self-depreciating smile she knew all too well, these eyes that for all their darkness kept a light on, flickering in pain, and in that pain she saw herself and she knew… oh, she knew!

This man would die for her. He would kill, bury a body, even take the blame for her. And he would follow her to danger, if it was her dearest wish.

He was in love with her.

The realization hit her like a storm, and she felt overwhelmed by its unendingly beauty.

Until it came to sting her once more. She chewed on her lip, her eyes taking him over, narrowing, assessing with a clinging need to pick out all the little details, all the little features that could tell her, erase all her doubts.

Oh, why didn't he just say so ?

"Don't look at me like this, Scarlett," he mumbled, putting her head back to his chest. "You look like a hungry little cat that waits for its prey to falter. You'd have me think I'm about to get eaten. "

"I'd be quite a fool, wouldn't I ?" She said, and her voice was almost thrill. "You're no prey to me, are you?"

"Yes, you'd be."

She might just be.

All these years, she had been confronted with many pieces of Rhett. His pride. His cunnings. His ruthlessness. His cruelty. His violence. But also his tenderness. The strength of his passion. His generosity. His insight, that made him so precious an advisor.

Now, before her eyes, she could only see a complete puzzle, and the image given to her was that of a man terribly in love with her.

And she loved him ! She loved him so !

She gasped. What did she want? What could she possibly want more than that?

He was warm, and soothing, and he loved her-

The thunder hit again like the shot of an old gun, Pa's gun, and she jumped, crying in fright.

.

"We have to go home! "She cried, the raw cry of a child calling for home. A home he had failed to provide.

A loud sob broke her in two. He held her, feeling himself crumble as well. "I need… We need to go home. Oh, can't you see?"

Home… it could have meant so many things, but, seeing her, he had no doubt. It was written all over her face. Tara. Always Tara. Not even the house she had purchased had been enough to erase the memory of that place, and in front of him, she was like a plant that had been cut from her roots.

He stepped back, appalled.

It is dangerous.

She lowered her head, trembling. Yes, she had said it, and there was no turning back. This was what her heart wanted. "I know. But I have to do it. I have to know. Oh, Rhett, I'll kill again if I have to, but I… i have to come back! I have to see! I have to know! "

And he knew he could not refuse her. His lids lowered in resignation as he pressed her closer against him.

"Alright, then. You always have to come back to it, don't you?"

And there, she looked at him with her beautiful eyes. The light took his breath away.

"Thank you," she murmured. "Oh, Rhett, thank you!"

Hesitantly, timidly, she put her beloved head on his chest, where she belonged, her little hands grasping at his mantle. His heart pounded, and he could not regret his decision. She melted in his arms, a tender weight, and he wanted to embrace her until she was enveloped in warmth.

He closed his eyes, for a moment relishing in the pleasure of having her in his arms. The peace of the moment. The deep, unconditional love that tore his chest wide open as she rested on him, clinging to him as if she would shatter if he let her go.

For a moment, they were one, and he was home.

But she was not.

"Let's go," he murmured, keeping her head on his chest. "We should get inside. I'll take care of everything. I give you ten days to reflect, then we'll talk more. Until then, you must get warm, my darling."

She nodded, numb.

.

He helped her refresh herself, adjusting her past hairdo just enough to hide the little bluish bump that was forming on her forehead. Before they came back to the party, he never let her reflect on what had happened. He was tender and gentle, and she leaned on him, clang to him even, and he let her. They settled on a dark velvet sofa, and she held on to his hand like a lifeline. Some curious stares followed her.

"They are not used to see you so tender with me, darling," he teased. "You shouldn't do so insistently, we might create a scandal."

She said nothing, only looked at her with her pleading eyes. His mouth twisted, almost in a curse, and the pressure of his hand deepened.

They asked Scarlett to go to the piano, and, after a little squeeze, she obliged and squared her shoulders. But no happy song could come to her mind. She stayed sat in front of it, pondering, until Rhett's rich voice softly suggested to her "My old Kentucky Home".

As she played, she felt his hold on her shoulder, and it somehow seemed to relieve her from the burden of sin. She straightened, her voice becoming clearer as it mingled with his.

.

Weep no more, my lady, oh! weep no more today!
We will sing one song
For the old Kentucky Home,
For the old Kentucky Home, far away.

.

She felt safe.

She felt loved. Deeply and unconditionally loved.

Yes, she would not weep anymore. She could sing another sing. She would face what came and never doubt him again.

.

.

.

End of April 1864, Dunmore Landing

A letter came to Dunmore Landing, and it was signed Scarlett O'Hara Butler.

The letter was full of pleasantries and flattery. A little too flippant and direct in her tone, and Eleanor in her impatience was almost irritated. Was the girl a little empty-headed fool?

Then, by the end of the letter, she read an almost timid demand of the recipe for she-crab soup. There, she reread it and saw it.

That girl had been trying very hard. Perhaps too hard. No doubt had she been intimidated by the possibility of rejection, to the point of making her words flippant. Her intent was not to secure a relationship with her mother-in-law. In fact, perhaps she did not really care. But what she cared about was Rhett, and for that, she could bear the humiliation of doing the first step toward reconciliation.

And that endeared Eleanor the most. That this girl would overlook her pride in order to give her husband something that would please him.

Of course her boy had not given her letter, she realized with a sting of disappointment, and that fact showed already that all was not well between him and his bride. But seeing how the girl had dared to contact her, she was full of hope.

She knew it was imprudent. But she kept the letter in her jewelry box. A proof that Rhett had found a woman that he loved, and who loved him in return.

A home to return home to, she added sadly. Unlike the one she could offer him.

In return, she wrote her own letter, welcoming her to the family.

She forgot one thing, in her happiness and hope.

She forgot the eyes that had begun to follow her every move since their son's death. She forgot the suspicious mind that waited, like a snake would pretend its death to catch a prey. Waited for the time to strike.

And when he did, she was not there to stop it. Nor hear the cry of his wrath as the first letter was once again unfolded, and read.

.

.

.

Traduction:

1 This is the ultimate test. The waiting. Has Penelope changed? Is she strong enough to resist time, tentation et uncertainty? Will she welcome that miserable vagabond who presents himself to her, the one who already tested her many, many times, with open arms, will he be condemned to wander again? And what will he find, that vagabond? The place where he will safely anchor the rest of his life, or another battlefield?"

2 My dear, I am worried.

Worried? Whatever for?

The signs are so clear...

I don't see what you're talking about.

Is there a problem with your ears?

Why would it be?

Your eyes?

I see clearly!

Or maybe it is your precious little brain that dysfonction like that?

Oh, no, grandfather, not you too! I will not bear to be insulted in my own home!

I am no Brutus, I only want what is good for you, my little one. One day, you will laugh over your own reaction. I don't want you to regret...

To regret what?

Not to have seen things as they are before it is too late. To have been too afraid to be hurt to dare be happy.

Afraid, I? Fiddle-dee-dee! I am happy. Very happy. I have Wade. I have my house. I have you, when you're not mean to me.

And you have a husband that you cannot help but love, and who seem... rather nice now with you. A husband who made sure to have all power on you, and still only used it to keep you safe from harm. What could it mean, do you think? These little moments of gentleness, these relentless teasings, and the fact that, until now, he does whatever you want him to...

I have a husband. Point. Let us stop there, grandfather, won't you? I don't want to be angry with you.

Ah, my sweet. You are stubborn as a mule. Don't say I did not say so!"