Capt. Sterling

He held her than and was held by her. For a few moments of time there was no more need for words. But soon reality invaded once more and he pulled gently from her. "I must make arrangements else where for tonight. Perhaps there is a place the dinner can be moved to at such short notice... can ye arrange something Chere, while I go to the 'Angel and change and collect my officers. And word must be sent to Sabastian as to the change of location."

He looked at her, locking his gaze with hers. "You are the air I breath; the water that quenches my dying thirst; my sanctuary within the storm...And if there is one thing I know, it is this. From now until I draw my last breath, no matter what others deem right or wrong... that will never change."

He took her hands in his. "Oh oui, Chere, yes...yes. I am certain... I would rather die than let ye go. I was so afraid I could not make ye happy... but I know now that at least I must have the chance to try. I do not wish ye to ever regret spending yer life with me." He leaned his cheek into the comfort of her palm and closed his eyes. "I fear it is I who shall be the burden and disappoint... but if ye can bare such a burden then please tell me yes..."

Watch over the Empress and keep her safe!! She should be there with Foxe... OH and.. ahem.. any blackmail pictures of her, will be greatly appreciated.. .

He raised his head and looked hard into her eyes. He now could easily see he had left her to cry in order to go off to talk to someone else about her, instead of speaking with her. "Sorry I am, Chere. So very, very sorry, but then ye know I am a fool. I would rather die than hurt ye and now look what I have done to ye. If tis on land ye wish to stay, then I shall not force ye to sail with me... twill give me all the more reason to see to my duty and return home quickly and safely to ye." She gazed down at him, her fingers tenderly combing his hair from his eyes, wiping the tears from his face. "M'épouser mon bien-aimé?" he whispered. "Ce soir."

steadfast

He had said his piece and it was settled in his mind that it would take time for her to adjust and for him to change as well. Any good partnership would require such a period for the molding of souls and personalities... marriage was no different. He turned away from her gaze again as she pondered his request, quickly running the back of his hands across his eyes. It would not due for her to see him weak. And yet, had he not just asked for her to be transparent... at least to him? As the seconds crept slowly past, the sound of his heart beat pounded so loudly in his ears that he thought the entire world must surely know of his plight. He felt compelled to strain his hearing for fear that he would not catch her reply. He made himself once more to come about and face her. He straightened, as best he could, he was not proud of how he had treated her. Why had he not just asked her again, instead of putting them both through all this? And now another thought crossed his mind, what if his actions had pushed her too far away to bring her back? He looked at her, hard to see in the dark where she sat and cursed his lack of vision because he could not discern the damage he may have done. And suddenly the loud thumbing within his breast came to an abrupt halt as slight candle light allowed him a glimpse of single tear caressing lover's face. A solitary thought now gripped his mind like a vise... he had lost her. His eyes lowered, his own tears spilling forth, he did not care now if she saw him for who he truly was. And then she had whispered. "Je t'aime..." Like a man finding himself with noose about neck and pardon suddenly appearing before being pushed from cart, he breathed again. Deep breath gasped in relief as he crossed the room in long strides to fall to his knees before her. His arms about her, his head laid repentenedly in her lap, he begged her. "Oh God, Aurore, forgive me..." and then her three words were repeated back to her over and over again.

Know what?

Sterling halted inside, needing time for his vision to adjust. "Lady there is something I must ask ye. Ye gave me yer word once that ye would not hide yer feelings from me any more. I know," he slowed his pace. "I know that yer traditions and ways are important to ye, but I need to know one thing... just between you and me...no Roma, no Gadje... " Before he could stop himself he had turned his back to her, unwilling to watch her expression, fearful of what he might now see. "Earlier ye told me that despite yer fear of the water, ye would stand by me... because yer traditions says you must. If I could not see it in yer eyes, I would never have known that ye still fear the sea, and I would have made ye take a step that mayhaps ye are not ready for yet.. ...I would not do anything to purposely cause ye harm... my God, I am scared to death now to even face ye because of what I have done...but I need to know Chere," he made himself to look upon her..."without tradition prodding you, can ye stand by me because ye love me? Can ye truly tell me what is in yer heart even if tradition dictates otherwise?

A gentle rap was applied, then Sterling leaned in toward the door. "Aurore, Chere, please I must speak with ye," he called softly.

"Please I must speak with Madamoseille," Sterling said. "Tell her it is urgent."

Sterling's head lifted, if only to follow the path of upward movement. He gave a brief nod of his head confirming understanding. He stood as well. "Thank ye," he whispered, the weariness in his form apparent now in his speech. Tavern pipe was left on table as he left the inn, the way he had entered, through the back door. He stood several minutes as the rain fell heavily now about him. His face tilted heaveward, its cold droplets cleansing the grime from his person. He waited, this time Childermass was no where to be seen. With a deep breath he began his return. Heart racing to near bursting as he made his way to the back door of the Booksellers and knocked.

"I need her to talk to me tis all I'm asking of her. Tell me how she feels so I can help her if I can," he said. "Do ye think I wish to cause her harm because she says one thing and feels the opposite? What if I cannot tell the difference?"

"Did not answer? She told me she would never hide her feelings from me again," he responded, his eyes filling once more. "My God, if she cannot talk with me now, how will she ever? Bloody hell, she told me she would stand by my side because Bloody Tradition said she must, when I asked her to sail with me and yet any fool could see she was terrified by the prospect of leaving dry land," he shouted. He paused, trying to calm himself as heads turned uninvited to witness his outburst. He raked his fingers through the blond locks that hung untidely about his face. "Why could she not just tell me she was too afraid?" he whispered. "Did she think I would cast her adrift a million miles from home?"

"Then ye would lose said wager... " He sat back once again, shoulders crumbling slightly inward. "Yer traditions say I am the unclean, worthless one. The one who hates and destroys, and yet ye sit and mock me because yer traditions say that I am an object to be taken advantage of and ridiculed. I can take your gibes, God knows I have acted like a Bedlam inmate, since I set foot amongst yer tribe, and deserve them. But ye do not truly know me and would not be willing to give me a second chance because of yer traditions if it were not for what has passed. And it is these very same traditions that she now conceals herself beind...how can I ever make her happy when she continues to do so? At least with Lambert she would have a better chance of being content."

Sterling leaned forward, eyes narrowed as one fist slammed hard against the table top. "Damnation! Whores cater to anyone if the coin is jingling in their pockets loud enough! I do not wish her to be my slave... God forbid. I wish her to be my wife, my lover, someone I can confide in and who can trust in me as well. Is it a foolish thing to have a woman tell ye she loves you instead of saying I shall do this, that or the other because of tradition...The Way? Is it love to say ye be open with yer husband and yet still ye hide yer true feelings from him? How can I ever help her if she needs me if she is to keep herself shut up some place I am not permitted to go or tells me she is comfortable with a thing for tradition sake?"

Sterling sighed. "By English standards, my father had enough sense to know the makings of a wise match and if I had obeyed I would have spent the rest of my days being unfaithful to my wife!" He shook his head. "No, I do not know the ways of the Rom, nor what they believe to be true love... For God's sake, I don't even know if she loves me at all now. Her actions are based on her traditions, not on whether or not she cares for me. And most of the traditions of men, I cannot stomach."

Sterling frowned for a moment, hoping a show of annoyance at the intrusion into his most private affairs, would give him a false sense of bravado. Instead his eyes welled with tears and frown quickly was displaced. He wiped his face with his hands and looked away as the barmaid returned with a once long tavern pipe, now shortened by miscare. “I cannot marry her,” he said. He drew on the pipe allowing the smoke to soothe him. “I cannot do this to her… I am assured that she will be miserable matched to me.”

Sterling, his head resting upon arms that lay crossed upon the table top, shifted slightly and opened his eyes now that the other man's smoke was completed. Damnation, he thought, Childremass most likely was purposely sitting on his blind side. He lifted himself from the table top only to slump backwards into the chair but at least now he could see. Childermass pushed the tankard of cider toward the captain, but one sniff and the brew was quickly rejected as Sterling turned up his nose, his stomach churning all too precariously. "Beg pardon?" Sterling mumbled. His search for a coin quickly produced one. As he placed it on the table and turned to call to one of the wenches, he felt Childermass' hand come down hard on his own. With a slow shake of his head, Childermass took the coin and placed it before himself. "I was just getting a pipe as well," Sterling remarked. "Nothing more. Besides, I thought I was the one to be doing all the listening."

Sterling had no choice but to keep in step, his collar still gripped fiercly in Childermass' strong talons. "For pity's sake, slow down. I'm coming as fast as I can," Sterling insisted.

Sterling startled slightly but hardly enough to cause him to turn. Instead he sat down and leaned back against the fence, his hands drooping from upturned knees. "Are ye still there? By now, one would think, ye would have given up," Sterling sighed. Pulling up the hem of his shirt he thought to clean his face with it then realized it was not his own. He allowed the garment to fall back into place, fishing in his pocket for a handkerchief. He spit on the ground close by trying to clear his mouth. "As to yer question.... no," he replied his voice falling to a whisper. "God, I am a wretch." Fingertips quickly sought out linen square which was tugged from front deep recesses. Handkerchief was unfolded and quickly recognized as hers. With a groan, Sterling leaned forward, enveloping knees with his arms as he drew his legs in close to his chest. He no longer cared what anyone thought...

When done, he moved sluggishly, hugging hard to the fence for crutch, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He had lost his things, wet garments now floating on a sea of mud, sucked down into the black sewage that flowed along the borders of the neglected street behind the Bookseller‘s. He felt his stomach turn again and he fell to his hands and knees, cursing himself for trying to be so selfless. Any other man would have taken her, married her if he had taken that fancy to such an extent and kept her as he pleased. She would have been told where and when she was to be expected, how to behave, what she could and could not have…He could even beat her almost to death and the law would look the other way. And yet it was for tradition that he had given her the chance to escape the union he still wanted so desperately to make. Not his, but hers. Had she done everything up until now out of tradition? Were the ways of her people so very important? He did not think he could ever bear the mask she hid behind. Did she not have the least feeling for him?

Welcome to the Pub... tis a fine place ye found yerself in!

Sterling stood quietly, slipping into sodden shoes than still damp coat. She watched him, his hands trembling... almost... unnoticably. He gathered the remainder of his clothing and gear before he leaned down and kissed Aurore on the soft curls of her hair. His touch was tender yet full of fear and longing for something he no longer believed he had. "I am not yer husband yet, Lady," he whispered, the words nearly dying as he spoke them. "Perchance that is best... I could never ask ye to do something that would cause you so much anquish and grief." He straightened and would not look at her. "Mayhaps you should, instead, spend this evening in thought about what was to take place. If," he faltered horribly, lifting his chin as he tried to keep tears in check. "If you can tell me, you can truly live such a life as I have asked you to share with me, because that is what ye desire in your heart and not because those, that have gone before you have done so, then we still have the church tomorrow. I shall leave you now and let you think. " He retreated, moving quickly through the back entrance. He did not go far before his stomach turned and he was forced to duck behind an old fence to vomit. Surely he could easily blame the port...

"I ..um.. understand Lady," he whispered. He wished he could take her, sit her on his knee and with a hug and a good laugh, tell her she was being silly and that her worries were unfounded. But he could not…for it would be the gravest of lies…. he could easily envision such storms of which she spoke and knew all too well the sea could be an indifferent killer one minute and then the next, the most beautiful and harmless of all God’s splendors. And yet, he had never desired to be one of so many ship’s captains that were happy to run off willingly, gladly leaving behind their wives. Mayhaps never to see them again. So instead he sat, his body rocking ever so slightly in time to the hard pounding of his heart within his chest, quilt clutched tightly about his form. He was relieved when Aurore continued to look away into the growing fire and not at him and yet he now felt the necessity of shielding his eyes from her in case she did. He had never felt so cold.