Bound: A Merged Fairy Tale of Beauty and the Beast & Sleeping Beauty (The Enchanted Rose Trilogy: Book 2)

by R. M. ArceJaeger

  “Goodnight, Pesk,” she whispered. Rolling slowly onto her side so as not to disturb the dog, Rose closed her eyes and Dreamed.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Rose awoke the next morning feeling utterly exhausted. She managed to drag herself listless out of bed, only to trip on the blankets she had torn off during the night, nearly falling flat on her face. Pesk gave her a baleful look from where he lay curled up on her bedding.

  “Did I kick you off again?” she asked apologetically. “You might not want to sleep with me anymore.”

  He woofed and lay his head back down, shutting his eyes again.

  Shaking her head at the dog, Rose staggered over to the small mirror that hung near her clothes chest. Her eyes had dark circles under them, but it was the two scars running down each of her cheeks that drew her attention. She touched them lightly with her fingertips, remembering the pain she had felt in her Dream.

  She had been in the grip of a terrible creature, one so loathsome it had made her quake with fear, though she could not remember what it looked like now that she was awake. Then there had come a searing pain down the sides of her face, followed by the stomach-wrenching sensation of falling—falling forever knowing that at any moment she was going to hit the ground and die.

  Now, Rose traced the ridge of her scars—not quite symmetrical—from where their reflection started near her ears, down to where they thinned as they approached the corners of her mouth. Yesterday, Chase had called her pretty, but Rose could not agree—not when she had these. Darren once told her that her scars only served to highlight her beauty, but now as Rose pondered them, her nightmare fresh in her mind, they seemed just as horrible to her as her Dream. What was the connection? There had to be one. She could not dream the same Dream for years and have it mean nothing.

  At least it was not that frequent anymore. When Rose was younger, the Dream had awoken her—screaming—every few days. Now, it occurred only a few times a month, and Rose had learned that by working hard all day so she was exhausted by evening and focusing on only good things right before going to sleep, she could usually avoid it altogether. But not always.

  With a final glance in the mirror, Rose began to get dressed. No sense in letting a bad night spoil her day as well.

  * * * * *

  “Gads, Rose, you look awful!” Chase quipped as her sister entered the room. “You sure disprove the notion of beauty sleep.”

  “Leave off, Chase,” Rose muttered, not in the mood. She poured herself a cup of water from the pitcher on the table and began to slice herself some bread—she had missed breakfast.

  “That bad, hmm?” Adara queried from where she sat mending a shirt. “Do you want to tell us about it?”

  “It was the same dream. Nothing new to tell.”

  “You would think it would stop bothering you after all these years,” Chase remarked.

  “You try dreaming it, then.”

  “Girls, really, I—” Aunt Tess broke off as someone knocked sharply at the door. She frowned. “That had better not be Thomas Crofter come to complain about his rent again. Every week for nigh on twenty years he has come by—you would think the man would know by now that the price of leasing my fields is not going to change.”

  Setting aside the dough she had been kneading, Aunt Tess dusted the flour from her hands onto her skirt and answered the door.

  “Yes?” she demanded crossly. “Oh, beg your pardon, sir. I thought you were someone else.”

  “Message, ma’am,” the courier replied stiffly, handing her a folded letter.

  “Thank you. Would you care for a refreshment?” Aunt Tess offered in apology as she took the letter.

  “No, ma’am. I must be off.” Turning sharply on his heel, the man strode back toward the road, and Rose glimpsed a horse waiting patiently for him by the fence before her aunt closed the door.

  “Odd,” Aunt Tess murmured, peering closely at the seal on the letter. Picking up the bread knife from the table, she used the hilt to break the wax, then quickly scanned the letter’s contents.

  “Chase, go fetch your father from the field,” Aunt Tess commanded, excitement making her voice rise. “He must read this at once.”

  * * * * *

  “The most joyous news!” Adara cried that evening, throwing her arms around Jon and nearly causing him to tumble over the goat’s low fence. “Father’s ship has been found!”

  “His ship? What are you talking about?” Jon queried, completely bemused.

  “The Delphin! Father used to be a merchant in Nathar, but three of his ships went missing at sea, and he lost everything. Only now, the Delphin has been found! She was sighted at one of the southern ports and the dock master sent word to Father that the ship was heading back to Sea Harbor—our old home. She could arrive any day! Father is leaving tomorrow to meet her.”

  “That is . . . wonderful news. Will you be moving back to Nathar, then?” Jon asked, looking away.

  “What? No, of course not,” Adara protested, turning his head to face hers. “Our life is here now. But with the money from the cargo . . . . Oh, Jon, ask me again!”

  “Ask you what?”

  “Ask me to marry you.”

  He went still. “You mean it?” he breathed.

  “Ask me!”

  He took her hands in his, holding them to his chest. “Adara—the fairest, the smartest, the most worthy girl in all of Darvell—will you be my wife?”

  She kissed him hard in answer.

  “I take it that means yes?” Jon asked when they finally broke away, eyes shining.

  “Always and forever, yes,” Adara replied, caressing his sun-bleached hair.

  “Then I will speak to your father at once,” he said, taking her hand and beginning to walk toward the house.

  “No, not tonight,” Adara objected, pulling him back. “Even now, I can scarcely believe our good fortune is real—I know Father is nearly as overwhelmed. I do not want him concerned with anything else at the moment. Ask him when he returns.”

  “You are too good,” Jon said, wrapping his hands through her chestnut locks and tugging her close. “But for you I would wait forever—my wife.”

  * * * * *

  Mercer checked the bundles tied to the mare’s back, making sure they were well-secured for the long trip ahead. Some food and drink, a few coins, and a change of clothes were all that he carried. He hoped to return bearing much, much more.

  “What gifts shall I bring you?” he asked his daughters, who stood watching nearby.

  “We need nothing, Father, except your safe return,” Adara demurred.

  “Well, I need something. You can bring me a new set of knives. The old ones are worn down to a sliver,” Tess called from the doorway.

  “You will have the best knives in the land once I return with the money from my cargo!” he called back. “But come, girls. There are some things that can only be bought in the city, and Nathar’s goods are the finest in the world. What would you have?”

  Adara hesitated before admitting, “A dress, Father. A pretty one—red, with a lace collar.” As she spoke, her expression grew wistful, and her eyes glowed as though she were imagining some delightful scene.

  Chase snickered. “A red dress for a farm girl? Such expensive taste! What need have you of a bride’s finery? There is no one to give you use for it.”

  “Well, what would you have?” Adara demanded crossly, her cheeks aflame.

  “Gold ribbons for my hair,” Chase replied instantly, fingering the bit of leather that currently held back her auburn stands.

  “And you think my request foolish!”

  “What about you, Rose?” Mercer asked, forestalling an argument and turning his gaze on his youngest daughter. “A dress? Ribbons? What is your fancy?”

  She looked thoughtful. “Well, you named me Rose, but I have never seen one—they do not grow here in Darvell. I have always wondered what they look like. I would very much like you to bring me one when you return.”

&
nbsp; “My sweet, you shall have a whole bushel of roses!” he grinned.

  “One is enough,” she smiled.

  “I think Rose is the most foolish of us all,” Chase quipped, only half teasing. “After all, a dress can be passed down and ribbons can be reused, but a rose lasts only a few days at best.”

  “Even fleeting beauty is worthwhile in the eyes of its beholder,” Rose retorted.

  “And this beholder is awestruck,” Mercer said, pulling his girls into an embrace. “You are my roses, my ribbons, my finery. I shall miss you so while I am away.”

  “We shall miss you, too, Father,” Adara said, her face buried against his shoulder.

  “Ride carefully,” Chase instructed.

  “Stay well,” Rose enjoined.

  “That I will, if only to see you all the sooner.” He reluctantly let them go and mounted his horse. “Until then!”

  “Wait!” Tess suddenly called. She hurried up to Mercer and stood on her tiptoes to give him a peck on the cheek, her eyes shining. “Take care, brother.”

  “And you, take care of my family,” he said softly, gripping her hands. “I will return before you know it.”

  Picking up the reins, Mercer kicked the horse into a slow trot, waving a last farewell. To his surprise, Pesk leapt over the fence and padded alongside him until they had reached the end of Tess’s property, at which point he left Mercer to proceed alone.

  “On to fortune and glory,” the man told his horse, patting its neck, “and a safe journey to us both—I hope.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Mercer rode into town like a conquering king, bursting with excitement and victory at his ship’s return. How had it happened? Where had it been? He would soon know the answers to all of his questions!

  He headed straight for the docks, his eyes scanning the rows of ships for his own. There it was, the Delphin! But it looked different—smaller, stouter, with less topsail and no jib. He shook his head. It had been sixteen years since he had last seen his vessel. Perhaps he misremembered it.

  “Ship owner Mercer requesting permission to come aboard!” he called.

  The sailor on duty sauntered over to the railing and peered down at him. “Aye, the Dock Master told us he sent for ye,” he shouted back. “The Captain wants a word. He and the others be at the Mermaid’s Rest.”

  “Thank you,” Mercer replied. He was aching to ask the sailor his questions, but it was the captain’s right to relay the story first. Mercer found the inn quickly, his memory of the harbor as keen as if he had never moved away. The carousing refrain of spirited sailors met his ears well before he reached the door.

  Mercer stepped inside, his gaze sweeping the room for a familiar face. Being early afternoon, the place was only half full, but there were still far too many seamen sitting at the trestle tables to hail only from his ship.

  The innkeeper hurried over. “How can I help you?” he asked, his sharp grey eyes taking in Mercer’s foreign clothes and travel-worn appearance. His grin broadened. “Just tell me your desire, traveler—food, drink, a warm bed? My inn has the best accommodations in Sea Harbor.”

  Mercer shook his head. “Right now, I am looking for Captain Marino,” he replied, raising his voice to be heard above the din.

  “Mr. Mercer!” a burly man cried, separating himself from the pack.

  “Do I know you?” Mercer asked as he shook the man’s outstretched hand. The innkeeper withdrew help his other guests.

  “First mate Wilson, sir. Capt’n Wilson, now.”

  Mercer searched the man’s face. He dimly recalled a smooth-faced youth with that name and could just see a glimpse of that lad beneath the weathering of sixteen years. “Captain Wilson? Where is Captain Marino?”

  “Dead, sir.”

  “Dead? I am sorry to hear that—he was a good man. Well, Captain Wilson, you must have quite a tale to tell.”

  “That I do. Let us go where ye can hear it.”

  But instead of departing the room, the sailor went back to his table, returning a moment later with a half-filled jug and two empty tankards. “A tale like this be thirsty work, both for the teller and the listener. Ale will help it flow.”

  The two men retreated to a second chamber near the back of the inn. This one was smaller, with only a few chairs, no fire, and no occupants. Captain Wilson settled easily into a hard-backed armchair and poured liberal helpings of ale for Mercer and himself.

  “So what happened?” Mercer asked, picking up his tankard and taking a drink. “The last I saw of the Delphin was the day she left port for Takia.”

  “Aye,” Wilson said darkly. “We got to Takia well enough, sir, and traded for the gold ye wanted. Ye should have seen it—such a beautiful metal! They asked a fair price for it, too, which should have warned us of trouble—fair price from a Takian? Never! Sure enough, pirates beset us on our return—Takian ships, ye mark me word, though they flew no flag. No doubt the brigands had struck a deal with the merchants to steal back the gold they sold. Well, we outran that lot of flea-bitten dogs, but the chase took us far out to sea and right into a storm. ’Twas a tempest sure and true, and it left us battered and broken, half sunk in the water. We had to throw our cargo overboard just to stay afloat. ’Tis all gone, sir.”

  Mercer’s mouth had gone dry. Wilson was right—listening to this tale was thirsty work. He took another gulp of ale—larger this time.

  “What then?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

  “Well sir, we drifted south for a time before finally grounding on a small isle. ’Twas full of odd trees bearing fruits the likes of which we had ne’er before seen. It had no animals, though—nay, not even birds.

  “As for our ship, ’twas beyond repair, sinking fast despite our best efforts. We tore it apart to make shelters for ourselves, but even so, Captain Marino and two others died of heat fever before we had a chance to adjust to the southern sun.”

  Captain Wilson took a swig from his tankard before continuing, his eyes distant with memory.

  “We lived on that island for nigh on six years, till a passing ship caught sight of our fire and sent a scout. You cannot imagine our joy, knowing we had been rescued at last! Yet the crew who rescued us was very strange, with odd coloration and habits. They did not speak our tongue, but we managed to convey our need for passage. They took us to a land beyond the end of the known world, and what a land it was! By the time we reached its shore, I had learned enough of their tongue to beg for a ship to take us home. As we had no money or goods to trade, however, the shipyard master refused my request.

  “He was a good soul, though, and shrewd in his way. He agreed that if me crew worked for him for ten years, he would grant us a vessel in return. It was a good bargain, and we agreed, serving our time with willing hearts. When ten years had passed, he stood by his promise, though he was loath to see us go and offered us commissions of our own if we stayed. Some of the crew took him up on it—many had married during that time and had no desire to leave. But the rest of us were tied to Nathar, and I knew ’twas my duty as captain to bring home the news of our fate.

  His expression as he looked at Mercer was full of pity. “We named our new ship the Delphin for old time’s sake, but she is not the same ship that you sent out. That one is lost forever—I am sorry.”

  Mercer nodded, unable to speak. Wilson’s watched him for a moment before continuing, his tone simultaneously sympathetic and stern.

  “I have heard about your misfortunes, Mr. Mercer. You were always kind to us, and fair. But my men and I have suffered, too, and we have worked hard to earn our ship. We will not soon give her up.”

  “That is as it should be,” Mercer said, swallowing the lump in his throat. “I am just glad to hear that you and the crew are alive and well.”

  Captain Wilson stood and extended his hand. “You are a good man, Mr. Mercer. If you ever enter the trade again, I will be more than happy to carry your cargo.”

  “I shall remember that,” Mercer replied, knowing there was n
o possibility now that he ever could.

  There seemed no point in lingering in town after that, and Mercer set out again the very same day, pausing only at the old graveyard near the sea. There on a low hill beneath a blanket of marine grasses and wildflowers, his wife and infant daughter lay in eternal sleep. Mercer stood with head bowed, remembering anew the aching agony of that day, and how the only light had been the baby—its presence inexplicable, impossible—that he had found amidst the shroud of roses laid by mourners upon the grave.

  This time, there was no joyous bundle waiting for him to find, no brightness to dispel his gloom.

  At least, I am no worse off than I was before, he thought wryly. And only a little poorer for having stayed at a few hostels along the way.

  It was small comfort.

  He had no coins left now, nor food either, and there were no hostels on this stretch of road to obtain fare from if he had. Hunger clawed at his belly, but he scarcely noticed—instead, Mercer’s mind replayed the scene in Sea Harbor over and over again, as though doing so would change its outcome. He groaned, remembering the hope that had filled him only a few weeks before. How foolish his expectation now seemed to be!

  At least he was almost home. He had entered the Great Forest early that morning, and Mercer hoped to reach the other side—and his village!—before night fell completely. But he had no way of knowing how close he was. All he knew he was that he was somewhere in Gurion. There were no maps that charted the forest, and the pathways that led through the woods were seldom traveled and thin, at times almost disappearing altogether.

  Like this one did right now. Mercer scanned for a break in the brush, but he saw nothing that resembled a trail. He pulled back on the reins and his mare stopped, whickering softly. Mercer looked behind him. No path there either, just a few broken twigs that marked the horse’s passage.