Roses in Winter

by Penelope Daniels

  Braving a glance, he peered through the double doors to see Alina dressed in feathers and sitting on the floor among her cleaning supplies. Her light hair was unkempt and wrapped up in a scarf to keep the strands off her neck. When her laughter died down, she stood from the floor, the scarves turning her feathers back into a simple dress. She went back to work and before long she was humming, the music echoing through the ballroom and seeping out into the hall where Edward stood.

  He retreated from the doorway where there would be no risk of her seeing him and slumped against the wall, sliding down to the floor until he sat on the cold tiles. He closed his eyes and listened to her song and this time he didn’t push away the ache in his heart. She began to sing and he let himself feel it building inside him until a lump formed in his throat.

  The sound of another human so near him roused ten year’s worth of loneliness. Edward admitted that he was deceiving himself. The truth was, he wanted her to stay, even if they barely saw each other and said no more than ten words between them when they dined together.

  More than anything, he didn’t want to be alone.

  Her song ended and Edward quickly swallowed the lump in his throat, standing from the floor. He shook his head as if to wake himself from a dream. Alina’s delicate elegance did nothing but remind him of his own wretchedness.

  This was foolishness. She couldn’t stay here, no matter how much he wanted her to. For her own well-being, she needed to go. A curse had been placed on him and nothing was going to change that.

  ❄ ❄ ❄

  Once Alina had finished cleaning the ballroom, she ate her lunch, sitting on the tiled floor and wondering what grand parties must have once taken place there. She imagined herself, dressed in her midnight blue gown, twirling about the floor in the arms of some handsome stranger.

  She laughed at herself. It was easy to get caught up in the beauty of this place and she would have to be careful not to let any wild dreams settle too deeply in her mind.

  When her meal was over, Alina gathered the cleaning supplies and left the room. Taking one last look, she smiled at the polished floor before she closed the big double doors, making her way further down the hallway in search of the next project. There were the bedrooms, but those would take her too close to Edward’s chambers and she’d rather not bother him.

  Instead, she turned down a corridor and pushed open a tall oak door into some sort of study. Or at least it had been a study years ago. Now the place wasn’t just dirty, but wrecked, with portraits and books flung on the ground and broken glass scattered across the floor. It looked like the place had been searched or deliberately destroyed out of anger. A darkness hung over the room, though Alina couldn’t say why. She opened the doors, hoping to let out the stale air and set to work sweeping up the broken glass and piling books onto the desk and shelves.

  It took a while for Alina to notice that the scarves and handkerchiefs were absent from her side. She put aside her broom and looked about the room. When she saw them, the fabrics were fluttering near the floor, carefully lifting a portrait from where it had been discarded.

  The paint was cracking and the canvas was warped from where it was still tacked to the wood of its broken frame. Dusting off the canvas with delicate little motions, the handkerchiefs carefully turned it over on the floor. The portrait showed a handsome black-haired boy standing next to his mother, a pleasant looking woman in a satin dress. Behind them were the boots and trousers of a man, but everything from his waist up had been scraped and scratched and torn from the canvas until nothing but a gaping hole remained.

  One of the scarves drooped a little and a corner of it gently reached out to brush against the young man’s picture.

  “Is that Edward?” she asked, bending down and lifting the canvas in her hands. The fabrics gave no gesture of response, but Alina knew that it was. Despite the scars he now bore, she recognized the color of his hair and the shape of his jaw.

  There was a gruff voice behind her and Alina spun around.

  “What are you doing in here,” Edward asked and she could see he was bristling with anger. His eyes fell to the canvas in her hands.

  “I was just cleaning—”

  “I did not ask you to clean! You are not to enter this room again,” he shouted, and rushed at her, roughly tearing the portrait from her hands. He threw it at the wall, the remnants of the frame splintering against the stone. “Get out!”

  His eyes were full of anger and she felt certain that he was about to strike her. She’d seen a similar look in Rodderick’s eyes and it had always been followed by pain.

  Alina quickly backed away from him and tripped over a stack of books, sprawling out on the floor and looking up into his furious, dark eyes. The scars on his face made him appear all the more fearsome as he towered over her. His black hair hung about his face casting a harsh shadow over his expression. It would only be another moment before he raised his hand to her or found a hard object in the wreckage of this room and used that to hurt her instead.

  After scrambling to her feet, Alina rushed from the room. Tears fell from her eyes, blurring her vision and making it difficult to see. She retrieved her cape from her chambers and then fled from the house, throwing open the large front doors. She didn’t bother to close them again as she ran into the snow outside.

  Her skin prickled and she felt sick.

  Running to the gates, she saw that the chains were in place again. It didn’t matter how hard she clawed at the snow that covered the iron links and pulled at the lock, the chains didn’t budge. This gate and these walls were just as much a cage as she’d ever lived in before.

  Turning to the tall stone surrounding her, Alina wiped more tears from her eyes and tried to quiet her sobs so she could think. Would Gladstone really be safe here? As far as she had seen, the man had been gentle with the creature. Why was it that he was so cold and angry toward her? She couldn’t understand why he had shouted at her like that or what she had done to invoke his wrath. What was it about her that brought out the worst in men?

  Alina wiped again at her tears and felt desperate to leave. Her eyes landed on a patch of climbing roses, brown and dormant in the winter cold. They hadn’t been trimmed back in years and the twisting branches grew all the way to the top of the wall. She pulled up her skirts, wrapping them about her legs and began to climb, one foot after another, up the thick vines. The thorns pricked at her skin until her hands were bleeding, but soon enough she was at the top. She pulled herself over the cold stones, before dropping into a large snowdrift below.

  The snow packed into her dress and boots and Alina quickly stood and shook it out. Then she hurried down the overgrown pathway, far away from Edward and his angry, shouting words.

  Chapter Seven

  Edward watched from the study window, his arm out to hold the dusty drapes aside, as Alina climbed the roses and lifted herself over the wall.

  Damn her for prying. Damn the curse. And damn his temper for getting the better of him.

  He had seen the fear in her eyes and he loathed himself because of it. He was no better than his cruel father and now he’d chased Alina away and into the woods where danger would likely find her. She had only been trying to help and she didn’t deserve to be shouted at.

  The scarves and handkerchiefs were there too and when Alina dropped over the wall, they began berating him, pushing against his chest. He welcomed the reproach, knowing that he couldn’t hate himself enough and needed someone else to add to the feeling as well.

  When the fabrics finally fell limp against him, Edward’s shoulders slumped.

  “What would you have me do?” he asked, knowing the answer before he spoke. A single handkerchief raised itself feebly and gestured out the window to the stables below where a good horse waited for work.

  “I cannot leave the walls. How will I manage it?”

  The handkerchiefs pulled at his arms, frustrated at the indifference that only Edward knew masked his fear.

 
A silk scarf pushed past him and wrote in the dust on the dirty study floor.

  If you don’t go, harm will come to her.

  Then every scrap of cloth drifted lifelessly to the floor and Edward was alone.

  He knew the words were true. Whether because of the elements, wild animals, or her husband’s wrath, Alina wasn’t safe outside these walls.

  ❄ ❄ ❄

  Tears froze on Alina's eyelashes as she hurried through the snow. It was late in the evening and if she wanted to survive, she’d have to get back to the village before she froze to death.

  Making it over the mountain wasn’t an option anymore and she only cried harder that Rodderick would find her eventually. He’d beat her, there was no question, but at the moment, a familiar enemy seemed better than Edward with his anger and his secrets all shut up in that lonely, dirty manor. For a few days she had thought he might be different than the first impression he’d left her with. Now it only hurt more knowing that she’d been right all along. She had never been welcome there and never should have stayed as long as she had.

  She slowed to a walk now, her legs becoming fatigued from pushing through the heavy snow. The worst of the drifts had melted, but there was still a foot or so on the ground and more in the shadows where the sun couldn’t reach.

  The sun was moving quickly and she wondered how much further she could go before the sun went down and she was in the shadow of the mountain.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by a howl piercing through the otherwise quiet forest. It was a single drawn out note and was quickly joined by a multitude of others, all rising into an evening chorus. They didn’t sound far away. With any luck, they hadn’t yet caught her scent and she could make it to the village before they overcame her.

  Alina lifted her feet and held up her skirts, more glad than ever that she had asked the fabrics to stop dressing her in extravagant gowns. She moved down the pathway as fast as she could, running half a mile before she heard another howl, much closer this time.

  Fear took hold of her and adrenaline pulsed through her veins, pushing her farther and faster until her lungs felt as though they would burst. The cold air stung her nose and throat, but she kept running, glancing nervously from side to side until she saw it.

  A large, white wolf ran through the trees parallel to her path along the road. She hurried over a fallen tree and continued running, watching as it began to close in, letting her know that the rest of the pack was close behind. As it neared the road, Alina contemplated stopping and facing them down. But she had always run, whether from wolves or from men. The difference seemed insignificant.

  The wolf was close enough now that she could see brown on its white maw, the fur dyed with blood stains from its previous kills. Two more wolves appeared on her other side and began to close in. Soon she was cornered and forced to stop in her tracks. Alina picked a branch from the snow, waving it about and spinning in a circle trying to keep her vision on every pair of hungry yellow eyes. Two more wolves crept from the woods until five circled her, their hungry mouths open with their lips pulled back in snarls.

  Alina hit the branch against a tree and shouted, trying to startle the wolves, but their hunger made them fearless and she realized that there was no way out.

  A gunshot rang out, the thunderous sound echoing through the trees and carrying for miles around. The wolves started and took off running. Then Edward was beside her, putting himself between her and the remaining members of the pack. The last wolves saw the others rushing into the forest and quickly followed their tracks.

  Finally, Alina let herself take her eyes off the beasts and turn to look around. Edward was beside her, his countenance filled with the same bristling anger she’d seen before. But now it was directed away from her, toward the retreating wolves, and his arm was out in front of her in a protective stance. In his other hand he held a smoking pistol.

  Alina sank to her knees, her strength and adrenaline spent. Edward was at her side and pulled her to her feet. She turned to thank him, but when she looked into his face, it was screwed up into a grimace, as if he was in pain. His breaths were shallow and he closed his eyes to steady himself before he put his arms out to pull her from where she had collapsed in the snow. Together they walked toward Gladstone who stomped nervously a little ways up the path. Edward put his hands around her waist and lifted her onto the horse’s back. He cringed again and sucked in a breath before climbing up behind her. He slipped one arm around her waist while the other held the reins.

  Alina didn’t understand what was wrong with him but didn’t have time to think on it before Edward urged the horse into a gallop again. They turned back up the road toward the manor, slowing occasionally to maneuver the overgrown path.

  Edward’s arm gripped her around the waist and he pulled her tighter and tighter until he was hurting her. She could hear his labored breaths in her ear and when she looked down, she saw that his fist was clenched tight around the reigns, his knuckles white.

  “Edward, what is wrong?” she asked finally.

  “...I’m sorry,” he whispered, and the words came out almost in a groan.

  His grip on her relaxed suddenly and he slumped forward, his large body crushing her beneath his weight. Alina grasped at the reigns before he could drop them and pulled up, stopping the horse in its tracks. The manor was in sight now.

  Edward didn’t speak and his arms drooped to his sides. She could feel him slipping from the saddle and reached out to hold his arm. As she turned to look at him, she could see that his eyes were closed and his dead weight wrenched him out of her grasp as he fell from the horse. He made no effort to catch himself and crumpled in a heap in the snow.

  “Edward?” Alina said frantically, not understanding what had happened to him.

  She dismounted the horse and rushed to his side, feeling his face and putting her head on his chest to listen to his heart. His breaths were shallow and labored as he lay there. She shook his shoulders and spoke his name again, but he remained unresponsive.

  Alina looked back to the manor. It wasn’t far. She’d have to drag him.

  Removing her cape, she threw it on the ground and spread it out beside him, then pushed his large body, rolling it onto the thick fabric. She rounded to his head and took hold of the cape’s hood and began pulling him toward the gate. Gladstone trotted ahead, confused by her actions, until they reached the gates. Alina managed to pull Edward’s body past the stone wall. Once they were inside, she closed the gates, wrapping the heavy chains around the wrought iron and locking them in place.

  When she turned back to Edward, she noticed that his breathing had calmed a little and his face looked more peaceful. Still, his eyes remained closed.

  A flurry of scarves and shawls appeared at her side, folding themselves into makeshift slings and wrapping around Edward’s limbs and waist, lifting him a little off the ground. Alina helped too and together they managed to carry him into the house and up the stairs to his chambers where they set him on the large bed.

  Once he was finally resting on the mattress, the fabrics all fell limply to the ground. It was as if they had overexerted themselves and had no strength left to work. They didn’t move as Alina pushed the blankets aside on the bed and situated the pillows beneath Edward’s head.

  Putting a palm on his cheek, she could feel that he was hot with fever. She quickly set about pulling off his boots and then his shirt, gasping when she saw the rest of his scars. What she had thought stopped near his neck actually extended down the entire right side of his chest and continued along most of his arm. Her eyes opened wide with concern as she imagined the amount of pain he must have endured to live with such scars. The healed flesh was light—almost translucent—and sections of it were splotched with red and raised in strange patterns like spider webs across his skin. She reached out her fingers and gingerly touched the marks, feeling his fever again and remembering what she needed to do.

  Steadying herself, Alina looked around the room
until her eyes landed on a table near the window where a pitcher and a pile of clean cloths sat. After she retrieved them, she returned to the bedside and sat down beside him on the mattress. She dipped the cloths in the cool water before dabbing at his forehead and spreading them out on his fevered skin.

  Alina sat by the bedside for hours waiting for the fabrics to return to life or for Edward to wake up, her anxiety mounting with each passing minute that neither occurred. A fire still burned in the hearth. As night fell, she added logs to it and lit several candles near the bed.

  This room was more grand than the one she slept in with an even larger bed. The decor was masculine with dark wood and furnishings and thick black drapes covering the windows. It seemed to fit Edward in a way that the rest of the house did not and it was clear that he had made this room his domain. Passing the towers of books stacked near the armchairs, Alina approached the desk, glancing over the piles of papers strewn across it. There were notes and lists and even a few sketches of wildlife. The angle suggested that Edward had drawn many of them from the windows of this very room, capturing the movements of each songbird and stag in ink. The curve of each line had been executed by a careful hand. It wasn’t the kind of thing she had expected from Edward and it made her realize that she didn’t know anything about this man at all.

  She looked back to where he lay on the bed, his eyes still closed in a peaceful slumber. Seeing him lying there on the mattress, he didn’t look frightening to her. It was evident that behind his unkempt hair and the scars on his skin there was a sadness that she didn’t understand.

  Returning to the bedside, Alina wet the cloth on his forehead again, then pulled a chair close to the bed. She settled in, determined to stay in case he should wake.