Chapter Text
As a child Kate had always been adventurous. She climbed trees, snuck into gardens past nightfall, and ventured into jungles with only a stick and a stone in hand. As she grew, childhood adventures gave way to more disciplined expeditions. Eventually she learned to shoot, to hunt, to ride and to do it all as well as any man. There was no other option. Kate was too prideful for her aim to be anything other than becoming as good as—well, truly, what she'd always striven for, was to be better than—the young princes whom she once knew. Too daring to not yearn for a challenge to overcome.
Behind her ribs there beat the heart of an argonaut, but that heartbeat that was once as wild and bold as a roaring storm had settled into a dull thud. With life came trials and said trials demanded practicality from her. As such, Kate's untamed coltishness had long been sanded down, shaved, scoured, and waxed into near refinement. Her hair scraped and bound, her once vibrant and colourful clothes muted and dulled. She no longer had the privilege of youth to excuse her precocious nature. It was an injustice suffered by every woman who forsook the duty of matrimony for the duty of family that their sharpness was regarded as bitterness rather than intellect.
It was only on mornings like this, before the day broke,, when the world was quiet and everyone still rested in their beds that Kate chose to indulge the parts of her that never died, the muddied hems and torn stockings; remnants of her girlhood ferocity, hidden but never entirely gone. By herself, instead of being the severe spinster sister to a jewel, she was entirely herself.
Even as a woman, a lady in name if not in title, there was something in her that still needed that rush, that thrill. Here in England this longing was not satisfied. In this land there was no place for excitement. She sat on a borrowed horse, wearing borrowed clothes, living in a home owned by people who despised her. There was no adventure in that, only a bruised sense of pride.
She wondered for a moment if this domesticated place held some sort of omen for her future. If even the few freedoms she enjoyed in India were no longer hers to claim.
Kate shook that thought from her head and kicked the horse off into a gallop. With the reins held fast in her hands and the wind in her hair she rode through the open field. She smirked. Even amongst carefully crafted stone and finely pruned trees there was place for wildness yet. When she heard a man calling after her, she rode even faster, the taste of laughter on her lips. It was easy to shake him, that gentleman. He was handsome. Too handsome. Handsome men were quite dangerous. Best to avoid them in her opinion.
It was only when she slowed the horse to a trot that she was able to breathe.
Initially she had been excited to travel to England. There was something in her heart that said that this was where she belonged. Temporarily, of course. It could only ever be a temporary thing. That dampened her mood every time she remembered. Kate loved India. It was her home and there was nowhere else she'd rather be, and for a sudden, breathless moment she was transfixed by this longing.
As a woman who did not grant herself the luxury of melancholy, Kate shook the feeling away with the flick of her head. She trusted her plan above all else; she was to see Edwina wed, see Mary settled, then return to India to find her own path. Kate breathed in the damp air and she knew she had to return to Mayfair. The lady and master of the house would be awake soon, and her family would surely be anxious over her absence.
This brief freedom that she'd stolen had to be put back in its designated depot. It was not hers to keep. She was just about to turn around when the very gentleman she sought to escape came upon her.
“You,” breathed the man.
Time went still in his presence. He doffed his hat at her and Kate could hardly breathe. Everything about him was dark except for his pallid complexion; dark hair, dark eyes, dark clothes. Those dark eyes peered into hers. Her heart skipped a beat.
“I?” asked Kate.
“You're here,” he said.
Kate lifted a brow, her tone arch as she asked, “And who are you to concern yourself with where I am?”
Her unpleasantness didn't seem to deter him. If anything he seemed amused, smiling softly. His eyes were deep and probing, intense, like there was a pool of darkness inside him that was waiting to spill over.
“You are my primary concern, my little nightingale,” said the man in response, the smile that had spread across his face softened his sharp features. He really was too handsome. And far too forward.
Both indignant and unfortunately flattered, Kate's cheeks flushed. “Do you speak so carelessly to every lady you encounter, sir?”
“I rarely encounter beautiful ladies riding astride in parks,” said the man, with a smirk. “You are, as ever, without compare.”
Kate lifted her chin and sniffed. “I always have been.”
“Indeed you have,” said the man.
Her haughtiness seemed to charm him as much as her sharpness. She would almost be flattered but he looked at her in an unsettling manner. It was too intimate, too familiar for a first meeting. It left her feeling off balance. There was a part of her—a loud, screeching, indignant part—that didn't want to leave but she silenced it. Her mind was sound and there was nothing good to be found dawdling in a park at dawn with a gentleman who was far too forward to be anything other than a rake of some sort.
“This has been…” her voice trailed off. “Well it has certainly been intriguing, but I should be off.”
“Wait, Nightingale. I—”
“Why do you call me that?” asked Kate, stopping in her tracks once more.
“I have been waiting for you for so long,” said the man, finally.
A frisson of alarm shot through her and her hands tightened around her whip. How could he be waiting for her? She didn't know him. And yet… Kate felt her heart tremble. Those words were so familiar. This man was so familiar. She didn't understand. He was a stranger. She had never met him before today. She would certainly have remembered if she had. He did not strike her as a man anyone could forget.
“Who are you?” asked Kate.
He dismounted swiftly and strode towards her. Kate froze. She wanted to turn, to flee, to get away from this strange man and the strange pull he had on her but she couldn't move.
This was his doing somehow. She knew it as she knew her own name.
“I've waited long enough,” said the man. “Come away with me.”
“Are you mad?” asked Kate, and she hated the way her horror tangled with fascination leaving her mind a muddled mess.
She wanted him nearer even as her mind told her that she shouldn't.
In the aftermath she would come to realise that this was her first mistake, falling victim to her instinct rather than her intellect. She should have run when she had the chance. For the moment he came upon her he lifted his hand to caress her face. That was it. A touch and she was lost. With her eyes closing and her mind going blank, her body collapsed, tumbling from the horse into his arms.
That wasn't the start of their story. No. Their story began a long, long time ago. Not that Kate had any memory of it.
What she remembered was this.
The pillows beneath her were comfortable. She was on a featherbed, blanketed in fabric so soft it could be a cloud for all that Kate knew. Her mind dipped in and out of consciousness. She heard two people speaking. Rather, she heard two people in the midst of a heated quarrel.
“You cannot be serious,” came a harsh whisper from an unfamiliar woman.
“I've never been more serious in my entire life,” said another, and this voice was familiar, pleasing to her ears.
“She will die if you take her there, you fool!”
Die? Who would die? Kate frowned. She wished that the woman would be quiet. Her head ached and where the man's brusque tone was soothing to her ear, hers grated on her nerves.
“She has imbibed enough.”
Then came a pause.
“Tell me that you haven't.”
“For her entire life,” came the snap of the man. “I've had enough of this. I'm taking her home.”
Home? Where was home. Her head was blurry. India. Lush, green jungles, hot, sandy roads, cool rivers, bustling markets and her dearest horse, Mufasa. Was she returning to India? She couldn't. She came to England for a reason. The reason? She could not remember exactly but it was an important one. It meant everything. She was meant to be here a while before she saw home again. She knew that.
“Do I have permission or not?” the man asked, gruffly.
“It is your will,” came the woman's response.
Kate wanted to argue. What of her will? What of her permission? She tried to protest but that seemed to call attention to the inhabitants of the room. They both quieted at her murmur. Kate felt a gentle hand brush her forehead and she was out again.
The second time she woke she was certain that some time had passed.
She was limp in someone's arms and her body jostled incessantly. It was nauseating. Her eyes blinked open and there he was. The handsome gentleman. No. He was not a gentleman. He was a villain of some sort. Stealing her away like one of the stories she used to read, stories of cruel counts, pitiful princesses and dragons that guarded towers. But Kate was no fanciful child. She knew that this was no story and no dashing knight would come to save her.
Kate was, for all intents and purposes, trapped.
She wanted to be frightened. It was a sensible thing to be. Men were cruel creatures at heart, capable of all sorts of savageries. And this man had harmed her in some way and abducted her. Who knew what he would do to her? Kate should be terrified. Instead she settled in his arms, letting his soft breaths lull her back to sleep.
And as she slept she dreamed.
In her dream her nightdress was ruined, terribly ruined. She'd fallen into a thicket of bushes sneaking out of her bedroom and making it to the gardens and it was her own fault. Appa always told her not to sneak out of their apartments at night but she never listened. Kate loved the gardens at night. They were so pretty and fragrant and no one ever bothered her after dark. No one except her secret friend. It was all his fault that she looked so slatternly. If she wasn't so eager to meet him she would never have been so careless and now her dress was torn, and to make matters worse there were honey stains on her lap.
In the morning, Mary would see the state of her clothes and she'd know that Kate had been naughty.
Or perhaps she wouldn't even notice. Kate prayed that she wouldn't.
Mary was so busy with the baby recently, she didn't need Kate adding to her troubles. She bit her lip. Mary never grew angry with her penchant for mischief but that didn't stop Kate from worrying that one day that would change. That she would become so cross that she would make Appa send Kate away. It was the stupidest thought in the world. Appa would never and Mary would never.
Fears, she'd come to realise, were not easily fobbed away by logic.
Tonight, it was easier than usual to push that worry from her mind. How not? Her little lord had shown up. The one she'd met two years ago in that little cottage in England. Kate remembered when she'd told Mary about the strange little lord she'd met by a bird's nest.
She tried to explain the encounter to no avail.
“He's nothing. Which I suppose means that he's no one. I've never met no one before.”
Mary had just laughed at her saying that she had quite the imagination. She and Appa had only just returned from Scotland, hands joined and eyes beaming. They paid little mind to Kate's fanciful tales and considering that Kate never saw him again before they boarded the ship to India, she had assumed he existed only in her dreams, but here he was, laughing loudly as she fussed with the thick syrup that had spilled onto her lap.
“Since when are you this graceless?” asked the little lord.
Kate scowled, brushing cake crumbs from her dress. “Since when are you this rude?”
The little lord tilted his head as though he was genuinely considering her question. He seemed quite serious as he pondered. Kate was eight but she knew he couldn't be any older than her. It struck her, as she sat, that she didn't know very much about him. This was only his third time meeting with her. Why, she didn't even know his name. To her, he was just the little lord.
Despite that, what she knew of him was enough for her. For instance, he brought her cake which already made him her favourite person after Appa, Mama, and baby Edwina. He liked blue, she'd never seen him without a waistcoat the colour of the morning sky. He was a cheat at hide and seek, he claimed that he found her because she couldn't stop tapping her feet but Kate didn't believe him. She knew how to stay still. She also knew that he was terribly rude—
“Since always, I suppose,” said the little lord, finally.
—but even so, he was her friend. Kate, who knew how to mind her manners but frequently chose not to, was a bit amazed by him; this proper little lord who said whatever was on his mind and only remembered to apologise for it when called to account.
“Well that's alright,” said Kate.
“Is it?” asked the little lord. “Nurse always said that she despaired of me ever learning how to hold my tongue.”
“It's alright because I'm your friend,” said Kate, decisively. “And I think you're a knob. So it doesn't matter if you think I’m graceless. It is better to be one than the other.”
“And why is that?” asked the little lord, arms crossed.
“Grace can be learned,” said Kate, slightly haughty. “And I have more than enough time to learn it. Knobs can only twist one way or the other.”
“You are the most irritating girl I've ever met,” said the little lord, his cheeks red and puffed up with rage.
And while Kate was sure that was true, she still said, “You don't know enough girls.”
“Good!” he shouted. “You're already more trouble than I can manage. Why would I seek out more of you?”
“Because—because,” she lifted her chin. “Only girls can teach you manners. That's why you have a governess, is that not so?”
“I don't have a governess,” the little lord rose to his feet. “I only have a nurse.”
Kate let out a startled laugh. “Are you a baby? Only babies have nurses.”
The little lord stomped his feet on the grass. They were hidden between tree and stone, where the palace guards couldn't find them. The garden was her favourite hiding place. He should consider himself lucky that she chose to share it with him, and here he was throwing a fit. His cheeks puffed, his fists clenched at his sides, his eyes fierce. He looked like a squirrel foraging. Or a balloon that could burst with a single pop. Just the thought of it made Kate giggle. She hid her laugh behind her hand but the little lord seemed even more put out. He was easily vexed. She wasn't laughing at him, oh well, she was, but not in the way he thought. Even so, he turned on his heels and stomped away from her.
Kate wondered for a moment, if she'd lose him to the night. Surely not. Kate had come to realise that her interactions with this boy were a touch absurd. Almost dreamlike. If he was just the friend in her dreams then that meant that he couldn't leave until she woke. Even with her newfound certainty a rush of panic passed through her body like an electric current, jolting her to her feet.
Marching after him and doing her best not to raise her voice, Kate shout-whispered. “Come back here!”
“No,” snapped the little boy.
“Why not?” asked Kate, truly vexed now but he didn't answer. That only served to increase her ire. “I said to stop!”
The little lord kept trodding on leaving Kate with no choice but to hurry after him. “Are you giving me an order?”
“And what if I am?” asked Kate, imperiously. “You don't get to leave until I say you can.”
The boy spun on his heels, glowering at her. Kate stumbled to a halt, only just preventing herself from crashing into him.
He sneered down at her. “And what if I say no?”
Kate took a deep breath. She wasn't afraid of him, this little lord who switched from kind to cruel in an instant. She didn't have his name but she still had some power.
She crossed her arms before lifting her chin and saying, “Then I'll make myself wake up and I won't ever let you back in my dreams again.”
The crescent moon hung above them, bright and luminescent. Under its light the little lord stared at her. His eyes bore into hers and for just a brief moment he seemed like far more than a mere boy. The night seemed like it belonged to him. Still, Kate didn't bow, and she didn't retreat. Lord he might be, he was still just a little boy. And in this, she had the upper hand. She may be a little girl with a messy braid, in a torn, stained dress, who hadn't quite learned her graces but if the night was his then this dream was hers. She was real and he wasn't.
Kate stared at him until he finally responded.
“What do you think will happen if you do that?”
“You're my dream lord,” said Kate, as sure about this as she was about anything. “You don't exist unless I say you do.”
“No,” said the little lord. “I don't suppose I do, my lady.”
“I'm not not a lady,” said Kate.
“You will be,” said the little lord, with finality and with that, he squared his shoulders. “And I will be ever yours.”
Kate woke suddenly, her hand clutching her chest. The familiar sights and smells of the garden overwhelmed her. She felt her heartbeat begin to slow.
That was a rather vivid dream. It felt real, almost too real.
Looking at her surroundings, Kate found herself disoriented. The room was an unfamiliar one. Large. Far larger than any room she'd ever slept in before. The bed was a grand one. Luxurious. The pillows were stuffed with goose feathers and the bedding was a rather lovely lilac. The canopy was half drawn but she could see the room. There were fine chaises and ornately carved tables arranged quite beautifully, marble busts and beautiful paintings decorated the room and more than that, everywhere she looked there were flowers; tulips, lilies, daisies, marigolds, lilacs, magnolias. The scents were similar to the ones in her dreams. It overwhelmed the senses.
Vestiges of her dream still lingered; the tastes, and sounds, and sensations as real as a memory. Kate rubbed at her temples. She needed the dream to fade so that she could focus instead on her true memories. Much like a dream, her memories were jumbled in her head. She knew she'd been abducted. She'd been… her heart began to pound once more. Kate clutched at her clothes. This wasn't what she was wearing when she went for her morning ride.
Jumping out of bed in a panic, she all but spun in a circle. The beautifully furnished room was the last thing that should matter to her. Where was her family? Who had taken her? A man. She remembered as much. He accosted her in a park, and then: nothing.
Not knowing was the terrifying part. She didn't know anything. Where was she? Why had she been taken? What could the villain possibly want from her? Why was she his prisoner?
Her breath caught at the thought. That was what she was, wasn't she? A prisoner? Kate clutched at her chest as she tried to soothe her nerves. She caught sight of the ornate vase of lilies beside the bed.
Even without the luxury this was a strange sort of prison. The windows, she noticed as she walked to them, weren't barred. She wondered if she could jump from here. Kate looked down and it was a far ways below. Was she in a tower? That was what happened in the stories, wasn't it? Maidens were stolen by villains and trapped in a tower from which she couldn't escape. She flung the windows open and looked out into the wide estate below her and she gasped.
It was… beautiful. Like something out of a storybook. The tower was no tower at all. It was a grand estate and the grounds were glorious. A wide expanse of grass and flora. If she thought the flowers in the room were too much then the grounds would leave her quite spoiled.
Except, these grounds were not for her to explore were they? The windows weren't barred but she was on the highest floor of the manor. The walls were smooth and there were no trees or trellises for her to find any purchase.
She was trapped.
Backing away from the window, Kate pulled at the end of her hair. She started a little, surprised to find it neatly braided. She looked down at her dress. Kate hadn't inspected it earlier, so caught up in her panic but she wore a light lilac gown made of silk chiffon and lace, the long bell sleeves brushed against the layered skirts. The gown was nothing like the few that had been made for her for her arrival to England. The waistline was lower, the sleeves longer, the neckline higher. It was so elaborate and intricately made, and far too fine for the likes of her.
She looked for the nearest mirror and there was a large one near the bed. Kate looked at herself and she couldn't even admire the reflection. Instead she worried. Who dressed her? Surely not the gentleman. The villain. Kate swallowed. She had not considered that she was taken for unsavoury purposes, but why else? The owner of this estate had no need for ransom, did he? And if he did, who would pay? She was penniless.
The creaking of the door stirred her from her thoughts. Her heart pattered behind her ribs. The pulsation was felt even in her neck. A part of her was relieved. It wasn't that she wished to see the dastardly man who'd taken her but she'd rather know than not. Ignorance was not a frailty she afforded herself. The other part of her clutched her skirts in her fists.
In entered a man, tall, handsome, powerful. His eyes flickered across her. He inspected her face, her body before settling on staring into her eyes. He was quite something to look at. The man she'd met on horseback. No. She squinted. She'd met him before that, she was sure of it.
Kate didn't know how to address this familiar unfamiliar man. He was of some nobility, it was clear but he'd stolen her away like a fiend. She could not bow or curtsey to such a man. She could only look upon his oddly familiar face.
“My lady,” said the man, hoarsely.
“I'm not a lady,” said Kate.
The man smiled. “Not yet, but you will be.”
At that Kate scowled. “And what else will I be, sir? You have stolen me away to this—this—” lovely as it was, Kate couldn't compliment his home. “This place. Why? What do you want from me?”
The man stared at her for a long moment. There was something pained and aggrieved in his expression but those dark eyes hardened in an instant.
“It is not yet your concern.”
Kate spluttered. For a moment she forgot that sense dictated she should be afraid of this man—this villain, this fiend—and instead she was furious.
“How dare you?” asked Kate, sharply. “Who do you think you are? Whatever it is you want from me, you will not have it. I have not a sovereign to my name and if you try to assault me I will fight you with every inch of my life.”
“Is that so?” asked the man.
“Yes!” cried Kate. “So, to that end, it is best, sir, for you to release me this instant!”
The lord remained silent as her voice rose. He stared at her impassively and as he stared, Kate felt her righteous indignation wilt into something far more childish than she intended. The longer the silence rang, the more foolish Kate felt. She used every bit of her learned grace not to shift on her feet.
“You must feel better after having said your piece,” said the man, calmly. “Join me in the solar room when you are ready to break your fast.”
Kate watched him walk away, her breath caught in her throat and it took everything for her not to stomp her foot in frustration.
At first, Kate didn't want to leave the room. This gilded cage was surely safer than whatever awaited her out there. She paced back and forth, fiddling with her fingers. Her thoughts were a jumbled mess that she couldn't even begin to untangle. That dream, it was him. She knew it was. What did it mean? Her father believed deeply in dreams having meanings, but at the time that had mattered very little to Kate. She'd never been the sort of girl who remembered dreams. Mary said that she tossed and turned so frequently in her sleep that she was sure that her dreams were vivid but Kate would wake every morning with not an inkling of what happened when she closed her eyes.
Except for last night.
Last night she dreamed and it felt so real, so vivid, it was as if she truly lived it. Somewhere inside her, she felt as if a vast change had overcome her. A change in her being. A change in her circumstance. Yet she felt as she always had. As if she could walk out of that door and run into her family at the breakfast table.
This was the war within her. If she stayed in this room she would be hungry but Kate knew what it was to fast, knew what it was to be hungry. Her body could manage it. What she could not quench was her curiosity, her need to escape.
Left with no choice, Kate took one last look at herself. She looked well. Her skin seemed dewier, her eyes brighter, even her hair looked longer than usual. This, too, added to her anxieties. How long had she been asleep? There were so many questions she had no answer to and there was only one person who could answer her.
Kate fought her trepidation, her anxiety, and her nerves and she marched out of the room. The moment she stepped out she walked into a woman of moderate height with dark brown skin and very sharp eyes.
“Forgive me,” said Kate. “Who are you?”
“I am Nurse,” said the woman, a wry smile on her face. “It is a pleasure to meet you, my lady.”
“I'm not a lady.” Kate flushed. “You can call me—”
“There is no need for any of that,” interrupted the woman. “I shall escort you to the solar room.”
“Wait,” she interrupted. The nurse turned to face her. “The solar room?”
“Is that not where His Grace asked you to go?”
His Grace. A duke then. That was ominous. Kate did not imagine such a man was used to being defied and the solar was exactly where he ordered her to go. Oh well. Duke or not, Kate had never done well with orders. And this duke had the nerve to take her captive. If he could shirk all sense of honour and decency then he could stand to suffer a single act of disobedience.
“Oh no,” said Kate with a forced smile. “His Grace wished for me to see the grounds before I broke my fast. Perhaps you can guide me there.”
“Very well, my lady,” said the nurse.
“I'm really not a lady,” said Kate. “Just call me—”
The nurse looked at her, expression chiding. “Do not offer more than either of us can handle, child.”
Kate blinked. “It's just my name.”
“And it is more than I can afford,” said the nurse with far more haughtiness than one would expect from a servant.
“Then what am I to call you?”
The nurse looked at her as though she were an imbecile. “You are to call me Nurse. Come along now.”
Ignoring the harshness of her rebuke, Kate scurried after her. Nurse, as she asked to be called, looked to be of an age with her but she carried herself with a bearing that surpassed any mere servant.
“I do not see any children in this home," said Kate.
“Naturally.”
“Then, and pardon me for asking,” said Kate. “Why is a nurse required?”
Nurse looked at her appraisingly as she guided her through ornate halls to the entrance of the house.
“We all have a designated place in this world,” said Nurse, cryptically. “Who am I to question my purpose?”
“Your purpose?” asked Kate. “Don't you serve the master of the house? If he is without children then—”
“I am the master of more than you can imagine,” said Nurse, sharply. “Do not mistake me for a servant.”
Right. That explained everything. Kate sighed. Trying to get information from her taciturn guide proved fruitless.
As they approached the entrance of the house Kate's steps quickened. From the room she was kept in, the estate looked vast. Difficult to escape from. She was sure that it would prove even harder with her guard lurking behind her. But she should surely try, shouldn't she?
Stepping out of the manor Kate felt the warmth of the sun on her skin. She tilted her head to the sky, feeling herself bloom in the sunlight. In front of her there was only green and blue, earth and sky. The speckles of colour on the canvas were the flowers she had admired from above, far more beautiful up close.
It was only as she reached the final step that she noticed Nurse still standing by the door.
“You will not join me?” asked Kate, beginning to question the security of this prison.
Nurse lifted a sardonic brow, “Do you expect to trip into a rose bush and need my assistance?”
Kate's nose flared. She was often criticised for being too brusque, too cold, too harsh. This woman seemed to be competing with her as for who could be the most ill mannered. Kate decided to repay her in kind and she stormed off without another word.
Irritated and still somewhat disoriented, Kate found herself quickly lost. The grounds were vast. She had already known that. What she didn't know was how easy it would be for simple paths to transform into a labyrinth. This only served to further her unease.
It was not only that Kate didn't know who had taken her, for what purpose, or even where she was. Kate didn't know where she should be. The more she thought about it the less she understood. Her mind was so muddled. India, she remembered clearly. She even remembered coming onto a ship to journey west. But why? Why had she come to this country? She remembered with clarity when the duke took her and yet she couldn't remember how she found herself in a park at night to be taken.
Somewhere in her head Kate knew she had a family but they were obscured by a veil in her memories, feeling more illusion than reality. She racked her brain and could not even bring forth a name.
Kate continued upon the stone path in quiet distress. If she could not remember her home, her reason for coming to this country, if she could not even remember her family, then why did she remember that dream so clearly? It was queer. Kate was quite sure she knew the answer to all these questions earlier but much like a typical dream, the longer she was awake, the less she remembered.
A strange occurrence amongst this strange situation. Should it not be her dream that faded and her memory that remained?
Stopping in front of the wild brambles beside a large patch of lilies, Kate noticed the cocoons that had formed beneath the plants. There were many of them, these cocoons. Kate stooped so she could peer closer. Butterfly cocoons, she was sure of it. Kate envied butterflies their ability to hide away for months with their woes and emerge only when those problems were solved.
“Strange creatures are they not?” Kate looked up sharply. The man—the duke was dressed in his sombre clothes, his hands clasped behind his back as his eyes lingered on the plants. “They do not need to die to be reborn.”
“A person can experience many rebirths in a single lifetime,” said Kate. “Why not them?”
“Why not, indeed?” asked the man. “Is that why you were trying to fly away, nightingale? To escape your own rebirth?"
Kate stiffened. What could he mean by that? Kate couldn't ask. Not yet. The irritation in his eyes was quite clear. Kate didn't think he'd answer any question she asked now. At the very least, he wouldn't answer it seriously. It seemed he was unused to being disobeyed.
She rose to her feet. In front of a nobleman Kate still felt that she ought to curtsey before him but she could not force her body to do so. The smile that lingered on his lips spoke of danger. Kate lifted her chin, trying her very hardest not to appear cowed before him.
“Would you blame me if I was?”
He looked at her, his eyes piercing. It was disconcerting the way his eyes raked over her. It wasn't merely lustful, it was fervid. There was something heavy and intense about his aura, a shroud of darkness that seemed out of place in the sunlight.
I dreamt of you last night, she thought but she didn't dare say. You were awful but you were mine.
“There is nothing I could ever blame you for,” said the duke, his eyes probing. The air grew thick around them. Suddenly Kate felt as though she wasn't clothed enough.
Taking another step back, she intended to leave this garden somehow, but she stumbled into the brambles. Oh damn that nurse! Kate swore under her breath, shaking her dress free. There was nary a tear or blemish on the lovely gown. Thank goodness. It wasn't hers and she couldn't afford to replace it.
So busy was Kate adjusting her dress that she didn't notice the duke coming upon her. It was only the feeling of his breath kissing her skin that startled her into awareness. He looked at her, eyes muddled with something she could not decipher.
“Your Grace,” said Kate in question.
He took her wrist in his hand and Kate found herself drawn into his orbit. She wanted to step away but she couldn't. His touch left her frozen in place. It was only then that she noticed a small scratch on her wrist, crimson droplets pebbling on dark brown skin. Before she could stop him he put her wrist to his lips and Kate felt a jolt run through her body. Immediately she tried to draw back but his grip tightened around her hand. His tongue darted out to lick at the blood on her skin. She gasped. This was so entirely inappropriate that Kate was at a loss for words. He suckled at the small wound and her breathing grew unsteady.
Well, perhaps there was another reason she couldn't speak. With just the flick of his tongue her body grew molten.
“You taste heavenly,” he murmured against her skin.
Kate swallowed. The sound of a bird croaking broke the tension. Kate wrenched her hand away from his grip, watching in breathless curiosity as a raven landed on his shoulder. The duke's eyes never left her but the moment of mad passion dissipated leaving them in tense silence.
“Come, nightingale,” said the duke, eventually. “You've been out for too long.”
“Why do you call me that?” asked Kate, eyeing the raven on his shoulder. Perhaps the duke had a fondness for birds.
He smirked. “I like the way you sing.”
Breakfast was oddly commonplace.
The table before her seemed to have, well, everything. There were plates of parathas and idli next to platters of eggs, boiled, poached, and scrambled, there were scones with various jams, marmalades, and chutneys, sambar, bread, cakes, butter, honey, and more fruit than she'd ever seen before. Kate was famished. The duke and his bird looked at her intently as she took a slice of a cake doused in honey, garnished with slivers of almonds.
Only just remembering her manners, she took a dainty bite under his gaze and closed her eyes. A light moan escaped her lips. There was something warm and comforting about the cake. The crumb was light and tender and the honey was spiced with cardamom and ginger and something else she couldn't quite place.
When she opened her eyes, the duke's eyes were still on her face. Her cheeks grew hot under his inspection.
“Your Grace,” said Kate, setting the fork aside. “What am I doing here?”
“Eating,” he replied. “Would you like some tea?”
Kate wrinkled her nose. English tea was horrid and under these circumstances she'd rather not pretend. The duke still snapped his fingers and a servant laid a steaming, hot cup of tea in front of her. Kate scowled, just about to refuse it when the smell of ginger, cinnamon, and clove wafted under her nose.
Tentatively Kate took a little sip. It was… perfect. Fresh chai, flavours perfectly balanced and sweetened to her liking. It paired perfectly with the cake.
“How did you-”
“How did I what?” asked the duke before she could even finish her question.
She looked at him, assessing his face before returning to her breakfast. Kate wasn't usually one for sweets in the morning but the cake was far too good for her to resist. She continued eating. As she ate she contemplated her predicament.
Nothing about it made sense.
“It doesn't matter,” said Kate after a moment. “You will not tell me anything if I ask.”
“Ask me five questions and if I can answer them, I will,” replied the duke, “within reason, of course.”
Reason? The entire situation was ludicrous. Here she was sitting beside a man who abducted her, whose intentions were unknown, and who seemed comfortable just sitting and watching her sip tea as if he’d known her his entire life. Where was the reason in that?
“Just because you will answer doesn't mean that you'll be honest,” said Kate.
“I swear it,” said the duke. “If I cannot be honest I will not say a word but if I can I will tell you whatever you need to know.”
“Very well then,” said Kate, though she didn't quite trust him not to lie through his teeth. “What's your name?”
He didn't respond. Kate glared. She knew was playing her for a fool. She made to stand and leave this room before he placed his hand on hers.
“Ask me anything else,” said the duke, “but never that.”
“Why not?” asked Kate.
The duke looked at her, face pensive. “Names are a serious thing. They're power. It is just one word, maybe two but to give it is to give ownership to another. And the one who owns it can control everything that you are.”
Ownership. Kate sneered. What a foolish notion, something, like a rule a child would create in some made up game which only they understood. She looked at the man and his countenance betrayed not a hint of artifice. No mischievous smile or impish twinkle of the eye to betray him. She didn't believe his words but she believed that he believed what he was saying. A fascinating paradox. And were he not a stranger who had abducted her from a horse and stole her away to goodness knows where then she would tell him he was mad.
Kate sobered. “What am I doing here?”
“This is where you're meant to be,” replied the duke.
That hardly counted as an answer. Kate said just as much. The duke smiled.
“You and I, we've always been like this,” said the duke. “Together and then apart. We always reunite in the end.”
And though she told herself she would not inquire after his mental aptitude she still asked, “Are you touched in the head?”
At that he tilted his head, seeming to actually consider her words.
“Occasionally,” said the duke.
Kate opened her mouth again but this time he interrupted her, “You have one question left.”
“I do not!” said Kate with some indignation.
The duke smiled. “You asked me why I cannot tell you my name, why you are here, questioned my sanity, and before we sat to break our fast you asked me why I call you as I do.”
“That should not count!” she argued. “I asked that before you told me there was a limit to how many questions you'd answer.”
“Was it or was it not a question?” asked the duke.
“You-you're a scoundrel,” hissed Kate.
“Scoundrel?!” he barked, his eyes blazed before his lips curved into a wicked smile. His voice lowered. “I think you like that I'm a scoundrel. I don't think you have enough scoundrels in your life.”
Kate flushed, aghast and though she couldn't admit it, even to herself, she was growing increasingly intrigued by this man who spoke in riddles and flirted without shame.
“You forget yourself, sir!” came her sharp reprimand.
At that, his smug expression evaporated and turned into something serious.
“I'm not the one who has forgotten,” he said, solemnly.
Her pulse raced once more. How did he know? Kate wondered. Her memories were growing foggier by the minute. She knew he had something or the other to do with her waning remembrance, but for the life of her Kate couldn't fathom how. To ask would be to expose her vulnerable underbelly to a predator. To stay silent would be to accept defeat.
Kate could stomach neither.
“Are you out of questions?” he asked, again.
Kate scowled. It was bad enough that he played games but he didn't even allow her any time to think. He was dastardly. Cruel. Wicked. Or, perhaps he truly was mad. It would explain a great deal if that were true. Men who were good and decent were not in the habit of abducting maidens and men who were of sound mind and judgement didn't force you to discover the reason for your abduction through riddles and tricks.
He's an Englishman, Kate reminded herself. Historically, they were prone to all manner of depravity, stealing and lying being the least amongst them.
Kate bit her inner lip. She needed to tread carefully with this one. There were too many questions she needed an answer to and no way to condense them all into a singular sentence. Kate breathed through her teeth.
Finally, she decided, “Why did you taste my blood?”
“You taste like you smell,” said the duke. “It’s the purest thing in this world.”
That was such an absurd thing to say that Kate stared at him, shock mingled with morbid fascination. No real person spoke like this.
“You-”
He looked at her, waiting for her to continue but Kate couldn't find the words. The longer this conversation continued the warier she felt, her bones an echo of awe and dismay. It weighed on her, heavy as stone. Worse than her lost memories, this was like being trapped in a haze. When Kate read stories this was what authors described when an enchantment was placed on you. A fog. She searched her brain for a memory beyond this, beyond vague recollections of India, palaces, stories, and laughter and she could not find it. Even in her dreams, the memory of everything else faded but him.
That was the part that made her breath come quickly. Why was he the only thing she remembered? Surely she had a family. People who would miss her. Kate's breath grew unsteady. What if she didn't? What if there was no one in this world who knew she'd been taken?
She sprang to her feet. The duke looked at her and Kate looked back, eyes wide.
“I-I wish to be alone,” said Kate, hating herself for the tremor of her voice.
He inclined his head and Kate tried not to care that he looked disappointed as she fled from the room.