I've been in a writing mood lately and I'm trying desperately to hold onto it. The next chapter of Man's World is nearly done and I have part 13 of By Tomorrow all planned out. I've also got a random drabble in the works!
Henry opened his eyes when he was sure Sybil was really asleep. Her hand still rested against his cheek, and he turned his face to kiss her palm before slipping out of the bed.
He was relieved that she didn’t wake up. It was strange for him to kiss her like that. He wasn’t entirely sure why he did it and he wasn’t interested in discussing it.
He grabbed a few spare plaids and made himself a nest on the ground beside the bed. She probably didn’t want him in the bed with her after what he’d done, and a bit of space would do him some good too.
For hours, sleep eluded him. He gave up and climbed back into the bed before dawn. Sybil sensed the disturbance and rolled over until she was pressed directly into his side.
He stiffened, suddenly afraid to touch her despite his usual tendency to do so — all the times he lifted her onto his horse or into his arms without even giving her a warning.
It seemed different now, though, because while he was taking liberties before, he wasn’t crossing any lines. He’d have to pull back now to remind Sybil that he didn’t think he was entitled to touch her, that she could refuse him and he would obey without complaint, and he had to show her that.
Because after the events of the past night, between their bedding, the Macleans arriving, Henry confessing more of his mother’s dark past – he wasn't sure he would be able to put the words together, let alone say them aloud.
***
Sybil didn’t know what time it was when she woke. The cottage was dark and she didn’t want to open her eyes. She wasn’t ready to come back to the world yet, to deal with the reality of her situation.
She clung to the last remnants of sleep as tightly as she possibly could but they still slipped away from her. Reluctantly, she opened her eyes.
Henry was nowhere in sight. Part of her was relieved because she wasn’t sure how to face him now. The other part was disappointed and terribly lonely.
She couldn’t face him but she couldn’t be alone. Not now. Not with her stomach churning and the memories of her father’s friend swimming in her head. She had to get out.
It was late morning. People’s windows and doors were open to let in the cool air and the sun but hardly anyone was outside. They were still on alert after the Maclean incident.
Sybil didn’t care about that. She just wanted to see her friend.
It was unladylike to run and difficult to do so with long, heavy skirts but Sybil didn’t care. She nearly fell on her face a few times and was grateful that so few people were there to see.
Sybil was nearly to the keep when she caught sight of Catherine headed in her direction.
“Sybil!” She was still running toward her friend when she began talking. “Did you hear about what happened to the boy after you left?” She came to an abrupt stop a few feet away when she saw the silent tears streaking down Sybil’s face.
Catherine knit her brows in concern, even though it was probably nothing serious. Sybil cried at just about anything. “What is it?”
Sybil shut her eyes and shook her head. “I can’t.”
“Can’t what? Can’t tell me what’s wrong?” Catherine took Sybil’s hands. “Why not?”
“I can’t,” Sybil whispered.
“You can,” Catherine insisted. “You can tell me anything and everything. You do tell me everything.” Her attempt to lighten the mood fell flat.
“You’ll think differently of me.”
“Well we won’t know that until you tell me, will we?”
Sybil took a shuddering breath. “I slept” – she sobbed – “with Henry.”
“I don’t understand,” Catherine said, her face contorted in confusion. She could understand why that would be upsetting, but this was beyond Sybil’s usual disproportionately dramatic reactions. “Was he not – did he not treat you well? The first time can be terribly uncomfortable – painful, even – and I’m sure Henry feels –”
Sybil shook her head. Her stomach twisted, the words bubbling in her throat like vomit. She couldn’t hold them back. “It wasn’t – he wasn’t the first.”
***
Henry joined a hunting party to seek out the stag that had drawn the Maclean boy into Cavill territory. When he went back to the cottage to tell Sybil he was off and would be gone for at least one night, it was empty. Catherine wasn’t in her rooms, either; Henry figured that at least they were together.
Perhaps a night alone with Catherine would do Sybil some good. Settle her nerves. Make her feel at ease, since that was something he seemed unable to do.
He rubbed his forehead, trying to get at the ache behind it.
This hunt was supposed to be a distraction, but of course they couldn’t begin the hunt until picking up the stag’s trail. So here he was, still trapped in his thoughts but now with a dozen men by him.
Fuck. He hated being married, Henry decided. It was exhausting and difficult, just as he knew it would be. This was why he hadn’t wanted a wife: He knew it would be nearly impossible to be the sort of husband his wife deserved.
Not that he wanted to give up his wife – he’d rather sever a limb than lose Sybil. But he did wish they’d had more time. He wanted to have courted her, earned her trust, demonstrated his value. All his hard-won progress with her was forfeit now.
Henry set down his horse’s reins in his lap to rub at his head with more vigor.
Arran nudged his horse closer to Henry’s. “Did you sleep at all last night?”
His nephew kept his eyes forward and grunted.
“And the girl? How is she after last night?”
Henry swallowed hard, which did not go unnoticed by his uncle. “She is with Catherine today.”
Arran knew Henry in a way the others did not. He’d been a father figure to the boy growing up, and he was the only person Henry could tolerate having a deep conversation with, though Henry’s idea of a deep conversation was giving the shortest answers possible to any questions about his feelings – and now his wife, too. If anyone else asked him about Sybil’s state after the consummation, he’d likely break the fool’s nose.
“She’s a good woman,” Arran said. “And she is good for you. She’ll come around.”
Henry grumbled in reply. If Sybil were here, she would’ve been able to translate his nonsense sounds into words. He frowned at the thought. How was she supposed to come around if she was afraid of him? Again.
***
Catherine was silently fuming, her hands shaking as she moved them over Sybil’s back soothingly. She wanted to say something but God, what could she say? What could anyone say?
She felt sick at the thought of her friend being abused and hurt and being too afraid to tell anyone what had happened. Even if she did confide in someone, Sybil’s horrid father would blame her for it. She was so, so grateful to Henry for marrying Sybil and taking her away from that man.
Catherine always knew how lucky she was to have a husband like Garrett, who was considerate and kind and handsome and strong. They’d grown fond of one another in their time together; many married couples detested one another their entire lives.
Sybil would have that fondness with Henry. She already did. And Catherine was sure, soon enough, that fondness would develop into something more.
“What did Henry say when you told him?” she finally asked.
Sybil pulled away, fresh horror on her face. “You’re the only person I’ve told. He doesn’t know. And you can’t tell him, Catherine, please.”
“In God’s name, why?”
Sybil shook her head. “I don’t want him to know. I don’t want him to think differently of me.”
“He wouldn’t,” Catherine insisted. “You are his wife. He would —”
Sybil shook her head again. “Please, just don’t.” Her tears had run dry for the moment, exhaustion overtaking her sorrow.
“I won’t say anything,” her friend murmured. “It’s not my story to tell.”
“Thank you.”
Catherine stood and held her hands out to help Sybil to her feet. “Henry and the others have gone off hunting. I doubt they will be back until morning. Come stay with me tonight.”
Sybil smiled sheepishly. “You are my dearest friend. Do you know that?”
Catherine looped their arms together. “I suspected as much, but it’s always nice to hear you say so.”
***
It was Hamish and Kier’s idea to give the stag to the Macleans once they killed it as an offering of peace. They had to catch the damn thing first, though.
It was swift and clever and Henry was no help at all. He completely gave up on the charade of stalking the deer and started using his bow and arrow to take down rabbits instead. Owen was the only one to call him out on it, and he gave up when it became clear that Henry was paying no attention to him.
Henry offered no excuse when he headed back to the keep; he didn’t tell anyone he was leaving, either. They’d figure it out for themselves.
The hillside was quiet as he rode home. The hall, usually teeming with activity so close to supper time, was all but abandoned.
Two serving girls were scrubbing blood from the stone floor, and the table on which they’d set the boy was nowhere to be seen. They would break it down and burn it, most likely, if they couldn’t clean all the blood from it.
Henry wondered errantly what they had done with the Maclean boy’s severed leg. Did his brothers take it back with them? Would they bury it? Burn it?
He shook his head to clear it and stepped deeper in.
The midwives and healer who attended the boy were still gathering their supplies from the hall. There was a bluish purple flower among them. Henry wordlessly crossed the room to the midwife, everyone’s eyes on him.
He stopped a few feet away and she stared up at him, unsure of what to do or say. After a moment, he pointed to the flower. “Can I have that?”
The woman’s eyes flashed to the flower and then back to his. She wordlessly plucked two of them from the table and gave them over.
Henry examined the delicate lavender sprigs in his hand. He would give these to Sybil and draw her a warm bath like the ones she had as a child. That would make her smile. And he wanted to make her smile more than anything.
This is completely random but when I watched man from uncle I clocked solo as super gay. Like so gay. Just all his mannerisms. I know he’s canonically a womaniser but he’s got to be the gayest womaniser I’ve ever seen. Do you agree? Disagree?
I’ve never actually seen “The Man from U.N.C.L.E.” but I trust you.
It’s on my list of movies to watch with Comfy.
It will happen and soon I will be able to report back my findings.
