What will be: Chapter 3

Chapter 3: Mary

It was so cold. I had never felt such bone chilling cold.

The wind whispered softly over the dark moor, carrying with it the promise of snow. The chill was everywhere – in the bramble that stuck to my clothes as I walked, in my boots which squelched uncomfortably, to my dress that clung to my shins. My ears felt pink and raw, even under my shawl, and seemed to feel the cold no matter how tightly I wrapped it about my face.
But more troubling than the cold was the thought that I was thoroughly lost. I had no idea how long I had been wandering the moors, or where I was going.

What was I going to do? I couldn't go back to Misselthwaite. And Dickon hadn't been there for me when I had needed him.

I still didn't know how he felt over what Colin had told him. My heart feared the worst – that he now considered me disgraced and dirty, and wanted nothing more to do with me. I was convinced that I was the one he was angry at – and that gave me more despair than anything. Whether he knew it or not, Dickon meant everything to me.

Where was I going? I had no idea. Although I knew that I needed to find some form of shelter, before it began to snow.

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Sometime later, I paused to rest.

The moor was a wave of blackness, like a dark, swirling sea. Darkness encompassed everything. Vague, wild ideas flashed through my mind. I could walk until morning, I could eventually make my way to Thwaite village, I could turn back? Who knew what lay out here on the moors, crouching in the darkness... watching... and waiting.

The noise of something coming through the bracken, jolted me back to my senses. My mind filled with fear, something was coming, and I had no where to hide.

I crouched down in the damp heather, my heart pounding incessantly. Trying my best to hide, to become part of the moor, and let whoever (or whatever) was out there pass me by.

Straining my ears, I heard the soft snorting of... it couldn't be... a horse! Stepping slowly, and coming closer. I stood up, and heard it whinny and then the sound of scraping branches as it shied away from me. I moved towards it, slowly.

It carried a rider, a man with broad shoulders. I strained my eyes against the darkness. It couldn't possibly be, could it?

'Dickon?... is that you?'

'Mary?' a very familiar voice said. 'Wha' is tha doing out here?'

I had never felt such a range of emotions in all my life – I was nervous, excited, and apprehensive. I stood still in the swaying heather, watching, as he strode towards me. My heart thumped in my chest, so hard I felt as though it would drown out everything else. I didn't breathe, I couldn't. I simply stood – and waited. I couldn't speak.

He dismounted, and was moving towards me, sure footed and quick through the heather. I moved towards him, trembling.

Warm arms enclosed me, and drew me close. I buried my face in his coat, inhaling his warm scent, shaking.

'Come now. We mun get thee t' shelter. Canst tha' ride?'

I nodded, barely daring to speak, lest this apparition of Dickon should disappear into the darkness of the moor in which he came.

But he was real, and it was the sure-footed Yorkshire lad that was now helping me up onto his horse.

'Are you a dream, Dickon?' I murmured, as I felt him slide up behind me. 'Oh please say you're not... I couldn't bear it.'

'No Miss Mary', he breathed warmly against my neck. 'I'm not a dream. Now hold on tight. She can be a wee bit skittish on such a night.'

I gripped hold of the horses mane, feeling the warmth of the horse and Dickon spread through me. One arm he had wrapped protectively about my waist, the other held the reins. He rode as though he was born to it, as though he and the horse were part of the same being.

'Where are we going, Dickon?' I asked, as soon as the horse began to move. 'I can't go back to Misselthwaite. I haven't told you but my Uncle -'

'We're not going to Misselthwaite, Miss Mary. I know a place... tis not far. Trust me. Tha' is cold and must be warmed. Will snow soon.'

'Thank you, Dickon.' I whispered, still feeling apprehensive. Surely, I thought, he was just doing the gentlemanly thing by rescuing me, and then in the morning would alert my Uncle... and I would be taken away once again. I swallowed grimly, feeling panic rise within me at the thought of having to go back to London. But what other choice did he have? He was in no position to challenge my Uncle's authority. I wanted to tell him how pleased I was to see him, how scared I was for the future – our future. But I said nothing. His silence stilled my tongue.

We rode for what felt like forever. How Dickon managed to navigate through that cold night, I shall never know. I was barely conscious of anything, save his arms around me, which warmed my back, but did little to keep the cold at bay. Presently, as Dickon had predicted, it began to snow – the wind blowing snowflakes up around us - reminding me of the snow globes I had shaken tempestuously as a child. I had begun to shiver more, my face being blown raw by the wind, my hands like blocks of ice. I longed to be warm and hoped that shelter would not be too far away.

As if he had read my thoughts, Dickon murmured into my hair 'Nearly there'.

The moor cleared, and out of the darkness the dim shape of a cottage. Dickon slid off the horse, guiding her towards it as I sat astride. When he stopped I somehow managed to slide off, my teeth clattering. Weakly, I followed Dickon.

Dickon opened the door to the cottage, and took my hand to guide me through the darkness. The inky blackness of the night was soon replaced by an amber glow, as Dickon lit a candle. I stopped to to take in the shelter, as he wordlessly set to work building a fire.

The interior of the cottage was rather tumbledown, and smelt strongly of earth, but in a pleasant way. It was devoid of furniture save for a chair or two, and a pile of straw, and some bedding. I walked around the room, trying to keep warm, then went and picked up one of the woollen blankets to lay around my shoulders. I could hear the fire crackling, and soon the flames cast their glow upon the room. Dickon stood up to admire his handiwork, then rather nervously, looked at me.

'I've got t' say, Miss Mary – tha was the last person I expected t' see tonight.'

His words were casual, but there was an undertone of sadness to them that I had not heard in Dickon's voice before.

With my voice shaking, I spoke: 'My Uncle, Dickon... he has told me that I am to return to London. He... he said that it does not matter what has happened.'

He looked away quickly, a blush gathering on his cheeks. He knows, I thought, he knows everything. I shivered violently and gathered the blanket protectively around myself – both to ward off the cold and my feelings of vulnerability.

'Lass, I'm sorry.' he said quietly.

'Oh Dickon,' I whispered. 'So am I.'

All around the small cottage, the wind whistled. The sound of snow, the sound of the cold. The only sound from within was the crackling of flames and our uneasy breathing. I wondered to myself if Dickon felt as awkward as I did?

'Miss Mary, tha is cold.' he said simply. Getting up, he pulled a chair in front of the fireplace. 'Please, warm thyself.'

I sat down without saying another word. Dickon had gone over to the far corner of the Cottage. When he returned, he carried a small bottle full of a dark, amber liquid.

'What is it?' I asked.

'This will help with th' cold.' he said, passing it to me, with the stopper open. I smelt it, shaking my head involuntarily as the strong smell of alcohol assaulted my senses.

'Whiskey.' he said softly. 'Th' Scots swear by it.'

'Will you drink with me, Dickon?' I asked him.

'Aye.' he said.

I took a long swig from the bottle, almost choking on the strong taste. I coughed and passed it to Dickon, who took a longer drink before replacing the stopper.

'Ah... I feel better already.' I said. I did feel better. The alcohol was burning a fiery path down into my stomach, warming me up from the inside.

'More?' Dickon queried.

'Yes.'

I drank again, feeling the warmth from the fire more intensely than before. I looked over at Dickon, who had a strange, soft expression on his face. He turned his glance quickly towards the fire when he noticed me looking at him. I passed him the bottle once again, and he took another long drink.

'Who owns this place, Dickon – and how did you know to come here?

'This belongs t' my family.' he began. 'It is a hut used for those of us that were out on th' moor in bad weather – and I suspect' – he said with a wry grin 'those husbands that annoyed their wives too much wi' their drinkin.'

I smiled at his explanation.

'Thank you for taking me here.'

'Tis' no problem.'

We sat in silence for a moment, listening to the crackling of the fire, then Dickon pulled his chair closer to mine.

'You've been here before, haven't you Dickon?'

The alcohol was loosening my tongue, and I was becoming more candid with my questions.

'Aye. I have. Often if I'm out on th' Moor at night and canna get back in time. Sometimes I've come here when I've wanted t' be alone – t' think.'

'I can understand that.' I said. 'Somewhere you can be where no one can disturb you, where you can just be - '

'Yourself.' finished Dickon. 'Aye. That is how it is.'

'There was nowhere like that for me in London.' I said, without thinking. 'There were people everywhere. There was no where to be alone, no where I could think. I thought I should go mad.'

Dickon nodded as I spoke.

I stared into the fire, hypnotised by the dancing flames, and lost in my memories.

'But the worst part, was the emptiness I felt inside. It was the part of me that only feels whole when I am at Misselthwaite, when I am free to do as I choose. Nobody understood – not even Samantha. It was as if a part of my soul was missing.'

He nodded, and drank.

'Dickon... I may be gone from my Uncle's house, but I don't feel that way any more. I feel...' I paused. '... I feel whole once again'

'Why is that, Miss Mary?' he said slowly, meeting my gaze.

'Because you are here with me.'

The absence of his reply scared me. Perhaps I had said too much. Then I noticed that his eyes were shining brightly. He was trying to look away, as if he could not bear to set his eyes upon me. I felt an ache in my throat, and a sadness that went deep down inside. Hesitantly, I reached over and wrapped my arm around his shoulders, leaning on him gently. His shoulders were shaking, and with a shock I realised that he was crying.

'Oh Dickon.' I said softly, feeling my own eyes brimming with tears.

I leaned over, wrapping both of my arms around him as I did so, then felt his arms slide around me and pull me tightly towards him. I hugged him as tight as I could, wishing that their was some way of changing what had happened over the last two months.

'I thought I had lost thee.' he was saying.

I pulled back from him and looked at his face. His beautiful blue eyes were bright with tears, his skin pale. His lips were open, slightly parted. Wordlessly, I leaned closer, closing my eyes, and kissed him.

He kissed me back with such a passion and a need that it left me breathless. His lips felt warm on my own, his mouth inviting. I felt his hands move up my back, pulling me towards him, as though he was begging me to continue, as though he never wanted to let me go.

I let him kiss me, over and over. Together, we had found each other again, and I never wanted to let him go.