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White Rose	By : CeeCee Category: X-men Comics > FemSlash - Female/Female Views: 10605 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the X-Men fandom. Marvel Entertainment owns these characters. I make no money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 15
- 16
- 17
Ororo and Emma grow closer, with some misgivings. Sebastian realizes that Christian and his father may be telling the truth, bringing him closer to his prize.
Ororo stirred awake and reached for Emma, but the space beside her in the enormous bed was empty, the sheets rapidly cooling. She frowned and growled under her breath.
“Brat.” Ororo sat up and stretched, flexing and extending her wings to their full span and relishing the slight ache in her muscles. She was well rested and refreshed, and her body remembered the feel of Emma’s beneath it, wrapped around it, nestled in her sweet scent and flawlessly smooth skin. Emma’s scent was still fresh, and Ororo fetched her robe and shrugged into it, more out of habit than a need to cover herself. She padded down the hall, following Emma’s trail. 
Ororo exited the castle through the solarium, bringing her out into the garden, but surprisingly, she wasn’t there, either. But she was outside.
“Bad girl,” Ororo mused. “Where could you be, little rose?” Ororo decided she could see more from the sky than she could from the ground, and she hurled herself aloft. She circled the grounds, and then decided to head toward the lake.
Her efforts were rewarded when she saw a small figure in the shallows, just past the shade thrown by the tall oak trees. Emma’s blonde hair shone in the sunlight, making her easy to spot. And, Ororo noticed, she was nude as the day she was born. Anticipation stirred in her belly, and she suddenly ached to touch her again. Ororo’s wings flattened as she glided down to greet her new bedmate.
“Hullo,” she greeted as she drew near, then hovered above the lake on her winds. The breeze tossed her hair about her leonine face, and her eyes were glowing milky white. Emma looked up from her ablutions, still wringing out her wet hair.
Ororo looked fearsome and magnificent, silhouetted by the sun. “Good morning, Wind-Rider,” Emma drawled with a smirk. She looked very, very pleased with herself, and very appetizing. Her skin was rosy and gleaming from her swim, droplets beading up and rolling down the slopes of her breasts and dripping from their tips. Ororo felt a hunger growing inside of her again, and she wanted this mischievous farm girl more than her next breath.
“Are we back to that again?”
“Ororo, then.” Emma tossed the damp hank of her hair back over her shoulder and held her arms open. “You’re overdressed for a swim.” Ororo smiled, and a moment later her robe went sailing through the air, landing just shy of the water lapping the shore. Ororo glided the rest of the way down to the water and sank into it with a low splash.
“I thought you would have had enough of the water.”
“I’d rather enjoy it this way.” Emma reached for her, stroking back Ororo’s hair from her face, fingers combing through the tangled locks. “We need to brush this.”
“If you like.” It was a task that she seldom bothered with, unless she felt like weaving it into a simple braid while she was working with her herbs in the kitchen or out in her garden.
“It’s lovely.” And it was. Ororo’s eyes swirled back from their glowing state, and Emma noticed their color had changed. “Blue,” she murmured. “Ororo, your eyes… they’re blue.”
“Pardon?”
“I’m used to seeing them gray.” Emma framed her face between her palms, studying Ororo’s eyes, now the color of sapphires. Ororo leaned into her caress, nuzzling her palm.
“You’re staring.”
“I can’t help it.” Emma felt Ororo’s hands find her waist under the tepid water and draw her close, and she tilted her face up to her kiss, sighing into it.
Ororo’s emotions were a confusing maelstrom as their bodies found each other again. She’d felt disappointment, heavy and thick in her chest when she woke up in her beastly state. She remembered the fairy’s curse and her stipulation: She had to find someone to love her. Intimate relations were no substitute, to her regret. 
Yet there was an attraction between them, a connection that only deepened after their brush with death. Ororo felt Emma hovering outside the walls of her mind, her emotions and impressions leaking through in increments, and she knew Emma was receiving the same from her. She no longer felt vulnerable, or violated by it, which confused her. How did Emma slip past her defenses?
And why didn’t she mind? Why did it feel like the part of her that she never knew was missing had been returned to her?
Emma sensed that her mistress was troubled and distracted, despite the playful intent of her visit. When they broke the kiss –reluctantly – she asked her, “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing’s the matter.” 
“You’re sure?” The air around them dropped a couple of degrees, and Emma shivered at the sudden winds that rattled the trees, small, puffy clouds drifting across the sky where there had been none a moment ago. “Brrrrr…”
“Apologies, Emma.” With a brief wave of her hand, Ororo brought the currents under her control and warmed the air. Emma chuckled.
“You’re a terrible liar. But I won’t hold it against you.”
“How long have you been out here, that you haven’t even washed your hair yet?” Emma smirked knowingly.
“Perhaps I was waiting for you to get here and do it for me.” Ororo waited for Emma to retrieve her soap from the basket she’d left on the shore and to wade back to her in the deep. Within minutes, she was sighing in contentment as Ororo’s fingers combed through the thick masses of blonde hair, working it into a foamy lather and kneading her scalp.
“Don’t waste the soap,” Ororo suggested, letting her fingers trail foam down Emma’s throat and the crest of her shoulder. Emma shivered. 
“Not one drop.” She leaned back against Ororo and purred at the feel of her slick hands gliding over her skin, smoothing the thick foam over her curves, cupping her breasts. She teased Emma’s nipple with her fingertip, which had already peaked just from the cool temperature of the water, but that now ached with desire. Emma drifted on the myriad sensations and on Ororo’s arousal, leaking through their rapport, and she wanted to lose herself in it completely. Ororo made her tip her head back to rinse.
“What would you like to do today?” Emma asked once she surfaced and wiped her closed eyes, ridding them of soapy residue.
“This,” Ororo admitted. “And perhaps breakfast.”
“Doesn’t sound very ambitious.” Emma turned to face her, and Ororo’s lips curled in amusement. “What?”
“When I say ‘breakfast,’ I mean that I’m going to take you back to bed and lick if off of your skin. Slowly.” Emma’s eyes dilated with desire.
“Let’s hurry up and wash your hair.”
*
There were benefits to living with a weather witch. Ororo dried them off quickly with warm, whirling gusts of wind that buffeted them, caressing skin and whipping long tresses free of moisture. They were tousled and refreshed as they headed back inside, clothing bundled in their arms. There was no reason for modesty between them now. Emma carried on their conversation telepathically as they went upstairs, and Emma felt joy and comfort envelop her, so pleased that Ororo trusted her with the psychic link.
…to an extent. There were still closed doors in the Wind-Rider’s mind, and Emma knew it was futile to try to worm her way in past those defenses. But in the meantime, Emma saw snippets of memories, just brief impressions, almost like echoes of experiences she was having, but through Ororo’s eyes. After a while, it was hard to discern whose memories they were. 
They raided the kitchen and raced each other back upstairs, loaded down with treats. Emma grinned wickedly at Ororo from across the room, brandishing a small pot of honey that she lifted from her basket. “You were saying something about breakfast.”
“You just bathed. You’ll just get all sticky,” Ororo chided, but her eyes were sparkling with mischief, and the corner of her mouth curled up in a little smirk.
“The lake isn’t going anywhere. It’ll still be out there… later,” Emma suggested smoothly. She dangled the honey pot off of one finger by its looped handle and sashayed toward her mistress, staring up at her through her lashes. “Aren’t you hungry?”
“Yes. And you’re awful.”
“Terrible,” Emma agreed, tutting and trying to force her face into serious lines. Ororo rolled her eyes and sighed.
“What am I to do with you, naughty rose?”
“Might be easier to decide after breakfast, Mistress.” Ororo’s eyes dilated, and Emma felt her own pulse quickening at the building need she sensed in the other woman’s mind, matched by her own.
She didn’t remember how they made it to the bed, a frenzied scramble of limbs, hands and mouths. Emma grunted as she landed back against the cool sheets that still smelled like them, then groaned with desire as Ororo covered her body with hers, soft fur rasping against her skin. Emma did a quick mental scan of the room, then of the whole wing of the house. None of Ororo’s servants were creeping about, which was a relief, not even Jenny. Emma almost missed the she-cat’s purred jests and smug looks, but she could make herself scarce a while longer. Ororo’s kisses were firm and insistent, coaxing desperate sounds from Emma’s throat. She felt the warm, sensual drizzle of honey being poured over her skin, and Emma huffed a laugh, feeling Ororo smile against her mouth.
“Minx! You weren’t joking?!?”
“I never joke.”
“Liar.”
“Oh, look, I missed a spot…” Ororo lapped up the trail of amber sweetness wending its way over the curve of Emma’s breast, her feline tongue rasping over her skin. Emma’s hands gripped Ororo’s horns, holding her close as she lost herself in pleasure. Surely she would regret being a sticky mess, and she hated to think of Ororo getting the stuff in her nice, clean fur, but it couldn’t be helped, could it? 
Oh, no. Certainly not. Emma’s stiff, tourmaline pinky nipple was covered in another golden stream, and Ororo swirled her tongue around it, over and over, to catch every last drop. “So sweet,” Ororo murmured around her flesh. “You always taste so good, Rose.” Emma couldn’t form a reply – even a coherent thought – amidst the havoc her mistress wrought with her mouth. “I can’t get enough of you…” Emma shivered at her words as those skilled, taloned fingers gently plucked at her, teasing sensitive flesh and caressing her. She mapped out Emma’s body slowly, descending over her curves, continuing to lick over each contour and plane. She was so intent, so lost in her, that Ororo didn’t realize how much of her desire and need was transmitting to Emma through their link; as soon as Emma could form the impression that she enjoyed her warm breath misting over her navel, Ororo would lap at the graceful little indent a puff a breath of air over it, making her belly quiver. They were in tune with each other as they indolently made love again. Emma’s fingers tangled in Ororo’s long white hair, combing through the silky mass, letting it brush over her skin, sticking to her slightly from the honey…
It was decadent. It overloaded her senses. Emma’s blue eyes shuttered as her low mewls and whimpers filled the room. “You tease,” Emma husked. Ororo flicked the tip of her tongue against the hood of Emma’s sex, barely stroking the little pearl within. Ororo tsked, then hummed into her flesh. She drizzled more honey over the crease of Emma’s hip, letting it trickle over her inner thigh. “No. Oh, no… you wouldn’t… Ororo… oh, no, ORORO…!”
“Oh…yes.” Yes. The thought wrapped around Emma’s consciousness like a blanket.
Minx. She quivered and shuddered, head bucking back into the pillow as Ororo pulled long, loud moans from her. Emma prayed the other occupants of the castle weren’t too close by, or she would never be able to look any of them in their little, beady eyes again. Ororo lapped lazy circles over her inner thigh, spreading both of them farther apart.
“I hope you didn’t have any other plans today.” The last two words were muffled, and Emma whimpered again as those lips found her glistening, parted folds. Emma curled her fingers in Ororo’s hair, clenching it to anchor her there.
“No,” she breathed. It was the last word she could manage before Ororo made good on her earlier promise and had a very leisurely… breakfast.
 
Emma barely remembered falling asleep. She drifted in and out of a replete stupor with Ororo’s body curled around hers. By the time she woke, her skin, as guaranteed, was very sticky. She moaned and smacked her lips in annoyance, though, at the feel of something cool and damp swishing over her skin.
“Nnnnnngh… what…?”
“I hated to wake you,” Ororo murmured as she stroked her skin with the washcloth. “But I knew you couldn’t be comfortable like that.”
“What… time is it?”
“Well after noon, dear.”
“Goodness… lost track.”
“You were occupied.” Emma cracked open her eyes, and her lips twisted when she saw Ororo’s greeting smirk.
“Oh, was I?”
“Mm-hmmm…” Ororo chucked the cloth into the basin on the bedside table and she stretched out alongside her. She chuckled when she heard Emma’s stomach growl.
“At least one of us ate,” Emma accused, yawning. 
“There’s still plenty.” Ororo kissed her temple, then grinned when Emma reached for her, slim hand wrapping around her nape and drawing her down to her. The kiss was languorous and sated, and Ororo’s arm wrapped around her possessively. “Let me feed you.”
They lounged under the covers, feeding each other grapes and cheese. Emma drizzled some honey on a piece of bread for herself, this time, and it took the edge off of her hunger. She sighed in contentment. “This is nice.”
“You never just have a lie-in? With breakfast in bed?”
“Honestly?” Ororo nodded. Emma shook her head, shrugging. “No.”
“How… deprived you’ve been.” Ororo’s tone suggested that a crime had been committed. Emma chuckled.
“No time for lying about on a farm. But I certainly nursed Chris and my sisters through hangovers, and I brought many a breakfast upstairs to them.”
“You’re too good to them.” Ororo didn’t say out loud that she was glad she had stolen Emma from Winston, if that was the sort of thing her life regularly entailed within his grip. The sentiment, unspoken, still lingered between them.
“Youngest daughter. End of the pecking order.”
“Ridiculous. The youngest child is supposed to be spoiled rotten.”
“Were you?”
“Yes.”
“Youngest?”
“No. I was an only child.” Ororo toyed with a grape branch that had been stripped bare of fruit and began to pick it apart. “But I never lacked for anything.”
“Did your parents love you?”
Emma watched a shadow fall over Ororo’s face, and the sky outside darkened in tandem, clouds marring the perfect blue.
“I often ask myself that.” She propped herself up on her elbow and stared into Emma’s eyes. “I was a ‘lonely only.’ It might have been for the best.”
“Why?”
“Can we talk about something else?” Emma felt the subtle shift between them, and the slight “push” back that Ororo’s mind gave hers.
“Bath?” 
Ororo’s eyes lit up. “Of course!” 
They took a different route, and Emma placed her safety in Ororo’s hands, trusting her to fly her to a different “swimming hole.” Ororo stopped her reach for her dress. 
“Are you mad? We can’t just-“
“Oh, but we can.” Emma wasn’t sure she liked the twinkle in her eye, but she took Ororo’s hand and let her lead her to the balcony. The winds outside were already stirring up again, more clouds drifting overhead. But the drafts were warm, and the sky was inviting, calling to them. “You don’t have to worry.” Ororo’s eyes flashed white, and they were hurled aloft. She held onto Ororo tightly and listened to the sharp snaps of her wings beating the air in mighty strokes. Emma’s heart was pounding in her chest, but she trusted her, knew that she would never let her fall this time, and in a brief flash of insight, felt Ororo’s emotions leaking into her consciousness…
She would never harm Emma, her precious rose. They soared over the trees, higher and higher into the sky, and Emma felt slightly dizzy with the altitude. “Won’t people be able to still see us?” She felt guilty for shouting in Ororo’s ear, before belatedly realizing she didn’t have to. Ororo huffed a laugh.
Watch.
She flew them into a mass of clouds, and Emma shrieked in surprise as it engulfed them in so much misty white. The cold moisture was a shock, but Ororo was mindful of her, holding her more tightly against her body and generating warm air currents to keep her comfortable. They coasted across the sky, wrapped in the cloud’s cover. Emma’s breath was taken away by the view from above, what she could see of it through the mist. Trees, steeples, rivers, cliffs, all of it so small from that high up.

It’s so beautiful.

Ororo smiled and nodded.

Yet you put it all to shame.

Emma didn’t know how far they’d flown, but when the mist cleared as they began their descent, she saw a small grotto surrounded by cliffs and a sparkling waterfall. The humid scents of hissing water and tropical plants filled Emma’s senses. “What is that?” Emma breathed.
“You’ll love it,” Ororo promised. “Time for that bath, Emma!” They were looming closer to the water’s surface, their shadow growing larger as they went down. Emma suddenly felt the winds dying down, and her eyes grow round.
“Ororo… shouldn’t we be… Ororo! Please! Flap! FLY!” They were several yards over the water’s surface. Ororo’s grin was wicked this time.
“Time for a big splash!”
“Oh, no… NO! NOOOOOOOOOOOO!” Emma’s voice became a shriek of dismay that cut off abruptly in a rush of bubbles as they splashed down. The water was brisk and unforgiving, and Emma regretted having no layer of clothing between it and her vulnerable flesh.
Yet when they kicked and stroked their way to the surface, she felt exhilarated and fresh. Emma tread water as she waited for Ororo’s horned head to surface, and when Ororo appeared, she splashed a wave of water in her direction, indignant.
“You… YOU! You BEAST!” Ororo let out a peal of laughter, and Emma splashed her again before she began to swim toward the shallows.
“You can’t be angry with me,” she insisted. “No one saw us. We’re here, all in one piece, and I promised you a bath. It’s lovely, isn’t it?”
“Yes, but you’re horrible to frighten me like that!”
“Were you really that frightened? Emma?” She swam after her, breaststroking easily, wings sculling along behind her. Ororo’s fur was slicked down and plastered to her skin. Emma’s hair hung in damp golden runnels down her face and back; she flicked a lock of it out of her eyes as she waded toward the water’s edge.
“It’s colder than the lake.”
“It’s coming from the sea. We’re alone here,” Ororo explained. “Can’t you smell the surf?” She caught up to her and grabbed her hand. “Emma, don’t be angry, sweetie. I was only playing.”
“You know how I feel about heights. And being dropped. And dunked. And scared witless. And did I mention HEIGHTS?”
“It wasn’t that high up.” Ororo’s lips curled. “Emma… come with me. Don’t get out yet. You need to experience this first.” She waded them towards the waterfall, and its roar made conversation as difficult between them as the winds had. “It feels amazing,” she promised.
The rush of water over her skin, pounding against her muscles and pouring through her hair was apology enough. Emma let it pour over her and wallowed in it, lost in this new bliss. The two women swam and waded, enjoying their shower, feeling the water beat down on them in time with their hearts. Ororo kissed her, enveloping her, and Emma clung to her, wrapped within the cocoon of her black wings.
They spent the rest of the afternoon wading, swimming, and diving off the cliffs into the small tide pool. They lolled on the beach in the sun, letting it warm their skin, pushing their toes into the sand. Emma sighed in contentment.
“You can do so many amazing things. How did you know about this place?”
“My father used to bring us here when I was a girl. He had a boat. He used to sail us out here whenever the weather was warm enough. Once I was old enough, I found my own way out here, from the air. Sometimes I come here when I need some time to myself, to just think. It’s peaceful.”
“Ororo… do you ever get lonely?”
“I think you know the answer to that question by now, Emma.” Ororo reached out and poked her in the side, making her squeal. She took umbrage by reaching for a handful of sand and tossing it over Ororo’s belly. “ACKKK!”
“Seriously. I was being serious.”
“Well, you need to stop that. Life’s too short.” Ororo leaned up, half-reclined as she stared out at the water. “My house isn’t empty. Not really. I have my servants to talk to, at any rate, but… it’s…”
“Not the same as having a person. Someone to play chess with. Someone to walk with you in the garden.” 
“Didn’t I tell you not to read my thoughts?”
“Hard not to, when you just throw them out there,” Emma accused. 
“Someone to kiss.” Ororo added to Emma’s list, reaching out to twirl a lock of Emma’s hair around her finger. “Someone to warm my sheets.” Emma felt arousal pooling in her belly again with the look Ororo was giving her, and she laid back when Ororo leaned over her, stroking her hair back from her face.
“I see why it wouldn’t be the same.” Emma reached for her, and Ororo sank down into her softness and inviting scent, all warm pheromones and sea salt, and she kissed Emma like she couldn’t get enough.
*
Shaw contemplated Christian’s slumped, resting form through the prison bars and sighed. His flesh was badly bruised and bare; Shaw had ordered him stripped and beaten again after another interrogation that afternoon. When he was dragged back into his cell, the guards thrust him inside callously, letting him collapse, barely conscious. 
It seemed he was no closer to finding his future bride. The situation was making him irritable.
“I’d hoped for a more accommodating brother-in-law,” Shaw mused. Christian stirred, then flinched. “Your father is more than ready to welcome me into the family.”
“Leave… him alone,” Christian slurred.
“Don’t be ridiculous. He’s charming company once you get him to open up.” Christian groaned, fists clenched futilely as he tried to sit up. His eyes were full of venom when he stared up at Shaw, owning no shame despite his naked state. “We’ve had some nice chats.”
“You’re a fool to believe an old man’s ramblings, Shaw.”
“He’s spry and clever for an old gent,” Shaw corrected him. “And he’s far more willing to see reason than you. It didn’t take much persuasion to get him to tell me what happened to your lovely sister. Strangely, though… his story left me a bit confused.” Shaw leaned back against the wall, crossing one ankle over his foot and folding his arms. “I lost two of my men the day you were brought here under less than favorable circumstances.” Christian snorted at this and shook his head. 
“You know I had nothing to do with it!”
“Oh, I know that,” Shaw agreed, waving him off. “You don’t have it in you, although a judge wouldn’t care. You and your father were found at the scene of the crime, standing over two bodies that had been torn apart. You were covered in their blood.” Christian closed his eyes in shame at the memory. He could still feel the cooling spatters on his skin, could smell their irony tang. “He found you puking your guts up in the alley. Said you were drunk. But the constable said you didn’t smell like whiskey at the time of your arrest. That’s not like you. We know how much you love your whiskey, brother.”
“Don’t call me that.” 
“Make me.” His smirk was mocking and cruel. He sighed and shook his head. “Chris, Chris… Your father’s story had a few holes in it. You… probably weren’t drunk. Let’s allow ourselves that little assumption. And Jase’s throat was torn out. Like some animal just came up and mauled him. That’s not your style.”
“Would that it were…”
“Don’t get cheeky.”
“Make me stop.” Shaw’s brows rose. Then he remembered Christian had too little to lose if he beat him to death. That would leave Shaw at a disadvantage.
“Guard… give him back his clothes. A bath wouldn’t hurt, either.” Shaw took his leave, but he smiled over the ragged cries following him from the cell and the splashes of buckets of water being thrown into the cell.
It was time to do some digging.
*
Christian finally slept, dressed in his now-damp rags. His troubled doze was obliterated by a low gasp. “Oh, no… Christian! CHRIS!” 
“Rise and shine, princess,” Flynn huffed from the corridor. Christian jerked and twisted around in his cot, eyes drifting open blearily. One of them was swollen shut, but he recognized a tall, willowy body, a slender face framed with a dark cloud of hair.
“Jeanne-Marie?”
“Chris! Oh, Chris!”
“You’ve got five minutes,” Flynn informed them tersely. He backed up and let Jeanne-Marie reach for him, waiting for him to stagger up from his cot. He reached for her hands through the bars, and she leaned in as closely as she could, returning his feeble kiss.
“Sweetheart, you’re a sight for sore eyes.”
“What’ve they done to you, Christian?”
“Don’t worry about it. I’m fine, Jeanne-Marie.” She shook her head.
“Jean-Paul’s so worried.” She stroked his cheek gently, cradling it, mindful of his bruises. She leaned in and kissed him again. “We miss you so much! They’re just letting you rot in here…” Anger tinged her voice.
“I’m all right, love.”
“No, you’re not!”
“They haven’t broken me yet. They’ve tried. They’ll keep trying.” He smoothed a tendril of her hair back from her face, tucking it behind her ear. “How is Jean-Paul? Is he well?”
“Hale and whole. Whoever worked on him knew what they were doing. There’s just a small scar, now.” Christian closed his eyes at the memory of Jean-Paul bleeding out, pale and limp in his arms.
“The one who healed him… she has Emma.” He spoke in a whisper.
“I know.” Jeanne-Marie’s voice was a low rasp. Flynn scowled at them both, then pulled his watch from his pocket. “We don’t have long.”
“I have to keep her away from Shaw.”
“Do you even know where she is?”
“No. Just… bits and snatches. It’s always that way with us. I can feel her, Jeanne-Marie. I see her in my dreams. Dressed in fine clothes, eating better than we ever have, reading by a fire… she misses me, but she’s content.”
“How can you know this?”
“I just do. But Jeanne-Marie, you have to keep her away from here.”
“She’ll want to see you!”
“She can’t,” he insisted roughly, clasping her hands so hard she hissed. “It’s what Shaw wants! He’ll want her to come here, and he won’t let her leave!” He shook his head, and Jeanne-Marie’s eyes filled with tears.
“Chris, people in town are talking… they might try you for murder.”
“Then let them try. I’m innocent.” His blood ran cold at the thought of a guilty verdict, and Jeanne-Marie paled. “I just want Father to be freed. He’s… he’s not doing well here.”
“Crazy old bastard,” Flynn agreed loudly from his post. “Hasn’t stopped ranting since he got here. It’s only gotten worse since Shaw’s last visit.” Flynn laughed, a smug, ugly sound. “Chip off the old block. Bet you’ll be bouncing off the walls soon enough, too, eh, princess?”
“That’s enough!” Jeanne-Marie snapped.
“I’ll say whatever I bloody well please, miss,” Flynn reminded her. “And you’re time here’s just about up!”
“Father’s the only one who knows where Emma is,” Christian whispered to her as Jeanne-Marie leaned in toward the bars. She stared at him levelly, clasping his hand, trying to lend him her strength. “They won’t get it out of him. Even if they do, they won’t believe him. No one in their right mind will believe the things he’s seen.”
“Yet look at what your sister can do. What Jean and I can do,” she murmured. “Loving the three of us might not mean you’re in your ‘right mind,’ darling.”
“Yet it’s all that I want.” He gave her a sad smile. “I love you. All of you, do you hear me?” She nodded quickly, then pressed her face into the gap between the bars, giving him another cool, sweet kiss. “If you see Emma, tell her to stay away. No matter what happens. I don’t care if they walk me out into the square and put me in stocks, or if they take off my head.” Jeanne-Marie smothered a sob and shook her head.
“Don’t say that, Chris!”
“Don’t let her come to me! D’you understand? No matter what, Jeanne-Marie!”
“I understand.” Her voice sounded small, and tears rolled down her cheeks, clouding her pale blue eyes. The thought of losing him, and of Emma never laying eyes on her brother again broke her heart. “Don’t lose faith, Chris. We’ll find a way. Jean-Paul and I will find a way. You’ll find your way back to us!” Flynn clapped his pocketwatch shut and advanced on them.
“Time’s up. You’ve got to get,” he told her. Jeanne-Marie was reluctant to release him, clutching his hand.
“I love you. I love you so much!”
“Love you, too. Kiss Jean-Paul for me. Tell him I love him.”
“Tell him yourself, soon.” 
“Just tell him! Please!”
“I will. Oh, Chris…” Flynn wrenched them apart, and Jeanne-Marie shrieked, all composure. “Damn you…! DAMN YOU! Let me stay with him! LET ME STAY! NO! NOOOOOOOOO…CHRISTIAN!” He gripped the bars of his cell and thumped his forehead against them, staring after her through his tears.
“Tell Jean-Paul I love him,” he murmured. He heard her cries through the door in the hall even after it swung shut.
*
Thompson had the singular pleasure of leading the Frost sisters inside the prison to visit their father; they sniffed disdainfully when he attempted to show them to their brother’s cell.
“We’re not here to see that rubbish,” Adrienne informed him crisply. “Take us to see Father.”
“And be quick about it,” Cordelia added coldly, shuddering at the interior’s damp walls and cobwebs, despising the musty smell. Thompson’s smile was less than welcoming.
“Aye, come on, then. Step lively, ladies.” He led them down the corridor, past several occupied cells. The men inside hooted and whistled at them, trying to reach for them through the bars, but Adrienne shot them venomous looks as they passed. The pot she carried, covered with a tea towel, emitted delectable aromas. They came to Winston’s cell, and this time, Thompson decided to be kind.
“You’re visiting him, you’re locked in with him,” he told them.
“Obviously,” Cordelia sighed.
“Your mother must be so proud,” Adrienne scoffed. “Just let us in.” Thompson, brought up short, fumbled with his large ring of keys and unlocked the cell. The low, metallic clicks of the key in the lock halted Winston’s rambling and made him jerk at the shift in the room.
“What’s that? Who’s there? Is that you, Hazel…? Oh. Oh, I suppose not.” He peered back over his shoulder, speaking to a phantom. “It’s the other two. Yes, yes, the mouthy one…” Adrienne scowled, but Cordelia hurried forward.
“Father, we’ve brought you supper.”
“Supper… well, let’s set another place at the table, then. Er, two more, I guess… yes, yes. Pull up a chair! There’s plenty!”
“Father…” Cordelia looked appalled and close to tears.
“He’s not with us,” Adrienne whispered.
“Father… let’s have some nice stew. Delphine, at that little inn you like so much, she made this.”
“Delphine… Delphine… large woman? Big, beefy ankles, and a mole on her left cheek?”
“That’s the one.”
“Oh, she’s a saucy gel, isn’t she?” Winston elbowed Cordy and winked. “Seen her giving me the eye. Don’t tell your mother, though.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Adrienne wiped her eyes, and Cordelia cleared her throat. They settled him at the tiny table and stool and handed him a spoon. He tucked into the stew with relish, wiping up the bit that dribbled from the corner of his mouth with his fingers.
“This isn’t Emma’s stew, but a man can’t be too picky. Blankets are a bit rough.”
“I bet they are,” Adrienne murmured. “Father… how long are they planning to keep you here?”
“Your guess is as good as mine. I was just walking along, and I stopped in the alley. That’s never a good idea, by the way. I don’t recommend it. I didn’t raise my three girls to frequent dark alleys.” He stared pointedly up at Adrienne. “Hope you two are comporting yourselves how your mother taught you. And Emma, too…” It hit him, then, that he was missing someone. “Where is she? Is she out there? Emma!” he called sharply. Cordelia cringed.
“Er, Father… don’t you remember?”
“She’s not here.”
“What d’you mean, she wouldn’t just… not visit her father,” Winston insisted, tossing the spoon back into the pot with a splash. He rose and pushed past them, peering out through the bars.
“Emma doesn’t live with us anymore, Father,” Cordelia told him gently. 
“But… that’s ridiculous!” he scoffed, laughing. “You’re funning with your father. You’re telling me a joke, dear. That’s rich. She’s hiding, isn’t she? Sneaky Emma. My clever little rose…”
“Father. You bargained her away.” Winston muttered to himself, feigning interest in the stew again, taking the spoon out of it and shaking it off. “You said she had to leave. You made a deal with someone. Don’t you remember?”
“A bargain? I’ll tell you what’s not a bargain, that stodgy Henry Phillips and his kerosene oil, that’s what! What he charges is simply robbery. Robbery, I tell you…”
“Father… do you remember that night? The night you were coming home from finding your ships… the night it stormed? Please, Father,” Adrienne pleaded.
“The night that it…stormed?” Winston looked troubled and confused. “I wouldn’t go out on a night like that if I could help it. No telling what you’ll find… in the dark, when it’s thundering out. Lots of foul creatures,” he told them with a shudder. “With wings… and horns, like a great, fearsome ram, with jagged, nasty teeth! And the foul wretch will rend you and tear you to pieces with its great, bloody claws!” Winston was raving, eyes wide and dilated. “Girls, fear the night! Fear the creature that will steal the very thing you love! It has eyes like a jungle cat! Large, evil black wings, inky as night! She’ll promise you things! Feed you, set you in front of a fire…” Winston began to weep bitterly, shaking his head, and Adrienne and Cordelia watched in horror as the last of his sanity splintered. “I brought Emma a white rose! I would bring all of you roses! ROSES! A father PROVIDES!”
“Father,” Cordelia pleaded. “It’s all right. No one has taken us away from you.”
“She took Emma… that foul wretch…”
“Where?” Adrienne was tense, having had enough of the foul cell and the filth that felt like it was crawling over her flesh. “Father, we need to know where Emma went.”
“My Emma, my darling Emma,” he sobbed, shaking in his seat. Winston mopped tears from his cheeks with his shabby sleeve. 
“You took Emma in your wagon. Once the night was clear,” Adrienne began, hoping he would fill in the rest.
“In the wagon,” Winston repeated. He rocked himself, and Cordelia sniffled back tears herself, seeing him in such a state.
“She packed up some of her things.” Nothing particularly special, as Adrienne recalled, except for a locket of their mother’s that she’d always coveted, but Winston had insisted that Emma have something of Hazel’s to hold close to her heart. Just the same shabby clothing that she wore day in, day out. A pair of worn-out slippers. She left those blasted roses behind for their mother’s grave, but they’d long since wilted and died. “And you took her for a ride in the wagon. You didn’t bring her back.”
“I couldn’t, you see. It wasn’t part of the bargain. Young. Smart. That’s why she wanted her. Lovely, yes. Lovely, she said. My young, sweet child. Wanted her as a companion… the beast. Wanted my Emma to join her in the foul darkness…”
Both Frost sisters looked ill.
“Father, what have you done?” Cordelia whispered.
“What I had to do… to feed us… keep you girls… in silks,” he spat, waving them away. “Took her to the castle on the hill. Across the river,” Winston scoffed. “Never find her there, will you?”
“The river, father?” 
“Down a winding, gravel road…” he mused. “Muddy, blasted road. My wagon could barely make it through it. That’s what that beast wants,” Winston railed, shaking his finger at them. “She wants us to fail! Won’t let us find Emma and bring her home! Home, to her dear old… lonely father…” His eyes wandered and grew glazed, and for several moments, he seemed to stare at nothing.
“Sister, he’s raving,” Cordelia whispered furiously, eyes shining with tears.
Adrienne ignored her. Her mind was racing with the possibilities.
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White Rose