Rosaline

by Penelope Marshall

  I moved out of the way, running up the stairs to stand with my mother and Celeste.

  "Mother, stop them," I begged.

  "I can't. This is about honor," she replied, her gaze set on the fight below.

  "They are killing each other," I said as I ran down the stairs.

  "No, Rosaline!" My mother yelled.

  Infuriated, Gregory picked up my father and threw his across the room, where he landed on top of the dining room table. My father's eyes turned red, as he leapt to his feet, and snatched Gregory's neck and slammed him down to the ground. Gregory pushed my father off of him, with a powerful jab to the chest, sending my father careening through the banister. Quickly, he charged back toward Gregory. I screamed in the background, while Gregory grabbed my father's wrists, subduing my father's advance.

  My father tried to pry Gregory's hands off of his wrist, as they struggled to the ground, both men equal in strength. I was in a panic, wondering whether I should disregard what my mother said, and stop the fight. Or at least try.

  My father brought his knees to his chest and used them to push Gregory off, propelling him toward a table situated in the middle of the room. Gregory quickly stood up, shook his head to regain his balance, and jumped back into the fight.

  Raising his fist into the air, aiming for my father's face to deal the final blow, Gregory leapt toward him and tried to land the punch. Fortunately, my father stepped out of the way, grabbing Gregory's shirt, ripping it right off his back, the absence of it revealed the raised scar of a claw mark running down the full length of his back.

  Clare screamed hysterically from the top of the stairs. "What are you animals doing?"

  I gasped in horror when I saw Clare's dress covered in blood, holding her dead baby swaddled in a towel, with Henry standing silently behind her.

  Stillness fell over the room, my father and Gregory paralyzed, as they beheld the gruesome sight.

  Celeste whipped around, shielding Clare and the baby from our view. "Let's go my, darling Clare," she said frantically, as she guided Clare and Henry back to my room.

  My mother glared over the banister, toward my father and Gregory, as she followed the three down the hall, shaking her head in disgust. "Animals."

  I stood there with the two men in a sea of splintered wood, and crumbled plaster, watching as they disappeared from view.

  My father was the first to speak. "If you won't agree to call off this wedding, we will go to the Dàil, and petition for the contract to be rescinded."

  Gregory wiped the blood from his mouth. "Do what you wish. But they will tell you what I have already said. There is no getting out of this contract."

  "Where did you get that scar on your back?" I asked.

  Gregory snatched his shirt from my father's hand, and brushed by me, heading upstairs. "Only speak when spoken too, and after tonight, that will not be much."

  THE DÀIL

  The Dàil - (DAW-ill)

  Aimsir - (AM-shir)

  Aisling - (ASH-ling)

  Leannàn - (LAN-awn)

  I hadn't heard from Clare after that night, but I suppose that a week wasn't long enough to expect someone to get over the death of their child. I wanted to call, but my mother urged me not to. My heart ached for her loss, and my soul burned from the guilt of having been the cause of her pain.

  Gideon had called out to me a few times, but I couldn't bring myself to respond to him. My life was in a full on tailspin since the day I laid eyes on him, and I couldn't handle anything else.

  My parents didn't ask about him, and I didn’t offer anything. I think we were all content to pretend that Gideon didn't exist at this point.

  A knock sounded at my bedroom door.

  "Yes?"

  "Rosaline, it's me," my father said from the other side of the door.

  "Come in," I called, sitting on the chair in the corner of my room.

  He walked in and looked at my bed.

  "I can't even sleep on it. I've been sleeping on the floor."

  "Why didn't you say anything?"

  "Say what? I think I have caused enough trouble."

  "Oh, Rosy."

  "Don't call me that anymore. That name is for an innocent child, not a baby killer like me."

  "Rosaline, you are not baby killer. But you did kill someone."

  "Am I supposed to be proud of that? Does that bring Clare's baby back?" I said with a raised voice.

  "Rosaline Winthrop." My mother walked in. "I don’t care what you are going through. You are not going to act like an animal to your father in my house, or in any house for that matter."

  "Yes, mother."

  My father interjected. "I came in here because I think it's time to take a trip to Colorado to visit Shehlan Mansion."

  "What do you want to see the Dàil for?" I asked.

  "Well, to get you out of marrying William of course," my mother said, as she perched herself on the arm rest of my chair.

  "But don’t you think that's what caused all of this mayhem?" I asked. "My unwillingness to marry the one to whom I was promised."

  "I surmise there have been a lot of factors that have led us to this point. But first and foremost, Gregory will never let you live down what happened the other night, and he is going to make your every waking moment as miserable as he possibly can," my father said.

  "Have you ever thought that maybe I deserve it?"

  My mother cupped her hand to my cheek, and turned my face to hers. "Don't you dare…like I said before…you deserve the best ten thousand lives this world has to offer, and I will certainly not stand in the way of your happiness, my dear."

  I smiled, as I leaned in to kiss her cheek.

  "Now hurry up, we have a flight to catch," my father urged.

  "Alright, alright," I said, popping up from the chair.

  They left the room as I headed to my closet to grab my suitcase. I had only been packing for a few minutes when I heard a tapping at my door.

  "Mother?" I asked, walking to the door.

  "No, it's William."

  I pressed my forehead against the wooden door.

  "What could you possibly be doing here?"

  "I have spoken with my father, and we have all agreed to put the other night behind us."

  "That's all good and well, but I don’t think I can."

  "I am really trying to get past what happened."

  "And that is what makes this so difficult. Like I said the other night…you deserve so much more than I could ever offer you."

  "Open the door, Rosaline. Let me see your eyes, as you may look into mine, and you will see my honesty."

  "I do not doubt your honesty. I do, however, very much doubt mine."

  "I have tried to be upstanding; the kind of man I know you long for, haven’t I?"

  "This has nothing to do with you, William. This is me. All me."

  "That's a tired line, given by someone who has given up on us."

  "How could I give up something I never had?"

  "You did have me."

  "Yes, but you never had me."

  He was silent, and for a brief moment, I thought he had left.

  "William?"

  A sigh filtered through the door. "This has all been too much for me, and I can't continue to pretend that your actions haven't hurt me."

  "What do you want me to say? There are no words to take back the last few weeks."

  "Tell me about the man you left the party with?"

  I pondered my answer, knowing my words would cut him deeply. "He is the most complete person I know."

  "You make me lonely for someone to describe me in that way," he whispered.

  "William."

  "Did you ever see someone and know they were to play an important role in your life? Is that who this man is to you? "

  I thought for a moment, taking a deep breath, as I pulled open the door.

  My father was standing behind William, with his arms crossed. "Are you going to be okay, Rosaline?" My father ask
ed.

  "I will be fine."

  He nodded, unclasping his arms, as he walked down the hall.

  I moved behind the door, motioning for William to come in.

  "Rosaline, there is no easy way to get past what has happened, except to push through it with our heads held up high."

  "I am not you William, I cannot fake what I do not feel in my heart," I said as I walked to my closet, and continued to pack.

  "What are you doing?"

  "My father and I are taking a trip."

  "We have a wedding to plan for. Where could you possibly be going?"

  I didn’t reply.

  "Rosaline, where are you going?" He asked in a tight voice.

  I stopped rifling through my clothes long enough to glance over to him standing next to my bed. "Shehlan Mansion."

  "Colorado…to see the Dàil?" he asked, moving toward the closet. "Don't tell me you're going to plead our contract be revoked."

  I continued to pack without giving him a reply.

  "Rosaline, look at me," he said, grabbing my wrist, as he shut the door to the closet behind him.

  "What are you doing?" I asked, as he yanked me close, clutching on to the nape of my neck.

  "Let go of me, William."

  Rosaline. Gideon called.

  "If being in my arms is so horrible, why haven't you pushed me away?"

  Let me help you. He insisted.

  "Get out of my head!" I yelled, pushing William with all my might, sending him smashing through the closet door, sliding across the floor. Splintered wood, littered the floor and covered Williams's clothes.

  My father burst through my bedroom door, the second William hit the ground. My father picked him up by his shirt and held him up to the ceiling. "What do you think you're doing to my daughter?"

  "I was just speaking to her, sir."

  "The broken wood all over the floor says otherwise. Now get out of my house and don’t come back," my father said, throwing him to the floor.

  William fell onto his back. "I am sorry, Gabriel."

  "That's Mr. Winthrop to you."

  I was still standing in the closet, watching as the events unfolded; horrified that William was being blamed for my reaction to Gideon.

  My mother rushed into the room. "What is going on here?"

  "This snake is no longer welcome in our house," my father roared.

  William stood up. "Although I have the utmost respect for you, Mr. Winthrop, I do hope that you watch your tongue. I will marry your daughter, and your family will submit to mine."

  "William, stop it!" I yelled.

  He turned to me. "This is out of my hands. I must do what my father demands and he demands our marriage take place." He turned back to my father. "I will not tell my father of this incident. It will only wreak more havoc between our families."

  "Do what you must. I am not afraid of your father," my father said.

  William dusted off the wooden splinters and said, "You should be."

  My mother chimed in, laying her hand on my father's chest. "Is that a threat, William?"

  "No, Mrs. Winthrop, it is merely a warning. My father is a tyrant, and I dare not cross him, and neither should you."

  "Then you are not a man at all, William McAllister. You are a cowering child, not old enough to take on a wife. Get out!" My mother scolded.

  He walked out without another word.

  My father looked at me. "Are you okay?"

  I shook my head. "I just feel like we keep digging this hole deeper and deeper."

  "It's okay. We will make our plea, and the Dàil will surely understand the predicament," my father assured me.

  "Please finish packing, Rosaline, and don’t worry about the mess. I will take care of it," my mother said, walking out with my father, as the sound of William's car screeching away barreled through my bedroom window.

  Rosaline. Gideon's voice called.

  I ran to my window, and looked toward the trees. William's car had already sped off, leaving two black rubber tire marks along the entire length of the driveway. As I watched his car disappear down the road, I caught sight of Gideon's wolf, majestically standing at the edge of the trees. I pressed my hand against the window pane, the outline of my cold hand fogged against the hot Georgia sun.

  His fury whipped through my head like a hurricane. I'm going to kill him!

  I shook my head. "No."

  Don't push me away.

  "Leave," I whispered, as I walked away from the window.

  Let me explain.

  "Leave me alone, Gideon. Go back to your girlfriend. It's over."

  As soon as I uttered the words, sadness fell over me like a heavy blanket. I knew my feelings were a reflection of his. Turning back to the window, I searched for him along the tree line, but he was gone.

  "Rosaline, let's go," my father called out from downstairs.

  Backing away from the window, I grabbed what little I had already packed, and headed downstairs.

  "Is that what you are going to wear to see the Dàil?" My mother asked at the bottom of the stairs.

  "Seriously, mother?"

  "We cannot forget etiquette. A lady always rises from the ashes."

  "Give it a rest Stella. Our house is in shambles, our lives hang precariously by a thread, and you're worried about what she is dressed in?"

  "I do not need your input, Gabriel," my mother said, as she combed her fingers through my tousled hair.

  "Just stop fighting!" I shouted, as I zipped by them, and out the door.

  I was tired of the fighting, the angst, the constant churning in my stomach. Tossing my bag in the car, I slid into the passenger seat, and waited for my father. Everything was falling apart, and I just wanted to get to the Dàil to beg for my freedom. If I hadn't wanted to marry William before today, I certainly didn’t want to marry him now.

  My father got in the car. "Are you ready?"

  "Can anyone ever be ready for something like this?"

  "No, I suppose not," he said, starting the car.

  GIDEON

  I watched from behind the tree line, as she drove away, taking with her everything I had to offer.

  My world was starting to fall apart, and I didn’t know how to fix it. I only knew that I needed to, or I would have nothing to live for.

  My mother's fur brushed by, as she stood silently next to me.

  How could I lose someone, who I never fully had? I asked her.

  She's hurt, and you will have to fight harder than you have ever fought in your life, in a war which no man is ever prepared to fight.

  Who do I fight? William? I asked, confused.

  Love is not a physical battle fought in fields of dirt and grass. It's fought in the deep chasms of time.

  I turned to her, realizing that this was the same hurt she must've felt when my father died, leaving her alone to take on the world.

  She leaned against me for a time, watching as the moon took its place in the night sky.

  ROSALINE

  I don’t remember much about the drive to Atlanta, or the flight to Colorado's Telluride Airport, but the moment we started the two-hour drive to Shehlan Mansion, nestled in the bosom of the beautiful Mount Sneffel mountain range, I was awestruck by the vibrant scenery. The colors looked as though they were plucked from a rainbow and strewn about with no consideration to rhyme or reason. The sky, painted in streams of orange and gray, played the backdrop to mountains, the color of the ocean, capped with fresh white snow.

  And the trees…oh the trees…if not hidden by a gray mystical fog, glowed a vibrant yellow speckled with bouts of green, inviting me to frolic like a child through their never ending twists and turns.

  "We should be there in a few minutes, my sweet Rose. Are you ready?" My father asked.

  I smiled. "As I'll ever be."

  As promised, a few minutes later, we were pulling up the arched driveway to Shehlan Mansion, which resembled a stone castle. There were about ten men, dressed in black suits and matc
hing black ties, standing guard outside, while others stood ready to receive us as soon as the car doors opened.

  "Ma'am," one of the men said, as he held out his hand to help me from the car.

  "Thank you, sir."

  "Follow me please, the Dàil is waiting," he said, as he started for the door.

  Walking through the main foyer, filled with old world antique furniture and marble accents throughout, we were led through a number of corridors before arriving at a set of heavy gold doors.

  The two men, who were posted outside, in unison, opened the doors to what looked like a massive library. The walls, lined floor to ceiling, with old leather bound books and weathered papyrus scrolls. There were piles of neatly stacked books, covering every available surface, and seating that was definitely more for show, than comfort.

  I looked to my father for guidance as how to proceed. Stepping out from behind a tall stack of books, was an older gentleman dressed in a long black cloak. His skin pale, and hair silver, which matched the color in his eyes. Slowly, he made his way over, his arm stretched out to shake my father's hand.

  "Hello. Mr. and Miss Winthrop, I presume?"

  "Yes. I am Gabriel, and this is my daughter, Rosaline," my father corrected.

  "Ahh, Gabriel. One of our best death dealers."

  My father smiled. "I am honored that you have heard of me, sir."

  "Excuse my manners, I am Sir Aisling," he said, then looked over to me, and held his hand out.

  I rested my hand on his, as he proceeded to kiss the back of it. "My lady."

  I smiled awkwardly, uncomfortable, as his piercing eyes pored over me. "Sir Aisling."

  "Come and sit. My cohorts will be here soon enough. Perhaps we should start?"

  We followed him to a massive rectangular wooden table at the very back of the library, with enough seating for at least thirty people.

  "Please, have a seat," Sir Aisling said, motioning to any of the smaller chairs.

  He sat in one of three chairs, the backs of which extended double the height of the rest.

  Sir Aisling, called out, "Ah, here they are, Sir Leannàn, and Sir Aimsir, come join us."

  The two aged vampires, walked out from a hidden door behind a shelving of books, chatting quietly amongst themselves. One dressed in a long gray cloak, the other in a long red cloak. They proceeded to sit at the other two high backed chairs, situated next to Sir Aisling.