Emille

Chapter 5

Henry had never received such a shock in the entirety of his short life. When he heard the creaking of wheels and peered out of his window to see a carriage--sleek, shiny and fashionable--he'd nearly fainted from the surprise. Arthur had spotted his wide eyes and beckoned to him roughly. Henry scurried from the house, eager to see who had been brave enough to wander into the woods with Arthur.

"Henry, heat the cabin while we dismount. And make room for Ms. Simmons."

Henry jumped in surprise. Arthur hadn't called him by his name in...well he didn't know how long. He'd always been "boy". He'd also never asked for the cabin to be heated. Arthur was putting on quite a show. Henry thought he looked a bit...nervous? It was an odd emotion to see on a man so large, so gruff. Like watching a rhino blush. This Ms. Simmons must have been special to Arthur. Very special. He peered at the carriage curiously, hoping to get a glance of the woman who'd made Arthur shuffle so nervously. Another sharp look from Arthur, and he was banished to the cabin to complete his tasks.

Henry was thorough in his tasks. He had no idea what a fine lady was doing in this cabin, but he felt it wrong to provide her improper lodging. Fires were lit, the guest room was swept and tidied, and the good bread was set out. By the time Arthur had finished putting the horses away, the cabin was the picture of coziness.

"Fetch Ms. Simmons' things, boy."

Henry sighed. There was the Arthur he knew. He considered helping Arthur with the luggage he was now laboring under, but decided against it. It would wound his considerable pride.

"Oh I can carry my luggage, Arthur."

A clear, feminine voice. Merriment laced every word. He looked up at the source of the warm voice, and found a small, ruffled woman staring back at him. At first glance, she was unremarkable. Dark curly hair that had likely once been pinned back fell loosely around her shoulders, framing a round, rosy face. An upturned nose and thin, curling lips made her look impish. As if she were on the verge of mischief at all times. Henry fought the urge to check his pockets to ensure she hadn't left any surprises.

She wasn't exactly pretty. In fact, she was a bit boyish. It was her eyes that suggested otherwise. Sharp, slanting eyes. They glowed with warmth. No, not warmth. Fire. This woman was a fire. Henry could see why Arthur liked her. She was perhaps more frightening than he.

"That's--that's really no problem, Ms. Simmons," he said, voice cracking. She smiled kindly. She strode into the cabin, taking in its sparse furnishing with uncritical eyes.

"You may call me Lillabet, if you'd like."

Henry balked. She wasn't common, like him. She seemed to sense his unease, and placed a comforting hand onto his shoulder. He resisted the urge to squirm away. He didn't trust this fiery woman.

"Or not." She turned toward Arthur, who was still setting down her luggage in the guest room, a teasing glint in her eyes. "Arthur, what have you done to this boy? Poor dear is scared half to death."

Arthur just grunted down the hallway in response. She seemed satisfied with that answer. "You can get my luggage for Arthur's sake," she whispered conspiratorially. Arthur deftly slipped from her grip, and ran to get her luggage. The shoulder that she'd held seemed to burn.

~~~~~~

Arthur wasn't accustomed to feeling out of place in his own home. It was silly, feeling so shy. They'd once slept under the stars together, nothing but blankets and a few feet of space between them. But that was then, and this was now. There was much more air to breathe in those woods. Much less history, too.

The cabin was too small, too intimate. Arthur felt a bit like a school girl showing her crush her painting. Lillabet didn't seem to share the feeling. She walked around the cabin slowly, taking in the worn wooden furniture and drying herbs. The cabin was utilitarian. Arthur had left nearly everything in New York. His decor had shifted from paintings and tapestries to guns and maps.