Cimmerian Sunrise

Chapter 1 - ***REVISED***

1822-Liverpool, England       

Crabtree Residence-

Breanne tossed and turned in her bed until her eyes suddenly popped open.  Shivering, she snuggled further into the covers, and turned toward her bedroom window. She could feel the chilly draft seeping in through the slightly uneven ledge; and though painfully aware of the discomfort she was in, she bore it, because looking at the moon every night appealed to her. To think, the moon shone on everyone. She wished that she could travel the world, discover new things, and new people.

Even now, the moonlight graced her face and she found herself staring up at the starry night sky, smiling. It was as if someone had thrown a pocketful of diamonds up into the air and they had been caught in an invisible net. Was her husband also looking up at the night sky at that very moment? Breanne smiled again at the title; her husband. The idea of being a married woman was still quite foreign to her, as was naturally the case since she'd only been so for two days. It was dreadful that he had to travel to Scotland, and before their honeymoon at that. She tried to bear it by remembering that he would be home by the end of the week, and she could begin to move all of her possessions to his residence. Such matters should have been cared for before the wedding, but there simply wasn't time. So, when Torrington told her that he had to go away for a short while and that she ought to stay with her parents, since most of her belongings were still there, she agreed, though her heart sank. In truth, she wished with all that she was that she had stayed in his townhouse, turning it into the home that she wanted it to be. An immediate frown clouded her face; he left before I could even ask him why he had to go...whisked away from me before the first morning of our married life could turn to midday. Too quickly. It is terrible of me to think it, but how he could bear to leave me? Does my love have so weak a thread holding his heart?

Perfectly arched eyebrows furrowed once again in confusion when a loud voice thundered from the room below stairs. Her mother and father had gone to bed hours ago, so what was going on? The sound echoed through the floor grate into her small bedroom, pricking her curiosity. Was this what woke her up? Shooting an irritated glare over her shoulder at the corner of the room from whence the sound emanated, she quickly grabbed a pillow, placing it firmly over her head. She wanted to sleep! The stubborn voices penetrated through her feather pillow. Nothing she could do would block it out.

Unable to bear the situation any longer, Breanne grumpily flung her covers and pillow aside, sucking in a breath when her bare feet hit the cold floor. Although she tip-toed to the door, the boards beneath her still turned tattle-tale, moaning out their betrayal under her weight. She froze for a second... and when the voices continued, let out a small sigh of relief.

She placed her hand on her bedroom door and slowly opened it. After stepping over the threshold, she saw that there was a faint light coming from the drawing room. Holding her breath, she crept down the narrow staircase; hoping that the squeaky stairs would not give her away. When she reached the bottom floor, her mother's voice, or rather her words, made Breanne pause.

"Poor Breanne!" her mama wailed. "Whatever shall become of her?"

"Come, Mrs. Crabtree," her father soothed. "You must calm yourself. It is a sad turn of events but—"

He abruptly closed his mouth when Breanne finally stepped into the room. She could no longer pretend she had not been listening in. Something was not right, and she wanted to know what it was. Unable to meet her daughter's steady gaze, Mrs. Crabtree immediately buried her tear-streaked face into a handkerchief. Foreboding filled Breanne; her mother never cried. Realizing that these strange and inexplicable tears rendered her mute, Breanne looked to her father before her eyes snapped to the darkness behind him. Did something move in the shadows of the room? Yes, she was certain that someone else was present. Why is a visitor here so late? She self-consciously folded her arms across her chest and cursed herself for leaving her bedroom without her dressing gown. Whoever the person was, they rudely sat there in the dark, not bothering to get up and greet her. She tore her gaze away from the shadows and looked again to her father, who now had his arm around her mother.