Rose stood overlooking the fields and the forest below the window, the back of the cottage shining in the early light. She no longer cringed at seeing the tiny building nestled among the trees and foliage. The feelings of anxiety and panic had subsided finally, and of late, the nightmares had faded away into peaceful slumber again most nights. That night had affected her more than she could ever have guessed, and in the following weeks, in a torrent of anxiety and emotion, she was afraid to leave Rob’s side and be alone. She had been jumpy and paranoid, an emotional wreck who could barely sleep and convinced attackers were always lurking in the shadows waiting for her.
The counsellor had assured her that it was normal, she had been through something traumatic, and it had affected her on many levels. Rob had squeezed her hand through every session, unable even to be alone to talk to a therapist and to need him more than ever to make her feel safe.
Rob was strong and patient, ever understanding of what she was going through. Holding her close whenever he saw her waver, he was always gentle with her, despite her moods and erratic tears. Taking as much time away from work as he could to calm her frayed nerves, reassure her and help her slowly settle back into life and routine. He had been on edge too, for weeks, unable to rest easy without her by his side and always checking in on her almost obsessively. He had taken her on every business trip that he could, she had finally had her weekend in the French villa, and it had done them a power of good. He would brush away shadows in the corners for her, leaving lights on at night even when he was laid by her side, always there, close enough to protect her should she falter.
She had not stepped foot in that cottage again for months, letting him take control of its maintenance and cleanup. The first time she had tried, an overwhelming wave of nausea had overtaken her, a severe panic attack. She felt like she was being strangled, her heart crashing and clawing to get out. Her vision had begun to blacken, and he had picked her up, taken her outside into the air, helped her bend down to catch her breath and pushed the panic back down again.
Despite that episode, she had been stubborn and steeled in her decision that she wouldn’t let Morag do this to her. Persistent in walking down there with Muffin and Rob a few times, and always the same feelings arose within her. She had finally been able to open that door and walk in without falling apart when her emotional scars had begun to heal. Able to look around and feel a tinge of that affection for the place returning slowly. Spending longer moments at every visit and frequently wandering down there with Rob, knowing how important it was that she overcame her fear of being there.
Rob had gone straight into overdrive, securing the manor for her, making all the changes he had planned and then some so that she could sleep easier at night within the manor walls. Not that it had been necessary anymore; Morag was gone. But he needed to feel like he was doing more to protect her; it was as much for his healing as hers. She had been thankful for the fortress he built around them. It had, in a way, eased her into recovery quicker. The security of living within safe walls and fences, cameras and intercoms made access to her near impossible unless they were invited.
Morag was far away now; she had been committed to a long-term psychiatric ward after the court case, pending assessments and treatments and deferring jail time. Seeing a woman with deep emotional issues and a traumatic history, thanks to her solicitor, who had painted a heart-breaking picture, the judge took pity on her.
Morag had a long history of mental illness inherited from a mother who had been inflicted with the same pain and suffering. She had committed suicide when Morag was only seven years old and had been the one to find her, blue and contorted on the bathroom floor, foaming at the mouth from the cocktail of drugs she had ingested. A sight no little girl should ever have to endure. After that, Morag was left alone with an abusive alcoholic father who mentally, sexually and physically abused her. Always silent about what he was doing, afraid it would worsen, she had given birth to a premature stillborn at fourteen alone in the woods. The solicitor had gone on to explain that she had hidden the body by burying it in the hills surrounding her family home after giving birth to a stillborn. It had rendered her unable to conceive children, a fact even Rob seemed shocked to hear in that echoing courtroom, knowing that the lie about a baby, years before, had run far deeper.
Her father had finally been jailed years later when, still abusing her, when she had found the courage to speak out. With the support of a man she had fallen in love with, Rob Munro, had given her the courage and strength to end the agony with his support finally. Rose had looked up at him at that point, his face still and deadpan while he listened to the story being laid out, and her heart swelled at what she was learning. Who the man she was marrying had been, even from an early age, and understood more than ever why he had tried to hide their relationship at first.
Morag had attempted suicide in her early twenties. Rose knew this was when Rob had broken things off with her, resulting in a long hospital stay and continuous mental health support. She had been diagnosed with an array of mental health issues, most of which required medication that made her feel groggy and unable to carry on with a normal life. Affecting everything she did, she often made the bad decision to stop her treatments to feel more lucid. Her only constant support had been her friend Mr Munro.
The nearing of his wedding to the victim, Miss Turner, caused her a complete breakdown and anguish at losing the only stable thing in her life. She had lost control of her faculties, pushed by heartbreak and despair and had not meant for things to get out of control that way.
It had given Rose more insight, pity and sorrow for her than she had ever thought she could feel. Looking at her pale dishevelled frame across the silent room, she had seen only despair. A woman locked inside her head, her prison cell of agony and torture. She had felt pained at the hopelessness in her eyes and that deep understanding of why Rob had always felt compelled to try and save her. She looked like a wounded, unloved animal who desperately wanted to find someone to love and care for her. But Rose could never forgive her for hurting Muffin.
Rob sat motionless, barely taking his eyes from Morag throughout the defence speech. Unreadable, no sign of anything except indifference. Morag had made one mistake that she could not take back. She had harmed Rose and lost every last ounce of feeling he ever had for her, she had made him sever compassion, and he was watching her as though he didn’t know her. He was only here to ensure she was punished for it; he didn’t feel empathy or sorrow for her anymore.
The judge had not sent her to jail for the crimes of which she had been found guilty. Aggravated Assault, taking a hostage, Unlawful use of a weapon. Attempted murder of Muffin. The police had piled a list of charges against her that mostly sounded ridiculous, but instead, she had been sent for evaluation and help and was going to be where she needed to be. It was far, far away. Chosen by her defence to separate her from the people and surroundings fueling her ongoing misery, the judge had agreed.
Rose had felt nothing but heartbreak for her as she had watched her lifeless, cold face in the courtroom when the judge made his speech, the way her eyes lingered on Rob as she was being taken away by uniformed men. Devoid of any signs of life and just broken. Rob had turned to Rose, away from her gaze and slid his arm around her, pulling her temple against his mouth and kissing her lingeringly.
A last message or an act of cruelty?
Maybe relief that she would finally be gone. Rose had watched the woman go, that look haunting her for days after, seeing her in her mind’s eye and remembering nothing but the look of complete devastation.
In her absence, Morag had instructed her solicitor to sell her house and car, and she had them inform Rob that he no longer had to worry about her. She was sorry for everything she had done and knew she would never be a part of his life or future again. Rob shrugged the man away, told him he did not want to hear it and tried to shuffle Rose quickly out of the courtroom, a protective arm around her, but he held out a letter to Rose as they did so.
To Rose, it was an apology letter that Rose never read, never opened and never kept. Rose had burned it in the fire of their bedroom when they had gotten home, Rob standing silently by with no resistance.
Rob had received a long thin envelope on legal stationary weeks after the trial. Her lawyer said she intended to make a life away from here when she was finally well enough to be released and handed in her resignation at the museum, not that it had been needed. He had already relinquished her duties to a new museum curator who was turning the old building into a much more attractive place to visit. Rob was still donating money as he got things underway, and things looked promising for the ancient relic.
Morag was finally choosing to walk out of his life. Letting him go. Allowing them to move on with theirs and be able to focus on just themselves. Finally, to put all the endless mess, heartache, drama, and confusion to bed.
The manor was finally complete. She knew Rob had pressed the contractors to work fast, and he had her mind occupied with fabric swatches, paint charts and trips to an endless array of home decor boutiques for weeks in a bid to help her. They made a start on other parts of the house too, bringing some cosy and modern touches to its vast emptiness. Keeping her busy, motivated and distracted. It had helped. The focus on something other than her over-active imagination and paranoia was a welcome relief; she could go hours without dwelling on any of it.
Muffin had recovered fully, had no long-term damage and was soon running about wildly like his old little self. Helping to heal her heart. Rose had been right, something Rob never stopped apologising for, and he was glad that Muffin had pulled through.
The court case revealed how the other woman had left poisoned meat in the garden to hurt the little animal and get at Rose. A sadistic move to inflict the same pain on her that Morag felt she was going through herself and a bid to try and scare her to leave the village. The calculated and shocking reality of how far down that road of mental illness Morag had slipped. Rob had looked ashen in court for the first time, shaking his head in bewilderment and staring at her with eyes that seared. He didn’t know who she was anymore; he had been in minor shock at the admission, and it had only pushed him further into his hatred for her.
Rose took a sabbatical from her work, but finally, a few weeks ago, she picked up a paintbrush and began working her magic on watercolour paper. The peace of mind and tranquillity returned enough to let her enjoy the process again. Her mind was happy to settle on the task, and her agent had been thrilled. Always encouraging and ever understanding. She was healing. She was finally back to being more like the Rose they all missed.
* * *
She smoothed her hand over her satin dress and the warmness of her stomach, feeling that usual surge of satisfaction and happiness as she admired the scene before her. She loved looking at this view when the world was waking up. It brought her so much peace and tranquillity now. Something that this place had been lacking lately.
Hearing Rob’s voice from the doorway, she turned to smile at him fondly. He, too, was already dressed, knowing they had a lot to do before the ceremony and was best to get themselves organised first. His pale grey suit brought out the soft grey in his eyes today; his eyes mostly stayed this soft light colour nowadays, a sign that he was more relaxed and very happy, except when they fought. Sometimes she felt like she started small squabbles to see that darkening storm once more. Fascinated by it.
He was looking at her the way he always did, with that unreadable expression that made it seem that no one ever knew what he was thinking. But she knew. Unlike the days when she could never read him, she had finally mastered the inner workings of his head. He was thinking about getting her naked again and dragging her back into the bathtub like he had earlier this morning. He looked as devastatingly handsome as ever, moving towards her as he tapped his watch, gesturing they needed to go. His hands slid around her waist and rested across the gentle curve of her abdomen. Smoothing down the same part of her dress she had previously touched.
‘You look beautiful.’ He nuzzled in against her, his face coming to the side of hers.
‘You look handsome.’ She replied, sliding her hands over his and squirming closer to him. She felt his mouth on her neck, his hand moving up to brush her hair aside and give him full access, and he began to laugh gently at his obvious desire.
‘Rob? if you start this again, we will never leave this room.’ She moved him back, allowing her space to turn and reached up to his mouth, accepting a slow, tender kiss.
‘I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t mind.’ He had that familiar twinkle in his eye; Rose gently pushed his stomach playfully, aware that he was right and slid past him to walk past her desk and head to the door.
Her latest artwork was propped ceremoniously in view. She glanced at it, a warm feeling filling her with pride. It was the first of her illustrations to be used in a book of stories by Hamish Munro. He had surprised them with a declaration he wanted to write some months ago: leave a legacy for his grandchildren. But he didn’t want to write just anything. He wanted to tell stories of the ‘Princess of the North’ who had travelled far and wide to break an evil curse, battled a serpent-like dragon and saved the sleepy castle from a crumbling spell. Awakening the hero from a horrible love potion to set him free. His humour was always present, and the irony was not lost on them all. It had not surprised Rob that Rose’s painting of her ‘Princess’ had a halo of long dark brown hair and flowing gold gowns. Her steed, a pink unicorn with a little white fluffball as her sidekick!
Hamish now resided back in the manor, a part of their busy life. A welcome presence every day, he was always around to help run things and take some of the manor duties off Rose’s shoulders. He helped with the mundane, such as keeping the grounds organised and helped Rob when the business was causing him stress. Hamish had found new life and loved being part of a busy family again.
Just the addition of Rose and Muffin to this house had seen a transformation already. More staff, small changes to the house, and more weekend events in the ballroom brought the community here again. He was lapping it all up and loving being the chairman of many community clubs. Rob glanced at her piece on the table, smiling and straightening it gently, proud of his wife and proud of his father.
Taking one last look around her bright studio, she closed the door behind him as he walked out, moving along the narrow hall into their bedroom. The soft, modern room, cosy and homely, where they spent a lot of their time nowadays, locked away together in the solace. Muffin was curled asleep on one of the long comfy couches in the sitting area, to the far side away from the bed, nestled in front of the low burning gas fire, set in the massive brick hearth which was warming the room to the perfect temperature. Cold days had begun to move away again, but the air still held a tinge of frost, and they kept this fire on most of the time to give the rooms a homely feel.
They finally descended the main stairs, taking in the chaos of the people running around and staff awaiting orders. The caterer was looking about ready to throttle her hired waiters for the day, and a young girl approached Rose with a floral display, asking where it was to be placed in the main entrance. Rob left her to perform her duties as ‘Lady of the Manor’. The house was buzzing with excitement, and it didn’t take Rose long to tend to the questions and needs of the never-ending stream of people moving through the hall to the ballroom and back. Basking in their congratulations and small hugs, she had begun to get used to this, the demands and the responsibilities. Being treated like a celebrity by everyone, lately, she could take it in her stride.
Rob disappeared into his office, pulling out his speech and sorting through some final business papers in the few minutes of the calm before the storm. It wouldn’t be long before they had to be at the church, and already this morning, it had been jam-packed with things needing to be done. The hours were ticking away.
Rose tended to Abby amid a group of hairdressers, giggling girls and makeup artists and helped her get ready. Alice was mid-meltdown over the chaos and muddy feet on the marble floor and was running around with a dust buster, trying to keep it all clean and sparkly. Barking orders at her new apprentice housekeepers and ordering them to smooth down their uniforms and aprons. Tommy brought round the car as Rob ordered, and people were milling around with final touches and last-minute orders.
The house was always brimming nowadays. The new housekeepers under Alice’s fretful command were being barked at and ordered to stop getting under her feet now, the air of panic at the approaching hour, and there was a sense of urgency and simmering chaos in the air.
Rose felt calm in the middle of the tornado, cloaked in a bubble of happiness drowning out the noise to a bearable hum. Looking around now at the pulsing atmosphere and the eager faces, she felt the excitement rise. It was going to be an amazing day.
* * *
The church was stunningly beautiful, soft piano music drifting towards them as small flower girls littered the aisle with petals and confetti. Rose felt emotion tug at her throat, watching them as tears filled her eyes. Rob’s hand in hers tightened, showing he felt the same way, and she squeezed it back. Catching his eye to smile wholeheartedly.
Hamish appeared at the door, handsome in his kilt, sliding his hand into the awaiting crook of the blushing brides awaiting arm and began to bring her forward. Tears were evident on both of their faces. He leant down to kiss her cheek before he led the way more purposely, muttering words about her beauty into the quiet room and elegant aisle. The sweep of her gown as they began to ascend was heard in complete silence as she moved into the room, a breathtaking sight. The hushed tones of the small gathering inside the cramped room began as she walked in, held securely in Hamish’s strong arm, and compliments could be heard all around. She truly looked stunning.
Soft music began to sway over them from a speaker in the far corner, only adding to this moment's beautiful atmosphere and romance. Rose held her breath, her throat aching with emotion. It was magical.
There were more people outside who could not fit in, straining heads in the open doors to see and once again hushed silence as she moved in time to the beautiful soft music.
Abby looked stunningly beautiful. The ivory dress accentuating her peachy blushed skin and glittering green eyes, swept up hair in her long lace veil made her look so young and innocent, so ethereal. Everyone looking at her was mesmerised by how beautiful a bride she made, and Duncan could barely conceal his emotion as he stood at the altar.
Rob leant in, his arm around Rose’s waist and kissed her lightly on the back of her exposed shoulder, both warmed by the memory of their wedding several weeks before. The memory of its perfection still brought goosebumps to her skin as Abby’s father walked her towards the man who would now be her partner and protector in life. Rose felt a huge surge of greatest pride and emotion, almost the feeling one would have for a sister getting married. Abby and Duncan looked perfect together.
Duncan was overcome with emotion completely when she reached him, unable to tear his gaze from his blushing bride and stop the tears from forming. He looked tall and handsome, his large upper form skimmed in tailored black and sporting a traditional kilt with his family tartan. His normally soft face was a little rosy and unsure, fear that he would wake up and find all of this was nothing more than a dream. The room hushed, listening intently to the beautiful words through their vows and the magic of the ceremony.