Dear Readers. First off, I adore each and every one of you! Especially those of you who voted and/or commented. Those comments make my writing seem worthwhile. I'm absolutely giddy that you like my story, and because of that, I'm trying my hardest to keep going. This chapter of Beauty sat in my documents folder, half finished, for weeks, because I had lots of drama and happenings, good and bad, and it wasn't especially appealing, and then I got some awesome feedback and it made me reopen it and finish it off. And I wanted to. So, thank you, anonymous person for the drive to continue. And all the other anonymous people out there for your votes and super sweet words.
Now, Chapter 7 is on it's way, I promise. I might answer a few questions in it, but we'll see =) Don't worry, all will be explained.
Love and kisses till next time!
-Almostluver
***
Scarlet was good and truly lost. She turned around for the hundredth time, but every tree looked the same; she'd passed the same spot half a dozen times, most likely. Even finding her way back to the house was impossible at this point.
Spending two hours, at least, stumbling through the forest, trying to escape her husband and butler, followed by several more hours seeking some sort of shelter from the storm that refused to give up; and then, once the rain slowed a bit, wandering haphazardly through the woods, looking for an opening in the trees, a path, a road, a stream, *anything* that could lead her somewhere she wasn't.
She had lost count of how many times she'd cursed herself for running in the first place. And for running into the woods. And for going into that damn room in the first place.
Sure, she'd had a marvelous time while she was in there, *but* the fact that she'd been caught doing *that* in his room, to his painting, *and* had nearly set fire to the room, sort of killed that marvelous time. And made her never want to do anything of the sort again, inside or outside his house or room or in the same world.
"Damn it!" Scarlet had taken up cursing again, about an hour into this hunt. "Stupid tree. Stupid water. Stupid – ahh!" She slipped and slid down a steep slope. "Mud! If I never see this stupid – uggh! – wood ever again, for the rest of my life, it will be too soon!"
She tried to stand, but her shoes, unsuitable for the outdoors, couldn't find a purchase in the mud. She groaned and sat back down, trying to keep back the tears of frustration she felt blooming; her skirt was literally dripping with mud, so it couldn't possibly hurt it any more than it already was. Besides, she needed to rest for a few minutes.
That few minutes turned to hours, and she opened her eyes to a fading darkness. She was ice cold, and her hair was damp with dew. The mud had caked around her legs and skirt, and she stood with a small groan. Flakes of dirt shook off, settling on her ruined shoes. The sun was rising though the trees behind her. If she was right, the sun rose behind their home, so walking toward the sunrise might bring her back to the house. And, despite everything, and even though she was going to be in a world of trouble, she *really* wanted to go home.
The sun was reaching the middle of the sky when she finally glimpsed the towers of the house. They were still nearly a mile off, but her pace quickened at the thought of the warm house – warmer than out here, anyway – and, hopefully, a very long, warm bath, followed by a very warm dinner, and a very long rest in her warm, comfortable bed. Followed, unfortunately, by what promised to be an intense punishment.
About half a mile away, her shoes gave out. She was surprised they'd lasted that long. She simply kicked the scraps off and continued picking her way, albeit much slower, through the forest. She stumbled over a root, and managed to catch herself, barely. But her left foot now had a large gash, and was horribly bruised and bleeding, and she stopped to sit down for a moment.
"I should be home within the hour," she reasoned aloud to herself, bending to tear some cloth off the bottom of her hem. She wrapped the filthy strips around her damaged foot carefully, hoping they'd provide at least some protection. It would be just her luck if, after all this, she came down with some sort of nasty infection.
"And, when I'm home, I'll march right up to him and say – no, I'll *demand* that he postpone that stupid punishment till tomorrow. He's the one that told me to get out, after all. I was just following orders! And –"
A soft noise caught her attention, and she froze, staring around at the trees, looking for the source. It came again, a low almost moan. Something hurt in the woods? When the noise came again, it sounded distinctly more...human.
"Hello?" She stood carefully, and ventured a few steps away. "Is someone there?" It was louder this time. "Do you need help?"
"P-please." The reply was nearly silent, but it made her pause. It couldn't be. No way in hell – "Annabelle."
"Shit!" She nearly stepped on his leg. Instead, when her foot landed on him, she overbalanced herself carefully and tumbled down next to him.
"I ought to spank you for that, wife," he growled hoarsely, . "But, as it is, I'm in no condition for it at the moment. I'll have to give you an IOU."
"Oh, shut up," She growled back. "What have you gotten yourself into, *husband*?"
"I've fallen and can't get up." He almost sounded like he was joking, but there was no way in hell her stern husband would ever joke about anything. "Care to do something about that? And I'll give you another IOU for that insubordination."
"Give me all the IOUs you want, my dear." With him down and out like this, she was feeling very daring. "The fact of the matter is, right now, you're helpless and I'm the only one who can help you."
"Then do so."
"I don't know if I will." She sat closer and inspected him. He was damp and muddy, and had bruises and cuts all over whatever bits of body she managed to see. A particularly nasty gash over his left brow had bled all over his handsome face, and she wiped away what she could with a semi-clean bit of her dress. "Now, why can't you get up on your own? And what the hell are you doing out here?"
"To answer your second question first, I came out after this infuriating woman I am – reluctantly – married to decided to run away from home in the middle of a storm, leading my faithful butler and myself to chase after her. After several hours searching, we returned home, hoping the silly girl had returned on her own, and found that not to be the case. After a lovely dinner and some rest, I set out – alone, might I add – to bring said absurd woman home, where she belongs. And now, to answer your first question, it was while on this idiotic hunt for this unfortunately daft young woman, that I tripped and sprained my ankle. Had this simple girl –"
"Okay, that's enough of that!" Scarlet snapped, standing up furiously. "If you call me 'stupid,' or 'simple,' or any one of those other names, I will leave you right here! And I won't tell Abner where you've gone, either! Now, apologize, or so help me, I'll leave you here to freeze!"
"My irritating wife has claws, doesn't she?" He smirked at her, the look thrown off by his scarred face. "I apologize for stating the truth. Now, since I've done what you've asked, would you please help me back to the house so I can clean up and then punish your delectable ass. I believe, at this point, I owe you quite a few spankings. Have you been keeping track?"
"You will not be spanking me, oh husband of mine. If your hand even approaches my rear end in a manner that is less than..." she trailed off. 'Less than' what? "Anyway, if your hand comes near me, I'll..." she stopped again. Making threats was harder than she'd thought it would be. What in the world could she do that would cause any sort of a rise in him, or make him repent the strike?
"Cat got your tongue?"
"Shut up. Don't hit me. Ever again."
"But don't you like it?" He winked and tried to sit up. She watched him struggle for a moment, before helping him, grudgingly.
"I mean it. Promise me, now, that you won't strike me, and I'll help you back to the house."
