Caged

Chapter III

He’s visiting a girl somewhere. He reminds me so much of my younger self, which, I think, has set him apart from me. I’ve stopped worrying about him because I know that’s what you would have done.

February, 1854

Lucia Alleyne was a girl of indefinite wealth. She was graceful and beautiful and had all the characteristics of a desirable wife except for obedience. The windows and doors were locked by one servant every night, as any other untrusted servant ran the risk of being bribed by Lucia to leave them unlocked so she could run away for the night. Her studies were strictly monitored, and she was only allowed to leave her room to meet her suitors or to have breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

The one thing she always looked forward to was Markus. She had met him when she had snuck out months ago to see a performance in town. He had performed, and did marvelous tricks that were clever and impossible. He told her he traveled around the world. He wore gold rings and loose white shirts, his hair tousled and his eyes gleaming with gold dust. When he had first visited as a suitor, he wore a waistcoat and jacket with his hair combed back. He would disguise himself as a gentleman.

Lucia could not determine if he had gypsy blood in him as his skin was pale, and he had fair hair and fair eyes. Her parents had adored him until they realized their daughter would disappear at night whenever the gentleman visited. When he took her away at night, he would sneak her through her windows with magic that Lucia could not comprehend. Letters from him appeared in her dresser and or between her clothes. She did not know where he had come from, and she usually didn't know where he went when he left. She didn't know if he had other lovers.

It was a cold February night. He came to her window and clung against the siding of the house, breathing fog against the glass.

“Lucia,” he called. He tapped on the window.

Lucia approached it.

“What do you want?” she asked him as she smiled. “I’m not allowed to let men into the house this late.”

“It’s St. Valentine’s day. I thought you could make an exception.”

Any voice normally would have been muffled through the glass, but his was not. She lifted her hand and touched the window’s lock. He always asked for permission.

“You can open it,” she said.

He pressed his hand against the other side of the lock. There was a click.

When he stepped into the room, she stood back from him and the window. When he stood still, their eyes met and he watched her.

“Did you expect something from me?”

“You did say it was St. Valentine’s day, didn’t you?”

“I suppose I did. Since when did that mean anything to you? I’m sure you rejected all the suitors you had today.” Markus grinned.

“Quit it, you’re unfair. I thought you were going to come today.”

He shrugged.

“I was busy. I came tonight, didn’t I? I have a surprise for you.”

Lucia smiled at him.

“You planned on taking me outside?”

The gold that rimmed him his eyes made them brighter in his excitement. They were an uncommon blue-hazel, although his carved face was what usually made him the center of attention. It was what convinced Lucia that he was not a true gypsy—he was not a rugged beauty. He was a youth, someone painters tried to replicate. He had the color and brightness of youth in his soul and eyes, and the mischief of one in his heart. He was reckless, and that was what Lucia loathed and loved. His recklessness bound him to everyone on earth. He could not stand still in the world, and that was what marriage was to him: keeping still.