She stirred as if she could sense his presence. She opened a single eye, peering up at him, her face smooshed against the couch cushion. “Narcisse,” she rasped, still half asleep.

  A sudden urge to fall before her and run his hands over her face overcame him but he swallowed it back. “You slept out here.” It wasn't a question, but more of an observation. He couldn't help the disappointment that laced his voice.

  “You took up all the bed,” she smiled softly.

  Narcisse looked away, rubbing at the back of his neck. “About last night. That's never happened to me before.”

  The robe fell from Bluebell as she sat up and Narcisse stopped short when he saw her bare legs, the way the shirt moved dangerously close to the curves of her backside. He should have looked away, as even a husband should be a gentleman, but he couldn’t help himself. He moved to stand by the dining table, admiring his wife's leg from afar.

  Bluebell nodded slowly, as if she’d rather forget it happened in the first place. That makes two of us. Her cheeks had turned a soft shade of pink, her throat bobbing as she swallowed. It was then that Gaston decided he would wait until he tried to be intimate with her again, at least until she was ready. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t continue admiring her legs.

  “What's for breakfast?” she asked, narrowing her eyes as he stared.

  “What would you like for breakfast?” He couldn't tear his eyes from her.

  “What's here?”

  Narcisse looked around the kitchen, frowning at the loaf of stale bread. “Not a lot, I'm afraid.”

  Bluebell rolled her eyes, as if to say “typical.”

  “'I'll go down to the market later this afternoon and stock up, but until then what about some eggs?”

  “I thought you said there was nothing here?”

  Narcisse rarely kept food at his house. He hunted for his meat, sometimes bought it from the grocer, but he mostly ate at the tavern. So he did the next best thing. Narcisse went to his closest neighbor and used his charm to persuade them to give up some of their eggs, bread, and cheese. He returned home to find Bluebell exactly where he had left her, but when he revealed his winnings, she jumped up and took charge.

  “Here, let me.” Bluebell found a mixing bowl by the window, humming as she cracked eggs.

  “I was just going to boil them,” Narcisse rubbed the back of his neck.

  Her hand stilled. “Boiled eggs and cheese?”

  “What's wrong with boiled eggs and cheese?” His brows furrowed as she stared at him, exasperated, as if he were a child. Choosing to ignore him, Bluebell gestured at the cheese she had placed on the bench, “cut that up finely.”

  “What will you be doing with it?”

  “What would you expect me to do with it?” With a hand on her hip, she added, “how do you serve cheese with your boiled eggs?”

  “I usually just eat it.” He pushed the shredded cheese toward her.

  Bluebell watched him under her lashes while she mixed in the cheese, but she flashed a crooked smile at him.

  Narcisse's brows knitted together. “What's so funny?” He folded his arms across his chest.

  “What do you do, bite into it like an apple? No bread, no nothing?”

  The corner of his mouth twitched. “I am utterly offended.”

  “Set the table, please.” The eggs sizzled as she poured them into a pan, and she began pushing them around with a fork.

  He opened his mouth to argue, not expecting his wife to be so stern with him, but the way she fussed over the food and teased him for his eating habits had him grinning inwardly.

  “What are you staring at?” Bluebell barked.

  His smile faltered, only to return when she placed her hand on her hip. “A woman has never cooked for me before, save for my mother.”

  “What? All those women that come and go in your life never once made you breakfast before you kicked them out?”

  Narcisse's smile fell completely, his eyes downcast. “The idea you have of me is very wrong.”

  He wasn't going to deny the attention he received or the fact that he enjoyed it, but did she think that he actually took advantage of everyone who pined after him?

  But he did take advantage of them, didn’t he?

  “Did I go too far?” she asked, placing the leftover eggs in the middle of the table, and taking the seat beside him.

  Dragging his eyes from the eggs, he finally met hers. “The whole town sees me that way. Is it so wrong to wish my own wife to see me differently? To treat me differently?”

  She shifted uncomfortably, stabbing at her eggs aimlessly with her fork. “I thought you wanted to be seen that way?”

  Narcisse sighed. “I enjoy the town looking up to me. Admiring me.” He rubbed the back of his neck again with his free hand. “I'll even admit that their envy is appreciated. But this?” Narcisse gestured between them. “This is different. I didn't marry you so you could treat me as they do.”

  Bluebell's hand stilled, the fork poised in the air before her mouth. “Didn't you marry me for appearances? ‘Because there is no other as beautiful as you?’” she mocked, deepening her voice to mimic Narcisse. Narcisse watched her as she chewed, speaking around a mouthful of egg. “I am nothing but a piece of jewelry to you. Something you can parade around town.”

  “That's not true.” A pang shot through his chest.

  “You didn’t marry me because of appearances? Of course.” She rolled her eyes again.

  A lump had begun forming in the back of Narcisse's throat and he had to swallow more than once to dislodge it. “Not at all,” he lied.

  Bluebell smiled at him, though it never reached her eyes. “If you say so,” she said, returning to her eggs.

  Narcisse watched her for a moment then frowned down at his own eggs. Of course he had married her for appearances, but did it have to remain that way? He shrugged, digging into his eggs. Only time would tell.

  “Perhaps I could show you around?”

  “Show me around?” Bluebell finished washing up and then turned toward him. “You left me alone for hours after our wedding. Don’t you think I would’ve taken it upon myself to snoop?”

  Narcisse thought as much. He felt slightly bad about dumping her alone at his cabin on their wedding night. “Right.” He rubbed at his stubble sheepishly.

  Bluebell watched him for a moment before shaking her head. “I didn't leave the couch,” she admitted, “you may show me around.”

  “Let’s change that, shall we?” Narcisse spread his arms out before him in a dramatic gesture. “As you are aware, this is the kitchen. I built almost everything in here, besides the oven, of course.”

  She nodded slowly, her brows lifting as she took in the handcrafted furniture.

  “The parlor,” he extended his arms out once more, causing Bluebell to snort. “This is where I imagine us growing old together,” he smirked. “Our dogs and sons playing and growing in front of the fire.”

  “Sons?” Bluebell balked.

  “Of course!” Narcisse dropped down in front of the fire, stoking the flames. “Our lives will be quite full, with six or seven of them.”

  “Six or seven dogs?” she breathed.

  “Sons, woman! We will have six or seven strapping young lads, like me.”

  “God forbid we have a daughter,” she shrilled.

  “Don't be silly,” he chuckled as he rose to his feet. “We haven't had a female born into our family for generations.”

  Narcisse pushed past her and opened a door to the left of the room. “This is the spare room, where guests will stay when they visit.”

  “It'll be a tight squeeze when it's filled with six or seven boys.” She stood on her tippy toes to look over his shoulder at the small space.

  “I plan on extending the cottage.”

  Bluebell simply nodded, waiting for Narcisse to continue. He watched her from under his brow, wishing he could see into her brain.

  “Let's go for a walk around town,” he said, pulling her in the direction of the front door.

  Bluebell resisted, but it wasn't long before they were strolling through town. And he wouldn't admit that he did enjoy having her on his arm, just like the beautiful jewel she was.

  They spent hours wandering through the streets and enjoying the tame weather, and more importantly enjoying one another’s company.

  It didn’t last long.

  Chapter five

  “Emelia!”

  The hysterical scream of a woman cut through the market square. Narcisse had been browsing the stalls for grocery items to fill his pantry, his ears pricking at the scream. The coin had only just been dropped into the of a butcher’s palm when the scream cut through the hustling crowd. Every single person there paused in their tracks, some even dropping whatever they had in their hands, startled from the distraction.

  “Who. . .?” The butcher's voice was harsh, but he knew just as much as Narcisse did.

  But then a woman burst through the throng, her arms flailing in the air as she cried. Her words were almost unintelligible, her distress clearly affecting her sanity.

  “What is it?” a man asked, approaching her slowly, as if trying to calm a startled horse.

  “Emelia!” She grabbed the man, clenching his shirt in a white-knuckled grip. “My Emelia is missing.”

  “Oh, dear,” Bluebell clutched Narcisse’s arm.

  “She isn’t at home. My daughter has been gone since I woke up yesterday. I thought maybe she was just behaving poorly because of her age, but when I went to bed last night, she was still gone.” She released the man just to start wringing her hands, the skin reddening in an instant.

  “I know Emelia!” a young man called from behind a group. He pushed his way forward until he was face to face with the girl’s mother.

  “You do?” she turned her attention to him, reaching out to grab him, just as she had the other man. “Have you seen her” There was true hysteria in her voice now, and Narcisse was sure they would have to call for the lunatic asylum proprietor.

  “Oh, I do, as do many of the boys.” His eyes were harsh as he shucked her off. “She has thrown herself at everyone I know, begging them to marry her.”

  The woman gasped at the accusation, shrinking away from him. “She would never.”

  “I bet she has run off with one of them.” The youth snickered, disappearing into the crowd once more.

  “She would never,” the woman repeated, but her words fell short, staring into nothingness as if she were starting to question her own daughter.

  “My husband,” someone called from the gathered crowd. “My husband is also missing.” An older woman stepped forward, causing the crowd to murmur.

  “He went to visit his brother and should have arrived back home days ago.” There were dark circles under her eyes as if she had not slept since.

  Some of those gathered became restless, hushed whispers and outcries spreading through the masses.

  “Perhaps it was he who ran off with the girl.” Many voices echoed the accusation, but it didn't sound like anyone truly believed it. Two people in town were missing, and no one knew why.

  A young man appeared beside the hysterical mother, his arm going around her shoulder. He leant toward her, muttering something that Narcisse could not make out. He narrowed his eyes as the crowd before escorting her away, his face twisting with concern.

  Narcisse could feel the sadness Bluebell felt for those women, for the people they loved. She had been the center of the townspeople’s ridicule for such a long time and yet she still held some compassion for those around her.

  He smiled softly at his wife, watching the way her eyes scanned the crowd, as if looking for the people who had been lost.

  “Let's go home.” He placed a gentle hand on the small of her back, steering her away.

  The news of the missing people spread as more and more villagers came forward to declare that their family members or friends were also nowhere to be found. More people went missing as more days went by. There had never been a murderer in the town's history before. What other explanation could there be?

  They had been married for a week and Narcisse’s head ached with worry for his wife, scared to let her out of his sight. And yet he found himself going hunting more and more simply to clear his troubling thoughts.

  “What is that?” Bluebell pointed at the trophy he dragged in from his recent hunt.

  “It's a trophy.”

  Bluebell nodded slowly. “Do we have to have them in here?”

  “Why not?” he frowned. “I use these in most of my decorating.” He motioned at the various antlers, some still attached to the skulls lining his walls.

  “It's barbaric.”

  “And killing simply to eat them isn't?”

  She puckered her mouth in thought, the pout transforming her soft lips into something so sensual he ached.

  “I hunt deer to put food on the table, and I will have to hunt more often because I'm no longer only fending for myself. When we have children, I will have to hunt even more. I am killing them for food, and their antlers would be going to waste. Why not take them and make use of them?” When she remained silent, he continued. “I use them in furniture, too.”

  The furniture he made for others contained wood and nothing more, unless they paid extra. But the furniture he had crafted for his cottage made use of the antlers and furs he collected with each kill. The couches by the fire had been created with oak and the cushions were upholstered in deer pelt. The candle holders and side tables stood on antler bases.

  Bluebell's pout fell as she took notice of each item Narcisse had handcrafted. There was a hint of admiration when her stare moved to his hands. Her throat bobbed, as if she were thinking, imagine what else those hands could do. Narcisse coughed at the sudden images that filled his mind, willing a change in subject to distract him from the throbbing in his trousers. He dropped to the couch, draping his legs over the arms of the chair. “What shall we do with the remainder of our day?”

  “Will you walk with me?” Bluebell asked. “I would like to explore more of our land.”

  “You haven't taken it upon yourself to explore any further?”

  She shrugged nonchalantly. “I was sulking.”

  Narcisse couldn't help but smirk at her admission.

  He spent the remainder of the morning and long into the afternoon taking Bluebell over the lands that surrounded his home. It wasn't much, but he did own a few acres, which was just enough to keep some horses and some goats. The goats gave him milk, which he sold in between carpentry sales. He rode a few of the horses, while the others helped work the land.

  It was almost mid-afternoon when they returned home, and Narcisse left Bluebell at the cottage once more and ventured back into town to meet with Louis.

  Louis was his same old charming, yet annoying self, pestering Narcisse for details on the marriage and whether they had intercourse regularly. He didn't have the heart to share that they were yet to consummate their marriage.

  Two beers later, and with a plucked duck over one shoulder, and a large loaf of bread, carrots and beets in a sack over the other, he pushed in through the front door of his cabin, expecting to find his wife inside.

  Only the house was empty.

  Had Bluebell disappeared, like one of the missing villagers? His heart beat rapidly at the thought and he frantically searched the cottage for any sign of trouble.

  Narcisse breathed a sigh of relief when he found a delicate, handwritten note. Bluebell had gone to visit her father and assured him that she would return before dinner.

  But dinner time came and went.

  Dinner had grown cold long ago and the sun had set, yet Narcisse still waited. Bluebell had not returned.

  Perhaps she had decided today would be as good a day as any to run away.

  Although they had been married for a week, he enjoyed having her around, and he was sure Bluebell had also begun to enjoy his company.

  Perhaps he had been wrong to assume that.

  He pushed the dishes aside, standing from his chair. If she really didn't want to stay here any longer, then he had no right to drag her back. But what if she had gotten lost along the way? Perhaps she had gotten sidetracked and didn't notice the time? It wouldn't be very husband-like to allow her to walk home alone in the dark.

  What if she was wherever all the others had disappeared off to. . .?

  He shrugged his hunting jacket on and trudged to the stables to ready a horse.

  “Ophie,” he greeted his favorite mare. “Sorry to disturb your rest.”

  Running a quick hand over her nose, he saddled her up and took off toward Jacques'.

  Narcisse had an ominous feeling when he arrived at Jacques'. There was no light coming from inside the house and a small older woman was sitting on the porch, cast completely in shadow.

  “Thank goodness,” she jumped up as he approached, startling his chestnut mare.

  “Who are you?” He watched her cautiously as he calmed Ophie. He had seen her around town, and nodded to her each time he came to Jacques' cottage to spy on Bluebell — but he had never spoken to her, never been polite enough to care to ask her name.

  “One of Jacques’ neighbors.” Her voice was withered, her words soft yet gravelly as she spoke. “No need worrying who I am, dear.” Her small arm shook as she pointed toward the forest. “She's gone in there.”

  “Who?”

  “Your wife.”

  Narcisse squinted into the dark thicket of trees. “What on earth are you talking about?”

  “Jacques left this morning to take one of his inventions to the fair. Horse came back without him or the cart.”

  “No,” he whispered in horror.

  “Bluebell went after him. Took the horse and ran into the woods like lighting.”

 

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