On A Winter's Night

My master's hand was tightly tucked into my own as I led him through the woods to my little cottage. We walked in silence, the air between us too full of dark, flickering portents like tiny lightning bolts, to be broken.

In my heart, I felt overwhelming fear. What if he should reject his son? Loathe him for being a bastard, a mere blot on my master's already tarnished honour? Worse, what if he should try to take him from me, in retaliation against my own sin.

No! I banished silly fears, I would not entertain them a moment longer. Such fears might be relevant if the man were any other than my dear master, my Edward.

He had said his wife, oh that poor lunatic captive, was dead. Even as I offered a silent prayer to heaven, that she might find peace, a strangled hope bloomed in my soul. This was too much, as if a dream world, with my Edward once more near me, and our son awaiting us at home.

Then I glimpsed my master's set, cold face in the flash of a lightning strike in the clouds above, as snow rained down upon us, and that hope died.

Only to be reborn anew, with sickening agony within, when I slipped on a wet, loose pebble on the path, and the strength of Mr Rochester's arms impinged upon my senses where he caught me and steadied me.

For one precious moment, I allowed myself to lean into his strength, as a budding wood vine would wind around a sturdy oak, since its strength offered so safe a prop.

His arms tightened around me, and I could scarcely pant, as my head dropped back to rest against his shoulder. For one moment, I fancied I could feel his warm breath on the exposed flesh of my neck, but when he put me from him, his face a blank mask, I told myself it was fancy only.

Finally the schoolhouse came into sight through the trees, a light on in the window, and I knew I would need to make some excuse for Mr Rochester, or hide him until I could send the young girl I had paid to keep an eye on Matthew away.

It would have to the other, since the former would raise too much gossip. I would have to be quick, since the snow was setting in, and I would not want young Mary's health on my conscience, strong moor girl though she might be.

As we approached, I turned to Mr Rochester, and pushed him into the shadows thronging the outside of the doorframe. "Wait here," I said, not waiting to gauge his expression before I opened my front door.

"Mary?" I called, and she appeared from my bedchamber, where I had left Matthew, asleep. "How is he?"

"Well, enough, Miss Eyre," she curtsied. I gave her a crown from my pocket, and she hurried off as soon as she was cloaked and bonneted, and I watched her walk quickly into the woods. She lived just beyond the wood, so she would soon be home, and she was long used to such weather.

I turned to the shadows, and beckoned Mr Rochester inside, closing the door quickly behind him.

The little cottage I had occupied during my tenure as schoolmistress of Morton was a rudimentary thing, just two rooms attached to the main school room. I took off my bonnet and cloak, noting that the fire under the stove was long since gone out, and could only hope that the fireplace in my bedchamber still blazed.

I turned to see Mr Rochester, take off his own hat, cloak and gloves, before pinning me with a piercing look. "Where is he?" he asked, lowly, dark as thunder. I shivered.

"In here," I murmured, leading the way. Inside my bedchamber, a small, low-slung room with whitewashed walls, knotted wooden flooring and simple but clean furniture, stood Matthew's cradle, a gift from one of the father's of my students. There came a low cry from it, and I rushed forward, scooping up the tiny bundle inside in my arms, supporting my son's tiny head as he kicked and screamed raucously. "This is Matthew."

I looked up then, at my Edward, as he stared at the tiny being in my arms, and tried to read his face. There was no…rejection there, as I had feared, no repulsion.

But fear.

And was that awe?

"Give him to me!" he suddenly demanded, holding out his hands, simultaneously looking terrified and longing at once. Pushing my irrational fears away, raised from their graves by his slightly wild look, I handed the child to him, helping him cradle Matthew's head just so. "My son…"

At that whispered last, I looked away, unable to watch. It was too private a moment, and it pierced my heart. At his father's touch, Matthew instantly stopped, eying Mr Rochester almost appraisingly. Seemingly, he must have liked what he saw, for he instantly giggled and waved his tiny fist at Mr Rochester's face.

There could be no doubt of Matthew's paternity, even if he did suspect me of such promiscuity. He already possessed tufts of hair the exact shade of Edward's own, his eyes the same jetty black as his father's.

When Edward raised his eyes to mine, I no longer saw anger there, as he cradled his firstborn son. "Jane, tell me everything that has happened since you left me," he asked, and I nodded, sitting down on my bed since it was the only seat in the room. The kitchen was far too cold now the fire had burnt out, and it was only likely to get worse with the cold.

I told him everything. I did not linger long on the details of my three days of homeless wandering, nor did I say much about St John's disapproval, only his charity and the kindness of Diana and Mary. I explained about the discovery of cousinship, and my uncle's fortune, until I had finished my tale.

"You have not told me all, Janet," he murmured, and I looked to him frowningly. "I can read your eyes, witch, and I see your trials were more than you have said."

I looked down, cursing my expressive eyes. "My sufferings, such as they were, were short enough, and any disapproval given after the discovery of my pregnancy deserved. I had a child out of wedlock, and although I would never regret our son or the manner of his conception, I broke rules and behaved like a common whore," I replied.

"No," he retorted. "You are not a whore. Never, and I will personally bludgeon any who have uttered those words against you, even if it is the whole village."

"The villagers do not know Matthew is my son," I explained. "When the pregnancy was discovered, I was secreted away and St John told the villagers that I had been called to a cousin's sickbed in another county."

"And when Matthew was born, you passed him off as your 'cousin's' child?" he asked, and I nodded. He shook his head, and I took Matthew back, as he began to cry, a cry I knew well.

"I must feed him," I murmured. I turned my back to him, and sat on the bed once more, unbuttoning the neck of my dress just enough so Matthew could reach my breast. I could feel Mr Rochester's eyes on me, on my back, as Matthew finished, and I gently patted his back before I wiped his lips and returned him to his bed, tucking him in tenderly. Looking down on my son, I couldn't help but smile, before I leaned in and kissed his forehead.

Children were a Gift from God, and I could never regret him. Never.

I felt Edward walk up close behind me, and I prayed for the strength to withstand whatever fury he might throw my way.

"Why did you not write to me? Tell me of Matthew's birth? I would have-" he began, in a low, furious voice I remembered well from our encounter just after the failed wedding.

"You would have taken us away, and I would have been nothing more than your mistress. I did not know Bertha had died, so I would not risk it," I replied in a hushed whisper, no less furious for its lack of volume. "I have all I need here, Matthew would have been well-cared for. It is not like we are living in utter squalor and poverty, especially not now!"

"You would have kept my son from me?" he growled, as I turned to face him, forgetting that I had not refastened my dress.

"No, never. I had already decided that I would tell him of you freely, once he was older. I would not have kept him from you, if he wished to find you," I breathed. "If you had known, what would you have done, Edward? Forced me to be your mistress?"

"No, not that," he replied.

"I am sorry for the pain I have caused you, but I am not sorry for the reasons behind why I have acted so. I will be no man's slave." I continued passionately, but quietly, wary of waking Matthew.

"No, how could you be? My fire spirit, untameable, indomitable," he breathed, "But you forget an important factor."

"What is that?" I asked, braver than I felt. His gaze, dark, heavy, was making my very bones feel like cloth, and my spine was melting.

"To God and Nature, you are already mine. My wife," he growled, striding forward and taking me in his arms. Any retort, any attempt at fighting was quickly smothered by his kiss, his strong touch on my body.

His lips were like poison, spreading through my body, weakening my resolve. I forced myself away before I gave in to him, but he caught me, pinning my body back against his, holding me tightly around my waist. I shivered, feeling his hardening body against my back, through the layers of my skirts, petticoats and chemise. His hand slid into my hair, sliding out hairpins, and combing out the long strands, before I finally felt his lips on my neck. A quiet moan escaped my lips, as the hand which had undone my hair slid into the gaping front of my bodice, caressing and claiming all that was rightfully his.

I was lost, my mind undone, incoherent at the pleasure he gave me, one hand reclaiming his due, the other tilting my head back so he had more access to my neck, now he was certain I would not pull away.

I could not, even if my life had depended upon it. I supposed we had been heading for this, the moment I had collided with him on that forest path, and my body rejoiced in its sin.

"But w-what about Matthew?" I gasped.

"We will have to be quiet, my fairy," he growled in my ear, before he sought my lips and I sank against him. Our lips melded as effortlessly Nature intended, as I tremblingly pushed his coat from his shoulders. His hands fell to my hips, pulling me against him tighter, and rocking into me as I gasped, the sound smothered by his kiss. I was barely aware of the soft bed until he pushed me back, following me down and reclaiming my lips.

I was thankful for the dim light the fire gave, as well as the warmth, as he unclothed me, gazing at me possessively. I shrugged all concerns aside, and allowed my hands to wander across his back and strong shoulders appreciatively, soaking in the desire he patently felt for me.

It felt right, it was right despite any and all social precepts which said this was scandalous, sinful, wanton behaviour.

But we loved one another, and I had borne Edward's child. Social precepts held no place here anymore.

Later, I stirred as Edward left my bed, clad only in his shirt and breeches, the air cold. He returned with our son, bundled still in his blankets, and Edward placed him between us, shrouded against the cold by our bodies and the covers of the bed. I stroked my sleeping son's head, before nestling closer, being careful not to crush him.

"Jane?" Edward's husky whisper made me look up, as his hand caressed my cheek. "Marry me?"

Social precepts would dictate that I had little choice in the matter, and in truth it was a realisation of my most cherished hopes and dreams.

But could I trust him? He had, after all, lied to me about Bertha.

"Can I trust you?" I whispered, as his large thumb drifted over my cheekbone. His eyes filled with pain, and remorse, making me shift uncomfortably in the bed.

"I will do anything to prove myself to you," he murmured, forcing me to look at him once more. "Marry me, and allow me to make amends for all I have done."

I looked down at our son, sleeping between us, and shivered. I owed it to Matthew, to Edward, to give him the chance. I desired it with all my soul.

"Yes," I whispered, as such an expression of joy passed over his beloved face that I couldn't help but feel tears spring to my eyes, as I smiled.