Rumplestiltskin (5 page)

Now this one she could not fix.

He would go too. He had to, because she was all out of life and wisdom and help herself.

It was done.

Finally, she released her hold when her hands began to be numb. Instinctively, she curled upon the smooth stone floor, near the door, and wept herself to sleep—tears forming a puddle under her cheek. Her final evening of freedom upon the earth, of truly knowing she was safe, was spent bitterly agonizing over all those she could not save.

Aubrynn had come to her end.

She justly felt at that time nothing would be worth living for again.

CHAPTER SEVEN

IT WAS A COUPLE of distressingly long hours before Rumplestiltskin could find a way to get to her again. Too many people about, too many servants using the old passageways to be comfortable being seen heading up the tower to her room. He had nearly been caught by Marcus earlier as he was talking to the girl and had heard his boot tread just in time to escape through the passageway, before the king walked through the door.

Against the other side of the wall in the passage Rumple had listened to all Marcus had said to her, especially the threats. How he had wanted to throttle his brother! To speak to a woman like that. To treat someone as she, with such force, was unlawful in this country, and yet, he continuously did so—not concerned about anyone but himself. Believing he was more superior than the law—that
he
was the law.

Marcus was the one who deserved to burn in Hades, not the poor girl.

But Rumple checked his temper and withstood the temptation to do what he wished. It would do neither him nor the girl any good to be caught in the king’s wrath at this time. He was more use to her whole and capable of helping her.

But, oh, the pain she must be facing at the moment! How her mind must be plagued with all that she could not fathom. He worried greatly for her.

As rapidly as he could, once the coast was clear, Rumple began his climb up the opposite side of the dark stairwell. The circular wall of the tower in reality held two spiraling staircases. The main one was about three feet wide and wound its way up with sconces and leaded windows, overlooking the land and village roundabout. The other one was tucked within the small shaft that ran up the middle of the stairs. This one was for the servants’ use, yet Rumple was not sure anyone knew or remembered it existed since he had never seen someone else use it. The inner staircase was tight and extremely dark, but made the perfect hiding spot as a child when the whole castle was commanded to search for him.

Within minutes he was able to push against the hidden wall and walk into the secret entrance of the tower. His eyes quickly took in the dim room, lit only by the moonlight streaming through a leaded window—the piles of hay were nearly five feet high all across the side wall. He glanced toward a makeshift bed, a small mattress and blankets—she was not there.

Searching the room, he rolled forward, his eyes peering into the shadows for the girl. She had to be here. “Hello,” he whispered softly as he crept forward. “Maiden. Where are you? I have come to help.”

Rumple bumped into a large wooden object and it took a few moments to determine it was a spindle. He was confused briefly until he remembered her father had said she could spin straw into gold. Shaking his head, he ran one hand over the thing. How could anyone be so foolish as to tell such falsehoods to a man as ruthless as his brother was? Had her father no common sense at all?

He moved away from the cumbersome spindle and ran his hand along the wall until he found the small fireplace. Quickly he knelt before it and stirred the ashes to life using an iron prong nearby. Once the sparks began to fly and produce some light, he easily found the firewood stacked and placed a couple of logs upon the embers.

They caught soon enough and cheerfully blazed their warmth into the dingy room. As he turned, pleased with his accomplishments, Rumple’s heart stopped at the sight of the beautiful girl curled up upon the ground, the glow of the fire dancing upon her dress and arms and worried, sorrowful features.

Her small frame moved up and down as she slept, her thick lashes could not conceal the tear stains or swollen eyes—but she was relaxed and slumbering now.

A deep ache settled within his chest as he truly realized the predicament this girl had found herself in and how horrid it would be to fall asleep believing you were completely all alone and there was no help for you.

Rumple hunched down, his leg twisted awkwardly beside him, but he did not come closer to her. He did not want to disturb the fragile sleep she had exhaustedly reached. Instead, he looked again around the room and took in the great work ahead of him. The piles of hay were indeed thick and plentiful and somehow, someway he had to find a technique to turn it all into gold before sunrise. He shook his head once more and rubbed his weary eyes with his twisted fingers. He could do this. He had to do this. He just had to figure out how.

First things first. He plopped himself against a wall closest and reached his hand over to grab a few fallen strands of straw upon the ground. Then he fished into his pocket and pulled out a stone. Concentrating with both hands—one grasping the straw, the other the stone—he made several attempts to work the small rock into doing as he wished.

After a full wasted hour, he could make the pebble levitate the hay and even move it about, tying it into many different makeshift shapes, he could even make the hay glow, but he could not, for the life of him, figure a way to spin it into gold.

How does one go about doing such a thing? Chanting did not work, mind power did absolutely nothing, even wishing was completely useless. Frustrated, Rumple stood up and walked over to a particular large pile of hay. Tilly had always believed these stones would change his life—always. And though he wished that could be so, he did not see how it might be possible. How anything truly worthwhile could be possible with such simple rocks. He leaned against the straw and lowered his head, tilting it to one side. The prickly pieces did much to stimulate his muddled brain. He needed an answer, there was something missing—but what?

When his eyes settled upon the spindle, it took a minute to fully notice what he was seeing.

And then it hit him. Of course! He stood up.

She must
spin
the straw into gold.

Anxious and too afraid to be overly hopeful, he grabbed a good sized handful of straw and walk-rolled over to the spindle. Sitting down, he set one leg out before him and used the other one to balance the straw. Then he put the stone in his mouth, and fumbled with the string of the spindle, placing a few strands of straw on it. He began to slowly spin the wheel, allowing the string to wind through it, and concentrate with all of his might that the straw would spin into gold thread.

He could barely make out a faint glow of blue from beneath his cheeks and he knew the rock was working. It was just trying to keep the spindle spinning and the slippery straw from falling off the string onto the floor instead of turning into the pointed top. His crooked fingers were not as much use as he wished them to be.

After several attempts to keep the straw moving up the string with one hand and the spindle whirling with the other, he was finally about to slip one of the smaller strands in. His thumb had to rest against the string to get the support he needed to keep the straw on. He remembered to concentrate on the stone at the last possible moment as the straw was moving through. Instead of turning into gold thread like he hoped it would, the strand stayed the same shape and fluttered spiraling to the floor. He glanced down and kicked it with his foot; obviously by the way it fluttered it was still hay. Sighing, he bent down and lifted the thing up. It was heavier than he expected.

Slowly he turned it over. One half of the piece was hay, but the other half had come out solid gold and glistening. Huzzah! He had done it! The straw was gold. The straw was gold!!!

With a relieved gasp, he choked on a bit of emotion, the rock falling from his lips onto his lap. Not fully believing his eyes. He had done impossible. He could save her after all.

Overcome, Rumple held his face with his crooked hands, wiping the wetness from his eyes. Oh, he honestly had not believed he could do it. Thank the heavens he could. Oh, thank the heavens!

The girl moaned and stirred from her spot a few feet from him. She turned slightly, the back of her head facing him. And then she sat up, staring distinctly at the happily flickering fireplace.

CHAPTER EIGHT

AUBRYNN BLINKED AT THE fireplace cozily dancing before her. She had a fire in this room? Did she start the fire? Moving a bit, she glanced down at where she had been laying upon the cold stone floor. Her dress was crumpled and wrinkled around her. She had clearly fallen asleep on the harsh ground and had never moved from the doorway. Looking to the right, she beheld the large pile of straw waiting for her to turn into gold. She groaned and turned farther still to see a small bed with blankets and the like.

“Before you twist completely around and see me, I thought I had better warn you I was here this time.”

Aubrynn jumped at the first sound of his voice and screeched when she turned more fully and saw the strange man in her room. “Great Scott! Do you intend on frightening me out of my wits every single time I am alone?”

He grinned. “Well, not every single time. Maybe a few more though, yes.” He moved his leg that was becoming a bit stiff from the angle it was in as he sat at the spindle. “I did warn you I had that effect on people, did I not?”

“You most certainly did.” She grinned, grateful to not find herself alone. “But how did you get here? Who are you? And what in all of the world would make you come and be here with me now?”

He leaned back and folded his arms as best he could. “Whoa, there. One question at a time. And I promise I will answer them all for you—anything you want to know, I will gladly answer. But first, I am famished. Do you have any food perchance?”

“I—” She blinked again. “I—I do not know. Wait. Stop. Just for a moment. Can we at least begin with one thing before I try to sort my mind into figuring out what has happened to the knapsack I had brought with me to the memorial earlier—just a moment, please?” She knelt up on her knees and brushed her dress out as best she could before stating grandly, “I am Aubrynn Sloat. I know it is not proper for a girl to introduce herself first, but as you can see, I am with a man without manners who clearly does not know these things, so I must make do.”

Rumple laughed. Threw his head back and laughed a great hearty laugh. Something he had not done since Tilly had left him. “You have caught me, my dear. You are correct. I am something of a savage with no real manners, as you can see.” He bowed his head in acknowledgement. “Thank you for putting me rightfully in my place at such a time like this. You, Aubrynn, may call me Rumplestiltskin.”

“Rumplestiltskin?” Her brow furrowed slightly. “Rumplestiltskin? What name is that? Do you have a distinct heritage? I have never heard of it before.”

“Or Rumple if you would prefer something easier.”

“Is that truly your name?”

“Do you see someone else who would fit it more than me? Yes. It is what I am most likely called wherever you go, Rumplestiltskin.”

“But why? I do not understand.”

“I have never had a person so vehemently dismiss my name before; I do not know quite what to make of it. Do you perhaps not see how rumpled and stilted my skin is? Should I stand for you then?” He made as if to get up.

“No. Please stay seated.” She herself stood, however, and approached him. Her deep brown eyes full of concern. “Forgive me if I have come off discourteous just now. I did not mean to, it is just—when did this happen to you? Where you always this way, or has something happened?”

His own eyes locked with hers. “Does it matter?”

She read layers of hurt within his depths and she realized this was indeed a very sensitive subject to bring up, but it also meant something to him—no matter how harmful it was—it meant something to him that she was curious enough to ask. “Yes, it does matter.”

He stared at her a full two minutes before simply stating quietly, “No.”

“You were not born this way?”

“No, I was not.”

“What happened?”

He glanced away, his gaze taking in everything at once without looking at her. “A curse. And that is all I will say about it.”

“No, please, do not close the subject off now.” Aubrynn stepped forward and clasped one of his hands. She was surprised to feel the zing of awareness that pinged through her at the simple touch. For a second there her whole arm felt tingly and alive.

When his eyes met hers she could tell he was as shocked as she was. He could feel it too!

A bit flustered, she rushed out, “What were you called before the ah—the accident.”

“Curse. It was a curse.”

“Very well. What were you called before the curse?”

She held her breath as he took in all of her features, much as the king had. She wondered for a small moment if he too thought she was beautiful. He was obviously weighing his answer as she implored him with her looks to reveal his secrets. However, he grinned and shook his head, bringing a bit of easiness back into their exchange and said, “It does not matter what my name was then, does it? All that matters is who I am now. And I am most definitely nothing but a Rumplestiltskin.”

She took a deep breath, abdicating the conversation to him. There was no reason to push the issue further. “Well, hello there, Rumple. I am very pleased to meet you.” She withdrew the hold from his hand and immediately took it up again to shake.

* * *

When he turned her wrist within his hand and brought it quite properly up to his rather nice lips, she giggled—her eyes sparkling mischievously down at him. “Thank you for asking, though,” he said. “I do appreciate the gesture.”

He watched as a flash of something flicked across her face, but then she smiled again and answered, “You are most very welcome.”