String Quartet No. 14 in D minor, D.810 "Death and the Maiden": IV. Presto, by Franz Schubert.

Amalia was mindlessly scrubbing the white shirt, listening to the surrounding noises. The birds were chirping joyful melodies, the water of the stream was flowing soothingly, the light wind was passing in the trees... It was always great to get some quiet time, away from the noise and distractions.

She didn't like to do her laundry all dressed, as she usually ended up soaked and cold. Also, whenever she could, she preferred to remove her dress and proceed with only her undergarments. She had taken the habit of distancing herself from the others, as she didn't enjoy exposing her body to people. This also gave her the perfect excuse to have those moments alone.

For the third time today, she thought to herself that this month of May had been particularly warm. It was as if she was still in Spain and not back in bitter and rainy England. While the air was chilly, it wasn't enough to make her cold, despite her lack of clothes. Although the glacial water was harsh on her hands.

When she was done scrubbing her shirt, she rinsed it in the cold stream, making sure there were no traces of soap left, and then squeezed it to remove as much of the water as possible. She set it aside and was about to grab another one when something cracked right behind her.

Startled, she jumped on her feet and turned around. A tall man was coming at her from the woods. From what she could see, his clothes were too fine for him to be from the camp, and she feared what an outsider might do to her. She was tempted to grab her washing board, ready to defend herself if needed. But then the imposing man came out of the shadows. Her heart dropped low in her chest and her lungs emptied with shock, as if someone had punched her.

Utterly stunned, she stared at the familiar face. The very face she never thought she would see again...

Aiden.

After a brief moment of stupor upon recognizing him, her panic turned into pure terror.

No, it couldn't be him. Not here. Not in Bristol. She'd thought she would be safe here, since he lived hundreds of miles away. It was impossible that he'd be right here, a few yards away from her. But she knew this face. She knew those features too well. It was Aiden. He had found her.

For an instant, she was thrown back to their summer years ago. She remembered those lazy afternoons they'd spent talking, laughing, playing music... Most of all, she remembered how it felt to be unconditionally in love with him, and to have her affection returned with the same intensity.

To this day, those weeks with him were still the happiest of her life. There wasn't a day she hadn't thought of him since.

He stopped a few feet away from her, his icy blue eyes locked on hers with a threatening glare. He seemed so cold, so brutally hateful, that she could barely see the young man he used to be.

"Good afternoon, Amalia," he greeted, his voice dangerously calm.

Her knees weakened beneath her, and she had to lean on the boulder not to fall. It was a dream— No, a nightmare... It couldn't be true. She would wake up soon.

But everything was too real to come from her imagination. The rock under her palm, the light breeze, nature's noises... And mostly Aiden. She had forgotten how dashing he was, and she could never have remembered his face so perfectly. It was real, and he was the same man she'd loved so passionately.

Even though fear was paralyzing her, she couldn't help but notice how handsome he still was. It seemed as if much more than five years had passed. The young man she knew and loved was now more mature. Everything about him was masculine, muscular, and dangerous.

He took a stride closer, domineering and imperious, so Amalia took a shaky step back.

"Aiden. Why— Why are you here?" she finally managed to ask, her voice uneven. He didn't answer right away. His piercing eyes were locked onto hers, and she worried he might read her soul and see her deepest secrets.

"I'm sure you knew this would happen, love. This is redemption day."

The endearment made her heart sink in her chest. She used to adore it when he called her that. But now it sounded like a sarcastic insult. He took another step, and so did she. She barely noticed the stinging cold of the stream's water when she stepped in it.

"What do you want? I have nothing." She looked down at her attire, which wasn't hiding much, and her face warmed up. She was wearing the worst possible outfit for this.

"What could I possibly want?" he repeated, pretending to think about the answer. "Maybe we should start with an apology?"

His deceitfully calm attitude was worrying Amalia more and more. He seemed to be prepared for this, and she didn't want to imagine what his mind might have come up with during all those years. If she screamed, how long would it take for the women to come to her? Once more, she had gotten too far, and she could barely hear their voices. She decided it was safer to comply with his demands. She had too much to lose. There was no way she'd take the risk of upsetting him.

"I'm sorry, Aiden—"

"Stop calling me, Aiden. To a bohemian like you, it is 'your Grace,'" he warned, his voice merciless.

For the first time, he was openly aggressive, and Amalia backed up again. Then she understood what this meant. He was a duke, now. His father had died, which meant he held much more power than he used to. He was an almighty lord, and there wasn't anything she could ever do to oppose his will. She was helpless, because he could decide her fate with a snap of his fingers.

His eyes went up and down on her with what resembled disgust, and his eyebrow rose when he saw how she was retreating in the water. "You can come closer. I won't hurt you. I made a promise to you a long time ago, and some of us can actually keep their word."

She remembered. During their afternoon near the lake, he had told her he would never hurt her. However, with everything that had happened since, he couldn't feel the same way about her anymore. Also, it was clear to her that he'd changed a lot. While she'd trusted the young man he'd been, she wasn't sure she could feel the same way about the imposing stranger before her.

He grew impatient, huffing in reprobation, so she moved out of the water to please him. Still, she stayed at a safe distance, just in case.

"I apologized, Aid— Your Grace. What do you want me to do now?"

"The ring, what became of it?"

"I... I don't have it anymore."

This time, when he came closer, she fought the urge to move back. His incredibly blue eyes, a shade she had never been allowed to forget, were fiercely locked on her, like a predator's on its prey. She'd never thought she would see him again. She used to, back then, when everything had happened, but she hadn't in a very long time. She wasn't prepared for this confrontation.

"Then maybe you can answer this question that's been on my mind all those years," he suggested, his voice low. He was so close now that she could feel his breath fanning over her face. "When you spread your legs for my cock, was it the plan all along, or did you just go with it like a whore?"

Her blood boiled, appalled that he would reduce what they'd shared to this. Before she could hold it back, her hand flew to his cheek to slap him. Her palm was stinging from the blow, but his head had barely moved. A dangerous, menacing smile bent his lips, and Amalia understood the extent of her acts. Terrified, she looked in the direction of the other women, gauging if she could make it in time.

"There she is... The fierce Amalia I know, not that scared little thing."

"Stop calling me Amalia," she dared to blurt out. "To you, it's Miss Romero."

A sparkle lit in his eyes. "I take it you never married?"

She didn't answer, but held his gaze, having found back some of her combativeness. There was only one man she had ever wanted to marry, and it seemed clear he had become an absolute arse. "What do you want, your Grace," she asked, pressing him.

He looked at her, puzzled. "I'm not sure yet. I have been preparing for this for so long. I have too many things in mind. But don't worry, I will pick a suitable fate for you." He covered her with a lustful gaze, and Amalia shivered. Although she couldn't tell exactly if it was from outrage or the recollection of what lust in his arms felt like. She could still remember how it felt to be under him, to kiss him with fervor, to experience passion... But she certainly didn't want any of that with the version of Aiden she had in front of her.

She was about to tell him to go to hell when a familiar voice came from further up the path. Her friend, Carmen, was coming this way.

No...

No, no, no.

Amalia panicked, sheer dread freezing her blood. Desperate, she sent Aiden a pleading gaze. "You have to leave. You can't stay here!" She pushed on his torso to force him back to where he came from, but she might as well have tried to move one of the boulders. Carmen's voice was getting closer. "Please, Aiden, Your Grace, go..."

He looked down at her, inflexible. "Maybe you should introduce me to your friend, love."

Amalia didn't know what to do. This was a secret that couldn't be known. That mustn't be revealed.

Before it was too late, he seemed to take pity on her, sensing the depth of her despair. "If you don't want to have to explain my presence here, make her go," he commanded before moving back, retreating to the cover of the vegetation. The newcomer wouldn't see him if she managed to get rid of her fast.

Carmen finally appeared to her sight, followed by two little girls. They were still a hundred feet away, and Amalia hoped she could send them back. "Carmen, not now!" she shouted. "Go back to the camp, please!" As much as she was trying to sound normal, her voice was trembling, her breathing uneven. This couldn't be happening...

"I will," the woman argued. "I just need to leave the girls with you. I can't get anything done with them around!" Before Amalia could say anything, the girls ran toward her. Carmen vaguely waved at them and went back to where she came from.

"No!" she told the girls, who were approaching fast. "Go back! Go to Carmen!"

It didn't stop them, and desperation invaded Amalia. When they reached her, she kneeled in the sand. Both of them hugged her, and she tried her best to keep them facing her. If they turned around, they wouldn't miss Aiden's threatening silhouette lurking in the shadows. He was still watching her, waiting for her to get rid of the girls. There was hope. She could still save the situation.

"Please, go back to the camp. I will come back soon, I promise," she ordered with a firm voice.

"But we don't want to! Please!"

"Carmen won't let us play with the tea set," the other complained.

"Please, Mommy..." they begged together.

As the word left her daughters' lips, Amalia knew she had just lost her battle. To her great distress, Aiden came out of the shadows, a stunned expression on his face.

"'Mommy?'" he repeated, baffled.

Surprised, the girls squealed and turned around to face him. Amalia stood up and shoved them behind her. They each grabbed one of her thighs, trembling with panic. Trying to be fierce like a lioness defending her cubs, Amalia held herself high, ready to do anything to protect them.

"'Mommy?'" Aiden said again, still not grasping what was happening. He tried to push Amalia aside to take a look at the girls. But she didn't budge. She wouldn't let him. Ailia and Maeve were everything to her. She couldn't lose them, she couldn't live without them.

"How old are they?" he aggressively demanded. She said nothing, knowing there wasn't a thing she could say to help her situation.

She read on his face when something clicked in his mind. His confusion became even more intense as he scanned her eyes for the answers he sought. He grabbed Amalia's arm and squeezed it hard, sending a painful jolt under her skin.

"Are they mine?"

"No."

To her dismay, the cracking in her voice was enough to betray the lie. She saw the exact moment Aiden knew. The moment he became certain.

Her greatest fear was coming true. The nightmare she'd had so often was unfolding before her, and there was nothing she could do to stop it this time. Her eyes filled with tears as she stood there, utterly helpless.

This song is kinda good to illustrate panic, and a hectic mind, I think. The tune is quite catchy, in my opinion. Also, the name could totally be in a hard metal album, which I find very amusing. String Quartet No. 14 in D minor, D.810 "Death and the Maiden": IV. Presto, by Franz Schubert.