Der Freischütz, J. 277: Ouverture, by Carl Maria von Weber 

Aiden was slowly losing his patience, waiting for Amalia to send the little girls away. He had a lot of ideas prepared for her, and he couldn't wait to start executing his plans. She would work to pay back for the things her people had taken. All the way to the last silver teaspoon she'd helped them steal. Pennies per pennies, she would repay her debt to him. With an average wage of ten pounds per year, she would need the rest of her life to repay just the ring.

He wasn't certain yet what position he would grant her. Nothing more than a housemaid or a kitchen maid. Once he would be married, he might promote her to become his wife's lady's maid. Then Amalia would spend the rest of her life seeing what she had lost by leaving him.

Aiden focused back on her, kneeling in the sand, trying to reason with the little girls. He was barely paying attention to what was being said, his mind too busy figuring out how he would execute his revenge plans.

Regardless of how distracted he was, he couldn't miss the "Mommy" that suddenly came out of the girls' mouths.

The instant he understood these weren't random children from the camp, but Amalia's progeny, his entire body tensed. He'd never imagined her moving on and finding someone else. It seemed ridiculously naïve, now that he was thinking about it, but he'd never imagined how she could have spent those five years. She hadn't married, but it seemed her people didn't need the holy bonds of marriage to procreate.

Shocked, angry, and confused, he left the cover of the woods to bolt to her.

"Mommy?" he growled, demanding an explanation.

His sudden presence seemed to frighten the girls, and they moved behind their mother to seek protection. He hadn't caught it before, but they seemed to be twins. The difference between their dresses, one blue, one pink, had prevented him from noticing it. They didn't wear their hair the same way either, as one had her hair loose, while the other had a braid. Now that they were hidden, he couldn't see much of them, but something was driving him to study the little girls. Their mother wasn't allowing it, though, so he looked up at Amalia, who was fiercely ready to protect her daughters.

"Mommy?" he repeated. Once more, she didn't answer, and doubt made its way into Aiden's head. She seemed scared. Too scared. Something wasn't right.

Why would she be scared for them? It wasn't the girls he wanted revenge on. It was...

An insidious, small seed of doubt grew in his mind. He tried to guess the girls' age, from the way they'd spoken to their height, the way they moved... He had a niece and a nephew, who were four and two. And the girls seemed to be a little older than his niece.

Which meant they would have been conceived five to six years ago. So they could be...

They could be his.

In the past, he had always been careful not to take any risks with the women he bedded, using French letters, sponges, or avoiding coming inside of them. He was confident that none of his adventures had resulted in procreation.

However, with Amalia, it had been different, hadn't it? They were going to marry, and he had wanted her to carry his seed. But could it truly have happened in one night?

No, it was impossible. The odds were too slim.

Still, he needed to make sure.

"How old are they?" he demanded, looking back at Amalia. She didn't answer, her brave mask slowly cracking despite her resilience.

There was only one reason she wouldn't answer. Only one explanation as to why she would be so scared of him. She was worried that he would take them away. And she was so terrified of it because he could.

Because they were his.

He clasped her arm, frustrated by her lack of answer. "Are they mine?"

"No."

As much as Aiden wanted this to be true, as much as he wanted the girls to be someone else's problem, it was clear she was lying. She was petrified with fear, tears pooling in her eyes, her voice uneven.

Had the girls not been his, she would have denied it with ardor, because then she would have had nothing to fear. But if they were his daughters, she could lose everything. And she was perfectly aware of it.

He took a step to the side to examine the girls, and she tried to stop him. "Please... Aiden please, don't..."

Ignoring her plea, he kneeled, eager to observe the twins. With an unthreatening hand, he touched one of the girl's black hair, as dark as her mother's. "What is your name?" he asked in a soft voice. The girl glimpsed at him timidly and looked up at her mother. Amalia was still paralyzed, a solitary tear rolling down her face. "It is all right, sweetheart, you can tell me."

After a few seconds of hesitation, the girl finally spoke. "I'm Maeve."

Aiden turned to the other one. "And you, darling, what is your name?"

"Ailia."

"Those are pretty names. Mine is Aiden. Do you know where your names come from?"

"Mommy says it comes from Ireland!" Maeve explained, proud to know the answer.

"Were you two born in Ireland, then?"

Ailia shook her head. "It was in Spain."

He frowned, confused by the way it didn't add up. The names supposedly marked their origin, according to Amalia's people. The girls' names made no sense. Unless... Unless the origin was different.

It was him. His name was Irish. He was their origin. Boiling with contained rage, he looked up at Amalia, whose world was still falling apart. The girls weren't as afraid as before, moving from behind her, and they were both looking at him, curious.

"And how old are you?"

"We just turned five!"

Everything made sense.

As much as he distrusted Amalia's past actions, he was convinced she'd been a virgin when he'd bedded her. It seemed unlikely she led a promiscuous life right after, given her original reticence toward men. No, without any possible doubt, he was their father.

Trying to find himself in them, he studied their features, tried to find a difference in their perfectly identical faces. One of them, Maeve, had a small scar on her cheek. They had their mother's hair, dark and wavy, but it was his eyes he saw on them, a rare shade of blue. The only similitude in their attire was their jewelry. Each of them had stud earrings made of three small glass gems.

He had never thought of himself as the fatherly type, but a desire to protect them invaded him, some primal instinct that took over his mind. Emotions filled his heart as he gazed down at the twins. He was a father. Twice. Before him stood the flesh of his flesh.

This unpredictable circumstance was overwhelming, and his head was almost spinning from it all. This morning, he had been a bachelor, without obligations or commitments. And now, in the past five minutes, he had become a father, with two lives to take care of, two souls who depended on him.

To his great surprise, knowing that he had two daughters unleashed pure joy on him. And they were utterly adorable, with their perfect faces and small bodies. Having a child had always been some distant thought, but now that he was facing it, he was finding some satisfaction in this idea. He had a legacy.

As the information made its way in his mind, anger slowly overtook him again. He had missed five years of their lives. Five years he would never get back. Five years of learning and discovering about fatherhood that had been robbed from him. He'd missed an entire stage of their lives, which he would never witness.

If he hadn't been there for the first years of their lives, he could make sure he'd be here for the rest of it. From this point forward, he wouldn't tolerate not knowing if they were taken care of, safe, well-fed, warm...

The decision didn't even take him a second, and he stood up to face Amalia. "I have to go back to Bristol, but I will be back in two hours with a carriage. Make sure everything is packed by then."

She dried her cheeks and held his gaze. "I won't let you take them away from me. I won't let you."

"Listen to me carefully, love. I'm taking the girls with me. This isn't even up for discussion." He paused and looked at her with arrogance, reminding her she was nothing compared to him. "You can try to fight me on this, but I can assure you, Amalia, you will lose."

He paused and gently brushed the head of one of the girls. He was taking them with him. There was no doubt about it. But he also knew he couldn't rip them away from their mother, or they would never forgive him for that traumatizing moment and trust him. Their mother had to come too, whether he liked this idea or not.

Clenching his teeth, he turned back to the godless woman, his eyes meeting her dark ones. "Now, the question you should ask is, are you coming?"

"Would you allow it?"

"You will come along with us until we find what arrangement will work the best. We will talk about it later when we are back in Bristol." He looked at the girls, who were understandably confused by what was happening. "In the meantime, you will do as I say and prepare your things. You better be ready when I'm back." He paused and grabbed her arm again, pulling her closer. "And Amalia, don't flee. Just know that if you do, I will put a bounty on the three of you so high, that half of Britain will look for you." He paused to give her the time to process the information.

"And then, when you are found – not if but when – there will be no discussions possible. I will take them away from you, while you either hang from a rope, or spend the rest of your days rotting in a cell."

Maybe he should have insisted more, but he saw the fright in her eyes. She knew these weren't empty threats. If she didn't comply, he would act on them, and she'd learn what it cost to disobey him.

With one last brush on the girls' heads and one last glare at their mother, Aiden left them by the stream.

At a fast pace, he reached his horse, eager to get back to the hotel and have everything prepared. Despite his very serious and genuine threats, he couldn't trust Amalia to stick around. It wouldn't be the first time that she disappeared on him.

He would be back in an hour with the carriage. If she was gone by then, he would unleash hell and find her.

After all those years, he finally had her in his grasp. Between the ability he had to control her, and the daughters he now had to care for, he wouldn't let go of Amalia.

Not now, and not ever.

The piece for this chapter is Der Freischütz, J. 277: Ouverture, by Carl Maria von Weber. It's a little worrying at the beginning, but there are also tender moments, a certain sadness and happiness to it... Perfect for this chapter!