Chapter Text
The piercing screech of a hawk sliced through the early evening quiet of the moors causing Colin to turn his head and gaze skywards. In the distance, against the nearly cloudless sky, he saw the bird winging its way towards him at lightning speed.
He lifted his gauntlet covered arm in readiness and raptor circled once before landing upon the thick leather with a rapid flutter of wings. Colin quickly looked it over, checking the reddish-brown plumage, making sure that all was well before he reached out and gently placed a hood over its head, covering its large amber eyes. It was late and he couldn’t have her spying something in the distance and flying away again.
“Sorry, my love,” he murmured more for himself than the bird.
He knew well that she wouldn’t remember, but it pained him to treat her like that anyway.
Taking a firm hold of the jesses attached to the hawks’ legs, he turned and headed back towards the reasonably sized cottage behind him that was now his home. The birds’ talons dug into his glove as she balanced herself while he walked and his grip tightened on the thin leather straps to hold her steady. She let out a couple of soft cries and he absently lifted his free hand to lightly stroke her cream coloured, feathered chest, soothingly.
She quietened down, then, moments later, he opened a door to the rear of the house and entered a small room. It was sparsely furnished with little more than a plain wooden dressing table, small mirror and accompanying chair. In the corner was a low perch and he placed the hawk upon it before removing her hood and putting it to one side.
He glanced around the room, his eyes fixing on a light blue dress and some silky underthing’s that were folded up neatly upon a footstool. His heart stuttered at the thought of what his wife would look like wearing it and he closed his eyes against the desperate longing that suddenly tore through him.
Hands fisting at his sides, the urge to yell – to break things - was almost overwhelming, but he knew from past endeavours that those acts offered no real solace.
It altered nothing.
They would still be cursed…
Forcing himself to calm, he relaxed his hands and opened his eyes, casting one last lingering look at the hawk perched silently nearby. With a slight shake of his head, he hastily retreated from the room through a second door that led directly into the kitchen. He could feel the night approaching. He didn’t have much time and needed to go and see his son first.
Thomas had been a little over six months old when life as Colin knew it had changed irrevocably.
It was day both Penelope and he would never forget.
How could they when it had torn their lives asunder?
Walking briskly towards their son’s nursery, his mouth pulled into a grim line as he thought back to that day. It wasn’t something he usually dwelled upon as it only reinforced how helpless their situation now truly was. Today, however, his mind was not obeying his desire to forget and had decided that he would have to endure the pain of it once more.
Perhaps it was part of the curse.
They had been happy, he and Penelope, deliriously so. The birth of their son had only added to their marital bliss as they’d seamlessly become a family of three.
Everything had been…perfect.
In the back of his mind, though, there had always been a little voice of caution, warning him that something could happen.
Because life is never, actually, ‘perfect’, as he well knew.
If he’d been asked, he would have said that it would likely come from a disgruntled past recipient of one of Lady Whistledown’s scathing reports. In fact, he’d almost expected it in the beginning when Penelope had announced to the Ton that it was she who was the infamous gossipmonger.
But people had surprised him. Naturally, having the Queen’s endorsement had certainly helped smooth over any trivial slights that had occurred, particularly from the Cowper’s. That family aside though, the only marked difference in people’s attitude towards his wife was that they’d suddenly started treating her the way she should have always been treated by society – with warmth and kindness and welcome.
And then one fateful, devastating morning it had all come to a frightening end. Even now he could feel the bile that rose in his throat as memories pushed themselves insistently forward.
Penelope had returned to their bed after checking on Thomas. He’d had a slight fever that she’d insisted on dealing with herself and had just settled back into Colin’s arms when she’d stiffened suddenly then let out a terrible cry of pain.
He hadn’t even had a chance to ask her what was wrong before she’d swiftly started to change before his shocked gaze. Her beautiful, but terrified, light blue eyes had been first. They’d turned to amber and within seconds the rest of her had morphed rapidly into that of a bird.
A hawk in fact.
His hawk.
He’d been too stunned to move at first, unsure if he were still asleep and it was all a bad dream. But he wasn’t. And it wasn’t. It was a nightmare. A horrific, waking nightmare that only got worse.
He’d yelled for the servants and they’d stared at him disbelievingly as he’d frantically tried to explain what had happened. They’d thought him mad and he hadn’t blamed them because he felt surely that he must be suffering from some kind of malady.
They’d sent for his brother, Anthony, and he’d not believed it either. Instead he’d asked whether he and Penelope had had an argument and if she was at her mothers.
Colin had been adamant in what he’d witnessed, no matter that it sounded fantastical. The day had gone on with a large cage produced for the hawk and visits from two eminent physicians who proclaimed him ‘in good health’.
His mother and Eloise had also rallied around him, one gentle in her queries, the other less so and amidst it all, Colin had sat and stared numbly at the caged hawk.
At Penelope.
Servants were sent out to look for his wife and the Featherington house was checked even though Portia was away visiting Prudence.
Violet had cared for Thomas throughout the day with the help of the nanny. Colin had been unable to function properly, still trying to get his head around what had happened – what he’d seen. Frustration had clawed at him as his mind buzzed with a million different unanswered questions.
Finally, as the evening drew in with no answers and no one believing him, Penelope had started to get agitated within her cage. She’d flapped her wings and let out a series of cries that pierced his broken heart.
He’d told everyone to leave the room and once he was alone, he’d opened the cage door and set her free.
Moments later, he’d doubled over in pain and that was the last thing he remembered until he’d awoken the next morning laying on the floor next to the bed. He’d been completely naked except for a rope around his neck with the other end tied around one wooden foot of their bed. He’d grimaced at the tightness of it and had loosened the slip knot in order that he could breathe and stand up.
A little cry had alerted him to Penelope who was perched on top of the cage and his chest tightened. Nothing had changed in that regard it’d seemed and he’d not been able to fathom what had happened the night before to warrant him waking up in such a degrading manner.
He’d quickly donned some breeches and was buttoning a shirt when a knock had sounded at his door. Anthony had entered looking grim and begun talking before Colin could even utter a word. That was when he’d had realised that life would never be the same again.
When night had fallen, he had turned into a wolf and Penelope had returned to human form. Colin had railed against what his brother had told him but over the following days and nights, it had become clear that a cruel magic had been set in motion.
They were cursed to be together, yet forever apart.
While Portia had been inconsolable and had turned all her attention to Penelope’s sister’s unable to deal with her anguish; the rest of the Bridgerton’s had made it their mission to find the culprit and break the spell.
Unhappily, it had been two years now and they were no nearer to finding out who it was, than when they’d begun.
At first, they’d had an idea that it could be Cressida. Banished from society after her blackmail attempt of Penelope, she was vindictive enough to have sought out a way to hurt them both.
Anthony and Kate had travelled to see her, the former demanding an explanation, but it soon became clear that Cressida had nothing to do with it. Her surprise at their predicament had seemed genuine. Not to mention her aunt barely let her out into the house grounds, let alone anywhere else that she could find a way to use magic. They could have done without her subsequent delight once she’d fully realised what had happened to the couple, however.
Some people never changed it seemed.
Their thoughts had then turned to Lord Debling. He was the next obvious choice as Colin had openly humiliated the man by cutting in on his dance with Penelope, on the very night he’d been set to propose to her. His pride had been further dented when the woman he’d actively courted and who, he’d say, encouraged him, could not deny that she wanted more from her so-called ‘friend’.
He had left the ball, and London, red faced and angry.
The last they had heard, Debling had departed on his expedition sooner than expected. Taking into consideration how well travelled he was and all the many different cultures he’d likely encountered, Colin had decided that he must have encountered some form of magic along the way and, therefore, was the one behind their misery.
Unfortunately, he was wrong.
It came to pass that Debling had perished at sea not long after leaving England and so it couldn’t be him that had cast such an abomination.
During this time they’d come to realise that they couldn’t continue living in London. The new season would soon be upon them and they knew they had to remove to the country far away from prying eyes.
Benedict had been the one to find them the cottage. Situated in north Devon, on the edge of Exmoor, it was remote enough to give them the privacy and space they needed to be themselves and their alter-egos. It was also only a few hours away from Benedict’s own country estate where he’d decided to settle until such time that the curse could be lifted. It was closer than London and he would be relatively nearby should the need arise.
Much to everyone’s surprise, Eloise had insisted upon going with Colin and Penelope. Her brother had been dubious at first. Elosie wasn’t known for her willingness to be around babies, but she had since proved to be a great help with Thomas and around the house in general. It also gave him comfort to know that she was there for Penelope overnight.
Due to their circumstances, they couldn’t employ staff in the conventional way. To that end, they had only taken Penelope’s maid, Rae, and a couple of other trusted staff from London with them – a footman named Peter and their cook, a widow called Mrs Downs.
Over time, they had all become their own kind of family of sorts. Lines were blurred in regard to station within the household as everyone did a little of everything to make the situation work.
His family kept them up to date on any leads as to who maybe the culprit but when likely candidates had dwindled, they had turned to trying to find a way to break the spell instead.
It was something he knew that Penelope and Eloise were particularly keen on. His sister often sought him out in the mornings with more ideas she and his wife had concocted during the night after studying some ancient book or other.
At first, he’d been just as keen as they, but as the days had stretched to weeks and then to years, he’d slowly found himself ground down by the ‘what if’s’ and the ‘maybe’s’.
Nothing ever worked and they were running out of texts on the subject, even though Anthony had sent men out across the world in order to find anything they could that might possibly help.
He’d never admit it to anyone, but Colin was rapidly losing any hope of ever seeing Penelope standing before him in human form again.
He paused as he reached the nursery, his hand resting lightly on the door handle as he gathered himself together and shook off his morose thoughts. His sister was far too perceptive for his liking and she would know that something wasn’t well with him.
Summoning a small smile, he finally turned the handle and quietly entered his son’s room.
Eloise was sat gently rocking Thomas’ crib while reading a book and looked up at his entrance.
“Is all well with Penelope?” she asked softly so as not to disturb the toddler.
She stood and stepped to one side as Colin approached.
“Yes. She’s in her dressing room,” he replied giving her a brief nod.
He looked down at his son with a tender gaze. He was sleeping peacefully on his stomach, thumb stuck firmly in his mouth. Colin let out a soft chuckle and reached over the high sides to carefully move his hand away, only to have his son squirm and shove his thumb back in again. Colin let out another quiet laugh then gently ran his hand over the little boy’s copper curls, so reminiscent of his mothers.
At just over two and a half years of age, Thomas was a constant bundle of energy and had kept Colin focussed during those most trying of times when all about him had felt adrift. He loved him dearly.
“Penelope is hoping that he’ll grow out of the habit, but I told her that you sucked your thumb until you were fifteen,” Eloise said from beside him.
Colin let out a sudden huff of indignation.
“I did not…” he began loudly, only to quieten when Thomas stirred. He waited a moment for the boy to settle then pulled the blanket up a bit higher around his little body, tucking him in as he continued at a softer, but no less aggravated, level, “That is pure fabrication on your part as you well know, Eloise.”
“Yes, but fun nonetheless,” she retorted with a wry grin. “Although Pen did say that she thought that was very sweet of you.”
He looked at his sister then, his irritation fading to be replaced by the ache of longing that was never far away.
“Did she?” he whispered. Off her nod, he added, “What else did she say?”
She was about to answer him when his eyes widened and he let out a gasp as he took a step back.
“Is it time?” she queried instead, her expression immediately going from teasing to pained.
Colin nodded and took another step back as the familiar itching began. It was like millions of tiny insects crawling just under his skin, trying to burst free as the feeling worked its way rapidly over his body. He winced and fidgeted uncomfortably in his clothes then deftly unbuttoned his waistcoat. Shrugging out of it, he threw it over the back of a nearby chair and felt his breathing pick up.
The curtains were drawn but he didn’t need to look out of the window to know that the sun was beginning to set.
He had to leave.
Reaching into the left pocket of his breeches, he pulled out a piece of paper and held it out to his sister.
“For Pen,” he told her unnecessarily.
Every night he gave her a letter and every night Eloise took it with the same sad smile and replied, “I’ll see that she gets it.”
The itching intensified and he hurried over to the door. Even though he knew he didn’t have long, that he really should be leaving, he still paused a moment then turned back to his sister.
“I envy you, you know,” he confessed quietly, his pain clear. He didn’t know whether it was the memories that were still fresh in his mind or the tacit acknowledgement to himself that he believed their situation near hopeless, but the need to say what had been rolling around in his head for weeks now was one that he couldn’t contain any longer. “Spending time with her, talking to her…laughing with her…” His voice cracked and he drew in a shuddering breath, eyes glistening. “I would give anything to have just one more day with her, Eloise. Anything.”
His sister nodded and forced a smile even though her heart ached for her brother and her friend.
“I know…and so would Penelope,” she told him as she blinked back her own sudden tears. “She loves you, Colin. Never forget that.”
“And I love her. Always.”
He might have said more, but his time was up and his body was on fire. Turning abruptly, he left the room and hastened through the house, clawing at his clothes. Discarding his shirt, he threw it to the ground and yanked on the main door of the cottage, pulling it open.
Burnt orange streaks greeted him, lighting up the sky in a last act of defiance before the sun lost its battle against the onslaught of night.
Stepping out into the waning light, he relished the cool breeze that momentarily soothed his overheated body as he bent down and pulled off his boots. Barely registering the gravel that bit sharply into his skin underfoot, he strode quickly towards the moor fumbling with his belt.
Heart pounding painfully, he drew in breath after harsh breath before finally stepping out of his breeches and tossing them aside.
And as the last of the sun’s rays were swallowed by the encroaching darkness, Colin began to run.