by Marcy Wilson-Cales

A new song, to mark the time of how Julia had fallen asleep in his arms again, as worn out by her own emotions as he had of his journey through the cold and snow.

Barnabas fully awoke, finally, in the pale blue winter morning. Again, he recognized the music as if the ghosts of his past were singing to him:

Joy, health, love and peace
be all here in this place
By your leave we will sing
converning our king

Our king is well dressed
In silks of the best,
In ribbons so rare,
no king can compare.

We have travelled many miles,
over hedges and stiles,
In search of our king,
until you we bring.

Old Christmas is past,
Twelfth Night is the last,
And we bid you adieu,
great joy to the new.

Julia slept on, ignorant of the stunning world outside, wind-carved of frozen cream and lit with the blue of robins' eggs. Her thick lashes shuttered closed against the morning. She never stirred as he rose to add to the fire, never blinked as he returned under the covers against her living warmth.

As so many's did when the summer sun left, her hair was at its darkest shade, darker even under the blue light. One thick lock consistently fell forward into one eyes, and after a few attempts he gave up and smiled to hold it away from her face.

"Great joy to the new." He repeated in the barest whisper. "I hope so...I truly hope so..."

Like the sea pines against the rocky shore, they were true survivors--wind wracked and battered maybe, their bodies hammered and sometimes appeared dead or broken, they nonetheless had their roots sunk deep in stingy soil, and they lived on despite all attempts to the contrary.

And such attempts as they were, too.

He thought of Angelique at that moment, and regretted the pall it cast--over himself, and the pall that she had already put between them.

Why did I never tell Julia the truth?

Did you even know the truth?

The question to himself startled him. But true. Perhaps I did not.

Not until after 1840, and he had been able to stop living in that time--and allow his reflections to be shaded with objectivity.

The truth was...for all my words to her...to Julia, to all of us, Sky Rumson told the greatest truth. Angelique and I are closer than friends; we are enemies. And I cannot forget that, no more than I can forget the danger of her company.

Danger to himself and to other people. Attraction was not strong enough for him to keep her, for even without her powers, she was a jealous woman, in possession of words that could flay and lay bare wounds of the heart without pity or mercy. She had killed his family, his friends, the women he had dared to love, abused Roger, driven Elizabeth into a fearful shell, tortured Carolyn, Maggie and Vicky...and selected Julia for special torture indeed.

Barnabas would have never respected himself if he had willingly taken her back.

Angelique cared for nothing of emotions; she just wanted them to be together, even if it was a sham of a marriage. Hadn't she said as much when she was pursuing Quentin? No... appearances meant everything to her, it did...

And I expected Julia to understand all of this, without having to explain...

Fresh regret came over him, and he leaned over to press a light kiss on her nearest shoulder.

Small wonder she did not...I have done so much that lacked sense...

He sensed a faint blink under her eyes as she began to wake, and kissed her again. Last night he had been able to speak, and the relief of the burden had been incredible. He was still aback at the intensity of the need they had for each other--need he was feeling again.

But was it all so surprising? After too many years of fighting for their very survival--and that of others', so much time when it was only the two of them against or for the world...life and death had dipped between them so often, and so much passion kindled to be frustrated over and over.

No...he needed this, and he needed her--and he needed the woman she truly was, the warm, willing and fierce woman he had held but a few hours ago, not the sad-eyed and silent statue she had been for so long.

She stirred, and her eyes opened slowly to find him smiling down upon her as he held and kissed her.

"Mmn?" She blinked, and turned her head puzzledly. When she saw the fire was burning again, she relaxed.

"Good morning." He whispered in her ear, and nuzzled it. She shivered all over, and he kept it going by catching her lobe ever so gently, and playing with it, teeth and lips and tongue. Her arms slid around him, stroking the taut skin of his back gently. He would never tire of that touch, not ever.

To Be Continued

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