Chapter 83: The son of a slaveholder and the daughter of a slave
Night had just fallen over the vast lands of England, bringing with it all the cold and darkness typical of a winter evening.
It was the year 1736, and that night a twenty-one-year-old Brooklyn was walking alone within the vast fields of tall grass, which silently surrounded the outskirts of the crown lands.
She walked alone, in the cold of the night, she kept her feet bare without any footwear to cover her skin, she felt so free, to feel the earth close to her, cold, damp, muddy at times.
She liked that feeling, that cool, that of the light wind that blew on her light dark face, moving her beautiful black curls on her shoulders.
There was a slight chill on her body, she had to confess, how the white shirt and light pants she wore weren't heavy enough to maintain the necessary warmth, but that didn't bother her.
She clutched on her narrow shoulders a precious yarn blanket of a green color, which recalled the cold tones of the emerald, it comforted her, she had to say, not to feel completely alone.
The sky above her was a blue color, which contrasted with the thousand, small, silver stars that together with the moon illuminated everything below them.
Brooke closed her eyes, sighed.
The high walls around the countryside seemed so small from there, from above the hill, seemed so small that she could jump over them, that she could pass over them and finally be free.
If she thought well, she had never been free in her life she was born as the daughter of a slave and her lord and passing from the monastery to the castle walls she had never found her freedom .
She now led thousands of people against tyranny and had become a real idol of her time, the light of the revolution.
But while bringing freedom to other people and professing it around, she felt in her heart to be an hypocrite, not having found it personally.
She stood in the middle of the field, the tall grass tickled her legs, her skin, the vast green forest was behind her and her hair moved slowly with the wind.
She opened her eyes again, she was tired, but she couldn't sleep, not that night.
Her heart was agitated, she sensed that something was going to happen and in those years, one thing she had learned was to always follow her senses.
Brooke observed, in the tall grass moving by the cold wind that she was not alone, someone else was with her that evening in that field.
She noticed it, mostly by observing the silhouette of the one who had unwittingly decided to share that lonely night with her, she was observing the characteristics of his body, provided by the brightness of the moon and the stars.
That wavy, brown hair, their smell of fresh and winter musk, lily of the valley, the essential oils with which they were treated, in those years she had learned to know that perfume almost by heart.
She joined him in the centre of the field.
-Good evening- Brooklyn greeted, rubbing her bare feet against each other, they were dirty with mud, she felt joy in meeting that person.
-You can't sleep tonight either, I suppose...-.
The man turned to her, his pale face covered by dark freckles, his hazelnut brown eyes, his smile was all she wanted see at that moment.
Francis shook his head, evidently he knew that his friend knew him all too well.
-Sit down... - he said -since we are both awake I suppose it may be worth spending this time talking...-.
Brooklyn slowly lowered her body, brought it closer to the soft and muddy ground, it wasn't as pleasant as she thought, sitting there, in the cold, like her friend did, but she didn't want to be alone, not under those circumstances.
She looked at Francis, his perfect profile, his soft and wavy hair that was blown by the wind, she learned from his gaze that even he did not know freedom.
Francis was born to a marquis, a powerful and wealthy slave trader and a courtesan, he too was an illegitimate child, he too knew what it was like to feel alone.
He hated his father, he still hated him after his death, for everything he had done, for beating him, making him bleed sometimes, for hurting his mother and above all for treating human beings, their life for money, that was something even he could never accept.
Brooke was seriously in love with that man, she loved him with all her heart.
She finished looking at him, she looked at her feet, they were cold, full of dry earth and small scratches due to the stones encountered in her path up to that point.
-I keep thinking about your brother, still, after death...- Francis admitted putting a sincere, lively smile on his pale face -it seems impossible for me to forget him...I loved him with my whole heart -.
He seemed sincere, open, in his words, he only talked about it with Brooke because he knew she would be the only one to accept and not to judge him, the only person who really understood him.
Brooklyn looked at the wrist, there, tight, was the purple and soft hair tie, which her beloved older brother had always used when he was alive.
Francis was not the only one who missed Gilbert immensely, she knew it ...
Brooke lowered her face, her chin on the red ribbon, as if to warm it with the last heat she possessed in her body.
-Love is strange, it doesn't always work...- the woman commented turning a tired but understanding gaze to the other, meeting his brown eyes -I guess it can hurt sometimes to lose somebody you loved...-.
The man next to her nodded slowly, she was right, she was wise, his friend, she was more mature than any other lady of her age.
This is why they were friends, because they were both spiritually mature, and both, in life, had loved the same person, in two different ways.
Francis smiled, for a few seconds he seemed ashamed to talk about topics such as love, especially with a person of his opposite gender.
But he knew he had to get rid of everything that was inside his heart sooner or later.
-You are right, I suppose sometimes it is better to let go of someone you love, for his own good ...- he began to rub his wrist, he felt, again, with his long and pale fingers the scars inflicted on him by his father.
Brooklyn always watched the red lace she held tightly around her wrist.
Letting go… that was what she had to do, let her brother go, let him rest in peace, let him peacefully leave everything that still held him to that land.
She didn't need something to remember when her brother would always stay in her heart.
She pushed her fingers around it, pulled it, untied it off her wrist, off her skin, took it in her hands, in her palm, squeezed it.
She got up, it was a big step in her life, an emotional step, which she had always tried in vain to delay.
Brooke let it slip away from her fingers, away from her skin, away from her, saw the ribbon fly in the sky, in the air, at the mercy of the wind, it seemed to be so much lighter than ever imagined, carried away from the wind it disappeared into the darkness of the night.
Francis had seen the scene, he would have wanted to stop her, yes, but who was he to prevent her from such a great choice?
They looked at the sky, dark, studded with a thousand stars, together, for a few moments, they were next to each other.
For a few moments Francis had taken one of her hands in his, he wanted to give her strength, to make her understand that he would always be there for her, for Gilbert, he felt it was his duty to protect her, with her life if necessary.
Voices soon broke the calm atmosphere.
Behind them they heard shouts, insults, come out, flow slowly in the cold, disperse in the air surrounding them.
They heard words, angry, violent, they heard the snap, the iron of a pistol, the heat of the gunpowder in the barrel. And they saw, they observed, with their terror, the red color, red like fire, like blood, like everything red that could be imagined on this earth.
The red fawn of the Dustin twins from Southern Ireland, of their hair.
Of the two of them only one held a gun and only one uttered those filthy, aggressive words against them from his mouth.
One mistake and they would be dead.
William soon passed against them on the offensive, clutching the pistol in his right hand and a fabric bag in his left, which from here to there was leaking remains of small chopped from various plants.
Dickon behind his brother was helpless, red his face and not even able to look the two in their eyes.
-I have always suspected you, Francis, but I never thought you could have done something like this...- William calmed down, opened the bag, letting the thousand small pieces of pure drug fall to the ground.
Brooke looked, in fear, suddenly at the face of her companion, she knew from his frightened and amazed gaze, from the pale face full of fear that he had nothing to do with that matter.
-It was you who killed my cousin and for this you will repay with your life…you asshole-.
William wasn't kidding, his gun barrel was really pointed at Francis, in the direction of his heart.
Once again her senses got the better of her, Brooke knew something bad was going to happen that night.
-I don't know anything about the drug, I swear, I have never used it in my life neither on myself nor on someone else, I would never have dared…-.
Francis' dark eyes were full of tears and fear, he was about to cry but he could barely keep all that panic inside him.
His heart, his soul was clean, he was innocent, Brooke was sure of it.
She stood in front of Francis, she couldn't let someone hurt her friend, she wouldn't allow it, especially if a Dustin did.
The gun clicked, he was ready to fire, she knew it.
William evidently did not believe in the words of the other, too blind to his theories of revenge.
Brooke knew, she believed that her friend was not capable of hurting anybody, Dickon also knew, he was his boyfriend, his partner, in the desperate act of blocking and attracting the attention of his twin he let him pull the trigger.
He heard a shot.
The smell of blood, which spread slowly and in the cold, Francis had fallen to the ground, he was crying immersed in his own blood.
He was breathing, he couldn't be dead...
He breathed...
Weekly Power Status
-- Power
Ranking 
-- Power
stone