MEMENTOS
By Eva
Walking into Roxton's room, Marguerite reflected how quiet the tree house was that afternoon. Veronica was in her garden, Challenger in his lab, and Roxton and Malone doing some much needed repairs on the windmill.
She herself had spent most of the day doing her share of the household chores, mending torn shirt seams, and darning holes in socks. She'd even begun working on a new outfit for herself from the cloth acquired from her and Roxton's latest trading junket with the Zangas.
As she entered Roxton's room, she couldn't help but smile as she breathed in the musky, masculine scent that could only belong to a certain Lordship. It was an aroma she had grown accustomed to for some months now since she and John had begun exploring the sexual side of their relationship.
In the beginning, she'd fought her first impulses to declare she was in love, but it was a thought that kept coming back, time after time. She knew she was sure of her feelings. But even though John, for most of the time, trailed behind her like a puppy dog hoping for some sign of affection, there were those times he seemed distant.
Usually she acquainted these to his still lamenting over the part he played in his brother's accidental death. Sometimes though, she couldn't help but worry that she was just another notch on his proverbial belt. Even before she had met him some three years ago, she had heard of his reputation with the ladies in London. Mostly with married women, but still he had been notorious for an eye for anything female….and willing.
Marguerite laid Roxton's newly mended shirt on the bed and began aimlessly circling the room, smiling and sighing as she touched each article belonging to John. She leaned in to feel his leather vest draped over a chair, imagining it touching her lover's body. Then she gently stroked each piece of clothing, those thrown carelessly over a table as well as the clean ones hanging neatly from the wall hooks.
Passing the dresser, she caught sight of a fragment of a dark blue tinted sheer fabric hanging over the rim of the top drawer. Curiosity piqued, she approached the dresser, sneaking glances at the door worried someone might catch her riffling through Roxton's private belongings.
Opening the drawer, she found tucked away in one corner a man's silver rimmed jewelry box engraved with the initials JRR. She carried it to the bed and making herself comfortable, treasure box on her lap, opened the lid.
The blue fabric turned out to be one of her scarves that had long been missing. But hidden underneath was an assortment of items, most of which she recognized, some she did not. As she glided her fingers over each one, she shook her head in amazement.
"Can't a man have any privacy in this tree house?"
Even though the voice was soft and chiding, Marguerite jumped as though she'd been struck with a bolt of lightening.
"Oh……John!! You startled me."
Leaning against the doorframe, he grinned and said, "Obviously. It's rare when you decide to visit my room Marguerite, so I guess I should consider this a compliment."
"What is all of this and why are they in your room?"
Joining her on the bed, John took the box from her hands. Amused he said, "I wondered when you'd find this. With your curious nature, I'm surprised you haven't come snooping long before now."
"Don't try to change the subject, John." Shaking her head in disbelief, she asked credulously, "What are you doing with all these things? I wondered what happened to my scarf and all these other….."
John picked up the dark blue scarf.
"Don't you remember this, Marguerite? Three years ago, the night we rescued Veronica from a forced marriage with the Zanga chief?"
Marguerite cast her eyes downward at the painful reminder of the part she played in that debacle.
"……and later that night, you were trying to trade this scarf to a native girl for some exotic piece of jewelry."
"Oh, yes….now I remember. You snatched it from me and tucked it into your shirt. I was so angry with you that night…never thought to ask for it back. And, since I'd packed so many scarves, one missing didn't seem to make much difference."
"It was the first memento I saved. Never thought I'd have enough to fill an entire box."
"The first!!! But why, John?"
"Do I have to put it into words, Marguerite?" The grin on his face and the look in his eyes were enough of an answer.
"And, this?" She held up another scarf, the silver gauze one.
"Oh, that one. That was wrapped around your neck, hiding the one piece of jewelry from the pirate's booty you chose to keep in the tree house. That was the scarf I peeled from that elegant neck of yours, one layer at a time."
"You know you sent shivers through my body removing that scarf." Her body slightly shook at the memory.
"John! What are you doing with a lock of my hair? Please don't tell me you've been stalking my room at night when I'm asleep, scissors in hand?"
Taking the handful of curls carefully from her hand, John said, "Enticing thought....but no. After things settled down between you and Veronica, and you began doing things like helping trim each other's hair, one day this was left under the kitchen table. Veronica must have missed a spot while sweeping up, and when everyone left the room, I scooped it up and brought it back to my room."
Marguerite picked up a folded handkerchief. Carefully unwrapping it, she asked, "What is this?"
"I didn't think you'd remember that one. Gawain? Mordred? Me and Malone sent to slay the dragon?"
"How could I forget? You were so brave, risking your life for me. But why would you save the dagger?"
"Because it was the first time you called me your knight in shining armor."
"Oh…John," she sighed. "And, you're still my brave knight in shining armor."
Moving on, she found her missing costume ring lying beside the crudely made voodoo doll she and Veronica had turned the tree house upside down looking for.
"Why ever would you keep these?"
"As a constant reminder of what a bloody fool I was for leaving you that day….with….. I still can't get the hurt look on your face out of my mind."
"Oh yes," she said ruefully. "The jungle tart incident!"
Defensively he said, "Now, Marguerite. I've tried to explain before. She had me under some kind of spell, or I never would have followed her."
"Oh….she had you under some kind of spell, all right!" she said with a frown.
"Well, you came for me, didn't you? If it hadn't been for you and your maneuvering of the voodoo doll, I never would have survived that one. So, I kept them to make certain I never forget where my true loyalties lie."
"Mmmm….about time you admitted it was me who saved your life that day." Continuing with the remaining contents, "Oh my goodness, John….you surely didn't save this?" Marguerite held up a folded piece of paper, which John quickly plucked from her fingers.
"You bet I saved it. This is all the proof I need of what keeps you on this plateau." He unfolded the paper and began to read the scribblings. "Lady Roxton….Lady Marguerite Roxton….Mrs. John Roxton."
Blushing she said, "Okay…okay, don't read anymore. Yes, you uncovered what I do in my spare time. But I hope you know that I was only thinking of your money and title."
"Sure, Marguerite. Just keep saying it enough times, and you might be able to convince yourself it's true." He folded the paper back into a small square and placed it in the box. "But you'll never convince me."
Holding up a small tortoise shell hair comb, she asked, "John, how did you get this? I've been looking everywhere for it, for months now."
"Ah…..this." He took it from her small, slender hand, turning it over and over again in his large, calloused one. "This is a small souvenir of the first night we made love. Surely you haven't forgotten. That night, at my whispered suggestion, you came to my room when you were sure everyone else was asleep."
John took Marguerite's hand as she gazed at him with glistening eyes.
"We sat here on the edge of my bed, where we're sitting right now and you voiced a concern whether or not we were ready for this next step. One kiss was all it took for you to make up your mind." He leaned in to kiss her soft and lovingly, just as he had done several months before in this same place.
"Next morning, when you returned to your room, I found this comb under the pillow. It must have slipped out of your hair the night before. I kept it, along with all the other mementos of our time together to always remind me how fortunate I am….no, how fortunate we both are….to be part of each other's lives."
"Oh…John. Who would have thought when I met you three years ago, what a romantic you would turn out to be?"
He leaned in to kiss her again, but was stopped short by Malone calling out, "Roxton! You in there?"
Appearing in the doorway and seeing Marguerite's frustrated face, he said, "Ooops. Sorry, Marguerite. Hope I'm not interrupting anything important."
Marguerite groaned and shook her head.
"Roxton, we're losing daylight. If we're going to finish those repairs today, we need to get going."
Roxton rose reluctantly from the edge of the bed and sighed in exasperation. Once again they had been interrupted by the daily grind of the tree house chores.
"All right, Malone. I'll meet you outside. Oh….I almost forgot why I came in here in the first place. I needed my pocket knife….."
After a few minutes of fruitlessly searching the room, he shrugged and gave up. "Well, guess I must have lost it some place outside."
Closing the 'treasure' box, he carried it back to the dresser drawer. Then he turned to Marguerite, standing now with her arms clasped tightly behind her back.
"I'm sorry, sweetheart." Wrapping his arms around her, he said with a meaningful look, "I can stay if you'd like. Malone and the windmill can wait."
"No, no….," she said quickly… too quickly Roxton thought. "It's all right. I still have a lot of mending to do. You run along."
Towering over her, he leaned down to whisper in her ear, "Your room or mine tonight?"
"Yours."
Pleased that she wanted to pursue their nightly encounters in his room for a change, he kissed her briefly on the cheek. "Done!" Turning to leave the room, he called back, "See you at supper."
Marguerite waited till he was out of sight before bringing her hands forward from behind her back. She opened the closed fingers of her right hand revealing John's 'missing' pocketknife, which she had craftily slipped off the bed table while his back was turned.
With an impish grin and a satisfied feeling, she walked back to her room with the beginnings of her own collection of 'Roxton mementos.'
The End