By the time the apple-scented air greeted her, Catherine felt ready to throw up her breakfast. She couldn't rid that god-forsaken stench of alcohol from her nostrils. Stumbling about, her vision started to blur. Her eyes fluttered sofly closed for a minute, before she widened them to keep them from blinding her vision. Running a hand along the moss covered stone work, she kept stumbling about until she collapsed into familiar arms.
"Catherine?!" The voice was distance, almost as if it was calling from the lustrous clouds above.
"Bash?" she murmured as her eyelids finally gave way-the weight of staying opened presented too much of a challenge. When she came around, she felt the rough covers beneath her hands and against her face as though she was laying on a flat stone that had been eroded by time. Her eyes blinked a few times to confirm that she was awake.
The familiar mop of shimmering black hair shone in her face. Bash's head had lulled to one side like an invisible string was pulling it down. She tried to sit up, but her head felt as though someone had hit her with a mallet, repeatedly. As a groan escaped her lips, Bash shot up and drew his sword.
"Catherine! Thank God you are alright. What were you thinking?"
"I…don't.." she brought her palm to reside on her forehead, "Why didn't you return last night?" she asked in a confused voice. Her thoughts were wound around each other like a spider web in a crevice.
"I'm sorry. I realize I should have sent word. It was getting late, so I decided to buy a room at this inn."
"Did you plan on staying here then until the killer is captured?"
"I did. Why?"
"I just want to make sure you are safe. A guard must be posted at your door at all times!"
"Catherine, I will be fine. I've done this many times before, and you didn't seem to care then." She rolled her eyes-sighing heavily- but didn't reply to him. As she elevated herself off of the bed, Bash brought his placid hand to her shoulder.
"Were you attacked by an animal on the way down here?" he asked, indicating the bite marks littering parts of her shoulder and collarbone.
"You could say that," she said with an unpleasant smirk. He dropped the subject as he saw her eyes mentally building the walls that fortified her deepest emotions.
"I also came to inform you that Lady Lola was poison," Catherine put her hand up to prevent Bash from interrupting, " but she's recovering."
"God, Catherine. We have a murderer on the loose, and you're poisoning loyal people."
Steam was practically shooting out of her ears, "Why-when someone is poisoned-do people always assumed I'm responsible. There are others in the castle with access to poisons." Her head began pounding again. "Arr.." she sucked in heavily.
"Are you-" began Bash, but she cut him off.
"I'll be alright. I think some riding will do me a world of good." Getting up, she slipped on her riding gloves and reacquainted with her horse that Bash had so thoughtfully placed in the inn's roomy stables. As she trotted off, the omnipotent clouds warned of the oncoming storm. The setting around her illustrated part of a poem she had read when she first arrive in France. In times when she felt life was rallying against her, she thought of a few lines from it.
The way you see the world. It got you this far.
You might have some bruises and a few scars.
But you know your going to be okay, for even though you're scared,
You're stronger than you know.
She could feel the power of these words burning like a gold ray inside of her. The adrenaline of her body started to work overtime, doubling its pace.
If you're lost out where the lights are blinding; Caught; All the stars are hiding,
That's when something wild calls you home.
If you face the fear that keeps you frozen,
Chase the sky until the ocean.
She closed her eyes and pictured the moment when Francis, Elisabeth, Little Henri, Charles, Claude, and Henry had visited the lake. She was adorned with a white, embroidered dress that cascaded around her. It was a crisp December morning, but the children had insisted on visiting the lake. The first signs of frost had begun to harden the ground, causing the twigs to grow robust with ice. Catherine smiled, watching little Henri splash water in Claude's direction, which she relentlessly retaliated.
"Claude! Henri! Please, be careful. I don't need you two to catch cold." She felt something warm being wrapped around her shoulders.
"I don't need the mother of my children to catch cold either. Honestly! I can see you shivering from a mile away!" She turned around to nip his cheek, but he scooped her up in her arms, bridal style.
"Henry! What is the meaning of th-" but he started out into the partially frozen lake.
"Look!" said Claude, pointing, "Daddy and Mommy are going swimming."
Henry smirked as he stopped once the water lapped against his knees.
"What do you think, children? Should I drop her?" Catherine looked appalled.
"Dwap her, Daddy," squealed Charles.
"Charles! Don't encourage him," and stating menacingly to Henry, "You wouldn't dare!"
Henry released his grip a little and she descended a few inches-her mouth opened in protest-the grip she had on his shoulder strengthened.
"Father, she'll catch cold. I don't want her to get sick," said Francis meekly, but Claude, on the other hand, was a lot more interested.
"I agree with Charles!" she stated gleefully.
"Claude!" scolded Catherine, but Henry was already beaming.
"You have been condemned by your own children, Catherine." A deep laugh erupted from him. He switched her position to an upright one and twirled her so that her feet skimmed the icy water encompassing them-whipping her loose hair around like a wandering flame. The water rose up in a tulip-like shape, framing the two former lovers, so that they looked like the rulers of not only France, but the lake as well. Catherine erupted in a fit of childish giggle that she had fought so hard to extinguish. He returned her to a bridal position with his hand situated behind her head. He dipped her mere centimeters from the clear surface as though about to baptize her.
"I'd never let her go," he said to his children, but more to Catherine. She gave him a small smile, but as she did so, his head slowly rose up. Following his gaze, she spotted Diane stumbling along the embankment. She shot Catherine an envious glare, but retreated up to the path. Henry continued to stare while Catherine fell limp in his arms vowing never to wear her heart on her chest-for all to see-again in her life.
A sharp pain in her stomach brought her back to reality. Quickly and effortlessly dismounting her horse, Catherine wrapped one arm around her midsection. The pain continued to surge, blinding her. "Ahhh," she huffed to herself. Collapsing on the ground, she heard another horse approaching her. Desperately trying to get up, she felt another surge of agony.
"Catherine." Narcisse was beside her within a moment.
"Everything is fine. I am not in need of your assistance." As she said this, the strongest pain punched her-begging her to acknowledge it. She bent forward-looking like a small child in deep prayer.
"I can see that," Narcisse stated as he put an arm around her waist, and lifted her up. They made their way back up to the castle-Catherine mumbling the whole way about how she did not require his help. Once in the entrance way, she fell out of his grip onto the cold slate ground.
"Stephan, something is not right!" She clutched her stomach more tightly than she had previously been. He tried to regain his grip on her waist, but she forcefully pushed his hand away.
"I..ahh...can't move!" she screeched. Her whole body tensed up as though bearing witness to this statement. Her sickly pallor intensified.
"Should I seek out Nostradamus?"
"That depends...would you like to keep.." she sucked in deeply, ".. your head attached to your shoulders?"
Narcisse rolled his eyes at her comment, but started sprinting down the hall all the same. As soon as he rounded the corner, she began to cough. It started out as a few weak, raspy ones until she was struggling for air. Blood trickled from the side of her mouth. Putting a hand on either side of herself, she tried once more to heave herself up-to no prevail. The gagging and the blood began to exacerbate as she observed Nostradamus and Narcisse appear around the marble corner. Their foot falls seem to have amplified, as all space and time were diminished.
It implied that hours, maybe even months went by before they reached her-the soreness constantly hinting of its ever growing dominion over her.
Sorry, lol. I lied. This chapter is even shorter and slower than the last! Oh, well. Hats off to whoever can name the "poem" (its actually just lyrics from a song that I like) Catherine was thinking about. *Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to that song* I think I might start a whole series revolving around Narcisse, Catherine, Bash, and a few alternating characters solving mysteries at French Court. Thought? As always, thank you to everyone who takes time to read my story :)