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Immediately after emerging from the coach, I began to have second thoughts. Not on escaping and finding my Angel, of course, but about the way in which I was going about it. It's illogical, Christine, that ever-nagging voice inside my head told me. You should have at least waited until Raoul had your trust. You should have told him you were making a trip to have some dresses altered. That way, he'd expect you to be away for hours, not minutes.

At that moment, I decided I must completely ignore that rational side of me; it would only drag me down. Gaining Raoul's trust would likely mean spending more than a day with him. It would be enduring a wedding and a wedding night, which I could not stomach. Not when I knew my Angel was near. I could sense him, his presence, and I silently willed him to remain in Paris for the time being so I would be able to find him.

As I began my steady path along the snow covered road, I knew in my heart that I had made the correct choice in leaving as soon as possible. I'd formed an everlasting love with him the moment we had touched hands, his long, large gloved ones creating the perfect contrast to my petite white palms. So many opportunities had passed us by. When he sang to me of the night's music I wanted to stay there forever, but he had forced me away. Come. Those fools who run my theater will be missing you. Next there was the graveyard. In my heart of hearts, I'd known that the voice from the tomb was not my father's. That hope had died so long ago that I dared not relinquish it, for I understood he was in a better place. No, I recognized the alluring melody as that of my Angel's, the tone which was loving, warm, chilling, seductive, and heartbreaking all at once. On that cold day which was, I realized with a pang of shock, only weeks ago, I would have once again took his hand as he led me to his world, wherever that may be. Then memories of Don Juan Triumphant flooded back. Was it truly last night? Those few moments had been so filled with passion and longing and pent up emotions that I'd forgotten where and who I was. Strangely, I found I loved that feeling.

For it was the feeling my Angel always gave me, whether he was singing an enchanting melody, an operatic duet, or a declaration of love. That feeling had never come close to being replicated in my life. And I knew that my emotions were not driven by lust, for I had experienced a surge of compassion and love so deep it hurt when I had to hand him the wedding ring.

Yes, the one thing I was sure of was that I loved him. He was all that mattered. But did he feel the same for me? I would not hold him at fault if he refused my love. After all, how many times had I refused his? Of course, I had no real means of making an independent decision, but the one time I could have stolen away with him, I chose not to. Before that loathed voice in my mind could get to me again, I reasoned that what I was doing now was all I was capable of. Deep down, I knew he would love me unconditionally. That knowledge, however, did not quell the sensation that I was guilty of the most horrible form of treason: Treason of the heart.

I found that my pondering had made the time go by faster. By now, the small village where Raoul lived was fading fast on the horizon. Hurriedly, I quickened my pace. Evie would have gotten back to the manor without me, and after a few minutes Raoul would start wondering where I had gone. I prayed Evie was as gifted in spinning tales as she was in consoling me, for I would need it.

With the sun high in the sky, the cold was tolerable. Wind whipped in my face and I pulled the hood of my cloak tighter around my nose and mouth. It provided a meager cover for the harsh conditions of the country. No wonder. It was fashioned for fine Parisian women who would simply be exiting their carriages to step into a warm manor. For the thousandth time, I wished for my Angel. In this instance, it was his warm embrace which I yearned for. What I wouldn't give for his strong, long arms to encircle me. He was the only thing I needed to shield me from the cold, the only blanket I'd ever desire.

Finally, the village disappeared from view. I was alone, the barren road serving as my only companion. Don't slow down, Christine.The dark would only bring more frigid temperatures and gustier winds. I continued on like this for a good hour. It bothered me some that I had no measure of the progress I made, seeing as the road was indeed one straight line. Good, I supposed, I am somewhat directionally challenged. A frame of reference, however, would be nice. What if I were nowhere Meursault, heading the completely wrong way? No, that's not possible, I reassured myself. Evie told you to go straight. That's what you did.

Still, horrible thoughts flitted through my mind. Thoughts of freezing to death. Thoughts of starving. Thoughts of getting kidnapped, a common occurrence in the countryside. Young women, runaways mostly, were an easy find. Women like me. Then there were thoughts of having Raoul find me. I knew he would send out a search party, armed with the best men and dogs in the whole of France. Which was why it was dire for me to locate to an inn to spend the night at. Even if I didn't perish in the cold, I would be out in the open for anyone, Raoul or worse, to discover. And I won't get anywhere if I keep feeding myself silly thoughts of death, starvation, and cold. A saying my father often murmured to me came rushing back: "Keep your thoughts on the task ahead, and soon it will be a task behind." Tears involuntarily came to my eyes and I angrily wiped them away. It had been years, but the combination of my desperate situation and my altered mindset made me miss my father dearly. I was determined to dwell on the present, though, and I focused on quickening my pace and making progress on the seemingly unending country road.

***

Dark was drawing near. The sun was well past its high point in the sky and threatened to dip below the horizon and leave me shivering. I noted a bend on the road a few miles ago, indicating I was changing direction. Judging by the placement of the sun, I guessed I was heading southeast, back toward Paris and hopefully toward Meursault. Putting myself in somewhat of a trance to avoid pessimistic thoughts of cold and hunger, the sound of hooves beating against the frosty path almost escaped me. When I caught them, I immediately panicked, praying first to God that it was someone with honorable intentions and second that it was not Raoul. Realizing they were coming from ahead rather than behind me, I relaxed as the latter was eliminated from my worries. For safety's sake, I dipped behind the brush at the side of the road, shielding myself what I thought to be completely from view.

To my horror, the carriage halted and a woman dressed in black emerged. She looked to be in her thirties with unusually short, dark hair and blue eyes so piercing I thought I might go blind. Appearing to speak to the air, she said in a strange accent, "You needn't hide. I know you are in there."

My heart skipped a beat when I realized she was addressing me. Still, I made no movement.

"Must you make me come in and retrieve you? It would be easier for the both of us if you just stepped out."

Yes, I reasoned, it is better to be trapped with a stranger in the open than in a forest. Slowly I raised myself so I could step out of the foliage and onto the road.

"That's better," she spoke in that unrecognizable accent. "My name is Valla. I'm here to help you."

Here to help me?! I've never seen you before in my life. Slowly, I backed away. The feeling of being utterly helpless closed in around me and I felt my heart begin to speed up.

She attempted a smile, but it came off as a lip curl. "Please, do not be afraid, I only want to aid you."

I was extremely suspicious of this woman, and therefore decided to remain firmly where I was as if that would help matters. Knowing I had not spoken a word, I licked my parched lips and managed a cold, "What do you want from me?"

Valla laughed and the sound was quite alarming; a mixture of a tolling bell and nails on a chalkboard, neither pleasant nor upsetting, just rather odd. "Want from you? My dear, I desire nothing from you. What do you want from me?"

"I want you to leave me alone."

Was that a roll of her eyes? "As I told you before, that's not possible. I apologize for being frank, but leaving you out in the cold for the night would mean death or disaster for you. Where are you headed?"

"Meursault." I hadn't meant it, but the word escaped my lips. Silently chastising myself, she responded, "Would you care for a ride? We can reach the village in about an hour if my horses are worth their money."

I shook my head. "No, thank you. I prefer to walk. The air is refreshing. Goodbye."

Taking long, what I hoped to be confident, strides I walked away from the carriage. Valla held up a pale hand to stop my movements. "I am sorry," she whispered. "Perhaps you don't understand. You will come with me."

I searched her face, trying to read her frosty blue eyes. "I do not wish to."

"Oh, but Peter does."

My words came out as a choked whisper. "Peter?"

A tall, heavyset man stepped out of the carriage as if on cue. "I cannot stand to see a woman, particularly one as beautiful as yourself, in distress." His eyes raked over me and my stomach lurched.

"I'm not in distress. I'm fine," I breathed.

He stepped forward to caress my cheek with a broad hand. "You do not look fine. You look cold, hungry, and tired. May I ask your name, Mademoiselle?"

"No, you may not," I said with as much vehemence as I could muster. "Let me go or I shall call my husband on you."

"Where is that husband of yours?" Valla asked. "Because I do not see him."

Peter chuckled. It was warm and inviting, so unlike the man it belonged to. "Yes, darling, I see no husband. No one but us for miles."

For miles. I would have had a chance of fighting of the woman alone. But with a man, particularly one of his stature, added into the mix my chances of escape were slim.

I must have stood there an awfully long time, for I felt a pair of hands on my waist. "Get in the carriage," Peter said gruffly, hoisting me up and tossing me in the thing like a rag doll. I screamed, but all sounds were muffled by a bony hand. Biting down hard on it, I tasted blood. The hand briefly withdrew. I heard a stream of curses coming from Valla, but Peter quickly slammed the carriage door and all sound was blocked. I did see him mounting one of the horses, and felt a lurching beneath me. The coach began to move. He must have left Valla behind, and the thought alerted me of his unfeeling personality. Trying the door to the coach and finding it to be locked, I sat back in the uncomfortable bench. Panic filled me. Whatever this man was planning could not be good. Escape would be of no use until we got to an inn. Perhaps they really were heading to Meursault as Valla had said. I somehow doubted it. The horses were galloping now. Wherever we were going he was trying to hurry. Had my husband comment worried him? Probably not, but I would use anything to make him on edge. At least I was alone in this small space. It was warmer than the frigid winter air, and I could rest. However, I didn't dare close my eyes. If we saw another carriage I planned to wave through the window and desperately try to gain the passenger's attention.

The panic that I had successfully pushed down with produtive thoughts of planning suddenly welled up inside me so strong that tears sprang to my eyes. I let them fall as I dwelled upon the fact that for most of my life I'd gone from one form of trap to another, sometimes realizing it and sometimes not. Blinking once, twice, I promised myself that I would get out of this cage before the door slammed shut.

Remembering my cloak, I removed it. My fingers found the dampness of the hood and slowly moved to the long drawstring which controlled how tight or loose the neck would pull. Holding onto one end, I yanked it loose from the material and slipped it inside the front of my dress. Just in case. I would do anything to get back to my angel.

Anything.

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