Claude admitted to himself that he was more than a little nervous at the prospect of riding a horse. His experience as a rider was limited at best--it is not like his occupation called for gallivanting around on horseback like a pompous nobleman. And there was the added embarrassment that the captain would certainly put his riding skills to shame, and he hated to feel such inferiority in front of Esmeralda.

But, alas, there was nothing for it. He did not trust his little bride not to try and run off. And so, at least until they left the city, he would just have to endure the wretched beast and try to maintain his balance while keeping Esmeralda trapped in his arms. It was going to be interesting, to say the least.

Maybe, when they were further out of town, he'd be able to convince her to stay put and let him walk. He supposed it all depended on how willing she was to behave herself. At the moment, it did not look very promising.

"Hurry along, girl," he scolded. Esmeralda looked every bit like the sulking child as she maneuvered herself down the stairs with almost painful sluggishness.

When his frustration reached its breaking point, he simply grabbed hold of her arm and yanked her close to him.

Annoyed, he withdrew a small vial of powder from his pocket. "Do you see this, Esmeralda? This is a sleeping formula. If you wish I can put it in a drink for you and put you to sleep for this part of our journey. You can make the choice: either you do as I say and act like an adult, or you take some of this and trust me to take care of you in your unconsciousness. What do you say? And, before you ask… no I will not let you go, and no I will not delay our trip until morning. We have been over all that before. These are your own two options. Which do you choose?"

Really, Claude couldn't care less about her decision at the moment. They both had their obvious benefits and inconveniences.

For Esmeralda, however, the choice was clear. Not only did she shudder to think of the priest seeing her in such vulnerability again, but she also did not want to lose the chance of calling for help if Phoebus (or anyone else, at this point) were to cross her path.

"I'll be good, master," she whispered obediently.

Skeptical, but satisfied, the archdeacon--soon to be former archdeacon--gave a curt nod of his head.

"Up you go, then," he said, offering his hand to help her onto the horse. Esmeralda glared at him before jumping up herself.

Or, at least, that was the intention. She soon found that, agile as she was, the horse was much to tall for her to spring up unassisted. Despite her embarrassment, Esmeralda stubbornly tried again, determined not to let the priest have the satisfaction of lending her assistance.

After the third failed attempt to mount the steed, Claude gripped her waist and hoisted her up anyway.

"Esmeralda," he sighed wearily, "do stop acting like a child."

The gypsy huffed and Claude swung himself up, onto the horse, behind her.

This was going to be a long ride.

--

And it was a long ride. Claude couldn't help but feel slightly disappointed about it. In his mind, he had been taking his bride on a pleasant trip to their new home. The reality of tugging along a sulking Esmeralda left him understandably frustrated.

"How far are we going?" she whined.

"Very far."

"When will we get there?"

"It is going to be a while."

"But I am tired now. Can we stop and rest yet?"

"Soon."

"Not soon… now! You said you would do anything for me… but you will not even give me a moment to rest. I think you are deliberately trying to make me miserable."

Claude nearly growled and his hold on her waist tightened painfully. Why was she determined to be difficult?

"Peace, Esmeralda. I believe there is a place, just over that hill, where we can rest for the night."

At least it wasn't all bad, Claude decided. Esmeralda's body felt wonderful against his own--and she knew it, at least in the back of her mind. Of course, had sat stiffly for the first ten minutes or so, and since had started to unconsciously sink into him more and more until she was finally relaxed and comfortable in his arms.

Claude grinned inwardly. She would probably be horrified if she realized what she was doing. But, she did not have to know and he could pretend her acceptance was entirely intentional. He decided to ignore her petulant words and focus on the feel of her breath against his neck.

--

They stopped sooner than Claude would have liked. He was hoping to go a few more miles before it became too dark. But--though he would never mention it out loud--Esmeralda had been right about leaving so late in the afternoon. They probably should have waited until morning.

Still, he hadn't wanted to risk whatever stupidity she might attempt. She already seemed to think little of poisoning herself. Not to mention, it would seem that the captain was alive. While Claude was reasonably certain the man would not bother with rescuing the gypsy, Esmeralda's blindness in that area might prompt her to attempt some daring escape that could get herself killed.

Unfortunately, the priest would soon learn that he still managed to underestimate his wife's determination.

--

Esmeralda concentrated on steadying her breathing, trying to emulate the even, regular breaths of sleep, and forced her eyes to stay shut, even as she inwardly shuddered at the priest's proximity.

He still wasn't asleep, which frustrated Esmeralda greatly. He seemed perfectly content to lie next to her, occasionally stroking her furrowed brow with his fingertips. But she had to be patient. And so she tolerated his touch, knowing that it was far more intimate than she was comfortable with and yet silently thankful that he was not going any further.

Eventually he stopped and drifted off to sleep. Esmeralda let out a deep breath of relief, and yet forced herself to remain by his side for another hour, just to be sure.

She could not risk having him wake up before morning. She had all night cover the distance they had traveled in those few hours… but she was on foot, instead of horseback, so she would need every last second if she were to make it back to the city before he could catch up to her.

She also had to contend with the lack of light to travel by. When she considered this, she came to the conclusion that she would rather take her chances with the night than risk waking the priest by lighting a torch. But, it was an added complication that worried her, still.

In the end, though, Esmeralda was extremely lucky. Or--if she felt like being spiteful--her captor's God was not as sympathetic to his wishes as he had tried to make her believe.

Whatever the reason, she managed to traverse the dirt road by the light of the moon and stars and avoid the attentions of both highway bandits and dangerous, nocturnal animals.

--

Phoebus decided that he was absolutely in love. Granted, he was almost always in love with one woman or another, but that was beside the point. He liked being in love. His heart despised vacuums, so he simply made sure to keep it filled as much as possible. It was only right, after all.

But this time he was definitely in love for real. He had taken Fleur-de-Lys for granted before. She was elegant and well mannered and beautiful. And, more importantly, she turned a blind eye whenever he groped her handmaidens and always accepted his implausible excuses for why it was necessary for him to stay out for the better part of the night and come home displaying some level of inebriation.

Oh yes. She would be the perfect wife.

It was for that reason that he only gave minor objections when she pleaded for him to take her on an early morning ride through the town, reasoning that it might be their last time to see the sunrise together before he had to return to his duties as captain (one could only claim infirmity for so long before arousing suspicion, after all).

And so, silently cursing the morning-headache-of-recent-indiscretions, Phoebus mounted his horse and escorted Fleur-de-Lys, her bridesmaids, and her ever-scowling mother, down the streets of Paris.

So wrapped up in his current love was he that he did not recognize one of his past loves as she came hurtling down the road, calling his name.

"PHOEBUS!" she cried, "Phoebus, my love! I have found you. Please, help me!"

Fleur sniffed haughtily. She knew exactly who the young woman was and had not yet forgiven her for attempting to steal her captain away all those months ago. "Phoebus, love… who is that?"

One of the bridesmaids giggled behind her hand. "Perhaps you mean--what is that?"

This launched a wave of sniggers from the entire of party. Phoebus flushed, humiliated that this wild gypsy woman was making a fool out of him in front of his betrothed.

Phoebus sneered. "I assure you, my dear, I have no idea."

"But Phoebus!" the gypsy insisted, "It is me! Your little Esmeralda!"

A brief flash of recognition crossed his face. "Similar?" he whispered, mispronouncing her name in the demeaning way that Esmeralda had always found so charming.

"You do remember! I forgive you for forgetting, though--you must have thought I was dead. But I am not! I am alive and you are alive and now we can finally be together!"

But Phoebus was not as excited as the little dancer at their reunion. On the contrary, he was rather more concerned with the young woman on the horse beside him who was, at present, seething with jealousy.

And, honestly! The woman nearly caused his death! His memory of that night was a little blurred, but at least he remembered enough to know that she was responsible for the jagged scar above his collarbone.

A near miss, with that one! he told himself. She may have been a pretty thing, but the little witch was undoubtedly more trouble than she was worth.

And now she doesn't even have that beauty to call upon! Phoebus gave Esmeralda a surreptitious look up and down. Wherever she had been, these last few months… it was not kind to her. She was so thin… her soft, youthful curves were replaced with jutting bones and visible ribs. Her golden skin was pale and she had bruise-like bags under her dulled black eyes.

Fleur's pleasure was evident. She had experienced the slightest annoyance when she believed the gypsy had 'died' in prison and she would be denied the vindication of seeing the husband-stealing whore humiliated at the gallows. But this… this was even better. The girl was obviously crushed, and Phoebus apparently didn't even remember her!

"Why, Phoebus," she said with mock curiosity, "it appears to know you."

"Nonsense, my dear. I have never seen this creature in my life," he assured her.

Esmeralda gave an anguished sob. "That is not possible! We loved each other. I love you still! Oh, do not be angry with me, my captain. I have waited for you. All this time, I have thought of no other."

"You must be mistaken, mademoiselle. Please desist at once, or I shall have you arrested."

Fleur-de-Lys whined, "Phoebus, do something. It is ruining our ride."

In one last desperate attempt to make him admit to the recognition she saw in his eyes, Esmeralda threw herself at the captain, clinging to his leg as he sat upon his charger.

"Do not forsake me, Phoebus! I am still your Esmeralda… your Similar… whatever you want to call me, I am yours."

Suddenly enraged, the officer kicked out his leg at the woman, striking his gold spur against her face and knocking her to the ground.

"Get away from me, witch! I say that I do not know you!"

The party turned down the street and trotted away, their horses splashing muddy water on the dejected girl as they passed.

--

"Get out, I say. You boys have had enough!"

And sturdy woman ejected two stumbling men from her establishment. They were students, but spent an outrageous amount of money on the drink and women she provided, so she tended to tolerate their antics more than usual. Still, enough was enough, the drunken young men had stayed so far into the night that the sun had started to come up again. Not to mention, her harassed little serving boy had collapsed in exhaustion in a pile of ash by the fire. Poor boy.

But, more importantly, they had run out of money.

The young men in question staggered out into the street, using each other and the walls to hold themselves upright.

"How dare the… the… that woman. She has no notion of Christian charity. How dare she cast us out, thus?"

The man's companion chuckled. "Jehan, my friend, I believe you are drunk."

"Yes… but… but… that not the point! And what am I to do?"

"You could visit the archdeacon of Josas."

He waved off his friend, lazily. "No, I cannot ask my brother for more money. He has yet to forgive me for losing the copy books he bought me."

"I thought you sold those for wine last time we--"

"Sold, lost… what does the precise language matter? The point is… that… the point is… ah…"

Whatever Jehan Frollo had meant to say, it was instantly put aside when he tripped over a large bump in the road. He turned to curse the ground for its offense when he discovered that the bump was not a bump at all. It was a young woman.

"My, my," he said, poking at the bleeding woman and raising his eyebrows when she moaned, "what do we have here?"

--

Claude woke just before dawn when he went to reach for Esmeralda and his hand found nothing but cold ground.

He sat up instantly, rubbing the sleep from his face. He sighed. This was very disappointing… but not surprising. If anything, he cursed his lack of caution. He had plenty of rope, he should have tied her hands to his. But he had been too trusting, and was now paying for it.

With another exasperated sigh, he rose and mounted his horse.

"Come along," he said, patting the beast's neck, "let's go fetch our girl."

It suddenly occurred to him that he was conversing with an animal. He massaged his temples. That gypsy was rather abusive to his tightly stretched sanity.