AUTHOR'S NOTE: Christmas is a comin' and there's too much to do! I may not be able to update until later next week, after the holiday (I have to make my apartment look presentable for my parents) but I do hope you enjoy this chapter, and that you all have a wonderful holiday weekend!

Summary: Despite the nightmares of the past that plague Sir Erik, the Black Knight finds himself questioning his resolve to never love again...

Tapestry of Deceit

Loving Tenderness

"You're leaving again?"

Erik closed his eyes and summoned his strength, before turning and facing the fiery beauty, whose belly was heavily swollen with child.

"'Tis the King's summons, Beatrice. I can not ignore it, that would be treason."

Beatrice threw her hands up into the air and let out a shriek of disdain. "To hell with the King! And to hell with you!" she shouted, before pointing an accusing finger at him.

Erik's jaw clenched at Beatrice's words. The woman did nothing but shout, or curse, it seemed. He stood by and squared his chest as her litany of complaints filled the air.

"You were gone when your son was born," she spat. "You promised you would return before Jacob was born, but you were gone!"

Erik said nothing; on the day his first-born son came into the world, he traveled at great speed to reach Winterbourne. He had been away in the south, investigating strange pirate activity, when word reached him of Beatrice's intense labor. Like the wind, he rode his steed back to Winterbourne, and arrived just after the babe was born. Beatrice was already asleep, and did not know of his presence until the next day. All night long, Erik sat with the child, holding it in his arms, reveling in the tiny miracle that he held in his massive hands.

Jacob was a strong boy, who looked so much like Erik that it frightened him. From the boy's shaggy black hair, to his own striking golden gaze, the child was a miniature replica of himself. Save for the mask, of course…

The mask.

That was truly when Beatrice's coldness became apparent to him.

It wasn't until he felt the cold surface of his mask, that Erik even realized he was touching it.

"You could care less about your family, you willingly abandon it!" Beatrice spat, marching over to the window of the bedchamber that they once shared. "Why don't you just admit what this is really about," she hissed, her gaze fixed on the setting sun. "This isn't about your loyalty to the King…this is about revenge!"

"Beatrice…" Erik growled.

"I am no fool, Erik!" she shouted, rounding on him with fury blazing in her sapphire eyes. "Ever since your last encounter with The Jackal, you have been obsessed with extracting your revenge!"

Erik gritted his teeth. "Perhaps my obsession would not be as strong if you didn't make it so obvious that it matters!" he growled.

Beatrice looked away from him then, but it was not fast enough for Erik to miss her look of disgust. His chest filled with pain; ever since The Jackal left his "mark" on Sir Erik, Beatrice would not allow him to touch her.

"I don't even know why you are still standing here," she muttered. "I don't even know why you continue telling me that you are leaving! Just go! That is what you want, isn't it?"

"NO!"

Beatrice gasped as she felt her lover's powerful hands grip her shoulders and whirl her around. She let out a shriek as she realized he was pushing his body against hers, and she was trapped between the wall, and his own powerful chest.

"That is NOT what I want!" Erik growled, his hands shaking her shoulders just slightly, his eyes desperate to find some hope in her face, something that told him that she still loved him, that she still wanted him. "I want us…" his voice softened, and one of his hands drifted down until it was resting on her belly. "…to be a family again."

Beatrice had turned her head, refusing to look at him. "Family? We are not even married…"

"You know that I have asked the King for permission to marry you! It will take time; according to the law, we are of different classes, therefore can not marry unless the King grants us permission. We must be patient."

Beatrice shoved his hand off her stomach. "The King was more than happy to help your father with giving you his title and all that goes with it! There was no wait then!"

Erik had not missed the fact that she had shoved his hand away, but he refused to back down. "This situation is different, but I will write to him again if you wish, I will beg him, if you wish…but if I am going to do any of that, then I must appease him by answering his summons."

Beatrice simply rolled her eyes, her face still turned away from him. Erik's pain was growing by the second. He had fought many battles, and had earned many scars…but none of them compared to the pain he was feeling now.

"Beatrice…" his voice was soft, but deep and urgent. He lifted one of his hands to turn her face towards his, needing to see her eyes, her beautiful blue eyes that once reflected loving desire. "Beatrice, please…look at me—"

"GET YOUR HANDS OFF ME!" she shouted, before managing to push his great weight away from her just long enough to scamper away from him.

Erik's pain gave way to his anger, and his roar rose to new heights. "WHY!?" he shouted. "DO I DISGUST YOU SO!? DOES IT SICKEN YOU TO LOOK AT ME!? TO KNOW THAT THE CHILD YOU CARRY WAS CREATED BY THE MAN WHO STANDS BEFORE YOU NOW, A MAN WHOSE TOUCH YOU CAN NOT EVEN TOLERATE!?"

"YES!"

Erik was stunned by her answer. He expected—nay—he hoped, that she would look horrified by the response she had just shouted, praying that it had all been a mistake, an outburst done in anger and nothing more.

But there was no look of horror or regret; she stood there, her chest rising and falling with heated anger, and her eyes filled with nothing but genuine revulsion. "Be gone, Erik!" she hissed, her finger pointing at the chamber door. "Go on your quest for king and country, your quest for revenge, and leave me to give birth in peace!"

Erik felt as if someone had taken his sword, and run him through. The words his father had murmured to him on his deathbed came crashing back; love, of any kind, was meant for fools, and Beatrice was not capable of love, at least not the kind of love that could survive beyond any trauma. He was at a complete loss…

Beatrice looked at him with even more disgust. "You were always a monster, Erik. Your reputation on the battlefield confirms that. But now…well, now, thanks to The Jackal, you look the part!"

Erik gasped, his eyes flying open, as he felt something touch his mask.

He reached up to grab the intruding object and thrust it away, but paused when he realized that the thing that was touching his mask were Christine's own, small, soft fingers.

He held his breath as he felt her fingers sleepily slide over the cool surface of his mask. He could tell by the way she was breathing that she was indeed asleep; this was no performance to fool him into relaxing so she could remove his mask. Nay…Christine would not do that, she feared him too much. At least that was what he believed…until earlier.

Erik looked down at the woman sleeping beside him, the woman curled up in his arms, whose head was pillowed against his chest, her body snuggled close to his, a smile of contentment curled upon her lovely face. His innocent bride, his sweet, beautiful wife; she was an angel, and she had willingly given her body to a monster. That alone should have been an unexplainable phenomenon, but it was surpassed by the words she murmured after the passion that they had shared.

"I love you…"

The poor girl was exhausted, and she had quickly fallen asleep, unaware of the shocked warrior who held her close. Erik froze at the sound of her sweet words, his face paling as they repeated themselves over and over in his head.

She loved him.

She loved him.

Nay, 'tis her passion talking, she is young and innocent, she sings songs of knights and faerie princesses, no doubt she believes that husbands and wives must say such things after experiencing great pleasure in one another's arms.

Yet no matter how hard he tried to reason what she had said, he could not help but feel great hope lift in his heart…and great dread quickly follow.

Beatrice, his first love. When he was young and foolish, he had loved her fiercely. He had loved her even before she was his, and after his father had given them his blessing, Erik did not think it possible for his heart to feel any more joy. For three wonderful years, the two of them lived like young lovers, basking in their passion, not caring what went on in the world around them, their eyes were only filled with each other. Then, when Erik was 25, Beatrice announced she was with child, and Erik realized that the joy he had felt before was nothing compared to the joy he felt now. He wanted Beatrice to be more than his mistress, to be his wife, so he quickly sent a request to the King, asking for permission to marry. But war called him away, and he was unable to return until after Jacob was born.

That was when the bliss began to fade. Something about Beatrice had changed; the mirth that was in her eyes, the laughter that filled her voice, the youth that painted her cheeks…it all began to fade. Erik began to notice that his mistress was not warm and caring, but cold and manipulative. She used her charms and beauty to get her way, and when she was unable to have her way, she would pout and throw fiery tantrums, just like a spoiled child. Two years passed, and Beatrice was found to be with child again. Erik's joy over this announcement was not as obvious as the last; Beatrice made it plain that she was not happy with the pregnancy, and Erik began to see a growing resentment that the woman held for him.

It didn't help that he was being called away so often, either. The Jackal, a pirate Erik had fought in the past, had returned to the King's shores, and Erik was the only knight whom the King trusted with ridding the country of the terrorizing villain. There was a fateful battle, near Winterbourne's own shores, where Erik and The Jackal sparred for what felt like hours. The Jackal was a tall man, thin, but quick on his feet, and extremely cunning. He kept his face hidden by a scarlet cloth that he used to cover the lower portion of his face, only revealing his eyes…two large black holes, that held no soul or human warmth.

Erik stiffened as he recalled how the battle had played out. The Jackal had gotten away…and only because of the "gift" that he had given the Black Knight.

Erik vowed his revenge against the bloodthirsty pirate, not only for what he had done to him, but also to what he had done to his home. Just like the horrible nightmare that his mind had recalled, Beatrice, his lover, the mother of his children…shunned him from that day forth.

She looked upon him with disgust. She refused to share the same bed with him, she would not allow him to touch her, and she rarely looked into his eyes. After Helena was born…everything completely fell apart. Erik realized that love was a curse, that it made men weak, and that women used it as a way to manipulate and deceive others. He vowed to himself that he would never let his guard down and that he would NEVER love again…

But that was before Christine.

Christine; his sweet, beautiful Christine. She is not like the others. She has proven that to you, over and over! When you thought that she had run away, she hadn't. When you believed that she was going to leap to her death, you were proven wrong. When you confronted her about Sir Raoul…didn't she prove to you that she is unlike Elizabeth? She's loyal and true, she's embraced your children as if they were her own, she's embraced your home, and…sweet God in heaven…tonight, she embraced you fully, as her husband.

Was it possible for an angel like her…to love a demon like him?

"Hmmm…"

Erik stiffened as he realized that his angel was stirring. This would be the true test now; how would his sweet wife react when she realized what had occurred between them only a few hours ago?

Christine's eyes began to flutter open. She felt so warm, so safe; she was in her chamber, in her bed, but…something was…

"Good morning."

Christine's eyes went wide and she gasped as she looked up to see where the voice had come from, and a deep, crimson blush, colored her entire face, and a good portion of her body, as her eyes locked with those of the Black Knight.

My husband. We are truly husband and wife now! Her face only darkened as memories from the night before flooded her head. Beautiful, sweet, wicked memories, which would surely cause angels to blush.

Erik studied her as she began to recall everything that had transpired between the two of them from earlier. He looked to see if there was shame, or disgust, or even resentment in her eyes. The task was proving difficult, as she would not look into his eyes.

"M-m-my lord…" Christine murmured past the nervous lump in her throat. They were naked! Both of them, their bodies touching! She clutched the blankets to her breasts, and blushed all the more as the sheet revealed his lower torso, giving her a hint of what lay beneath.

Silly girl, why are you acting this way? You have shared your body with this man, completely of your own free will, and don't deny that you enjoyed it! Christine's blush just continued to darken; nay, she would not deny that. Don't be such a mouse! Remember, you are Lady Christine von Desslar…truly, now! Look at him! LOOK AT HIM!

Erik watched with interest at the inner battle that was obviously raging on in his young wife. But he felt his breath catch in his throat as she turned her eyes up to him, her lashes veiling them ever so delicately. Shame? Nay, he found none. Disgust? Nay, that was not there either. Nor did he see resentment, anger, or pain; wonder, warmth, and…thank God, innocence. Her innocence, her beautiful sweet innocence, still remained.

"I-it is s-still d-dark out, my lord," she squeaked, before internally reprimanding herself for how silly she sounded.

Erik could not help but chuckle at her words, and the sound gently shook her body, which was still nestled against his own. "True, but it is still, technically, morning. The sun will be rising in an hour, at the very least."

Christine bit her lip, unsure what to say further. How did wives go about these things? "Oh…well…" she winced, knowing how foolish she sounded.

Erik gazed down at her for another moment, before rising from his place in the bed. Christine gasped as she began to feel his warmth leave her, and she looked up at him with worried eyes. Had she done something to offend him? Was there something she should have said? "My lord, please—"

"Erik."

Christine felt her insides melt at the beautiful, deep way, he addressed her. "Erik," she whispered back, a soft smile lifting at the corners of her mouth. Truly, she thought his name was beautiful.

Erik smiled softly at this, before walking over to a corner of the chamber, where a basin and pitcher lay. Erik could feel his wife's eyes upon him, and he couldn't help but grin as he imagined the way she was blushing. Indeed, Christine was blushing deeply, her eyes locked on her husband's naked form as he moved, with such masculine grace, across her chamber. She also watched with curious fascination, as he took the pitcher and poured the water into the basin, before taking a cloth that hung off the side of the basin, and dipping it into the water. What was he doing? Was he going to wash himself, right there, in front of her?

Christine's blush only darkened further, as her husband turned, holding the basin and cloth in his hands, and began to walk back towards the bed, as if he had always done so. He couldn't help but smile as he noticed that her eyes were staring at particular areas of his body, and then she immediately looked away when she realized he had caught her staring.

"My lord—I mean, Erik…" she tried to keep her voice calm, despite the bashfulness she was feeling. "May I, that is…if I may ask…what…um, what exactly…"

"Lay back, Christine."

The words in Christine's throat died after she heard his gentle yet firm command. Without question or protest, she laid back, her hair fanning out over the pillow, and Erik felt his arousal stir at the beautiful, innocent trust, that her blue eyes reflected as she gazed up at him.

But he pushed his desire away, and concentrated on the task at hand, a task that he had never done before…but with Christine, had been longing to do.

Christine watched with curious and wide eyes, as Sir Erik gently lifted the sheets away from her legs. Her blush darkened all the more as she realized what portions of her body were now on display, but she kept her mouth closed, and her eyes remained focused on him.

Erik felt himself stir once more at the beautiful sight before him. With a gentle hand, he eased her legs apart, very much aware of the fact that her breathing had quickened. "How are you feeling?" he whispered, his eyes locking with hers.

Christine felt her throat go dry at the tender way he spoke to her. She knew exactly what he was asking, and it filled her with such warmth at the way he cared. "A little sore," she murmured truthfully, although her face flooded with color at the answer.

Erik nodded his head. "Relax," he whispered, as he dipped the cloth into the basin, before gently, running it over the skin of her inner thighs, just to give her an idea of what he wanted to do for her.

Christine stiffened at first; the water was a little chilly, and the way he was touching her was extremely intimate, but she could not deny that she was deeply moved by his kind actions, and little by little, she was able to relax as he ran the damp cloth over her thighs, washing away her virgin's blood.

With careful, gentle fingers, Erik washed the delicate flesh between her thighs, wiping away the blood, tenderly massaging the areas where she most likely felt sore, and while doing so, began to softly sing the same song he had sung to her, the night before.

"Your shining eyes…and earthen hair…"

Christine blinked back the tears that were forming in her eyes. No one, no one had ever shown her such kindness before! This was an intimate kindness, a kindness that she was sure few people ever experienced, and yet she was deemed worthy of receiving it.

I love him more now, than ever before.

Erik glanced up and noticed the tears trickling down her cheeks, and his motions immediately stilled. "Am I hurting you?"

Christine lifted her eyes, moved by his concern, as well as his tenderness, and quickly shook her head, a soft smile spreading across her face. "Nay…I…just…" she wasn't sure how to get the words out. "Thank you," she finally whispered, not sure if she trusted her voice any further.

Erik felt his body relax at her words; he was so tense at the thought that he was somehow causing her pain. He gazed upon her, the tears swimming in the blue depths of her eyes, her hair pillowed like a soft, brown cloud, around her head, her face a beautiful rosy color, and her body, which had allowed the sheets to fall away from her breasts, fully relaxed; never…never had he seen anything more beautiful.

"Erik?"

He was struck by her voice, which brought him out of his thoughts. His name never sounded so wonderful as it did upon her lips. "Yes?" his voice was barely above a whisper.

"Would you…that is…" she was blushing very deeply, but she took a deep breath, and looked him directly in the eyes, before finally managing to get the words out. "Will you stay with me? At least until the sun rises?" If he left to return to his chamber now, she knew that she would freeze in the cold emptiness of her bed. She never wanted to know what it felt like to sleep in a bed without him, to not feel him holding her as they slept. She only prayed that he would find the idea tolerable, at the very least.

Erik gazed in amazement at the woman before him. In the beginning, Beatrice enjoyed sharing the same bed with him throughout the entire night, but as time went on, it was not uncommon for her to leave in the middle of the night to return to her own chamber. Many husbands and wives who shared intimate passion, would often retreat back to their private chambers after the "business" was finished. Erik had not wanted to leave, in fact, he was planning on staying as well, but to hear Christine's request, to hear the soft plea in her voice…Erik's chest only tightened at the emotion that was welling up inside him.

Is it possible for such a beauty to love such a monster as me? Ah, but she didn't know about his face. Beatrice knew, hence why she looked at him with such disgust. Christine didn't know, and if he had his way, she would never know.

"Erik?" Christine bit her lip, afraid that perhaps she had been too forward with her request. Maybe he wanted to return to his chamber? Maybe he was tired of her? Maybe—

"It would be a great honor, and pleasure…to stay with you and watch the sun rise," he murmured, his voice rich and deep, causing the very bed to tremble from its vibrations.

Christine blushed deeply, but smiled up at him, grateful for his answer, and felt her body melt with joy, as she felt her husband's strong, powerful arms, arms that wielded a mighty sword called Ghost Maker, gently enfold her, and pull her close.

Erik felt the most wonderful sense of peace wash over him, as he cradled Christine close, the blankets wrapped tightly around them, her head pillowed once more against his chest, his own head resting atop hers. "Truly, you do have the most breathtaking view in the whole castle," he murmured, as he gazed out the window, to where a few pink and orange lines began to illuminate the dark sky.

But Christine was not looking at the window, her eyes were focused somewhere else. "Indeed," she murmured, gazing up at him and smiling. Why her husband wore a mask, she did not know, but she prayed that with time, he would not feel the need to hide anything from her…including his own face. She also prayed that with time, she could teach this strong, fearsome warrior, how to love.

Elsewhere in the castle, a dark figure stood in the shadows of a far off bedchamber, and gazed at the sleeping bodies that lay nestled in their bed. The figure did not move, nor make any sound, but continued to stare at the sleeping bodies, watching with keen interest at the way their chests rose and fell with each breath.

Slowly, as if it moved on ghost's feet, the figure walked around the sleeping bodies, making no sound, as it moved from one chamber to another, staring at each and everyone inside. One particular person caught the figure's attention, and without making any noise, the figure glided to where the person slept, and knelt down beside them.

The person made a small sound in their sleep, as the figure ran a hand over their brow. The person's face contorted into one of discomfort as the figure continued to run its hand across their brow. The figure finally paused as its fingers curled within the strands of the person's hair, marveling in its texture and color. For a long moment, the figure gazed down at the person before them, its fingers still twined within the person's curls. The figure reached behind its back, and drew forth a knife that caught the light of the sun's early rays.

With a steady hand, the figure held the knife high over the person's head, its fingers curling tighter within the person's hair. The discomfort on the person's face only began to increase, and slowly, the person's eyes began to flutter open.

With speed that could not be matched, the figure brought the knife down, and a scream erupted throughout the castle.

Jacob was the first to hear it. He sat up straight in his bed, his face pale as the bloodcurdling screams filled his ears. He looked over and saw Charles staring back him from his own bed, looking absolutely terrified. "J-j-j-jacob?"

Jacob threw the covers off and leapt to his feet. Next to the bed was a sword that his father had given him. Ever since his father had shared with him the secret about the mysterious intruder, Jacob felt it best that he keep a sword near him at all times, just in case this intruder attempted to invade once more. Jacob grabbed the sword and ran out of the room, holding it aloft and steady, fully prepared to do battle with whomever approached him.

The screams had died down, and now he could only hear wailing. He listened closely and realized, much to his horror, he knew who exactly was crying! He raced down the hall to the chamber where he could hear the crying, his sword held high, his face contorted in an angry snarl, his body ready to fight—

"Jacob!"

Jacob came to an immediate halt as he gazed up at the giant figure of his father, who stood in the doorway of his sister's bedchamber. "F-f-father?"

Sir Erik was holding his own sword; he too looked fully ready to fight whomever had intruded their home. The Black Knight had heard the pounding footsteps and immediately brandished his sword, however he quickly realized, as the footsteps grew closer, they were in fact his son's. He reached out and put a hand on the boy's shoulder, his son trembling just as much as he was.

"Father? Is Helena—"

"She's alright," Christine murmured from just inside the chamber. Jacob peeked around the corner and saw Christine sitting on the edge of Helena's bed, holding the trembling girl in her arms, rocking her gently and murmuring comforting words in the girl's ear.

Jacob turned to his father, his eyes lit with question. "What happened?"

"Your sister had a nightmare," Erik explained. "When we heard the screams, we came as quickly as possible, but it was only a nightmare."

Jacob relaxed slightly at this, but was still trembling. "She is alright, truly?"

Erik smiled down at his son and nodded his head. "Yes, truly."

Jacob took a deep breath, satisfied with his father's response, but his entire body was still on edge from everything that had occurred. "I best go and calm the others down, just in case," he murmured.

Erik looked at Christine, who nodded her head, and he turned back to his son. "I shall go with you," he smiled, his hand resting on the boy's shoulder, although his body was still trembling with a mix of emotions. Deep in his heart, Erik knew it would be best if he spoke with his younger children; he did not need any of them thinking for another moment that he resented them.

Jacob glanced up at his father and took in the sight of the man next to him. His father's breeches were on, but not strung up, and he wore no shirt or boots. As for Christine, Jacob could have sworn she was wearing what looked like a bed sheet. And then there were the words his father had used: "we came as quickly as possible." Was something going on between the Black Knight and Christine?

Christine continued rocking Helena in her arms. Upon arriving at the child's chamber, she was wailing about a monster that had been looming over her. However, there were no signs of intrusion, no windows open, no muddy footprints, nothing. Helena said she saw no face, only shadows, but she was quite passionate about how she had felt something touching her hair.

Upon waking up, the monster disappeared, and Helena was beginning to wail that the monster was in fact, a ghost, who was haunting them and was jealous of her lovely red hair. Christine simply held the girl in her arms, although she found herself relaxing somewhat at Helena's way of saying how the monster/ghost was jealous of her hair; if Helena was able to concentrate on her hair, then the girl would recover quickly.

"It was only a nightmare," Christine murmured, whispering soothing words into the child's ears. "Hush, Helena, nothing will harm you, not with both your father, and your brother, here to protect you."

Helena sniffled. "It felt so real," she managed to get out, her sobs finally calming down.

"I know, I know," Christine murmured, recalling the horrible nightmares she had had over the last few weeks. "But nothing is going to harm you," she vowed, lifting the girl's face away from her shoulder so that she could look directly into the child's eyes. "I promise you, I will never let any danger come to you."

Helena smiled up at Christine, despite the tears that stained her cheeks. "W-will you sing me one of your songs?"

Christine smiled and brushed a fallen curl away from Helena's forehead. "Of course," she murmured, before easing the girl back down against her pillows. Christine's voice filled the chamber, and told the story of a maiden who had been kidnapped by trolls, but who the troll prince fell in love with. The troll prince helped the maiden escape his kingdom, although it saddened him so. As reward for his valiant and selfless rescue, the maiden kissed him, and the troll prince turned into a man, and the two were married. Christine smiled down at Helena, as the girl sleepily and peacefully smiled up at her when the song had finished.

"You tell the best stories…" Helena murmured. "And I love your voice…"

Christine smiled and bent down to kiss the child's forehead. "Rest, Helena. Your father and I will be near, I promise."

Helena nodded her head, before pulling the blankets up to her chin. Christine rose from the bed and gazed down at the girl, her eyes filled with nothing but love. She turned to walk away, but was stopped by Helena's soft voice.

"Christine?"

Christine paused and turned to face the child. "Yes?"

Helena swallowed the lump in her throat, and looked rather nervous. "Is it…do you mind if…" she paused and took a deep breath. "May I call you...Mother?"

Christine stood frozen in place at the child's words. She didn't realize that she had been holding her breath, until a long, shaky sigh, escaped her lips. "I…I would love that," she whispered, blinking back the tears that now filled her eyes.

Helena smiled, relief washing over her. "Me too," she grinned, before snuggling back under her covers. "Goodnight…Mother."

Christine swallowed the tears that threatened to break forth, and smiled back at Helena. "Sweet dreams…my daughter."