Greetings to all!

It's Monday again, and I hope you had a nice weekend.

Thank you all for reading and reviewing (hint-hint) this story.

My deepest, eternal, everlasting (no! I didn't run out of synonyms, I mean every word!) gratitude to Desiree and TOWDNWTBN for their efforts. They are great and deserve the best in their lives!


Chapter 28 - Don Juan

"There you are! Embroidery is definitely not the best of my numerous, impressive talents…" Alexander Arnaud said earnestly, examining his work with a critical eye.

Erik looked at the man's work with dull interest.

"It is fine, I guess."

"I tried to use as few stitches as possible. It provides prettier scars," Alex said matter-of-factly, tossing a piece of wet linen cloth to Erik, who grabbed it mid-air and started brushing the sutured gash at the base of his throat.

"As if that would make any difference," Erik replied mockingly, looking at his reflection in the mirror. It would take more than the long bath and the good night's sleep he had already had for him to start resembling his previous, hardly-charismatic-looking self.

He cleaned the ugly-looking wound and pressed a finger to the multiple bruises on the left side of his torso. Not letting Christine see him in that state was definitely a wise decision. Not that he had seen her much since he had regained his senses last night. After putting on a fresh shirt from his wardrobe, he firmly secured the new mask he wore and picked a pair of silver cufflinks from the drawer.

"Watch it over there!" Alexander's voice warned him. "I would be careful if I were you. It's a delicate spot, and the raggedness of the wound doesn't make for rapid healing. You'll have to watch how you move for a couple of days. I wouldn't want you ruining my artistic efforts!"

"I thought you didn't consider yourself talented in that particular field," Erik replied mockingly, but suddenly recalled his antagonist's words from last night about transforming their deeds into a form of art. If only he knew who they were!

"I am an artist in everything I do!" Alexander bragged, his usual smirk softening his features. "I need a shave, too," he muttered, brushing a hand over the black stubble that gave him a savage look.

"Help yourself, artist." Erik buttoned his shirt as he walked about the bedroom. "What is that noise? Who is downstairs?" he asked guardedly.

"Who knows? It could be a number of people. Mrs. Oliveer is a frequent guest…
my sentiments exactly," Alex said, probably seeing Erik's frown of distaste. The cut on his brow reminded Erik to avoid frowning for a while.
"James' father must have been nothing less than a god for James to have turned into such a nice boy with her as a mother! You do have a full house, lately. Dr. McKinnan, Mr. Hamilton for occasional deliveries, even Mary with her mother, Mrs. Campbell, has been here once."

"Mary?"

"To see James. Don't look at me! It wasn't my idea. Nice looking girl, though, and smart."

"I see women have solved the problem of 'village visits' by bringing the village into my house!" Frustration laced Erik's voice.

"What is the problem with that? You are too gloomy, my friend! For me, having people around is like music to my ears!"

"You have bad taste in music, then. I happen to value my privacy," Erik replied in a cold voice.

He watched Alexander lean against the books that covered the panel, razor in hand, his half-shaved face providing a grotesque sight enhanced by the half smile lingering on his face.

"Perhaps you would like to elaborate for ordinary, non-musical, non-artistic people like me," he said mockingly. "And don't start on the benefits of privacy in life."

"Are you certain all the information you have gathered about your brother is valid?"
Erik asked warily, watching with satisfaction as Alex's pleasant mood dissolved rapidly.

"Absolutely certain! I trust these people with my life!" Alexander replied solemnly.

"Do you trust them with other people's lives, too?" Erik asked in a clipped voice.
"Christine's? James'? Emily's?"

Alex raised his brow in a defiant gesture, but the color slowly drained from his face.

"I admit your robbed in the woods and wandered around story has some gaps, Erik. I think it is time to tell me what, exactly, has happened these last four days."

II II II

"Someone wants to play mind games with me," Erik said, sitting in his leather armchair with a cup of his smoked Russian tea in hand.

"I pity the man who would try such a thing," Alexander replied, without a trace of humor in his voice.

"Normally, I would be confident…now…there is so much at stake. I can't concentrate." Christine had served him his tea, taking a sip before handing it to him, and had left the two men alone in the library. This ritual, combined with her distant attitude, was definitely not helping his concentration.

"I have this feeling that I've missed something important. Like a mental note left for later, but I can not recall what it is—" Erik said, pressing his fingers to his temple to ease some of the pain away.

"Do you think they are as organized as they say?"

"They had two men guarding a nailed coffin! They are organized!" Erik stated.

"But you managed to escape. Do they know about you?"

"Perhaps I might have found out if I had stayed one more day, but somehow that didn't seem a good idea at the time," Erik replied, a sarcastic smile on his face.

"What I cannot take out of my mind is the possibility that the man who asked Lady Arnaud about you was a different man from the one Nadir mentioned in his letter. If they were gathering information back then, it is a whole different case."

"The potential writer—"

"I really don't know who could be more harmful in the long run, though. An author writing nonsense about you or someone wanting ransom. If you think about it, money could be a small price…" Alex's voice trailed off as he played with the handle of his cane.

That moment, Emily entered the room after a soft, shy knock on the door.

"I brought some chicken tarts for both of you. Lunch will be late, and you have to build up your strength," she said, her eyes locked on Erik.

He tried not to stare at her swollen belly. Emily's face was more rounded now, her voice sweeter. Motherhood would suit her fine.

"There was a letter for you in the box." Emily left the envelope on the arm of his chair and headed towards the door.

"Where is Christine?" Erik asked absentmindedly, tracing the elaborate handwriting on the creamy envelope with his finger.

"Cooking… but she is safe," Emily added hastily after Erik's alarmed stare.

Only when the two men were alone in the library did Erik read the short message with a frown. He sighed, and read it once more aloud.

"We hardly blame you for preferring your own comfortable accommodations. Let us not allow hard feelings to spoil our business transaction. It is time you got in touch with Monsieur Pineaut. You will receive the final details and instructions by the end of the month.

PS: Is Erinyes a good name for us? Do your people know what you did before you came to England?"

"What does it mean?" Alex asked, puzzled.

"They couldn't care less for their casualties. The game is still on. I have to start preparations with my accountant in France."

"And you have less than a fortnight to decide what to do."

II II II

Erik walked absentmindedly along the shore of the lake. It was as warm as a late November day could have been, and the sunshine and a soft breeze made him regret having put on a coat before leaving the house.

Gathering his thoughts was not an easy task. Alexander had warned him that Christine hadn't taken his absence well but had not provided any details. Erik wanted to talk to her, but how much information would be too much, too scary for her? What was the safest way to proceed? Alexander's assessment of the situation had been a calm one, but Erik was already convinced of their intentions. He had no doubt they were watching him, perhaps even checking his mail. For them, nothing had been left to chance.

What were his options? All his impulses told him to stand up and fight them. No one had ever managed or even dared to threaten him before. Were they idiots or just over-confident? He remembered the man's words. They had done it before. To whom? To some placid English aristocrat? No doubt they were successful if that were the case. He imagined someone like Raoul locked into a coffin. No matter how pleasant the thought, Erik could not but acknowledge that Raoul had never risked Christine's safety in such a manner as he did now. Christine would have been safer if she had left with her husband when he had come for her, and that was an unbearable thought.

What should he do? How wise would fighting them be when there was so much he didn't know? Who were they? How much did they actually know? He couldn't risk sending the women away. He didn't know how they would react upon seeing themselves lose such leverage on him.

He watched James come running towards him.

"There is a new ghost note. You said you wanted any letter that came…"

Erik took the note from the boy's hands.

"'Disease and Death make ashes of all the fire that flamed for us.'" What was this nonsense? "You will hear from us; Jane and Gillian." Erik crushed the paper in his hand, only to unfold it again, trying to straighten the crumpled edges.

They were toying with him. They were showing their power just to keep him under control and under pressure, since they didn't hold him captive anymore. It was a very strange kind of siege. Erik gave the letter to James. How long had they sent these notes? How long had he missed it?

"Go to the library and find all the ghost notes we have kept. Search all the drawers, and leave them on my desk in order. Ask Emily if she has any." He saw James hesitate.

"Christine told me not to let you wander around," the boy said with a comical frown on his freckled face. He was caught in the middle. It would be interesting to see who had the strongest hold on James. Erik inwardly bet on Christine's charm.

"Did she?" Erik restrained his smile at seeing James blushing. "What are you? My keeper? My father?" he teased him. James went pale.

"Look, Erik…" All the formalities Erik hadn't dared to break during his years living with James had been broken by some unexpected events and a few verbal fights. Erik liked that. He smiled at the boy reassuringly. "I want to apologize… for what I said that day…" James' voice trailed off.

"You have nothing to apologize for," Erik replied earnestly. "At least, no more than I do."

"When you did not come back that first night—" the boy's voice broke.

"Did you think that I had left like an oversensitive prima donna?" Erik laughed to send some of the boy's tension away. "It would take far more than that to keep me away, James. A lot more." The same teasing tone laced his voice.

"I know I am not your father, James. I will never have a child, but if I did, I would be proud if he were half as smart and brave as you are." Erik watched the boy avert his eyes to hide his emotion. "Fewer freckles would be preferable, though," he added with a smile. They started walking down the small path by the shore. "I would be the last one to wish to enslave you… the first one who would understand whatever you did to guarantee your freedom…even against me. There are no boundaries to what a man can do for his freedom. When I had to fight for it, I didn't hesitate." He had the boy's full attention, but he couldn't find the heart to give more details.

"In the coming days, I may ask you to do things for me that could be against your will. I know you don't want to leave the village, your mother…I don't ask you to obey me or follow your employer's instructions. I will ask you as a friend in need, trusting you will reveal nothing about this. If you should find it in your heart to trust me or consider me a friend…" This time it was Erik's voice that broke. He knew he would probably ask more from the boy than his young shoulders could bear. But James was at risk, just as everyone else at the Red Door Cottage was.

The boy fidgeted with the note, his eyes never leaving the ground. "I will gather the ghost notes," he said after a while.

"Tell Christine I'll go as far as the Twin House. I won't be late."

"Erik, I never had a father. I don't know how it would feel to have one… but if I had one, I would like him to be exactly like you." James turned on his heel and started running towards the house.

II II II

Erik found himself full of unidentified emotions. He didn't know whether he actually wanted to comprehend what was happening to him. All he knew was that after Christine's arrival, a whole range of needs and feelings had been unveiled before him, and the most urgent of them, at the moment, was to protect the people he loved. What was the point of denying it or disguising it with rationalized excuses?

"Erik loves you more than you know." Was he so transparent? Christine's words to James echoed in his mind, and it felt so natural, so fitting for her to become his voice. He didn't know where he lacked more - in courage to acknowledge or express his feelings? All he knew was that his soul ached for the woman he had to send away.

The pain in his head had been getting worse with each beating pulse when a man jumped over the tall hedges and landed just a few feet before him. With all his senses alert, Erik traced the end of the rope inside his sleeve.

"Are you Mr. Rochelle?" The man asked in the thickest Welsh accent Erik had ever heard. His skin was as tanned as the skin of a man who spends endless hours under the sun, and he was frowning over bright blue eyes filled with anger. Anger was not something Erik expected from them, so he felt himself relax a little, his hand's grip on the rope firm.

"Is Emily's baby yours?" The man asked in the same angry manner.

Realization sank in.

"Are you Robert Duggan?" Erik asked, thinking the English countryside was not as safe as it used to be.

"Tell me right now, or you will count your teeth on the ground…is Emily expecting your child?"

Erik hardly appreciated the image Robert painted for him, but couldn't restrain a smile from forming on his face. Was he the gentle Robbie Emily had been talking about? He noted the man's sturdy build, but failed to feel threatened by him. The smile turned into laughter as the man snarled and clenched his fists. Emily's lover thought she was cheating on him with a man with his face? If not very smart, Robert Duggan was at least good-looking.

"Stop laughing! Answer me!" the man ordered, his nostrils flaring.

The whole idea was ridiculously absurd.

"Don Juan triumphs at the Red Door Cottage!" Erik said between bursts of laughter, feeling the tension that had been building inside him for days slowly release. He thought of Alexander's possible comments on all this, and his laughter grew deeper. "Beware, women of Swindon!"

He was still laughing when the man took two deliberate steps towards him and raised his strong, tanned fist into the air. It took only a light step to the right for Erik to stop Robert's fist from making contact with his face. Unfortunately, due to that step and the difference in height between the two men, the man's clenched hand landed hard against Erik's neck, breaking some of Alexander's stitches.

"Damn!"

Blood started dripping down onto Erik's shirt while the man, shocked, took a step back.
Pressing the heel of his hand to the wound, Erik couldn't restrain a new smile at the raw guilt glinting on Robert's face.

"How—?"

"Don't take credit for that!" Erik admonished, using his handkerchief to stop the blood from soaking his shirt.

"Are you all right?" The man was looking at him in terror. "What can I do to help?"

Erik felt himself sympathizing with the man. After all, he knew the way jealousy could drive a man mad. He had walked that road step by step.

"I will be fine. I assume you are Emily's Robert." He emphasized the Welshwoman's name. "Emily was looking forward to seeing you. I thought I was, too…" He smiled at the man's miserable face.

"Do you want me to fetch you a doctor?" Robert asked in that Welsh accent of his.

"No! No doctor needed. You will just have to explain to your woman why you acted so stupidly!" That would be punishment enough.

Erik started walking hastily to the house with Robert a step behind him. When they saw the kitchen door, Erik took a look at his clothes and hesitated. This wasn't the best sight for a woman expecting a baby, who had endured so much over the last weeks. This should be a blissful moment for her.

"Erik?" As if attuned to his thoughts or simply waiting for him to return, Christine opened the door, her eyes locked on him and the awful state he had managed to return home in for the second time in fewer than two days.

"Is Emily in?" he whispered, seeing her deep frown, her burning violet eyes. Dealing with angry people seemed to be his destiny lately. He spread his arms in a gesture of surrender, trying to soothe her mood. Unlike Robert's rage, Christine's didn't evoke the faintest of smiles on Erik's face.

"She's taking her daily walk. She is not back yet," she replied gravely, approaching them.

"All the better!" Erik said joyously, trying to take her eyes away from his shirt. "Christine, let me introduce you to Robert Duggan—"

"Did you do this to him?" Christine interrupted, looking at Robert for the first time.
The man nodded with such shame and guilt that Erik felt sorry for him.

An open-handed slap landed hard on the side of Robert's face, the force of the clearly unexpected blow sending the man's head sideways.

Erik looked at Christine, stunned. The imprints of her fingers were forming a red pattern on Robert's cheek.

Leaning against the kitchen door, Alex, who had been watching the scene from the start, threw back his head and laughed.


Erinyes: Greek avenging goddesses: in Greek mythology, three terrifying snake-haired winged goddesses, named Alecto, Megaera, and Tisiphone, who mercilessly punished wrongdoing.
They are regarded to be the same as the Furies.