To Be Loved
Chapter 29
"Among my followers, the best of men are those who are best to their wives, and the best of women are those who are best to their husbands."
~The Prophet Muhammed
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He deepened the kiss as he lifted Christine's hand, letting go of her waist so that he could slip a plain gold band on her ring finger.
"Erik," she whispered, blinking back tears of happiness as she gazed at the thin ring. "It's perfect! When did you…how…?"
He kissed her again, and when next he looked into her eyes, his own were shining brightly. "It is an outward symbol of fealty and devotion. Now the whole world will know that you are mine." He held his hand out, palm up, to show that there was a matching band meant for him.
She picked it up, placing a kiss on it before putting it on his finger. "And you, Herr Delacorte," she said with a sly smile, "are most definitely taken."
They held each other's hands, lost in their own world, until their reverie was shattered by cries of congratulations and best wishes from the wedding guests. Erik held his head high, confident and proud, and Christine was unable to take her eyes off him. He'd never seemed more powerful, more magical than he did at this moment.
A quick reception of sorts followed, where the guests at the inn gathered round as the Kellermanns presented Erik and Christine with a traditional toasting cup from Neurnberg. "This is a gift from all of us to the two of you," she said, as the small crowd applauded. "It was made right here in Germany. It will be a keepsake as you grow old together."
"Danke schön," they said together, much to the delight of the onlookers. To Christine, the charming cup appeared to be a simple pewter figurine, not quite as long as her hand. It depicted a young maiden wearing a long, full skirt and holding a small, inverted bowl over her head. To this foreign bride, it was merely a decoration, a souvenir, but Erik recognized it at once and cheerfully explained the legend behind it.
"Such vessels hearken to medieval times, when the king decreed that his daughter, Kunigunde, would only marry a man who could invent a cup that they could both drink from at the same time. Watch," he said, demonstrating how it worked. He lifted the figurine and turned it upside down, revealing that the "skirt" was actually a large drinking vessel and that the "bowl" swung freely, turning upside-down to become a cup not much larger than a thimble. Because the smaller cup swiveled, two people could drink from the cup at the same time.
"Go ahead," Hedwig prompted. "Whoever can drink all of the wine without spilling a drop will rule the roost."
"This is our first act as a wedded couple," Erik said pointedly. "It will require cooperation if we are to do it right."
"May all our days be filled with cooperation, for our mutual benefit," a teary Christine replied.
The guests roared with approval as Christine, who had the smaller cup, finished her wine without spilling a drop. Erik, with much more to consume, tilted his head backwards and downed the wine with one gulp, much to the delight of the onlookers. Next, toasts were offered by the other guests who had served as witnesses. Then, the happy couple withdrew to their separate rooms to change clothes and prepare for a private supper.
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Alone at last, Christine fumbled nervously with the ribbons on her peignoir as she appraised her reflection in the mirror that stood in the corner. She could hardly believe that, after all this time of longing and waiting, she was a married woman!
Happiness fell over her like a warm, protective mantle. "Mrs. Erik Delacorte," she whispered. She held her hand out and looked at the simple gold band that he had slipped onto her finger less than an hour earlier.
Her heart fluttered with excitement. This was her wedding night! She had scarcely allowed herself to think about it. When they returned in their wedding finery, Erik had escorted her to her room and then withdrawn to his own. He had kissed the back of her hand and gazed at her longingly as he whispered, "Until tonight," and then he was gone.
Frau Hedwig had fussed over her for the better part of an hour, helping her with her bath, combing out her hair, and making sure Christine's wedding dress was cared for properly. The good woman had also decorated her chamber with fresh flowers and pungent greenery from the garden. Honey-colored beeswax candles burned brightly in the evening light, imparting a sweet fragrance as they cast a golden glow on the white walls. "I was saving this quilt for my own daughter's wedding," she chirped, as she smoothed the wrinkles out of the bedcover, "but you're the first honeymooners we've ever had in our inn. I want you to have this for a wedding present."
"But you've been far too generous already! We really couldn't," Christine protested, silenced by a defiant glance from the determined woman.
"Look at the pattern," she said, pointing at the gaily-colored fabric that sported a wedding ring motif. "It will bring you luck. I will make another for my daughter. After all, she's still a child. There is plenty of time for her! But you, young lady! You are the most beautiful bride I have ever seen!" She leaned conspiratorially close to Christine and took her by the hands. "Is there anything you need, before I go to fetch your wedding supper?"
When Christine shook her head shyly, the older woman clucked like a mother hen. "Now, now, mein liebchen. You can ask me anything. I'm an old married woman, you know. If your own mother were here, she would want you to have someone you can confide in. Someone who knows what to expect." She arched her eyebrows knowingly, as though eager to impart state secrets.
She turned three shades of red. "I love him, Frau Hedwig. That's all I need to know."
Hedwig giggled like a schoolgirl. "Ja, ja! Das is gut." She slipped out the door, shutting it tight behind her, and cackled all the way down the stairs. Christine could hear her making her way to the kitchen, singing to herself.
"You'd think she was the one getting married," Christine muttered. A gentle tapping at the door startled her. "Erik?"
"May I come in?"
She crossed the room as if on wings, her step as light as a feather in her delicate half-slippers, and quickly unlocked the door. She tilted her head to the side and grinned as she took stock of her husband's immaculate appearance.
Erik waited to be asked in. He had also dressed for the occasion, wearing a brilliantly figured black velvet robe d'interieur, or lounging suit, with a matching velvet cap that reminded her of his attire during her the first visit to his lake home underneath the opera house. Every hair of the wig he always wore was smoothed carefully into place, and his demi-mask had been cleaned until it shone in the candlelight. On his feet were leather slippers that gleamed with fresh polish. She inhaled deeply, taking in his unique, masculine scent, and let her eyelids close half-way as she nodded approvingly.
"You are irresistible," he told her, as he looked at her hungrily. Her long, loose hair curled around her shoulders and glowed in the firelight. He could not stop himself from reaching out to her and letting his fingertips caress the ribbon tying together her robe. The light blue peignoir was not new; she had often worn it after performances at the opera house, when changing out of her costume. He recognized it at once. He had seen it through the mirror at the opera house but had never imagined how soft it was, nor how delicate the lace edging would be. Her lips formed a beckoning bow, demanding a kiss, and he leaned in.
Hedwig's heavy step on the stairs outside their room warned them of her rapid approach. They jumped apart, Erik hitting his head on the lintel as he leapt backwards into the hallway.
"Your supper has arrived, my dears. Aren't you hungry?" she called, as she neared the landing at the top of the stairs. "Or, have you sated yourselves on the food of love?"
"Just a moment," Christine called, stifling her giggles. She opened the door wide for Hedwig, whose hulking husband, Klaus, was close on her heels. Both bore large trays of covered dishes, and quickly set the table with the wedding supper.
"I hope we aren't interrupting," the big German said merrily to Erik, who lurked in the doorway of his own room, doing his best to appear innocent while discretely massaging the contusion that was forming on the top of his head. Klaus pointed to an oak bucket filled part way with ice and the dark green bottle inside it. "We chilled the wine as you asked," he offered helpfully, "and my wife even made a Lutz for you." He pointed to the small sponge cake dusted with cocoa and covered with almonds so that it resembled a log. It was heaped with marzipan decorations in the shape of forest foliage, mushrooms and wild berries.
"It's beautiful!" Christine exclaimed, as she cooed over the rusticated cake. "Thank you both. This is the best wedding supper I could have imagined."
Hedwig beamed, rightly proud of her culinary skill. "There's soup and hearty country bread with fresh butter, and for the main course, knockwurst with cabbage and potatoes." She took off the cover of a large dish and waved wafted her hand over it to spread fan the aroma.
"So much food!" Christine gasped, amazed at the bounty set before them. "How will we ever eat it all?"
"Oh, my girl, you will need to eat to keep up your strength. I doubt we will see you at the breakfast table in the morning."
Erik coughed, announcing his presence. Klaus and Hedwig stepped aside to allow the bridegroom access to the bridal chamber, but he acted as though they didn't exist. His mind was on one person tonight.
"Come, dear," Klaus said nervously, somewhat intimidated by Erik's single-minded demeanor. "We need to leave the happy couple to themselves."
Hedwig gazed at the two of them as if they were her own flesh and blood. "We wish you a good night, children," she uttered, though Erik at more than thirty years of age was close enough to her own age to be her brother. "And if you need anything, anything at all, just call."
Klaus nudged her with his elbow and offered an apology. "You would have to call very loud, sir, so that we can hear you, because this house is as tight as a drum. The walls are thick as can be and the floors are…solid!" He grimaced as a loose floorboard squeaked underfoot. "We can't hear anything that goes on in these old rooms. Not a thing, I assure you! You will have complete privacy tonight, as you should." He steered Hedwig out of the room gently, but firmly.
Erik smiled when Christine locked the heavy door behind them and put the key on the nearby dresser. "I thought they'd never leave," she groaned. A loud cheer rose from the great room below as the Kellermanns descended the stairs, and a rousing chorus of German love songs ensued.
"At least they're on key," Erik joked. "There's an old German custom for the bridegroom to provide plenty of liquid refreshment for everyone at the inn. In no time at all, the others will be singing and dancing, and paying no attention at all to the honeymoon suite." His face burned with embarrassment. "I mean—"
"I know what you meant," Christine said sweetly. "My husband thinks of everything." She frowned, noticing how far away he seemed. "What took you so long? I thought you'd never get here."
"I was waiting for you to send for me," he said, shrugging his broad shoulders. "You must know, Christine, I'd never make assumptions—"
"On our wedding night, you wait to be invited to my chamber?"
He concentrated on the heavy-laden table. "I…want this night to be…perfect."
"It will be," she whispered.
He lifted the lid off one of the serving dishes and cocked an eyebrow. "Sausages?"
"Frau Hedwig said it was a local custom," she offered.
He scoffed. "Frau Hedwig is pulling your leg. She must think we are poor." He straightened up stiffly, and gazed at the small heap of coals burning in the hearth. "This isn't what I wanted to give you, Christine. I wanted you to have the finest in all of Paris. Acclaim on the stage. Gourmet delicacies. Couture fashions. And here we are in Germany, of all places, eating peasant food on our wedding night and wearing old clothes. I mean, if I can't be the best, then everything else you have should be."
"Have you heard me complaining?" she asked, wrapping her arms around him. "I like what I have. I never asked for more. All I want is right here: you, and the simple pleasures of life."
"I'll make you happy, Christine," he swore. "I promise you, I'll make it up to you—all you have given up to be with me."
"No more sad talk, beloved. Not tonight. This is the happiest day of my life." During their long journey, she had come to understand how much Erik needed her. Long years of intense loneliness had left him ill-prepared for normal social intercourse. She had forgiven him for his mistakes and for his lapses in judgment; perhaps, she loved him all the more because of them.
His eyes shone bright with tears, but with remarkable self-control, he redirected himself to the joy of the moment. "Yours and mine," he added softly.
Through her thin peignoir, she felt the thick velvet of his lounging suit, and his taut, muscled form underneath it. He shifted slightly, turning so that she would not be aware of the affect she was having on him, but did not relax his grip. She was beginning to relax in his arms when her stomach growled most unbecomingly.
"Oh!" she said, chagrined. She fumbled with her hands, knowing where she wanted them to be—anywhere on her husband—but realizing that propriety demanded that they at least try to eat enjoy their supper before trying other pleasures. "We should try to eat sample something, while it the food is still hot. W-w-warm, I mean. That is, while it is still f-f-fresh." She put her hand over her mouth when she realized she was babbling.
"Nervous?" Erik asked, as he held the chair out for Christine. He'd force himself to eat a bite, because he knew Christine must be famished. She hadn't eaten since breakfast, in her excitement, and he wouldn't have her going hungry because of him.
Christine watched Erik serve her plate. She enjoyed the way he fussed over her and anticipated her needs. He knew her better than she knew herself. He hesitated when it came to choosing the sausages, though, and scowled at them. Christine knew he needed a bit of propping up. "Yes…and eager, too."
He stole a glance at her from the corner of his eye. Was she serious? She was eager? "Me, too," he said, doing his best to sound reassuring. He left his own plate empty, reaching for the wine instead. He draped a napkin over the cork and twisted it open, satisfied by the loud pop as the pressure of the fine champagne did the work for him. "Maybe a little of this will help." He poured two glasses of the golden, effervescent wine and offered one to her.
They twined their arms together and sipped their champagne while looking into one another's eyes. "You're the most beautiful bride that ever lived," he told her, for he knew it was true.
She giggled, but when she saw his puzzled expression, she said, "It's the bubbles. They tickle my nose."
Erik laughed softly. "You're not supposed to drink sparkling wine with your nose."
"Sparkling wine? Is that the same as champagne?"
"Only sparkling wine from the Champagne region may be properly called champagne, my little wife. And look what I found in one of the shop near the market...imported from France, an actual bottle of Dom Perignon."
"Oh, Erik! It's so extravagant!" She made a noise of approval and held out her glass for more.
"It isn't every day that we are wed," he said with satisfaction. "We can splurge a little on our wedding feast."
She blushed again, turning a most becoming shade of crimson. "It's delicious." She moved her food around her plate with her fork, suddenly conscious of the forms and shapes and their resemblance to…to the human physique. Two potato halves, for instance, reminded her of twin mounds peeking out from a tight bodice. The sausage…well…that was obvious! Suddenly, her peignoir seemed cumbersome. She loosened the top ribbon, hoping Erik would notice.
He winced as he looked at the heavy food before him, but a sly grin began to emerge. He chose a particularly fat wurst and with the delicacy of a trained surgeon, he sliced off a bite and offered it to Christine. "Care to try my sausage?" he asked as innocently as possible.
To Christine, Erik had never been more attractive. One glimpse of the proffered bite, and she turned serious. Very serious. "I'm not hungry…for food." She turned her head towards their wedding bed.
The soft, fair skin of her neck reflected the firelight. Erik's gaze followed the curve of it to her white shoulders—so pale that they seemed to glow like alabaster—and continued down along the décolletage of her gown. "Christine," he whispered. He swallowed hard as he realized she was staring the bed.
"The food can wait," his bride responded. She reached for his hand, and rose to lead him to their nuptial bower.
To her surprise, he pulled away and began to put out the candles. "First, let me bank the fire," he said quickly. He piled ashes over the coals until the hearth was dark, and checked the room one last time. His movements were jittery, aflutter. Only the candle on the nightstand remained lit.
"What are you doing? I can hardly see you." Christine held out her hand in the darkness, reaching for his shadowy form.
His voice was an octave higher than usual, terse with his own case of the jitters. "I…the lights…it should be dark."
"Why?"
"When we…. Damn it, Christine. Think before you ask questions!"
"You needn't be angry," she said, hurt and a little offended by his outburst.
Immediately, he was contrite and ashamed. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry," he said, over and over again. He sat on the edge of the bed and held his head in his hands. "I'm so sorry, Christine."
She sat beside him and rested her head on his shoulder. "It's all right. I'm edgy, too. It isn't as though I've ever…done this."
"We have a lot to learn about each other," he said in his raspy voice. It was noticeably shakier than usual. "I only wanted to protect you."
"From what? From your appearance? Don't you know by now? If it bothered me, I wouldn't have married you."
"Nonetheless, I am no less gruesome in spite of a marriage certificate. And you…you are…perfection. The image of us together is…blasphemy."
"Then, blasphemers we shall be." She stood before him, emboldened by his reticence, and unraveled the ribbons that held her peignoir shut, shrugging off the gown. "Has it ever occurred to you that I am conscious of my own imperfections, and worried of what you will think of me? After all, no one has ever seen me like this…."
Ever so slowly, she peeled off her negligee and stood before him, inviting him to gaze upon her nakedness. She turned around slowly, letting him take his fill of her, standing just out of arm's reach. "I am yours, Erik. Body and soul. This is our night." She stepped close to him, close enough to feel his hot breath on her bare skin. She leaned over and snuffed out the candle. "If all you want is darkness, I give it to you freely."
He stood up so quickly he nearly knocked her over and embraced her tightly. This time, he made no effort to conceal his arousal from her as he loosened his jacket. His bare chest grazed hers, and she pressed herself against him. "Nighttime sharpens…heightens each sensation," he muttered. "It Darkness stirs and wakes the imagination." He drew a hand down her back, letting his fingers create ripples of pleasure. "You are sublime. Have I ever told you that?" He kissed her neck, biting her gently as he moved down to her shoulder. In pitch dark, he was daring. He slipped off the rest of his clothes so that Christine could explore him, too, and groaned with pleasure when she unfastened his mask so that she could kiss his miserable face. "What rich desire unlocks its door," he whispered.
The feel of his lips and teeth on her bare skin thrilled her. She quivered at his touch, and whimpered for more. The sound of it drove away every thought except finding release. Their hands were unfettered in touching and exploring, evoking murmured sighs and whispered affirmations. To his delight, the more he touched her in a certain way, the more insistent she seemed. Kisses were no longer enough to satisfy her. She wanted him. She wanted him!
The physical joining was a flurry of motion and need, driving them both to pull and push against each other with fevered urgency. "Please, Erik. Please," she moaned. "I need you."
He growled his response, a sound of passion and primal desire, and with one swift motion he buried himself within her. "It is done!" he cried, choked with emotion and primitive need. "We are one!"
She gasped and let out a quick, sharp cry of blended pain and pleasure, but when he shrank back, appalled at what he had done to her, she held him tight and said, "I am yours, always and forever. This was meant to be."
He could not see her tears, but he could feel them on his on bare cheek. He wiped them away with his thumbs, loathe to release her. "I have hurt you!" he said, keenly aware that his moment of triumph meant that Christine had given him a precious gift. She had been an innocent girl; now, she was married in every sense.
"It's…I'm…I'm fine. Just give me time to…adjust." She lifted her hips to admit him fully, and the discomfort faded away, only to be supplanted by a growing need that demanded satisfaction.
Conjoined but not fulfilled, mutual desire and instinct overtook their self-consciousness. Each motion, no matter how slight or how inept, pushed them closer and closer towards a climactic release. They groped blindly through their first coupling, lost in their love, until they found their bliss.
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Later, as they lay together, happily spent, Erik seemed apologetic. His eagerness and inexperience had made him feel clumsy and awkward – not at all as he had imagined. He'd expected to be suave; instead, he was…enthusiastic, and not particularly skilled. "It will be better the next time."
"It was wonderful," she sighed. "It was exactly as you said it would be: buds bursting into bloom and sweet seduction! I knew we shouldn't have waited. I should have sprung upon you in Bremen and insisted on being married then and there." She stretched her arms over her head and smiled from ear to ear. She was as content as a kitten. "Just think of all the time we wasted, when we could have been…doing this."
He grinned back at her, relieved that the consummation had been pleasant for both of them. Perhaps now he could relax and consider ways to improve his techniques. "I should have taken my time, been more of the kind of lover you deserve."
"But you are the kind of lover I want – one who worships and adores me and does everything I ask. In fact, you seem to know what I want before I do. I think I am the luckiest wife who ever lived." She trailed her hand along the inside of his thigh, delighted with the response it caused. "I am very fulfilled, and don't you think otherwise for one moment."
He pulled her closer to him, feeling rather proud of himself for a change. "Frau Hedwig would say it was the knockwurst that did it. Old German custom and all."
"If that's the case, we must lay in a supply before we leave for Sweden. We'll want it every night for supper!"
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Over the course of the next few weeks, they discovered that the joys of the flesh served to deepen the spiritual bond that had always been strong between them. They ventured out to see the sights of Hamburg, to make memories of their honeymoon that would last a lifetime. After a week, they had begun to feel the need to move on. A new life—together—awaited them in Sweden.
Christine began to teach Erik her mother tongue. "I'd forgotten how much I enjoyed speaking in Swedish. And I must say, you're picking it up quickly. Soon, you'll be speaking like a native."
"It's similar in many respects to German. From now on, when we're alone, I want you to speak to me only in Swedish. And make sure I answer you correctly. I'll learn faster that way. Nothing less than perfection will do."
She wrinkled her nose at him. "Yes, maestro."
He ignored her jibe, pulled his coat around his shoulders and then checked the muffler Christine wore around her neck. "Stay warm. We can't have you catching a cold now, can we?"
"No, maestro." She shivered as a bitterly cold wind cut through the woolen coat that Erik had bought for her. "I do believe it will snow today."
"Snow is a rarity this close to the coast, but it's almost November. It must already be snowing in Uppsala, and it's dark most of the day, too."
"Dark? That should make you happy."
"You make me happy."
She snuggled against him. "Swedish winters are severe. There will be snow on the ground for four months each year! But, summer is surprisingly warm. It will be brighter than France, too. Oh, Erik! I can hardly wait for Midsummer!"
"Is that a festival?"
Her face lit up with excitement as she talked. "It's not just any festival. It's the biggest one of all! There will be music, and dancing, and a Maypole…and…and…oh, Erik! It's better than Christmas, I promise you."
He'd never seen anything more beautiful, more alluring, than she was at this very moment. "Christine?" he asked mischievously. "Do you know the best part about long, cold winters?"
She rolled her eyes, knowing a joke was coming. "What is the best part about long, cold winters?"
"Spending it with you, underneath our new eiderdown wedding quilt, keeping warm."
Her eyes sparkled. "You know, I'm feeling rather cold at the moment. Why don't we go back to the inn and warm each other up?"
They turned back not a moment too soon. As they walked toward the Golden Fleece Inn, tiny snowflakes began to fall; soon, it would cover the streets and sidewalks. Their footprints were quickly masked by a thick carpet of snow, leaving no trace behind of Erik and Christine.
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A Few Words from your Authors:
Thanks for reading and reviewing! It's a pleasure to write for such a responsive audience. Stay tuned for the continuing adventures of Erik and Christine Delacorte. Your obedient servant, ~ML
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As my good friend and partner in crime says, Thank you! It's been a pleasure hearing from old friends and making new ones with this story. As I mentioned at the end of the previous chapter, Lizzy and I hope to have part two of Two Be Loved ready for posting in a few months (possibly this fall), so add this story and/or your authors to your alerts so you don't miss the rest of the story. ~HD
