Treasures of Egypt
Chapter 37
Vows
Copyright © 2008
HDKingsbury
"O mistress mine, where are you roaming?
O, stay and hear; your true love's coming."
~William Shakespeare, Twelfth Night
A nice, brisk walk was just the thing to work off certain pent up energies. It was a warm June day, too perfect to be spent inside. As he waited by the door for Elizabeth, who'd dashed to the kitchen to fetch a small picnic to take with them, Erik mused on the changes he'd noticed since his arrival.
Gone was the sad, distant woman in mourning he'd bid farewell at the train station in Luxor. In her place was this new woman, one who was more relaxed, more at ease with herself and the world around her. The ever-practical persona of Elizabeth Brackenstall had been shed; in her stead was a woman more playful and open and – dare he think it? – more romantic than the woman he'd met last December. But lingering in the back of his mind was the concern that beneath this façade of happiness, there still lurked a broken heart, and for that reason, he promised himself to be patient.
The last thing he wanted to do was to force her hand in any way. She was only recently a woman whose world had been shattered, and Erik understood only too well how that felt. Had not his own world been shattered five years ago?
Odd, he thought, when he realized that it had been a long time since he'd given Christine any truly serious thought. It wasn't as if he had forgotten her completely. Hadn't he been curious enough to ask Hélène about her when he passed through Paris? But that was all it had been—passing curiosity. He knew now that while the young diva would always be a part of his life, she would never again be the most important part. She would remain a memory—neither good nor bad, but that was how it should be, shouldn't it? He knew in his heart that he was over her, had known it since the day he'd secreted the sketchbook into Beth's luggage and burned the drawings of Christine. Christine had been, after all, nothing more than a dream.
Erik had to laugh at that. A dream? More like an obsession. His thoughts went back to those days at the opera house…and Christine. He remembered the bal masqué and those fevered weeks afterwards, during which he wrote his great opera, his Don Juan Triumphant.
Don Juan Triumphant? The thought of it made him laugh at the foolishness of it all. What in the world had he been living, back when he wrote that? Don Juan was not someone to emulate. The man had been a greedy, lustful bastard whose only thoughts had to do with physical gratification. Even that duet he had written, with its words of passion and buds bursting into bloom, had been nothing more than a farce, a game to lure an innocent into his lair, and his bed. They had been as hollow as Erik's protestations of love for Christine. His fantasies had never included what Christine wanted, only what he had wanted.
The young girl may have had a real attraction to Erik, but looking back, he could see that whatever there had been between them, it had been superficial at best. She had been young, immature. Perhaps she had mistaken physical attraction for love. But these days, Erik knew the difference.
After all, Christine had never held his hand when he was ill, had never cared whether he ate or slept, had never taken an interest in those little things that lovers do. She had been about the costumes and how he looked in them, and when the mask came off? Why, she fled. Unlike Elizabeth, she never saw him as a real person. The fact that he had never acted like a real person had only complicated matters.…
Isolation did strange things to a person. If he had lived under ordinary circumstances, as an ordinary person, he might never have found himself drawn to such a young, inexperienced woman. She had been right when she chose her young man. In fact, her lack of maturity had matched his own. But living in the real world, with real people, had changed all of this. If he had met Christine Daaé after spending five years in Luxor, he was certain he would have seen her as nothing more than just another flighty European. These days, he appreciated a woman who knew her own mind, not one who easily acquiesced to his every demand, who had been foolish enough to believe in Angels of Music.
But, he admitted, she did have a certain goodness about her. Even after all he had put her through, she had shown herself to be the better person. She had made her choice, God bless her, and had still managed to show compassion. Yes, let her be happy with Raoul; that is how it should be.
And because of her, he had been forced to rethink and rebuild his life. After weeks of near-madness, he'd found his bearings once again and painful as it had been, he had forced himself back onto his feet, said good-bye to the past and walked towards the future. Yet even in his wildest dreams, he had not imagined he would have a second chance at love…but here it was, staring him in the face.
There would always be a soft spot in his heart for Christine Daaé, but not for the reasons he once thought. He would remember her for getting him headed in the right direction. He had to laugh. Five years ago, he'd been hiding in the shadows, plotting to steal a young girl's heart. Today, he was standing openly in the sunlight, waiting for a beautiful woman who said she loved him.
Footsteps alerted him that Elizabeth had joined him, a picnic basket hanging from her arm. This was what life held for him—a mature woman, a wiser woman who knew his darkest secrets yet loved him nonetheless.
-0-0-0-
There had been a time in his life when Erik would have dreaded going out in public, but today, he was looking forward to walking about Burford. He had never known the pleasure of escorting a lady on a walk, never dreamed of doing so in broad daylight for all to see. And as if this were not brazen enough, Elizabeth dared to put her arm in his, and walk in comfortable companionship in public. They were greeted with polite nods, although a few people were briefly taken aback by the unusual appearance of the man wearing a mask. The townspeople took it in stride. Apparently, they were accustomed to eccentric behavior among university folk such as the Cutteridges and among the few gentry who still kept summer homes in the area.
Burford had been a thriving spot, "the gateway to the Cotswolds," close enough to London to make an easy excursion for those able to afford getaways, and far enough away to seem remote. Sadly, in recent years, Burford had undergone an economic decline. No longer were tourists flocking to the village, but some of the townspeople held hope that it would flourish again one day. Indeed, it was a world apart from the city, with its cobblestone and slate paths and its rustic homes. Elizabeth hoped he would love it, would come to think of it as a second home, and told him so.
Erik patted his pocket. "Speaking of home, I've a letter to post while we are out," he explained. "A'aqil is expecting me back in Luxor next week. If I am to stay longer, I should let him know. Or rather, I should let Safa know. She will…."
"Worry about you?" Elizabeth suggested. "Of course she will be worried about you. Why does it surprise you?"
Erik shrugged the way he often did when he tried to express a difficult emotion. "I've never had anyone who wanted me around," he offered.
She turned to him and held his gaze, without saying a word.
He grew more uncomfortable by the moment. "People have always been afraid of me," he explained. "All my life, people have expected the worst of me."
"I am not naïve," she said softly, seeking to put his fears to rest. "I am not some silly schoolgirl with her head in the clouds." She stepped closer to him, close enough that he could feel her breath upon his cheek. "I know who you are, and I still want to be with you." She nestled herself against him, and whispered. "I love you, Erik. For better and for worse."
The next few days were spent in quiet companionship. Elizabeth's promise was true; Erik felt drawn to the mystery and quiet beauty of her beloved Cotswolds, and found himself looking forward to their long walks on deserted country lanes. That they could find a quiet nook where they could sit and talk, alone, made it all the better. And better yet, they could share a few kisses without fear of being interrupted by anyone. Min had followed them on their first few outings, but by the third day, as they were leaving he crawled into his basket by the stove and waited for Millie to whip up something savory for dinner.
A week of Millicent's sumptuous feasts had left Erik feeling restless. One evening, while Elizabeth and Alpheus were busy with some papyri he'd received that afternoon, Erik was perusing the professor's collection of books. The classic histories were there, represented in a wide variety of languages, as were the great works of literature. He had almost settled on the Theban plays when Millicent walked into the room.
She scanned the scene, and sat in the chair closest to Erik. She tapped his elbow, and when he leaned down, she whispered in his ear. "It's too bad she didn't meet you first, instead of wasting the past five years."
"Five years ago, I was a walking disaster," he scoffed. "She'd have taken one look at me, and run for her life."
She laughed charmingly. "Don't belittle yourself. You've turned out nicely. Quite nicely, if you don't mind my saying so."
He gave her the pleasure of a slight, elegant bow.
"I'm only saying that you're the man she's always needed. Someone who isn't put off by her intelligence. Someone whose passion is equal to her own. Someone who fully appreciates her."
Erik seemed puzzled. "Leo didn't appreciate her?"
"I shan't speak ill of the dead," Millie replied, fanning herself. "Let us say, Leo was...always the good boy."
"Ah, I see," he sneered. "'The boy.'"
Millie patted his arm and motioned for him to sit beside her. "I like you, Erik. I can see why Elizabeth is head over heels for you." She giggled and continued brazenly. "I do believe you are blushing, M. Rien."
"The image is...is different in French than it is in English."
"Oh, I think we both know that she's wild about you. Alpheus knows it too. I say, what's the use of being young and in love if you aren't enjoying yourselves?"
Erik glanced across the room at Elizabeth, and discovered that she was gazing at him in a most compelling way. He set down the book, and moving so gracefully it was almost like gliding, he was at her side.
There, right beside her, Millie thought, exactly where he should be.
-0-0-0-
Over the weeks that followed, Erik and Elizabeth often took long walks. Their walks took them along the River Windrush, past flocks of sheep, and through open fields. The pastoral beauty of the Cotswolds beckoned to them. The arid desert of Egypt was a world away, while the verdant hills of England soothed them. They visited Minster Lovell, and walked among the ruins of the Hall about which Elizabeth had written. During one of their journeys, Elizabeth grew introspective.
"Is it wrong for me to feel like this?" she asked. "To be happy, with Leo gone barely six months?"
Erik shrugged. "Regardless of what society may say, you and I know the truth, that never once were you disloyal to your husband. You were never anything but the most exemplary of wives. From what Leo wrote in his letters to you, he thought so, too."
"But, the truth is, Erik, that I thought about it. About…us."
"Thoughts often come unbidden to us. We are, after all, only human. We cannot stop them. What is important is that you did not act upon them."
Elizabeth smiled sadly. "And neither did you. You were always the perfect gentleman…even when I secretly wished that you would not be so…perfect."
They continued strolling about the garden, inhaling the heady perfume of the roses.
"We need to stop dwelling on the past, Beth. I would much rather look forward to the future. A future with us in it."
"Then let us start by allowing me to show you around town. There are many beautiful sites around Burford that I know you will enjoy."
They visited the magnificent church of St. John the Baptist, with its fine stained glass, its historic architecture, and its magnificent pipe organ.
"It is extraordinary for a parish church," Elizabeth explained. "Most are far more simple, but this one is known as a wool church." She noticed Erik's puzzled expression. "Many people were made wealthy by the demand for Cotswold wool, and some expressed their gratitude to God by building this edifice."
"The church itself is steeped in history," she continued, "filled with fascinating artifacts from times gone by. The mysteriously carved 'Epona Stone' can be found high on the south wall. It is thought to date back as far as the 12th Century and is probably the oldest artifact in the church. The old turret clock dates back to 1685; it actually houses the original mechanism and is still working today. And look here," she said, gesturing towards the rim of the baptismal font. "During the Civil War, a group of rebels known as the Levellers were incarcerated inside the courtyard. One of them left his name carved on the font, in 1649."
She cocked her head to the side, noticing that Erik took an exceptional interest in the architecture of the church. "What do you see?" she asked.
"Three hundred years of various stonemasons at work," he replied. He ran his fingertips across a pillar, touching it delicately. "It takes a lifetime to add this kind of detail. This building may have been made ornate by wealthy patrons," he explained, "but ordinary men gave it a soul."
The sound of choristers starting their practice filled the air. "Come," she said, extending her hand. "Let's see the bell tower. The view of the countryside is remarkable."
As promised, it was a fantastic view. "Our house is over there," she said, pointing it out.
"I believe I see Min digging in the garden."
"Up to no good, as usual," she laughed. But later in the day, as they walked along a forgotten path, her mood became somber.
"Erik," she said hesitantly. "We've never spoken of children."
He stopped mid-stride, and swallowed, bargaining for time to think of his answer. This wasn't going to be easy, so he attempted humor. "They're cute when they're little, but I hear they can be difficult."
She smiled, but it was without warmth. "I wanted to give Leo a child, you know, but it never happened. I doubt it is possible. What if I can't give you children, Erik? Would you still want me? It isn't too late for you to change your mind, you know."
"I'll never change my mind about you," he said quickly. He turned her to face him, and held both her hands. They were so small in comparison to his, so soft and delicate, that he felt an overwhelming desire to protect her, to take care of her.
Always in control, always presenting a staid, stoic figure, she rarely dropped her guard this way, but here, alone with him, exposing her greatest fear, she felt deferential, weakened. Suddenly shy, she tilted her face downwards, and peeked at him from beneath heavy-lidded eyes.
Such vulnerability, especially given the subject of their conversation, was wildly arousing to him. Surely, she could tell the effect this was having on him. Standing this close, she must know.
"Would you want to risk it? That is, would you...." He shrugged and ducked his head, gathering his own thoughts.
She squeezed his hands. "Go on. What were you about to say?" she whispered.
"What if the child were a monster? What if he were to look like me?"
Air hissed between her teeth as she drew in a deep breath. "You're no monster. But there are always risks, regardless. Even under the best of circumstances, there might be…difficulties." She caressed the backs of his hands with tender kisses. "I think we'd do the best we can, should we be blessed with a child."
He blinked back tears of relief. "It would interfere with your career. You can hardly climb about in tombs if you are.…"
"Isn't that rather putting the cart before the horse? One must.... Before a baby is conceived...." She was suddenly very much aware of how close he was standing to her. She could feel his hot, moist breath on her face as he dipped his head until their foreheads touched. A very male scent permeated the air and mingled with the fresh, crisp fragrance of crushed grass beneath their feet. She inhaled deeply, drawing him in.
"Yes? You were saying...." He looked at her keenly before letting go of her hands and pressing a palm to her cheek. "Are you feeling well, Beth? You are flushed."
She shook her head as if coming out of a daze. "I'm fine, but perhaps we should rest a moment.... Over there, under that tree." She pointed to a rise nearby. "Let's sit a while and watch the river."
They left the path, walking up the hill with Erik in the lead, pulling Elizabeth gently by the hand. When they arrived at the crest, he was puzzled by the sight of tall stones standing in an ancient circle. "A henge?" he asked.
"Not strictly speaking. It's a cromlech, a megalithic circle. They are all over the place. This is an ancient land, you know. It isn't as glamorous as Egypt, but there is history nonetheless, if you know where to look for it. Over there, for instance," she said, pointing to a berm running along the far side of the hill, "may lay a prehistoric king, entombed in noble slumber."
"Poetic," he said, a grin spreading across his face. He took off his coat, spreading it underneath an ancient oak tree, its boughs laden with mistletoe. With a wave of his hand and a slight bow, he invited her to sit, but instead of sitting with her, his curiosity drew him to the stones. Their primeval power seemed to entice him, to lure him closer. He wandered among them, running his hands over the surface, measuring their height, looking at them with an architect's eye. The thrill of discovery was palpable.
Seeing him like this, completely abandoned to the moment, thrilled her. "You've seen these in France, no doubt," she said, raising her voice to reach his ears.
He nodded, ever attentive to her, but turned his back to her briefly and raised his hands to his face.
She knew from the movement in his shoulders and the flash of a handkerchief that he must be wiping perspiration from his face, moisture trapped underneath his mask. Taking full advantage of the moment, she let her gaze wander down his form, resting on his powerful muscles, and allowed herself to appreciate his fit, trim physique while he was totally unaware of her doing so. She wondered briefly if Mme Chrétien had made his suit and shirts, tailoring them perfectly to accentuate his shape, and the glint of sun off the gold fob of his watch caught her eye – a miniature of Ra-harakhty, the falcon, its wings spread gloriously wide. Tailoring meant measuring, she thought, and measuring meant wrapping a tape around his chest…running it down the length of his arms and legs…checking the size of his feet…those feet she couldn't stop staring at in Egypt, when they were first in the desert, wondering if the measurement of them correlated to other anatomical structures.
"What's wrong?" he asked, startling her. She had been lost in her thoughts, unaware that he'd come back from the circle of stones. He sat down beside her, graceful as could be, each movement a portrait in poise. He drew an elegant finger under her chin and pondered her expression with the same inquisitiveness as he had studied the stones.
"Perhaps we'd better keep walking," she said hoarsely.
He rose and extended a well-manicured hand to her. The musician's calluses on his fingertips rasped across her palm as she grasped his hand and he pulled her to her feet a little too forcefully. He caught her in his arms and held her tight, her breasts brushing against him. Displaying rigid self-control, he stepped back and turned towards the footpath. "Where are you taking me now?" he asked with a playful lilt in his voice.
"It's a secret," she replied, putting a finger to her lips. "A surprise. I think you'll like it," she said mysteriously.
He reached down and picked up a sprig of mistletoe that had fallen from the great oak spreading over them, and stuck it in his lapel. "How's this?"
"Perfect." She smoothed his lapel. "The Druids thought it had sacred powers."
"There is a custom among your people," he said slyly. "One kisses beneath the mistletoe, I believe."
She looked into the soaring branches of the tree, saw the boughs of mistletoe hanging o'erhead, and smiled back at him. "We mustn't break with custom," she said, welcoming him into her arms for a brief kiss, and then another.
"Come," she said breathlessly. "We have far to go."
He kissed her again. "I'd rather stay here, underneath the mistletoe." He held her tighter, but released her the moment she wriggled.
"There's something I want to show you," she said mysteriously. "Something I think you'll enjoy." She went to a clump of blue flowers. "This is called Bachelor's button. In the language of flowers, it is a symbol of Celibacy, or happiness with being single."
Mention of celibacy caused Erik a moment of discomfort. He had found no happiness in being single. Acceptance, perhaps, but not happiness. "I had no idea there was a language of flowers."
"Then let me teach you." They continued their slow amble through the countryside. Elizabeth stopped in front of a clump of red carnations. Her cheeks were flushed, but Erik wasn't sure of the reason. When she explained the meaning of the flower, Erik had a hunch.
"Carnations," she said, "mean devoted love. Specifically, the red ones mean, 'My heart aches for you'." She looked at him meaningfully.
Erik plucked one of the red flowers and stuck it in his lapel together with the mistletoe. Elizabeth said nothing, but Erik noticed her raised eyebrow.
"Ah!" he said, indicating a rambling rose bush overgrowing a farmer's fence, covering it with large red blossoms. "This is one I know." He selected a single perfect bloom and offered it to her. "Did I ever tell you how much I missed the scent of your perfume, after you left?"
A shy smile broke forth on her face. He remembered. "Attar of roses."
"Perhaps I should not confess this..."
"Go on."
"You left this behind. I found it in the guest suite." He reached inside his pocket and produced a dainty square of lace and linen.
"My handkerchief!"
"I kept it here," he said, touching his left breast, "close to my heart. It reminded me of you."
Elizabeth put the cloth to her face, inhaling its fragrance with hints of her own perfume and Erik's cologne, an intoxicating blend of the two of them. He tugged it slowly from her hand, and replaced it inside his shirt, next to his heart.
They continued their walk, pausing occasionally as Elizabeth explained the meanings behind the different flowers, and gathered some for the tussy-mussy she was making. At last they came upon an old tree trunk and sat down. She handed Erik the small bouquet.
"Now for the test. We'll see if you've been paying attention."
Erik frowned slightly as he examined the flowers. "This purplish flower is Bittersweet; that means Truth. And this is Dill. Yes, this is better. It means ardor." He looked at her beguilingly, his face slightly flushed. "And one more. What is this one? I can tell it is from a tree of some sort, but the bud hasn't opened yet."
"It's…it's called Arbutus," she said, her voice suddenly hoarse.
"Go on."
"It means, 'Only thee do I love'."
Neither said anything, but sat in blessed silence.
"Look, over there." She pointed an old stone church, standing alone, in the middle of nowhere. "There's more. Over there, by the door to the chapel."
"It is even older than the parish church," I remarked. "I see work that must go back seven hundred years." He studied the foundation. "What is this place?"
"It's St. Oswald's. Some say it was built over an ancient pagan altar. I suppose many holy places know no denomination."
He grinned and cocked his head. "Let's go inside."
-0-0-0-
The heavy oak door creaked on ancient iron hinges as Erik pushed on the massive handle. Dust motes danced in the sunlight that filtered through the windows, casting a haze as they walked into the old stone church.
Elizabeth curtsied deeply before the altar, and placed her bouquet on the edge of it before bowing her head in prayer.
Erik stood a moment, taking in the scene before him and enjoying the play of light on Elizabeth's hair and fair complexion. The afternoon light created a soft glow on everything it touched, making it seem other-worldly, ethereal. He knelt beside Elizabeth and realized she was speaking aloud, apparently intending for him to hear her prayers.
"…and dear Lord," she whispered, "please let Erik understand that I don't judge him. I leave his judgment in Your hands. I ask only that you would forgive him, as your Son our Savior Jesus Christ forgave the World at Golgotha."
A groan escaped him. "That's blackmail," he whispered.
Elizabeth ignored him, continuing her prayer. "And help him understand that I have fallen in love with him all over again, and that I love him for the man he has become, and for the man he will be. Let the man he was be gone forever, and not intrude on our happiness. Amen." She opened her eyes, and gazed at Erik though heavy lids.
Realizing that their relationship could change forever, here and now, Erik stared at her in abject wonder. "Did you mean what you said?" he asked, half afraid of her answer. He reached for her hand.
She nodded reassuringly, and held his hand tightly. "I promise to love you now and always."
"Until death do us part?"
"Until we are parted by death."
He nodded in solemn agreement. "I promise to love you, honor you and worship you, with all my heart, my soul and my body."
"I promise to love, honor, and worship you, with all my heart, soul, and body," she replied.
He turned towards the altar. It had been a long time since he had prayed – if he had – but if ever there was a time for faith, it was now. "Make of our lives, one life. Make of our hands, one hand, always in support of one another."
"Help us to be strong for each other. In sickness and in health, for richer or for poorer, help us to cherish each other."
"With all that I am, with every fiber of my being, I love you, Elizabeth. I will always love you." He bent his head down and kissed her finger, and when he pulled away, she saw that he had slipped a simple gold band upon it. A wedding ring.
She looked into his face, love in her eyes. "Where…when…?"
"I had no right to hope...but I couldn't help it. We'll get you something else, if you wish. You can have anything you like....You should have anything. Anything at all! Diamonds? Would you prefer sapphires?"
She shook her head, blinking back tears of joy as she gazed at the ring on her finger. "It's exactly what I wanted."
"There's an inscription," Erik said.
She looked more closely at the ring and saw the delicate engraving. "Journeys End?"
"Journeys end in lovers meeting," he said, quoting the Bard of Avon.
"Our journey is just beginning." She leaned closer and kissed him. "I love you, Erik."
"Oh, my love," he sighed, pulling her to him. "You have given me all the happiness in the world."
-0-0-0-
They left the chapel feeling changed, uplifted, yet committed to one another in a way they hadn't thought possible. They walked in companionable silence, retracing the path back towards the Cutteridge homestead, but when they reached the spot where they had previously diverged towards the circle of standing stones, Elizabeth tugged gently on his arm, and pulled him back to the oak tree. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him down for a kiss.
One kiss turned into three, each one hungrier and more insistent than the last as their need for one another built. Elizabeth slid down him, drawing him with her to the ground, never breaking their kiss as they knelt beneath the mighty oak.
He shrugged off his coat and hastily spread it on the grass, and Elizabeth lowered herself languorously onto it, beckoning to him to join her. He lay on his side next to her, pulling her closer and closer until there was no space between them.
"I want to see you," she whispered, between delicate kisses quickly growing ardent. He paused, an unfathomable look ghosting across his face, before lowering his head so that she could remove the mask.
His coat, his mask, his cravat…soon, she was removing the studs that held his shirt closed, and slipped her hands inside the stiffly starched linen to feel the warmth of his chest, the hardness of his taut stomach. She played with the hair on his chest and teased his nipples with her tongue.
"Beth," he sighed, closing his eyes tightly. "I…this…it is more than I can stand," he groaned.
"Should I stop?" she asked, knowing full well she did not want to stop, not now, not when they were close to—
He shook his head and swallowed hard. "I…I want to see you, too," he said, so softly she could not be certain what he had said. His hesitation, his respect for her, and his shyness elicited a heat within her, an overwhelming desire to give him pleasure.
She took his hand and put it against her breast, and turned her head so that her throat was invitingly exposed. He obliged with quick nips and gentle kisses to the side of it, intensifying his efforts when she leaned into his lips. Her blouse parted and he put his palm against her back, bare skin against bare skin. Without her even knowing it, he'd been working the buttons of her blouse loose, and was rewarded with an encouraging nod and a smile.
One quick tug and the combs holding back her hair were pulled away, letting it fall loosely around her shoulders. Sun-bleached in Egypt, it was exactly the way he liked it: Free. He brushed it out of her eyes and kissed her temples where tresses lay, watched the rise and fall of her chest as her breath came a little faster with each kiss, and dared to let his hand roam down the length of her torso, pausing at the swell of her belly before descending to her thigh.
He caught her beneath the buttocks and pulled her against him, letting her rub herself where he needed to feel her the most. He groaned, and with a strained voice, he warned her. "You are playing with fire, Beth. Stop now, lest you be burned."
The image of the Egyptian desert flashed in her mind, with Erik standing atop a dune, his scarf blowing in the dry wind. She slipped her hand into the waistband of his trousers, resting it on the small of his back, and she moaned.
"There is only one way to put out this fire that we have kindled, my love."
His eyes were bright with desire. Gone was the shy and hesitant courtier. "I have pledged myself to you before God, in the church of your ancestors, on sacred ground. There will never be another woman for me, but you are still free…free to leave me." Memories of old wounds played across his face, creeping into his words and clouding his thoughts. "Once this is done, once we have joined together, you will never leave me. You will be mine for all time. As I have claimed your heart and your mind, so I will claim your flesh."
It was both terrifying and irresistible, both a promise and a threat of consummation. She felt herself go limp in his arms, sighing as she gave herself over to him. "I want you, Erik," she vowed. "There's no use resisting any longer. I'm done with denial. I am yours, now and forever."
Free from constraints, relieved of worrying about right and wrong, they gave way to their carnal needs – desires long repressed, shunned, hidden away.
She opened her eyes and looked straight into Erik's, replacing every thought of the past with this new experience, this new love. His lips were pursed tightly, almost grimacing, as he fought for control even now, as he was on the brink of a new discovery. He never broke eye contact with her, as though he were trying to enter her thoughts and bore into her very soul with the power of his mind as he claimed her for his own.
His eyes narrowed as pleasure overwhelmed other sensations, the vivid green of them standing out in stark contrast to his reddened complexion. His scars were bright red, inflamed by his passion, and she reached out to touch him. She held his unfortunate face with both her hands as he entered her at last.
Oh! Never had she felt this way. She felt stretched to the breaking point, experiencing exquisite pain and infinite pleasure. She gasped, breathing deeply to allow herself to adjust to the feel of him as they coupled. She relaxed all her muscles, moving slowly underneath him, opening herself up to allow him full entry. Yet still he seemed to be perched on some threshold, not quite completely within her. Again, she moved against him, thrusting her hips, and with one final push, they were fully joined.
"Now you are mine!" he growled, twining his hands in her hair. "Now you cannot ever be free of me!"
She replied in a husky snarl. "I don't want to be free of you." She closed her eyes when she felt him giving in to his needs. He moved roughly against her, as though he wanted to touch every part of her at the same time but didn't know where to begin or how much of his fumbling she would want. Puzzled at first, she soon realized that he had never done this before, had never made love. The recognition made her feel powerful, in control – but she knew she must encourage him, to let him know that all was as it should be.
"Erik," she said eagerly, spurring him on, "you feel…oh, my God! Can you feel how much I want you?" She clutched his back, knowing that he could feel her nails against his skin. She purred with delight, wordlessly letting him know how to touch her, and where.
He couldn't speak, but he replied with a nod, rubbing his malformed cheek against her perfect one, letting her long hair cushion the side of his head. She pressed her face against his, relishing the feel of it, providing unspoken encouragement that she wanted all of him…all of him….
And then, a tightness low in her belly, a narrowing of consciousness, and all she thought about was the sensation of pure pleasure signaling imminent release. Her muscles were tight, contracting with desire, and he sped up, thrusting with abandon as she began to cry aloud, telling him with sounds of pleasure that she was nearing her peak.
He had imagined conjugal relations, but he could not have imagined the way her climax would feel to him.
Oddly, at the time it occurred, he thought, This isn't in any of the books I've read, and instantaneously realized how absurd it was to be analytical at a time like this. Only I would be comparing dusty old books with actual experience.
But in that moment of consciousness, when he was slightly distracted from the act, he felt his own unraveling begin. "Oh!" he muttered, followed by a long, drawn out, "Oh, yes." Immediately, he knew it was better than any book had ever hinted.
Panting, sweating, and totally relaxed, they caught each other's eye and began to chuckle. Relief! After the long months of wanting, they had finally given in to their hearts' desires.
"My Beth," he whispered, nuzzling his cheek to hers. "How I love you!"
She was suffused with a satisfaction she had never known before, and she whispered, "Now you are mine," and pulled him in for another kiss. She wrapped her ankles around his and held him tightly, not willing to relinquish him. Not yet.
"Is this how it will always be?" Erik asked breathlessly.
"This is how it is supposed to be. This is love. I never knew it before, but with you, I feel…" She searched for the right words. "I feel bound to you, heart and soul."
"Are you saying…you never…with…?"
She quieted him with a kiss. "Shhh," she whispered. Knowing he wanted an answer, she admitted, "Never like this. I was never…complete…until you."
Still joined, they lay in each other's arms, sharing endearments and languishing in the afterglow. She spoke to him of her commitment to him, of how deeply she cared for him, and pledged that she would only love him more as they grew older. He spoke to her of longing for her, of how he had begun to despair of her ever returning his feelings, and his abiding love for her. He took a deep breath and grinned smugly. "Soon, we must return to your home," he admitted, with more than a tinge of regret.
"Eventually," she acknowledged. "But not yet. I can tell that you are not yet satisfied." She squeezed him, using muscles that he hadn't known existed.
He gasped in surprise – and delight. What else did the books omit? he wondered. "I suppose there's no hurry," he said, emphasizing it with a slight thrust of his hips. His need for her was growing stronger by the moment.
The second time was less hurried, less frantic. Now that the edge was off, they were able to explore, to linger. Assured that they had complete privacy -- or perhaps not caring -- they were soon as naked as the day they were born, covered only by the spreading boughs of the oak above them and shielded by the undergrowth of wildflowers and tall grass from the sight of any stray passersby who might stumble upon them. Only the trees and the stone circle witnessed their physical wedding, their first tentative forays into nuptial bliss.
Serenaded by songbirds, they joined a second time. He didn't know a lot about sex, but he understood architecture, and he knew that different angles were bound to produce different results. He hadn't counted on such a dramatic effect, though. Elizabeth was transformed from his proper, practical English lady to a passionate, eager partner.
She sank over him, covering him with herself, and cradled him as he came. He was completely relaxed in her arms, totally happy for the first time in his life. She marveled at him, wondering what he was thinking. "How do you feel?" she asked.
How to respond to such a question! He considered it, weighed each of a thousand different feelings that welled up inside him. "I feel…I feel the most incredible bliss," he said at last. He wiped his cheeks quickly, lest she see his tears and mistake them for sorrow instead of joy.
Elizabeth drew back to see his face. Mottled by sunlight streaming through the leaves, it had a grotesque appearance, half angel, half demon. It was the face she loved more than life itself -- the face of her husband.
He wrapped her in his arms and spoke softly. "We can never be apart again," he said, stroking her hair, tenderly touching her back and shoulders.
She nodded, enjoying the feel of him against her. "Together, always," she promised.
With the murmuring river, the birdsong, and the warm rays of the sun enveloping them securely, they dozed in each others arms, happy and sated for the time being. Minutes passed into quarter hours, before a stinging sensation in his most private regions brought Erik to full alertness.
Elizabeth stirred. "Erik? What is it?" She slapped unconsciously at her nether parts.
"Ants!" he roared. "We are lying atop an anthill!" He jumped up and began brushing frantically at his nakedness, which was now covered with stinging insects. Instantly, Elizabeth joined him in her own frenzy. They glanced at each other, taking in their bizarre dance, and began laughing as they brushed and slapped away the insects.
"C'mon!" she called, as she ran towards the river with complete abandon.
"Beth, no! What if we are seen?" He dropped the clothes he had been gathering and ran behind her, jumping into the water beside her.
"Who cares?" she said gaily, not giving a fig what anyone else thought of her. "Let them have a good look! But next time, let's examine the ground more carefully."
He picked an ant off his shoulder, one that was stinging him furiously. "At the time, I wasn't thinking any consequences," he muttered. "Were you?" He was rewarded with a splash of cold water.
She paddled in the water lazily, floating on her back in the full sun. "I had only one thought in mind, and I believe you know what that was."
Even now, in the cool water of the Windrush, he burned for her. "I'd take you again, here and now, if you'd let me," he growled. Never had he seemed more compelling, more aware of his sexuality.
She favored him with a blush. "What's stopping you?"
-0-0-0-
That evening at the supper table, Elizabeth and Erik tried to conceal their secret, but it was no use. Their happiness was explicit. Alpheus and Millicent couldn't help noticing.
"Did something happen today that I should know about?" the Professor asked nonchalantly.
Erik felt a jolt run through his body, but said nothing.
Elizabeth dropped her fork, and as she tried to catch it, she bumped heads with Erik who was trying to help. Concealed beneath the edge of the table, they shared a quick kiss and resumed their places, affecting an air of innocence.
Alpheus rose and stretched. "I think I'll take Min for a nice long walk. What say you come along, Millie? Leave the dishes to the youngsters. Besides, the walk will do us good. We might be gone a long time. Say...at least an hour?"
Erik stood politely. "Would you like company?" Suddenly, he flinched. "Ow!" he exclaimed, rubbing his shin. Beth shot him an evil look.
The Professor knew a kick under the table when he saw one. "No, no," he averred. "You had quite a long walk today. You two need your...rest." He threw a wink at his daughter, to let her know he was onto her.
"Thank you, Father," she said innocently. "Perhaps you should visit your friend, the widow Ethelbert."
Millie squealed with excitement. "An excellent suggestion! Alpheus, we haven't visited her in ages. Perhaps her brother will be there tonight. We could play cards."
"I'm sure she has simply volumes to tell you," Beth remarked.
"She'll keep us for hours, no doubt."
Erik was perplexed. "Am I missing something? There seems to be an undercurrent.…OW!"
"Perhaps there's something you'd like to tell us?" Alpheus asked, looking at his daughter.
"We…uhm…" Elizabeth faltered.
Erik continued, "We were walking along the Windrush and stopped to visit St. Oswald's."
"Yes," said Elizabeth, finding her voice. She smiled at Erik and took his hand into hers. "We exchanged vows." The little band of gold on her finger caught the light and winked up at everyone.
"Married yourselves, did you?" Alpheus asked. He smiled warmly as he thought back to his own youth. "Brings back memories."
Elizabeth sputtered. "You...you don't mean to suggest that you and mother.… Do you?"
Alpheus walked over to the mantle and picked up a small portrait of his bride, ever youthful, as she had died so young. He looked at it lovingly. "She was a child of nature, that one. Never did care too much for authority." He sighed, setting the portrait down carefully. "But to be on the safe side, we made it legal the next day. And you," he said to Beth, "were born nine months later." His mind drifted back to that happy day, thirty years ago. "I remember it clearly. St. Oswald's is a very romantic place. We were, ahem, overcome by the moment." He caught Elizabeth and Erik exchanging a meaningful look, and grinned. "Don't tell me..."
"Looks like it is a family tradition!" Millie laughed heartily. "That's where Drusilla and her colonel were married, too – but in a more traditional manner."
Erik winced and stirred uncomfortably in his seat.
"What's the matter? Ants in your pants?" Alpheus teased – and then, realization set in. He waggled his eyebrows. "Ah, I see. It was a gorgeous summer afternoon. The perfect sort on which to spend an afternoon…sitting by the river…. The best cure for that is…well…I'll let Bethie tell you."
He extended his arm to his sister, and escorted her out the door. "Don't wait up for us. We'll be gone for hours." Min looked anxiously back and forth between Erik and Alpheus, and after a moment's pause, he darted through the door after his master.
Elizabeth sauntered over to Erik and sat gingerly on his lap. "Alone at last," she purred, as she gently removed the wig and the mask. She kissed the side of his head where no hair would ever grow, and worked his collar loose with deft fingers.
He lifted her effortlessly and carried her towards the stairs, but stopped short of carrying her to his bedroom, as the itching in his nether regions intensified. "Elizabeth?" he asked hopefully. "Do you happen to have any antipruritics on hand?"
-0-0-0-