Summary: Erik's story continues, revealing his past with his former mistress, as well as revealing how his face came to be...(my longest chapter by far! It's a marathon read!)
Tapestry of Deceit
Erik's Tale (part II)
Christine stiffened slightly at the mention of Beatrice's name. This woman, this faceless woman who she had only heard a little about, seemed to have some sort of strange power over Winterbourne and its inhabitants.
She had been shocked to learn that Beatrice had once been Lord Edwin's mistress; she had no idea that Erik had known her for such a long period of time. And while Erik had told her, as well as shown her how deeply he loved and trusted her…there was still a part of Christine that worried that the mere memory of Beatrice, could somehow take her husband away…
Yet despite her initial fears and apprehensions, Christine hardened her heart to them, and prepared herself for the story that greatly needed to be revealed.
Beatrice had been the first to betray Sir Erik, that much Christine knew. And from the few things she had learned, Beatrice's betrayal had also been the worst…
As I had mentioned, Beatrice was my father's mistress, and when I had first met her, I was shocked to learn this. She was much younger than my father, twenty-one to be exact. I was only seventeen, and Beatrice at first seemed flattered that she had caught the attention of a younger man. I would later learn, sadly, that she loved playing these sorts of games, but in my young, naïve state, love, or what I thought was love, blinded me from seeing the truth about the sort of person she really was.
When she first kissed me, I was completely shocked. I knew that I was not a handsome man, and the few girls I came into contact with seemed frightened by my large size, dark looks, and gruff personality. So imagine my surprise when a woman, who I believed at the time was the most beautiful woman in the entire world, took a liking to me! I knew so little about women that I easily believed with that with one kiss, she truly loved and desired me. And that, I think was when I began to fall prey to her lies…
I kept waiting, hoping that Beatrice would go to my father as she had promised me, and tell him of our feelings. But it never came to pass. I told her that I would tell him on her behalf, but she begged me to not do it, afraid that my father would look upon my request as an act of betrayal, and do everything in his power to see that the two of us could not be together. And the fool that I was, I believed her.
But I couldn't stay there, either. It was far too painful to watch her sweetly caress my father's face, or whisper something into his ear that would cause him to laugh, or even to watch her plant her sensual kisses across his forehead. I was growing jealous of my own father! And the lust that I was feeling in my own body was beginning to grow out of control…
"Erik…"
Erik paused his movement at the sound of the voice that haunted his dreams. He swallowed the lump in his throat and turned to look over his shoulder to see where her voice had come from.
"Erik…" Beatrice purred, her body emerging from the shadows where she had been hiding in the hallway, a wicked smile spread across her beautiful face.
Good God, she was exquisite! The gown she wore was bright red, and it clung to the curves of her body like a second skin, leaving very little to a man's imagination. And yet the red of her gown was no match for the fire in her hair, which fell across her shoulders like a cascade of rubies. She whispered his name again, and Erik's eyes were drawn immediately to the sensual movement of her lips, lips that haunted his thoughts constantly, lips that he had kissed, lips that teased and tormented him, endlessly. He knew he should turn and go, it was always the same whenever she called out to him, whenever she pulled him into the shadows, but like a moth to a flame…he was drawn to her.
Beatrice grinned as she clutched his strong hands in hers and pulled him close, her arms entwining about his neck, her hands tangling in his dark hair as she pulled his head down to her waiting kiss. Erik groaned as once more, her lips invaded his senses and whispered promises of unbridled passion! He eagerly responded to her kiss, as he had always done, his arms wrapping around her body and pulling her so close, he was practically crushing her voluptuous figure to his chest. Oh God almighty, he could feel her breasts swell against his chest! She seemed to press them in such a way, so that he could feel the hardened buds of her nipples. Her hands slid down from his neck, and began to run over the hard muscles of his back, moving down further, and further…and he let out another groan of desire as one of her hands drifted down to his thigh…and he gasped as he felt her hand move around to the front of his body…and move beneath his tunic until she found exactly what she was looking for…
"Mmmmm…Erik, you're on fire!" she moaned against his mouth, her fingers tracing the straining hardness of his cock. "I know exactly how to quench that fire…"
Erik's eyes drifted shut as her fingers continued their torment. "Beatrice…we…we mustn't…we can't…"
"Of course we can," she purred, pressing her body even closer as her fingers began to pump an erotic rhythm over his hardness. "We don't even have to go to my chambers," she moaned, her fingers moving faster. "Right here, Erik…take me here, please…against this wall!"
Erik squeezed his eyes shut as her fingers continued their sensual torture, their rhythm only increasing with each stroke. God, it was tempting! To finally ease the lust that was tormenting him, constantly! He could do it, he could lift her up, quite easily, push her skirts up to her waist, and do exactly what she suggested! It was what they both wanted!
No…no, it wasn't what they both wanted; he wanted her to be his, freely. He loved his father, his father had done so much for him, and the idea of betraying him, of going behind his back and doing this…
Erik pushed himself away from Beatrice, his body still burning with unquenched desire. Beatrice looked at him, stunned by his actions, her face pale and her blue eyes wide in disbelief. "I can't…" Erik whispered, looking anywhere but into her eyes. "Not while you still belong to my father…"
Beatrice didn't know what to say. No man had EVER refused her! She opened her mouth to speak, but Lord Edwin's voice filled the hallway. "Erik? Erik, I—ah! Son, there you are!"
Erik took another step away from Beatrice and turned to greet his father, who was walking with some difficulty. The man's health was indeed worsening since Erik had seen him last, and it broke his heart to think that this once strong, powerful man, who led vast armies for the King, was slowly deteriorating.
Beatrice seemed to snap back to the present at the sight of Lord Edwin, and she immediately rushed to the old man's side, clutching one of his arms with both hands. "Edwin, what are you doing out of bed?" Beatrice softly scolded, in the sweetest of voices.
Lord Edwin eyed his mistress with surprise. "Beatrice? I did not see you! Were you and Erik talking? Did I interrupt?"
A sweet smile spread across Beatrice's face, and she looked up at Erik, her eyes shining wickedly. Erik quickly looked away, his face darkening brightly. "Father, I told you that if you wish to summon me, send one of the servants. You do not need to come and fetch me yourself—"
"I am still master here, am I not?" Lord Edwin interrupted. "I will move about as I please, and I tire of people waiting upon me hand and foot," he grumbled. "But none of that matters; what does matter is this letter that I have recently received from his majesty!" Lord Edwin thrust a small scroll against Erik's chest. "It says that you have requested a permanent commission with the King's army!"
Beatrice's eyes went wide at the old man's words, and she stared at Erik, her mouth open in disbelief.
Erik, however, straightened his back and lifted his chin. "Aye, that is true," he answered. "My training while I was in Tulane served me well, and I believe I can be a great leader—"
"Pfft!" Lord Edwin interrupted. "Of course you can be a great leader, you're my son! But that is not the point!" he growled, his face darkening as he spoke. "You have done this without even consulting me, your own father!"
"I beg your pardon, my lord," Erik growled back with a hint of sarcasm. "I was unaware I required your council, especially since you have been preparing me for such a life since the day I was born!"
Lord Edwin was actually trembling with rage, and Beatrice looked genuinely concerned. "Edwin, calm down," she murmured, trying to rub a soothing hand on the old man's chest, but it was not working.
"The letter says that you are to report in Tulane within the next two days!" Lord Edwin roared. "TWO DAYS! And you say NOTHING to me?!"
Erik glanced quickly at Beatrice and saw the horror in her eyes. His heart was heavy, as he knew he would be leaving two people that he dearly loved…but how could he explain to both of them the reason as to why he must leave?
"My son, I am very proud of you, to be sure," Lord Edwin murmured, his voice much softer now, the anger giving way to melancholy. "I know that you have been training to become a knight, and by proving your worth on the battlefield, you will succeed in doing that. It's just…" he sighed and reached out to place a trembling hand on one of Erik's broad shoulders. "You have spent so many years, away at school and training with the King's army, and you have only been here for a month…I…I…" Lord Edwin's eyes rose to meet his son's, and Erik saw the tears that filled them. "Perhaps this is why many father's are not close to their sons? Because the pain of seeing them leave is unbearable."
Erik's arms ached to hold his father close, but he restrained himself, as he knew his father was also doing. He wanted to become a knight, he truly did, and he knew he would be a good fighter for the King. But the sole reason Erik was rushing off to the battlefield…was standing right beside his father.
"We'll have a feast tonight, in honor of your departure," Lord Edwin murmured, with a sad sigh. "I shall go and inform the cooks, as well as have the stable lads make ready your horse." Erik watched with a heavy heart as his father turned and hobbled down the hallway, however he did so with his head held high and his back as straight as he could make it.
As soon as Lord Edwin had disappeared around the corner, Beatrice turned and pushed her hands against Erik's chest, shoving him with all her strength. "You're leaving!?" she hissed. "Just like that, you're leaving!?"
"I have to," Erik hissed back, although his heart was breaking at the thought of leaving her. But what other choice did he have?
"I thought you loved me!" Beatrice pouted, shoving him once more, although it did little good, as Erik was too strong to move.
"I do love you!" he hissed, his hands grabbing her arms and holding her still as she began to beat his chest with her small fists. "You know that! I have told you, repeatedly, that I would go to my father and ask for you!"
Beatrice's fists paused at these words. "You can't, Erik, I've told you that! If you do, he will surely think of you as a traitor and refuse to allow us to be together!"
"Then what do you expect me to do!?" he was growing angry, and trying his hardest to control his temper. He wanted her; God knew how he wanted her! But he couldn't betray his father; he couldn't lie to the man. And the longer he stayed, the harder it was to not give in to temptation…
"Erik, don't leave," Beatrice pleaded, her fingers gripping the fabric of his tunic. She pressed her body against his and Erik felt his own begin to stir, once more. "I know you don't wish to go," she purred. "I can feel your desire, I can feel your passion. It's the same as my own…" she moaned, rubbing her body against his. "We can keep it secret, your father need never know—"
"NO!" Erik pushed her away and staggered several feet away from her, needing distance between the two of them. "No, Beatrice! Not like this! I can not—I WILL NOT betray my father!"
Beatrice's mouth had fallen open once more in disbelief. "But…but Erik—"
"Nay," Erik groaned, shaking his head. "'Tis no use; I am doing the best I can with holding my desire in check, but God knows I will not last if I stay here. I must do this, Beatrice, for both of us. That way, neither of us will be the traitor."
He tried to gather her into his arms, but she refused to allow him to touch her, an angry scowl darkening her face. "You are not doing this for us, you are doing this for yourself!" she hissed. She glared at him, before turning and stalking away, muttering as she went. "You're weak, Erik! Weak and selfish!"
"SELFISH!?" Christine had bolted upright, fuming with anger at Erik's story.
Erik was taken by surprise by Christine's angered reaction, however he felt the ice that had so long encased his heart, melt even further as he listened to her outraged grumbling. Only a woman, who loved someone as fiercely as Christine, would feel such passion and outrage, from his story.
"SHE DARED TO CALL YOU SELFISH!?" Christine gasped in outrage. "YOU!?"
"Christine—"
"When SHE is the most selfish COW on God's earth!" she practically shouted, throwing her hands up into the air, feeling such indignation. "She claimed to love you, claimed that you were the man she wanted, when in truth she didn't wish to give up her so-called comfortable lifestyle by your father's side, and used you for her own personal enjoyment—both of you, actually! And because you are an honorable man, doing what is right and noble, she has the GALL to call you selfish, because you won't do what SHE wants!"
"My love…" Erik murmured, his hands going to her shoulders and gently turning her until she was looking down at him. Christine was still fuming, but one look into Erik's golden eyes, which were filled with such tenderness…she felt her insides melt and her temper immediately calm. "You are right, and now, I know this to be true. But then, I was easily mislead by what I thought was charm, grace, and beauty."
Christine was still trembling with rage, but she allowed Erik's gentle hands to ease her back down by his side. "I just…I wish…I wish I could have—"
Erik chuckled and leaned towards her, planting a soft, loving kiss across her lips. "I know…and how fiercely I think you would have defended me," he murmured against her mouth. "My brave warrior."
Christine blushed deeply, and found herself smiling at his words. "I'm sorry," she mumbled, rather bashfully. "Please, continue."
"No apology is necessary, little one," Erik sighed as he breathed in the sweet fragrance of her hair. "I must say…I rather like seeing you so indignant; the fire in your spirit brings such a brilliance to your eyes." He found himself grinning as he watched her blush spread, thinking how beautiful she looked in simply a blush and nothing more…
But now was sadly not the time to dwell on such pleasant thoughts. With a heavy sigh, he closed his eyes, and continued.
It wasn't as if I was always away; I did travel back to Winterbourne when I could, but I never stayed for very long. Beatrice soon learned that she would not succeed in her seductions, so they became less and less. Yet we still shared kisses in the shadows, I continued to promise that one day, we would no longer have to hide our feelings, that no matter how long it took, I would remain true to her. As for my father, he was growing more and more restless. His health continued to worsen, and it wasn't long before all his physicians demanded that he stay in bed. Yet my father was not the sort of man who could stay still, let alone confined to one space. He would often wander the halls of Winterbourne, claiming that he was looking for someone, or traveling from one room to another…however, I began to suspect that in truth, he perhaps knew about Beatrice and myself, and was wandering the halls to catch us.
I knew that I was already betraying my father, that by giving in to my desires to hold Beatrice in my arms and kiss her, I was betraying his trust. The thought of him catching us, of seeing us, was too much. So I left, once more, and did not return…until a messenger came to tell me he was dying.
I was twenty-two now, and much had happened in my life. I had been knighted, and I was quickly growing in favor with the King. My father often wrote and told me of all the letters he was receiving from his majesty, about my victories and adventures, my missions and travels. He always told me how proud of he was of me, proud that I had accomplished my goals, despite the heritage that tainted my character. But the truth is, I could not have done it without him. I owe everything to him…
I kept constant vigil by his side, during his last days here. Before he died, he gave me several parting gifts: one was the gift of legitimacy. He had written a final request to the King, begging that the law view me as my father's legitimate son and rightful heir. The King granted my father's request, and I truly became Sir Erik von Desslar, legally. The second gift my father gave me was the very thing I had been craving for so long: Beatrice. My father revealed that he had seen the way she and I would look at each other, and confessed that since he realized my feelings for her, he did not keep Beatrice as a mistress, but more as a companion to keep him company as his health continued to fail. Looking back, it is suspicious as to why Beatrice did not reveal this to me, herself, but I was in so much shock from my father's revelation, and in such joy that at last, she and I would be together, that I didn't even think to question her. My father gave us his blessing…and then bestowed upon me, his final gift: wisdom.
Ironically…the wisdom in which he bestowed dealt with Beatrice, specifically to not trust her completely with my heart. He explained to me that she was indeed quite beautiful, and that she would bring me pleasure…but that she was not a woman a man could marry, love, and trust. I did not understand what he meant at the time, and I did not wish to believe what he was telling me, after all, I believed I was in love, and that Beatrice loved me. Yet I know better now, much better, that he was indeed preparing me for a harsh future.
But the future's harshness did not come right away. Beatrice and I became lovers at last, and I thought I could not be happier. She was the first woman I had ever been with, and I told her she was the only woman, the only woman I would ever love, the only woman I would ever desire. She always smiled when I said such things, and whenever we were together, she asked me to tell her, once more, how she was the only woman in the world for me. And I did, thinking it was because she loved me.
However, I would soon learn that she had ulterior motives.
The first few years we were together were happy, blissful ones. I did not think anything could be better…until the wonderful day came that she told me she was with child. I soon realized that the thought of being a father, of sharing a child with the woman I loved, was the most blissful a man could be. Was it possible to know any other kind of joy?
"I'M GOING TO BE A FATHER!"
Raoul gasped at the sound of Erik's roar and turned to stare at the sight of the giant, dark rider, galloping towards their army's encampment at full speed. Had he heard him correctly? Did Erik just say what he thought he said?
Erik leapt off the charging stallion even before the horse stopped. Raoul was prepared for Erik this time, and had his hands planted firmly upon his friend's shoulders, to keep the man from lifting him up and swinging him around, as he had once done. "W-w-what did you say?" he asked, when he was sure Erik wasn't going to grab him.
Bernard's horse quickly trotted to where they were standing. He sighed and shook his head, but couldn't stop grinning along with Sir Erik. "It's just as he said…he is going to soon be a father."
Raoul stared at Erik as if the man had grown a second head. Erik, the Black Knight, the most dreaded weapon in the King's arsenal? He was going to be…a father? "I'm assuming Beatrice is the happy mother?" he asked, trying to show happiness for his friend, but it was proving to be quite difficult.
Erik glared at Raoul for even asking such a question, before giving his shoulder a rough shove. "I don't understand you, Raoul. You've only met Beatrice once, and yet you seem determined to hold a grudge against her."
Raoul's face reddened, and he quickly looked away. Any man that dared to insult Beatrice tasted the bitterness of Sir Erik's fist…if they were lucky. Raoul often kept his opinions of his friend's mistress to himself, but it was rather obvious that he did not care for the woman.
Raoul had met Beatrice for the first…and so far, the only time, at Lord Edwin's funeral. Indeed, she was lovely, just as Erik had always described, but there was something in her eyes, something cold and bitter, and something dark and treacherous. Bernard was Sir Erik's steward, just as the two of them had always vowed, and Raoul tried to pull the man aside, and ask him what he knew about Lord Edwin's former mistress. Bernard said there was very little to tell, other than the fact that she and Sir Erik were most passionate with one another. Bernard also warned Raoul to not say anything against the woman; Erik would not stand for insults, and it was rumored that he had killed a man who had dared to say something negative against her. So Raoul took Bernard's advice, and said nothing, but during the short time he was staying at Winterbourne…he noticed a few strange things about the woman. How she constantly kept whispering things into Sir Erik's ear, how she kept looking over his shoulder whenever he read messages from his soldiers, or the King, even though she claimed she could not read. And then Raoul recalled the time he heard a sound outside his bedroom door, and he went to see what it was…and saw Beatrice, putting on a dark, hooded cloak, and disappearing around a corner. Raoul quietly left his chamber to see where she was going, and at such a late hour, but once he rounded the corner…he was shocked to find nothing but a dead end.
Was he simply imagining things? Or had it been a ghost?
"RAOUL!"
Raoul jumped at Sir Erik's bark, waking from his thoughts. Erik did have a slight look of annoyance on his face, but the annoyance quickly gave way to another smile. "Well? What do you think? Someone like myself…being a father?"
Raoul cleared his throat and put on a smile, trying to concentrate on the happiness of his friend, rather than his own suspicions. "I think you are a very lucky man," Raoul said, earnestly. "And while I have no wife or children…I have heard that they change you, and can make you a better man."
Erik nodded his head, a warm smile spreading across his face. "Aye…a better man," he whispered, more to himself than to anyone else.
"Although there is some worry," Bernard piped up, as he removed several supplies from the saddle of Sir Erik's horse. "That perhaps this child will be the Black Knight's undoing? That perhaps the Black Knight will go soft?"
Sir Erik let out a mighty laugh and slapped Bernard on the back. "I know it's a hard thing to envision; a brute like myself holding a screaming child…" he paused, thinking about it. "On second thought, perhaps it's not so hard to envision? Most people do seem to scream whenever I am near," he joked. "But do not fear, my friends. I am the Black Knight, the Angel of Death for our enemies. And when I am on the battlefield with a sword in my hand…nothing will stop me from vanquishing my foes."
Raoul trembled slightly at his friend's words. It amazed him that in such a short period of time, not long after the two of them had been knighted, that his friend grew such an infamous reputation. He knew that Erik was given special assignments, secret missions to lead surprise attacks upon the King's enemies. Erik always said that if he had a choice, he preferred to lead attacks after dark, but it soon became known that no matter what time of day he led his men, no matter what weather, what season, or what environment…he was a master of stealth, and he never retreated from the enemy, he just fought harder. His dark nature, and the dark way he in which he dressed, earned him the name The Black Knight, and that name soon became a nightmare for those who invaded the King's shores.
"Well…" Raoul took a deep breath, as once more he found himself attempting to push aside the bothersome thoughts of envy that seemed to be attacking him so much whenever he thought of his friend. "I am glad to hear that you will not be going soft anytime soon. Our enemy has a reputation that is nearly as infamous as your own, Erik."
Erik's brows knitted together in confusion. "Who is it?"
"He's a pirate," Raoul explained. "A pirate who has been wreaking havoc upon the southern shorelines for quite some time."
Erik could not help but let out a laugh. "A pirate? I thought you said it was a serious enemy?"
Raoul frowned at Erik's sarcasm. "He is not like the other pirates we have fought. He has destroyed villages, murdered women and children, and he once sunk an entire fleet of the King's ships! And he calls himself…The Jackal."
A chill went down Erik's spine, a feeling that greatly surprised him.
"His reputation can not be as bad as you make it," Erik growled, gripping the hilt of his sword, a sword that an enemy had called "Ghost Maker", just before Erik gutted him. The name stuck.
"What do you mean by that?" Bernard asked.
"Because my reputation is far worse," the Black Knight growled, before turning to their troops. "NOW LET'S MOVE OUT!"
"The Jackal…" Christine whispered, trembling slightly at the pirate's name.
"Aye," Erik growled. "Had I known then what I know now, I would have been so arrogant and foolish."
Christine looked up at him and swallowed the lump in her throat, her fingers immediately going to the scars that haunted his face. "He did this to you, didn't he?" she whispered.
Erik closed his eyes and let out a long, shaky breath. "Aye…a parting gift, as he called it. A way for me to remember him."
Christine meant what she had said earlier, about how his scars did not frighten her, how she truly found him handsome and desirable. But she knew, sadly, that she was in a minority when it came to seeing her husband like that. She knew that those scars had caused him much pain, both when he received them, and the years that followed. "Did it…did it happen on your first encounter with him?" she asked, her fingers never ceasing their gentle caress.
"Nay," Erik sighed, turning his head slightly so he could look into her eyes. "I soon learned that there would be many encounters with The Jackal, and I quickly learned how greatly I had underestimated him when we first rode into battle against the villain," his own fingers rose to brush a fallen brown curl from her cheek. "You see, I was known for being a great soldier, the greatest, actually. I never gave up, even when we were greatly outnumbered. I fought harder than anyone else, and I trained my men to fight just as hard. And while it earned me an infamous title…it also meant that I had never lost a battle," he whispered.
Christine noticed a change in his eyes; a distant look that was recalling years of struggle, obsession, and violence.
"It wasn't until I met The Jackal, that first time," he explained, "that I lost a battle."
We lost many men that day, too many. Good men, and many of whom were my best soldiers. I thought it would be simple, that the battle would be finished within an hour. We were going to the place where the King's spies had reported The Jackal's crew storing vast quantities of stolen goods, many of which had been taken by the King's own ships. We had been told how the crew always came after dark, and only on nights of the new moon. I was an expert on sneak attacks, I believed that by the time they even realized they were under attack; over half of The Jackal's crew would be dead.
I was wrong.
They had been waiting for us.
It was meant to be an ambush upon them, but in the end, it turned out to be an ambush upon us!
There were hundreds of them; hiding in the very caves we had suspected them to be taking their bounty. I soon realized that The Jackal did not have one ship, or two, but a whole fleet! TEN SHIPS! And each armed to the teeth with cutthroats and villains. Our numbers were larger, they had fought countless battles against such madmen, and they had years of experience and training on their side! We SHOULD have won!
But The Jackal's men were relentless…and I remember Raoul shouting the order to fall back, to retreat. I couldn't believe what he had just said; I never retreated! But Bernard grabbed a hold of me and with the help of five other men, dragged me away, as Raoul led the retreat.
I never forgave him for calling the retreat; it was my belief that we would have won, that our skill would have come through and won the day if we had stayed. And…I suppose that is how my…my obsession began.
Since that infamous battle, I was away constantly. There were other battles, other wars that I fought for the King, but every month that passed, I wrote countless letters, asking for more information on The Jackal's whereabouts, begging that the second any news was found, to have it sent to me, immediately. I vowed to the King that I would deliver the villain to him, that I would defeat his pirate army and bring peace to our country's shorelines once more. Indeed, I became so obsessed…that I missed the birth of my son.
I raced back to Winterbourne at the message that Beatrice had gone into labor; I arrived but moments after Jacob's birth, but Beatrice never forgave me for being away. That was when I began to notice the change in her. Her temper was shorter, it seemed that the smallest thing could set her anger off, and we began fighting more.
She was upset that I was always away, leaving her alone to raise our son. I didn't want to believe it at the time, but she told me that I was obsessed with my work, that I cared more about destroying The Jackal, than about her. I wanted to prove to her that it wasn't true, that I didn't care more about defeating The Jackal than being with her and our son…so I finally did what I had been longing to do for so many years, but had been unsure how to ask; I wrote to the King, asking for permission to make Beatrice my wife.
The irony of it all. As a bastard, nothing held me back from taking Beatrice as my wife; she was the daughter of peasants, and as far as the law was concerned, I was worthy of having such a woman be my wife. But now…now I was a noble, thanks to the King. Yet it also meant that the marriage between Beatrice and myself would not be valid. So I prayed that he would look upon me with favor as he had looked upon my father, and grant my request to marry Beatrice.
I prayed that the gesture alone would show Beatrice how deeply I loved her, since the King was not able to even read my request, let alone grant it, as he had far too many things on his mind. The country was at war…which meant an increase in our own supply ships…which also meant an increase in The Jackal's attacks. One such attack occurred near Winterbourne, on the country's northern shorelines. I did not even have the opportunity to rejoice in the announcement that Beatrice was once more with child. Instead, I grabbed my sword, and without telling anyone, raced to the place where The Jackal had last been seen. I was determined to stop him!
Erik paused, his hand moving to touch his face with trembling fingers. Christine bit her lip and noticed the way he moved his hand away with disgust, upon touching the scars. He had spent so many years dealing with the pain and humiliation of his mutilated face; it would take some time, perhaps a lifetime, for Christine to convince him otherwise.
"You don't have to—"
"He was waiting for me," Erik continued, squeezing Christine's hand in his. "As if he knew I was coming, he was waiting for me, on a cliff near Winterbourne. I looked all around, but I didn't even see one of his ships. He told me he had come alone, that he wanted it to be fight just between the two of us…"
"At last…" The Jackal purred from behind the scarlet scarf that covered all of his face, save for his dark, demonic eyes. "The great Black Knight. Indeed, today will be a day that bards will sing about for years to come."
Erik growled as he drew his sword, rage boiling in his blood as he stared back at the tall, thin figure of The Jackal. This was the first time the two of them had fought hand to hand; Erik had always seen the pirate from across the battlefield on the few occasions his men had encountered the villain and his fleet, but never this close.
He was taller than Erik had expected, almost matching his own great height. Where Erik was broad and muscular, The Jackal was lean, with thin legs and arms, and Erik thought that if he caught the scoundrel, he could easily snap him in two. However, he had observed The Jackal's movements in previous battles; he knew that the villain was swift on his feet, and his hands moved even faster. He could skewer several men with his sword before they even realized what had happened to them.
Also, the pirate did not seem that old, although it was hard to tell by the way the scarf covered his face. He was dressed in black breeches, with a brown leather tunic and vest. It was said that the vest was made from human flesh, and that he used human hair to sew the seams. Around his neck he wore several gold medallions, as if showing off the wealth that he had stolen. His head was covered by a dark scarf, which hid most of his hair…although a few strands had escaped, revealing its ice blonde color. But of course, the most prominent thing about him was the scarlet scarf that covered the lower portion of his face, from just below his eyes, all the way to his throat. Another rumor that had spread was that the scarf was what kept The Jackal's jaw from falling off, that it had been sliced in such a way during a heated battle. Erik did not believe the rumors, however he loved the idea of being the one to make the latter rumor come true.
"I've heard many things about you," The Jackal murmured, his voice deep and smooth. There was also a hint of arrogant confidence that truly made the beast within Sir Erik long for release. "I've heard that you are 'infamous', that you are called the 'scourge of the King's army', that you are 'the Angel of Death on the battlefield', and I think I even heard you being referred to as the 'the eleventh plague that God thought too terrible to inflict upon the world'," he chuckled, his eyes never leaving Erik's. "I've also heard that your sword is called Ghost Maker, that the name was given by one of your enemy's before you used it on him. Is that true?"
"Aye," Erik growled. "And I'll prove it to you!"
Without warning, Erik lunged at the pirate, but The Jackal was swifter, easily dodging the fatal blow that Erik had thrown. However, Erik didn't pause, he simply lunged again and again, throwing his weight at the villain, swinging his sword with a mighty strength! And The Jackal continued to dodge each blow, sidestepping the attacks, leaping or ducking out of the way, and chuckling the whole while.
Erik was the aggressor…but The Jackal was the one who was toying with him.
"Is this how you earned your name!?" Erik roared, throwing his sword once more at The Jackal's head. "Using your speed as a way to avoid being caught with your tail between your legs, you coward!"
The Jackal merely chuckled. "Nay…that is not how I earned my name…" he ducked once more when Erik swung his sword at the pirate's head. Only this time, when he rose to his feet, his hand moved so quickly, that Erik was not aware of the dagger that the villain was holding, and it wasn't until he realized that blood was dripping down his face…that he had even been cut!
The Jackal grinned from behind his scarf, as he watched Sir Erik touch his nose…only to feel that the nostril had been slashed…and much to his horror, he could feel a part of the bone exposed!
"That," The Jackal said proudly, "is how I earned my name." And without warning, he dove towards Sir Erik again, slashing at his face once more with his dagger. Erik, however, was prepared for the attack, although it still caught him off guard, slightly. He was able to push the scoundrel off him just in time; The Jackal had slashed at Sir Erik's cheek, cutting him from below the eye to the corner of his mouth. If Erik had not stopped the pirate in time, he would have lost his right eye!
"VILLAIN!" Erik roared, driving his sword at his enemy with all his might. The battle intensified then, both men throwing their swords at one another, each dodging powerful and deadly blows, and each growling as their swords met in midair, sparks flying from their blades.
"I must say," The Jackal grunted, while countering one of Sir Erik's blows. "I can see…how you earned…your name!"
Erik merely snarled and swung his sword at the man's gut, but The Jackal was able to leap back before the Black Knight made contact.
"You are rather dark and brooding," The Jackal murmured. "Perhaps if you smiled more often, you wouldn't look so monstrous?"
Erik wanted to cut the villain's tongue out more than anything if it simply meant that they could fight in silence. But The Jackal leapt at him, once more, and Erik felt the sting of the villain's dagger as it caught the corner of his mouth, and then proceeded to rip the flesh open.
"AHHHH!" Erik roared, staggering back in pain as the blood flowed down his jaw. He could not see The Jackal's face…but he could tell that the rogue was grinning by simply looking into his eyes.
"See?" the pirate sighed. "A smile greatly improves your appearance."
Erik let go of his bleeding mouth, and roared as he charged at the man he was growing to hate more and more with every passing second. But The Jackal, damn him, was quicker. Erik was violently swinging his sword in a clumsy fashion, his anger and rage fueling his emotions in such a way that he couldn't keep a cool head to calculate his enemy's moves or actions.
And The Jackal knew this.
He continued to slash out at Sir Erik, cutting his face as he did so, faking that he was going to cut the other side, but always cutting the same. Erik kept trying to attack, kept trying to counter, but it was obvious he was losing. If Bernard, or Raoul, or any of his men were there, perhaps even his own father, they would tell him to fall back, to retreat, to go and heal his wounds so that he could live to fight another day.
But the anger was too great, and he kept pushing himself, pushing himself until he fell to the ground, The Jackal's sword making contact with his thigh.
"DAMNATION!" Erik roared, clutching at his thigh as the villain withdrew his sword, his eyes gleaming with demonic joy as the ground was stained with the Black Knight's blood. Without warning, The Jackal drove his sword into Sir Erik's shoulders, leaving large, painful wounds that would keep the Black Knight from rising off the ground.
"I must say, I rather enjoyed that," The Jackal purred once more, his foot slamming down hard on Sir Erik's chest, knocking the wind out of him. "I suppose you think I'm going to kill you now," he sighed, sounding rather bored. "Well rest assured that I'm not going to, after all…you're one of the few men I've ever met that I think is worth fighting a second time."
Erik arms and legs were throbbing with pain, and he was becoming more and more lightheaded due to the blood he was losing. In the distance, he could hear horses, moving rapidly close. Was he dreaming? Or did he actually hear Bernard's voice?
"I must leave you," The Jackal announced. "It seems we are about to draw an audience, and that is one thing I can't abide. However…I do have a parting gift for you, something…that no doubt, you will truly remember me for…"
A scream of intense pain filled Erik's lungs and then filled the sky around him, as The Jackal's blade cut deeply into the already wounded flesh at his face…
Christine's hand flew to her mouth, as if it alone could hold back the sob that threatened to burst forth. She closed her eyes and silently counted to ten, before she dared to speak. "Erik…"
Erik paused, a shaky breath escaping his lips as the memories of that horrible moment were relived, once more, before his eyes and in his mind. "I was close to death by the time Bernard found me," he whispered. "They took me back to the castle and did the best they could to stop the bleeding and stitch my wounds. But…there was no hope for my face."
A tear rolled down Christine's cheek as she imagined the pain Erik must have felt…as well as the painful way others reacted upon seeing him. It was a horrible battle that he had endured, and the thing that hurt the most was the sad thought that he had endured the aftermath alone.
"I wore bandages for weeks; Anne always changed them, but she never allowed her eyes to linger; I refused to allow anyone's eyes to linger," he growled. "When the time came for the bandages to be removed for good, I only allowed Bernard in the room. He is the only other person here, who has seen me without my mask," he quietly explained.
She was the other person to whom Erik referred. She turned her head to look up at him, humbled by the honor and trust he had given her to show her his face. "Thank you…" she whispered, reaching up to caress his cheek once more.
Erik turned and looked at her, feeling his chest tighten with emotion as he gazed back into her loving, trusting eyes, seeing that beautiful innocence he had always prayed to see. It did not disappear when he first touched her, when he made love to her, and when she had seen his face. Her sweet innocence still remained…
…but there was still much to tell, more secrets to reveal, and while her love did indeed give him strength, he was still afraid of how she would react upon learning everything.
"And Beatrice?" Christine softly whispered, as one of her fingers gently traced the scar that stretched from his lip.
Erik groaned and closed his eyes. "Beatrice saw me when I was brought in, bleeding. She screamed at the sight of the blood, and I remembered calling out to her in my delirium, but she did not come, she refused to come to my chambers until I was healed," he paused for a long moment, before finally whispering, "She was the one, who had the mask designed for me."
Christine's eyes went wide at Erik's words. "Beatrice gave you the mask?"
"Aye," Erik whispered. "If she did not give it to me, I would have sought one out myself. But on the day Bernard removed the last of my bandages, unknown to both he and I, Beatrice was hiding in the secret passage, just over there," he murmured, pointing to a large tapestry that covered one of the walls. Christine remembered the passageway; Erik had brought her through it on the day he had returned from Valmour. "I asked her why she had chosen to hide, and her answer had been because she wanted to know whether or not she could…she could handle seeing my face, as it was. And she told me that when she saw how…how hideous I had become…" he growled, "she knew that she could not bear to look at me. So she gave me the mask to wear."
Christine felt such anger and rage for the horrible woman who had treated Erik and his love like pure filth, when in truth, she was pure filth!
"We never shared a bed after that day," he murmured. "She moved her chambers into one of the towers on the opposite end of the castle, and she refused to allow me to touch her, let alone touch me herself," he spat, with some bitterness. "I sadly was beginning to realize the vain, haughty creature that she was. And I was slowly coming to the sad realization that...she never, truly, loved me the way that I thought I loved her."
Was it possible to hate someone so passionately, especially when you hadn't met them? Christine truly despised Beatrice, and she turned one her side, sitting up slightly, so that she was looking down into her husband's face. "She was the fool, then," Christine whispered, while stroking his disfigured cheek. "A fool for not realizing the wonderful gift you were giving her…"
"Nay," Erik murmured, his eyes locking with Christine's, and his own hand rising to cover hers and hold it against his cheek. "I thought I loved her…but I have learned that I have never truly loved a woman…until you."
Erik reached up to capture one of her tears, before moving his hand behind her head to bring her lips down to meet his in a tender kiss. The kiss soon began to grow more heated, as Erik opened his mouth to invite Christine's tongue. She took the invitation, and he groaned as he tasted her sweet essence, his fingers lacing in her hair to bring her even closer, if that were possible.
"Erik…" Christine moaned against his mouth, feeling his cock harden against her thigh. Her own desire was growing as well, but a part of her was unsure if she should continue; after all, she knew that Erik was not finished with his story. But she also knew…as well as felt…that he needed this, that they both needed this, after so much history and emotion had been bared.
"Christine," Erik growled, his hands traveling down her back, marveling in the softness of her skin. "Christine, please…" he groaned. "Tell me that you love me, tell me again, let me hear the words…"
"I love you," Christine moaned, gasping as she felt one of Sir Erik's hands move down her body, until his fingers were between her thighs, preparing her body for his, making her even hotter and wetter. "I love you, Erik, I love you with my whole heart!"
"Yessssss…" he growled, and then, much to Christine's surprise, his hands gripped her about the waist, and he lifted her up until she was straddling his body. "Put me inside you, little one, let me feel your fingers upon me…oooooohhhh God, yes!" he shouted, when her small, soft fingers, wrapped around his growing shaft, and began stroking him until he was pulsing. "Yesssssss…ooohhh God, yes, just like that!" he hissed between clenched teeth. "Now…put me inside you, guide me to your heat…yes, that's it…" Erik groaned, as Christine tentatively did as he said, a nervous thrill coursing through her at what they were about to do. This was the first time ever, that they were making love with her on top…and as Christine felt him slide into her body, slowly impaling her until she was trembling…she realized, rather breathlessly…that she loved it!
"Ooooohhhh Christine!" Erik moaned, his hips automatically surging up to thrust his body deeply into hers, the motion causing Christine to gasp in surprise. "Ride me, little one…ride me as if I were your stallion!"
Even though she was impaled upon him and her body was trembling with pleasure, Christine's face still darkened a dark shade of red, and she heard Erik chuckle, which slowly became a groan, as she gently placed her palms on his chest…and began to move her body with his.
"Yesssss…God, that feels good," Erik moaned, loving the feel of Christine's body surrounding him, of moving with him. He loved her blush, he loved the way it spread down her body, and he loved the growing confidence he could see in her face, as she began to set the pace to their love making. "Mmmm…so good, Christine, so good," Erik growled again, his hands moving up from her hips, to touch and squeeze her breasts, before falling back to her waist, and holding her steady as the rhythm in his hips eagerly responded to her sweet strokes.
"Erik…" Christine panted, biting her lip as the pleasure increased with her tempo. "Erik!" It felt so good, being with him, connecting with him, loving him. She could not imagine a life without him; she did not even wish to think of such a life. She loved this man so fiercely, so intensely, that her heart ached when they were apart.
"Good, Christine…so good…" Erik growled, his body growing hotter and tenser as the pleasure increased more and more. He needed this—nay, they both needed this. His sweet Christine; her love was not false, her love did not have ulterior motives, she was nothing like Beatrice, or any other woman he had ever known! She touched his face as if it was the most natural thing in the world to do, and she did not flinch or look away. She loved him; this amazing, extraordinary woman…loved him!
Erik groaned as he felt her muscles squeeze his cock, knowing that her climax was close. He held her tightly as he surged his hips up to her in several fast, deep thrust, gasping as the pleasure suddenly took him without warning, and as it shook his body like an earthquake, he shouted, "say it Christine! SAY IT!"
"I LOVE YOU!" Christine screamed, the pleasure so intense, she was quivering as it took her. "I LOVE YOU, ERIK!"
"GOD, YES!" Erik roared, thrusting his body into hers one last time, as his seed spilled forth, emptying himself deep inside her. "God…Christine, how I love you…"
Panting and gasping from the intensity of it all, Christine moaned and braced herself, her hands flat against his chest, her arms shaking. Erik's own trembling arms wrapped around her, his hands urging her body to collapse against his, which she did gladly, purring with contentment as she felt her husband's hands trace soothing circles across her back as he held her to his chest. "Oooohhhh Erik…" Christine moaned, her breathing slowly returning to normal. It felt so good, to be held in the warmth and protection of his arms, and a part of her was longing for sleep, to drift away and dream about everything they had just shared.
But as she turned her head so she could look into her husband's handsome face, she saw the haunting sadness return to his eyes, once more.
"Thank you," Erik whispered, his lips moving to kiss her brow, his arms never loosening their grip around her, but his eyes holding such sadness and pain. "For your love…and for listening."
"I'm still listening, Erik," Christine whispered, her fingers moving once more to caress his cheek. "And nothing will stop my love…not even the ghosts that haunt you. Please...continue, if you wish."
Erik swallowed the lump in his throat and slowly nodded his head. "Perhaps you are wondering about the connection between The Jackal and Beatrice? Why I would bring him up at all, when I said that I was going to tell you about Beatrice…and what became of her?"
Christine bit her lip. "Did The Jackal murder her?"
"Worse," Erik muttered through clenched teeth. "She was his accomplice…"
My obsession with seeing The Jackal's demise grew more and more after he took my face. I blamed him for so many things, including Beatrice turning away from me and wanting me no longer. Would I find peace if I killed him? Would Beatrice come back to me if I killed him? Looking back, I realized that the answer was no…but it didn't matter, all I cared about was seeking my revenge.
The castle no longer felt like a welcoming place to stay; Beatrice kept away from me, and perhaps to punish me even more, she was sure that Jacob was kept away from me as well. So in order to fight my melancholy, I took whatever summons the King sent, whatever mission he needed to be completed, and I soon found myself relishing the moments when I was far away from Winterbourne and the coldness that I felt there.
But in the back of my mind, I kept reliving that fight with The Jackal, and I kept contemplating all that I had done wrong in that fight, mentally making changes to my moves, before copying them physically. I was determined to be prepared for him, when next we would meet.
And meet we did. A few months after Helena had been born.
Word reached me that several of his ships were spotted near Valmour. I ordered my men to make ready, and within the hour that we had heard the news, we were racing towards the village, determined to make this recent raid, his last. However, on the cliffs near Winterbourne, I sensed something…something familiar. I ordered Bernard to lead the men to Valmour, and without another word, I dismounted my horse and drew my sword, before disappearing into the fog that was swirling around the cliffs.
In the distance I could hear my men protesting, calling out my name, but I paid them no heed. I closed my eyes and listened to the world around me; no bird sang, no breeze blew, and even the waves did not make much of a sound as they gently rolled over the rocks beneath. And that was when I heard him approach…
"I thought it fitting…meeting you here, at the very place where we last fought, and where I took something that belonged to you," The Jackal chuckled, emerging from the mist.
Erik simply growled, his eyes narrowing as he faced his enemy. He would not lash out first; he knew that was what The Jackal wanted. Instead, he would wait, and use the same cold calculation that his enemy used.
"I must say, I think the mask is a good touch," the pirate teased. "'Tis a shame, though; it hides my best work."
"Perhaps I can return the favor?" Erik snarled.
The Jackal chuckled once more, before lifting his sword. "We shall see…although I have the distinct feeling…that you intend to be far less merciful."
Erik's eyes narrowed, until they were slits of molten lava. "Death would be the only mercy I would grant you," he growled, his voice so low that the very ground beneath their feet seemed to tremble. "And one of us is not leaving this cliff…alive."
The battle was fierce; I can not deny that he is a great fighter, perhaps the best I have ever come into combat with. His skills were amazing, his speed unbelievable, and he moved like the wind, surprising you with every blow, every counter, and every clash of the sword. And he had taught me much, since last we fought. I was ready for his strikes, and I was ready for his counter attacks. I did not lash out in anger and passion as I had done before, despite the great rage that was welling up inside me and longing for release. Nay, I fought him with cold fury, the emotion not once showing my face; my eyes were like stone. I refused to give him any advantage.
"You've improved, I see!" The Jackal panted, taking a step back to catch his breath. "Something about you has changed, and it's more than just your appearance."
"Take pleasure in knowing that you are a great teacher," Sir Erik growled, before swinging his sword in an attack.
The Jackal barely caught the attack with his own sword, and stumbled backwards, his dark eyes wide with surprise, but any other emotion was completely unreadable. "I suppose I'll take that as a compliment," the pirate sighed. "I would rather die at the hands of a great fighter than a foolish one…and there is no fighter who is greater than I. The irony of it all, eh Erik?"
I didn't let him distract me; I just continued to fight him, refusing to show any emotion, refusing to feel anything! With every blow, every strike, I remembered all that he had done to me, the way he had taken my face, and the impact that his torture had caused. Beatrice, the woman I loved, refused to touch me, to even speak to me if she could avoid it. She kept our son away from me, she wouldn't allow me to hold my own daughter if she were present, and she called me a monster and told me how much I disgusted her. One would think that with all that rage, all that anger, all that pain…I would be fighting with great passion to see him pay for everything I blamed him for.
But I didn't show any passion, I didn't show any anger, and my rage remained caged within my soul. The truth of the matter is…I didn't feel anything. My heart had frozen into stone…
"Ahh!" The Jackal cried, as Ghost Maker made contact with his thigh. The pirate stumbled backwards, groaning in pain as Sir Erik removed his sword from the bleeding wound. "You…you s-s-surprise me, Erik…" The Jackal gasped. "I…I have f-f-fought many, in my lifetime…but…never…never one…as cold-hearted as you…"
Erik said nothing; he didn't even allow the pirate to say anything further. Without warning, he drove his sword into the villain's stomach, slicing through the flesh, muscle, and organs, blood spraying his armor and the ground at his feet, driving his sword deeper and deeper…until he felt his blade make contact with bone.
Only then, did he retract his weapon.
The Jackal was staggering. He could barely stand, and his eyes were wide as they looked down at the gaping wound that was staining his leather tunic to a dark shade of red. He lifted his head slowly then, staring at Sir Erik, his wide, dark eyes still unreadable. "You…you…you h-h-have f-f-f-finished me…" he gasped, his words gurgling as blood filled his lungs. "B-b-but…b-b-before…before…before I die…" he managed to get out. "O-o-one l-last t-thing to g-g-give…"
The pirate stumbled forward then, until his hands were gripping Erik's armored shoulders. He lifted his head just slightly, and very, very softly, whispered into the Black Knight's ear, "Beatrice…" he gurgled. "S-s-she…she is…m-my eyes…"
I was stunned by what he had said, and I went to grab him by the fabric of his tunic, but he was already stumbling backwards, and the next thing I knew…he had fallen from the cliff's edge. I looked down, and saw his broken body dashed upon the rocks below, the sea already lapping up his blood.
I emerged from the fog, all of my men including Bernard, still standing there, waiting. They rushed towards me, asking what had happened, asking if it were The Jackal. I told them that they would find what remained of him down on the shoreline, and several of my men disappeared to go and fetch his body. Later, I would learn that his body had already been taken out to sea, but in that moment I did not care about anything…other than returning to Winterbourne…and confronting Beatrice.
I found her in the northern tower, gazing out at the sea below. She was standing straight and tall, her back to me, and when I opened the door, she did not flinch.
"Do not even think of touching me in that bloody thing," she snarled. "I saw you from the window; how you disgust me, Erik."
"What is more offensive? The blood on my clothes...or The Jackal's last words?"
Beatrice snorted at what Erik said. "Such a foolish thing to ask, when I don't even know what his final words were!" she turned then, her blue eyes blazing with hatred as she locked them with Erik's golden ones. "Are you happy now? Happy to have finally taken your revenge?" she spat. "Do you feel satisfaction? Peace? A sense of contentment?" she folded her arms across her chest and eyed him suspiciously. "Or do you feel…just a slight sense…of regret?"
Erik's hands balled into fists. "Aye…I do feel regret," he snarled.
Beatrice nodded her head. "I thought as much. For how long have you been longing to destroy The Jackal? Before Jacob was born, I think. Long before he turned your face into a nightmare," she spat. "Since that first time you fought him, and nearly lost all of your army? Or was it before then? Was it before you even knew him that you were longing for such an enemy, for such a challenge?"
"Perhaps I already had such an enemy? Perhaps such an enemy was already in my midst?"
Beatrice eyed him for a long moment, before lifting her chin in defiance. "Perhaps so."
"Why, Beatrice?" Erik asked, tired of these games, wanting to know the truth. "How long have you been…been…been doing this!?" he roared, the pent up rage demanding release. "Before I knew about The Jackal? Before any of us knew? WHY!?"
"Why not!" she rounded, her eyes blazing with hatred and fury. "Did you even think of asking yourself that question?"
Erik was stunned. He did not think she would so easily admit to what he was accusing her of. "So it is true…you have been The Jackal's eyes?"
"Oh Erik," Beatrice sighed, turning her attention back towards the window. "You always were a naïve fool. When you were younger, I found the trait endearing…but over the years, it has become more and more tiresome."
Beatrice screeched when she felt Sir Erik's hands grip her by the shoulders and whirl her around until she was facing him. "Were you lying to me, all those years, when you told me that you loved me!?" he demanded, shaking her like a rag doll. "When you kissed me, when we made love, when you gave birth to my children!? WAS THAT ALL A LIE!?"
Much to Erik's surprise, Beatrice simply laughed. "You'll never know, will you?"
Erik snarled and lifted his arm to backhand her across the face, but instead of covering her head in attempts to stop his blow, she simply stared back at him, her eyes challenging him to do it, daring him to hit her.
And he couldn't do it.
"Oh Erik," Beatrice sighed, easily releasing herself from his hold. "A noble knight till the end; you can't even hit a woman, even the woman who revealed all of the King's information and all your battle plans to your most hated enemy," she grinned, wickedly. "Did you ever wonder how you lost that first battle against him, all those years ago? Was it just The Jackal's intuition? Or was it because someone was feeding him information?" she chuckled, a low, evil chuckle, before seating herself at the window. "You know what surprises me, Erik? All these years you and I have known each other…and not once have you ever attempted to learn anything about my past," she sighed. "You never asked me where I was born, where I grew up, whether I had any family still living…whether I had a brother…?"
Erik lifted his head and glared into her eyes. "He was your brother?"
Beatrice simply smiled. "The bonds of family run deep, Erik. Perhaps he and I had planned this out, for many years? Perhaps I was planted here, to lure your father, my beloved Edwin," she sarcastically cooed. "After all, a man like him who had such close connections to the crown…it was perfect, really! And then there was his son…such a brooding figure, a man bent on doing whatever it took to make his father proud. You were a challenge, at first, but I quickly realized that a few flirtatious kisses, a few passionate promises, a few words of love—hguh!"
Beatrice began gasping and flailing about, as Erik's hand whipped out and gripped her about the neck, squeezing until her face began to purple. "TRAITOROUS WHORE!" he shouted, shaking her and squeezing even harder. "YOU USED MY FATHER THE SAME WAY YOU USED ME! EVERYTHING, IT WAS ALL A FARCE TO YOU!" he pulled her close until she was mere inches away from his face. "I should squeeze your pretty neck until your head pops off!" he growled, low and deep, before snapping his fingers. Suddenly, several of Winterbourne's guards entered the room, each looking at the woman Erik held with hatred and disdain. Bernard was the last to enter, and his expression the sourest of them all. "I have never killed a woman before, Beatrice…" Erik growled, before thrusting her into the direction of his guards. "And I'm not going to start now."
Beatrice was coughing and gasping for air and she stared up at Erik with blind hatred. "I…I n-n-never loved you…y-you…m-m-monstrous b-bastard!" she coughed, glaring at him. "Go on, then," she gasped, her breathing slowing returning to normal. "Haul me off to the King, have me officially executed, see my head put on the end of a spike!" she spat. "It's not over, Erik…you may think it is, but it's not," she laughed wickedly. "Jacob and Helena will learn one day what you did to their mother…and they will turn on you and betray you, themselves! If you know what's good for you…you'd drown them now!"
"GET HER OUT OF HERE!" Erik roared at his men, disgusted by her words.
"I CURSE YOU, ERIK!" she shouted as they dragged her away. "I CURSE YOU AND ALL OF WINTERBOURNE! MY GHOST WILL RETURN, AS WILL THE GHOST OF THE JACKAL! YOU HAVE NOT SO EASILY WON! YOU WILL SUFFER LONG AFTER THIS DAY; YOU WILL KNOW ONLY COLDNESS AND BETRAYAL! YOUR CHILDREN WILL HATE YOU! NO WOMAN WILL EVER LOVE YOU! YOU ARE A MONSTER, ERIK! A VILE MONSTER! YOU MAY HATE ME NOW, BUT YOU WILL NOT FORGET THE LOVE YOU ONCE FELT FOR ME, AND IT WILL EAT AT YOU AND HAUNT YOU UNTIL YOU ARE SWALLOWED WHOLE BY YOUR GUILT! I CURSE YOU, ERIK, DO YOU HEAR ME? I CURSE YOU!"
"She was wrong, Erik," Christine interrupted, her hands holding his face as she gazed down at him from atop his chest. "You know that now, surely?" she whispered, her eyes filled hope and tenderness. "Your children do not hate you, and I do love you."
Erik swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded his head, but there was still a deep sadness in his eyes. "To this day, Jacob and Helena do not know the truth. In fact, only Bernard and the men who were with me that night know what truly happened. As far as everyone else knows, Beatrice simply…disappeared."
Beatrice simply disappeared. Now it all made sense, what Ophelia and Anne and other servants had told her, when mentioning the mysterious disappearance of Sir Erik's mistress. Beatrice was in truth a spy for The Jackal, and had been taken away as any traitor towards the King, would be. Yet Christine was surprised to think that no one had asked what became of her?
"I told the children that she had gotten sick and died," Erik whispered. "Jacob was only two, and Helena was an infant. They soon forgot about her, and believed my story. I made her sound much more…angelic, than she really was…or deserved to be."
"They are children, Erik. You were simply trying to protect them, to give them something happy to remember her by—"
"If I told them the truth, they would think of me as a monster, as a murderer…which is what I am."
Christine was shocked by these words. "But…but you didn't kill her, Erik! You said that she was taken away—"
"I may not have swung the executioner's ax, but I sentenced her to her death that night. And…God help me, I know that she is vile, a traitor that used me and my father, for her own personal gain, but…every night, when I go to sleep…she haunts my dreams! She won't stop tormenting me, she won't stop playing on the guilt and doubt that I have been trying to suppress and bury all these years, and I keep wondering if…if perhaps she wanted this? She wanted to make me suffer and believe myself to be a hideous monster, by sentencing her to death?"
Christine's fingers never ceased their gentle caresses over his face as she listened to his words. "It is possible," she whispered, "that that is what she wanted you to believe, but there is one thing that she didn't anticipate, one thing that she didn't expect…"
Erik didn't move. He simply looked up at his wife and whispered, "And what is that?"
Christine smiled, before lowering her mouth to softly run her lips across his. "That I would find you, that I would come here, that I would love you, and that I would fight and protect you against all the demons and ghosts that haunt you."
Erik gazed up at her with wonder, amazed that despite his chilling story, and everything else that she had heard and witnessed this night, she was still there, still offering her love to him. "My brave warrior," Erik whispered, before kissing her back. "Who would have thought that the servant girl I found in de Coleville's garden was such a mighty soldier?"
Christine blushed but smiled, before leaning forward to place a sweet, gentle kiss across his scarred cheek. "No ghosts will find you while I'm here," Christine vowed. "I will protect you just as you protect me."
"Christine," Erik sighed, hating that he was ruining this tender moment. "There is still more to tell—"
"I know," Christine whispered. "But right now, rest my love. I promise you, this night you will only find peace when you sleep. And in the morning, before everyone else awakes, we will finish this tale."
Erik drew her even closer, holding her tight as a wave of tiredness crashed upon them both after the long, emotional night. As he ran a hand through her brown hair, Erik could not help but smile; it seemed that Beatrice's curse was not as powerful as Christine's love.