This is the final chapter, but there will be an epilogue as soon as I get it written. I'd like to thank everyone who has been reading this story, and invite any "lurkers" to say hello. I have tried to give Erik and Christine the kind of wedding night they deserve. I wanted something sensual without going "over the top." I hope I hit it right. And for those of you who like long chapters, this one is more than twice as long as the typical chapters in this story, so…enjoy!
HDKingsbury
November 21, 2006
PS -- Lizzy and I plan on writing some Variations Vignettes in the near future, some short stories featuring the secondary characters. They will probably have an M-rating, especially the one we're working on now that has to do with Anatole and Carlotta. Lots of fun, I can tell you that!
As always, thank you, ML, for your help with this story!
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Chapter 49
A New Beginning
As he walked down the aisle, Erik could hear the organist, a local resident who played with more enthusiasm than true talent, playing the processional hymn. He made his way nervously down the aisle, hoping he did not look skittish, telling himself that he was not putting himself on display, that he was going to marry the woman he loved. He concentrated on the golden radiance given off by the candles that were lit, and the fragrance of the flowers that decorated the interior of the church – roses, lavender and baby's breath, matching Christine's bouquet. Outside, the sun was high into the sky and its light was streaming in through the stained-glass windows, casting a multitude of colors on the walls and adding to the dreamlike quality of the place. Standing in front of the altar, he watched anxiously as the rest of the members of the wedding party entered the sanctuary.
Mme. Valérius, as the mother of the bride, took her place within the procession, while Anatole, who was taking the place of Christine's father, escorted her down the aisle. Among the guests sitting in the pews, Erik saw Carlotta beaming beatifically at Christine as she passed by.
-0-
Christine clung to Anatole's arm, barely able to keep her eyes off of Erik. He looked to handsome, so…desirable. Her heart was racing. Then she saw Carlotta sitting among the guests, and had to stifle a laugh. She whispered to Anatole, "You two really are an item, aren't you?"
"Trust me, Christine," he whispered back. "She's a changed woman, and we make beautiful music together."
"And what else do the two of you do together, hmm?" Christine whispered back, not really expecting an answer.
-0-
Reynard, as Erik's best man, took his place as the ceremony was about to begin. A slight movement towards the rear of the church caught his attention. To his amazement, he saw Justine Sorelli slip in and take a seat. He saw her look up and for a moment, their eyes met, and time seemed to stand still.
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Christine joined Erik at the altar, and the priest began to recite the sacred words that would forever join them as husband and wife. Neither Erik nor Christine noticed the congregation, or anyone else. For the bride and groom, the interior of the church took on an almost mystical quality as the words of the mass floated around them, enveloped them, consecrated them in their spirituality.
The two of them had previously met with the priest to talk about the wedding, and during one of their discussions, Erik had made a request concerning their vows. When he explained what it was he wanted to say, the priest immediately agreed. And now the moment had arrived. The bride and groom joined hands. Christine spoke first.
"I, Christine, take you, Erik, to be my husband. I promise to be true to you in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health. I will love you and honor you all the days of my life. I pledge, in honesty and sincerity, to be for you an obedient and faithful wife." As she spoke, she smiled at Erik, her eyes bright and shiny.
Then it was Erik's turn. "I, Erik, take you, Christine, to be my wife. I pledge, in honesty and sincerity, to be for you an obedient and faithful husband." Then he pulled a piece of paper from his pocket. Carefully unfolding it, he cleared his throat, and began to read:
When I knew only hatred, you showed me love.
When I knew only doubt, you taught me faith.
When I knew only despair, you gave me hope.
When I knew only darkness, you led me into the light.
When I knew only sadness, you brought me joy.
Then they exchanged rings. Christine gazed in wonder at her hand as she watched Erik place the ring they'd chosen on her finger. "With this ring I thee wed, and pledge thee my troth."
As the ceremony came to a close, a protective square of silk, the carré, was held over their heads as the bride and groom were blessed by the priest. According to tradition, they would save the cloth to wrap their children in when they were baptized. "May the Lord in His goodness strengthen your consent and fill you both with His blessings," he intoned. "What God has joined together, let no man put asunder."
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After the ceremony, the bride and groom made their way out of the church, followed by the rest of the wedding party. Exiting the church, they were greeted by villagers who tossed almond dragées and coins, ensuring their success and fertility. Erik looked down as something crunched under his feet, and he saw that they were walking on aromatic laurel leaves that had been strewn on the ground.
To the side, there were tables laid out with cakes. The bride and groom were instructed to each take a cake and leave a coin in its stead for the poor. The remainder of the guests followed suit, then Alan Kerjean announced that the festivities were about to begin, and invited all to the nearest meadow where there would be more food and dancing to the sound of fiddles and bagpipes.
As the gathering made its way to the revels, Reynard found his way to Justine's side. "How is it that you are here today?"
When she had come to Perros, Justine had not expected to see Reynard, but neither was she disappointed in doing so. "Christine invited me, but…I had no idea you would be here."
"Does it disappoint you…to see me again?" he asked.
"No, not at all."
Reynard held out his arm to her. "Then…may I escort you to the celebrations?"
-0-
At the meadow, more tables of food were set out, and there were blankets spread out on the ground. Musicians were standing by with their old biniou, bombardes, accordions, violon, the treujenn-gaol, and hurdy-gurdy, waiting to play. Two chairs specially decorated for the occasion awaited the newlywed couple. Alan had taken over as an informal master of ceremonies for the event, and announced that before the ronds and other dances started, the musicians would play a waltz for the bride and groom.
While Erik and Christine danced, Carlotta pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes. Anatole looked at her questioningly. "Why the tears?"
"It's a wedding, isn't it?" she answered. "And they make such a beautiful couple." She sniffed some more. "I always said that the man who married Christine Daaé would be the luckiest man on the face of the earth."
Anatole said nothing. It was better that way.
After the waltz, Alan proclaimed that all were to join hands for a rond, or circle dance. After demonstrating the steps for the sake of the newcomers, Alan instructed the musicians to play. The rest of the afternoon was spent dancing and singing. There were line and circle dances, the gavotte, the an dro, hanter dro, laride and dans plinn.
During one of the breaks, Christine went over to Justine. The two women hugged, and then talked.
"Christine, I…I was wondering. Did you know about Reynard and me?"
"Yes, he mentioned your name some time back."
Justine hugged her again. "You should have been a matchmaker, Christine."
Christine laughed. "Does your being here mean that you and Philippe are no longer seeing each other?"
Justine grinned. "I supposed you could say that. He wasn't too happy when I told him I was calling it off between us, but I'm sure he'll get over it. But I have so many questions for you. You must tell me about your husband, and you must introduce me to him! And how exactly did the two of you meet? I don't recall ever seeing him at the opera house."
Christine smiled mysteriously. "You might say he haunted the place where he lived."
"Haunted?" The dancer laughed. "Next you'll be telling me he was the Opera Ghost!"
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The festivities continued throughout the afternoon with dancing and frolicking. Eventually, the wedding party retired to the brand new Valérius house, where the wedding supper had been prepared. Once everyone was seated at the dining room table, the local women who had prepared the meal brought out the Breton Marriage Soup and sang to the bride and groom. It was a sad ballad of their Breton ancestors that, as one of the women explained, "Is meant to make any bride of good stock weep with one eye and laugh with the other."
Erik looked down at his bowl of soup, which looked to him more like white sauce poured over thin slices of toasted bread. "May I ask what is in this?"
"Oh, Erik, don't be so afraid. Just open your mouth and eat it," Christine teased.
The women laughed at Erik's reluctance and explained, "The milk ensures that your life together will be pleasant, while the garlic warns you to always expect disappointments, that this is the way of life."
Erik swallowed a spoonful. "Well, I believe we've already had our share of disappointments, and I am certainly looking forward to a very pleasant life with my new wife."
Vintage bottles of the local Muscadet wine, a dry white wine that was perfect for the seafood dishes that were to come later, were brought out. Toasts of santé, or good health, were made to the bride and groom. Then the meal itself was served, a feast fit for royalty. There were creamed scallops served in their shell, lobster cooked in a garlicky tomato sauce, cotriade Bretonn, a soup-stew made with a mix of fish, and an assortment of crepes made of buckwheat flour and filled with sweet and savory ingredients.
The ladies stayed long enough to clean up after the supper, and then discreetly left, taking the remaining food to the rest of the folks still out celebrating at the meadow. The wedding party then adjourned to the parlor for some friendly conversation.
-0-
While the others were talking, Erik made a point of pulling Mamma off to the side. "I…I want to thank you for everything you've done."
Mamma blushed. "Nonsense. There's no need for that."
He hesitated for a moment, unsure how to say what he wanted to say. "I…I never had a chance to know my own mother, but I like to think that, had she lived, she would have been like you."
She blushed even more at the compliment, and then stood on her toes and gave him a motherly peck on the cheek. "Nothing pleases me more than having you as my son."
They talked a bit longer, when Erik heard Christine call his name. He smiled at Mamma. "I must rejoin our other guests. My wife calls. But, may I offer a word of advice?"
"And what would that be?"
"You might want to keep those socialist tracts hidden."
Mamma laughed heartily. "When you go to New York, you must look up my good friend, Herr Carl Schurz."
"Carl Schurz? Is he one of your revolutionary friends?"
"Ja, and he has done quite well for himself," she explained. "He went to America after the '48 revolutions and he has held high offices. He recently retired from the presidential cabinet. He knows people in high places and can help you get settled in."
Erik nodded, impressed that Mamma knew such important people.
"We still correspond regularly," she continued. "I shall write a letter of introduction for you when the two of you decide to leave."
"I suspect," concluded Erik, "that you would have made a wonderful Mme LaFarge during the Reign of Terror."
Mamma laughed conspiratorially with her new son-in-law as the walked, arm in arm, to rejoin the others. The dinner party finally wound down with everyone departing and wishing the newlyweds good night.
"And where did you say you will be staying, Mamma?" Christine asked. "At the inn?"
"Pshaw! Of course not. M. Kerjean has invited me stay at his house."
"Mamma! A widow staying with a widower? With no one else in the house? Isn't that rather scandalous?"
"Now, now," Mamma chided her gently as she patted Christine's hand. "You know I don't always see eye to eye with society's silly rules. You take care of your husband. Besides, I'm an old woman. Who's going to care where I stay tonight."
"Just make sure he takes good care of you, Mamma."
"Don't worry, I will."
-0-
Before Anatole and Carlotta left, Erik had an aside with the baritone. "I wanted you to know how much I appreciate everything you've done – for Christine, and for me – and for making a new woman out of La Carlotta." He winked as he handed the other man an envelope.
"What's this?" asked Anatole, completely taken by surprise.
"A small token of my appreciation – two first class tickets to Seville for you and La Carlotta. I believe that is where she is from and where the two of you had planned on going before Fournier interrupted all our plans."
"Yes, but…how did you know?"
Erik cocked an eyebrow. "Haven't you heard? The Opera Ghost knows everything."
-0-0-0-
Goodbyes were said, everyone else had gone, and now Erik and Christine had the house to themselves.
"I have something for you, Erik – my wedding gift to you." She brought him a modest sized box, daintily wrapped in paper decorated with wedding bells and bound with a silk bow. Inside the box, he pushed aside the tissue paper and found another volume of poetry. "It is a companion volume to the one I gave you at Christmas," she explained.
Erik held the book tenderly. "Thank you," he finally managed to say. He opened the pages and found a bookmark. He turned to the page and found why it was marked. He read out loud.
If ever two were one, then surely we.
If ever man were loved by wife, then thee;
If ever wife was happy in a man,
Compare with me ye women if you can.
I prize thy love more that whole mines of gold,
Or all the riches that the East doth hold.
My love is such that rivers cannot quench,
Nor ought but love from thee give recompense.
Thy love is such I can no way repay,
The heavens reward thee manifold I pray.
Then while we live, in love let's so persevere,
That when we live no more, we may live ever.
"It's…it's beautiful, Christine. Thank you," he whispered, setting the box aside.
"No, wait," she said, "there's something else in the box."
Pulling back the tissue paper, he found a pair of hand-embroidered braces.
"I made them myself, so that you will always think of me when you put on your 'unmentionables'."
"I, too, have a wedding gift to present." Erik walked over to the mantle and brought back a jewel box that he handed to her.
Christine opened the box and found a diamond pin in the most unusual shape. She looked up at Erik and grinned mischievously. "It's lovely, but…why a grasshopper?"
He gave her a devilish look. "Because, my dear, when the grasshopper jumps, it jumps jolly high."
They embraced, and as Christine held Erik close to her, she said, "Are you nervous, Husband, about what comes next?"
Erik stroked her back, feeling the comfort of her body next to his. "Nervous? Of course not. Should I be?"
"I am." She paused. "Just a little."
He kissed her, long and deep. Then he whispered into her ear, "So am I…just a little."
-0-0-0-
Erik carried Christine up the stairs and into their bedroom. On the table in the room was a bucket of champagne, chilling in ice, and a pair of fluted glasses decorated with ribbons.
"Who thought of this?" Christine asked.
"I'm not sure. Do you suppose it could have been the wedding elves?"
Christine's brow furrowed in puzzlement. "Wedding elves?"
Erik shrugged. "They're probably Swedish. The Swedes seem to have an elf for just about every other occasion, so why not a wedding elf?"
Christine stifled a laugh as she rolled her eyes.
Erik took the bottle from the bucket and popped the cork, then poured them each a glass. "A toast," he said, holding his glass up.
"A toast," she agreed. "To our journey of discovery."
"You know," Erik said, "I've heard that a nice, warm bath does wonders for calming nerves."
Christine eyed him hungrily. "Then why don't you draw me a bath and I'll start getting out of this dress."
-0-0-0-
"Damn," he cursed quietly. Erik was all thumbs as he fumbled with the pearl-studded stickpin in his cravat. He watched as a drop of crimson beaded on the tip of his index finger where he had pricked himself trying to cap the pin. He put his finger in his mouth and sucked on it sullenly.
"Husband?" Christine called from the adjacent room. With the new house, the bathing room was now on the second floor, the same as the bedrooms. Much more convenient, she thought to herself. Then she said aloud, "Would you come here please?"
A moment later, Erik knocked on the door and smiled as he heard her sing, "Come in."
"Wife," he said, dramatically. "I have come to do your bidding." He drew in a breath slowly as he took in the room where he and Christine would spend their first night together as a married couple. This was something he had so very long for, and now he wanted every moment of this night to last forever.
Vases of flowers had been brought from the church and placed around the room, which was fragrant with scents of roses and lavender. The setting sun colored the room with a warm, golden hue, giving it a surreal quality. Candles had been lit, their dancing shadows in the flickering light catching his eye as he memorized every detail.
Christine had taken off her veil and draped it atop the cheval mirror so that the lace cascaded to the floor. Her bouquet was in the center of the bed, amid a soft pile of pillows. The corner of the coverlet was turned down, making Erik's heart skip a beat. He had never seen anything more inviting in his life. He watched Christine as she pulled at the buttons on her gown. He leaned against the doorjamb and prayed silently that this memory would go with him beyond the grave.
"It's beautiful, isn't it?" she said, noticing his mesmerized state. She waved her hand around the room, pausing when she came to the bed.
"Yes. You are. I've never seen such beauty," he said sincerely.
She smiled nervously. "I…I'm trapped," she said, pointing to the long row of buttons on her gown. "Do your duty as my husband and help me out of this."
His eyes widened at the prospect, and in spite of his desire for her, he suddenly felt like running. He pulled out his handkerchief and dabbed his brow, pausing at the mask.
"Since we're alone now, would you take it off, please?" Christine whispered, her breast rising and falling quickly. "The mask, I mean."
"Is that why you called me?" he said, taking off the mask and setting it on the dresser.
"Actually, I need your help," she sighed. "I can't undo the buttons." She handed him a buttonhook and turned, pointing over her shoulder to a long row of tiny, closely spaced buttons.
Erik looked dumbly at the tool and blinked rapidly. "There's a faster way," he said, pretending to prepare to rip open her gown.
"Don't you dare. I want our daughters to wear this dress on their wedding day."
He looked blankly at her for a moment. "Daughters?"
"Yes. You know – offspring. To go with the sons we're going to have."
He fought back the tears that threatened to overflow. "Oh, Christine," he murmured, struggling for composure. "I…I never expected such happiness." He sat heavily on the bed and she wrapped her arms around him.
She kissed his face and lips, and whispered, "I feel it too, Erik. I feel that we have been blessed with the perfect friends, the perfect family, the perfect wedding day – and soon, the perfect wedding night." She giggled as she felt his arms tighten around her, his hands traveling down the length of her back and resting on her bottom as he leaned back onto the bed, pulling her with him.
"Not yet," she said primly. "May I remind you that you have a job to do first, husband."
"I haven't forgotten," he said. "But Christine, did you know that there are at least a hundred buttons back here? What sort of couture is this?"
She sat back up and pretended to pout. "It is torture, my darling, sheer torture, designed to drive us both out of our minds with lust by the time you've undone all one hundred and twenty of the buttons. You're a genius. You'll figure something out."
Erik applied himself to the job with vigor. "One," he announced as the first button gave way. He paused to kiss the nape of Christine's neck where a tiny glimpse of flesh had been exposed. "Two," he said, pausing again for his reward.
"Erik!" Christine gasped.
"What? You don't like my kisses?"
"The bath! I think the water is overflowing."
"First a fire, now a flood," he muttered as he went into the bathroom and turned off the taps. While he was there, he scented the water and lit more candles, placing them strategically around the room. Finally, he drew one perfect red rose from a vase and plucked the petals off, dropping them into the water. He took another rose with him back into the bedroom, where he was amused to see that Christine was contorting herself so that she could unhook some of the buttons.
"Damn," she cursed softly, believing herself to be alone in the room. "I have half a mind to tear this off. I can always replace the buttons later."
"That can be arranged," Erik chuckled. "Just a few more and you'll be able to raise the gown over your shoulders," he offered encouragingly.
"With your help," she reminded him.
"As I said before, I am here to do your bidding," he teased.
"Then I insist you to get this dress off of me," Christine said, striking a Carlotta-like pose. "I've been wearing it all day. With all the dancing we did, I can hardly wait to get out of it and get into the bath. At least I was able to remove my shoes all by myself," she teased, holding up her legs and wiggling her toes.
"This won't take long, my dear. Then, you can relax in your bath," Erik said, brushing the rose petals against her bare back. He smiled as she shivered when the petals kissed her skin.
"Speaking of the bath," Christine said seductively, "it's huge. That is the biggest bathtub I've ever seen. I fear I shall become lost in it."
"Can't have that," Erik muttered as he released a few more buttons. He had ordered a custom-made bathtub to accommodate his tall frame, but they both knew it was no accident that it was big enough for two, and that the faucets were in the middle for comfort.
"Would you mind scrubbing my back?" she asked innocently, batting her eyelashes at her husband.
"As my diva commands," he said, kissing her between her shoulders. "I am yours to order, and ever shall be." He stooped down and reached under the skirts, allowing his hands to brush against her ankles. He slowly moved his hands up as he stood, bringing the skirt with him. He paused to enjoy the view.
Christine stood expectantly with her arms in the air. "What are you waiting for?" she said.
"I'm memorizing the details," Erik said softly.
"You have a lifetime to do that," she laughed.
"This is the first time I've ever seen this freckle," he said, pausing to kiss a spot on her lower back. "I want to celebrate." The folds of the gown fell from his hands as he skimmed his palms along her hips and thighs, bringing them gradually to her front. He touched her the way a musician touches a fine instrument he's never played, exploring the finish, appreciating the warm glow of the materials, noticing each nuance of craftsmanship. His touch ignited her passion and she faced him, saying, "If only this dress weren't in the way…."
He knelt beside her again, and grasped the hem of the dress, lifting it easily over her head. He held it in one hand and pressed her against him with his other, kissing her tenderly.
"That's better," she sighed.
"It weighs a ton," Erik said, laying the gown across the foot of the bed. "How did you stand it?"
"All I could think throughout the day was how wonderful it was going to be when you helped me out of it," she said, smiling slyly.
"That was all you could think of?"
"Well…there were a few other things." She bit her lower lip, and pulled at his cravat. "Um…isn't this heavy, too?" With a gentle tug, she removed it and drew it through a tight circle formed by her closed left hand.
He raised his eyebrows and shrugged off his coat, laying it over her gown on the bed. He was so much taller than Christine that she had to reach up to remove the studs holding his shirt together, starting at the top. He stayed her hand when she reached the third one.
"Let me look at you," he said guilelessly, pushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. He untied the laces of her petticoat and it fell in a pool of crinoline around her feet. She leaned into him as he loosened her corset, and when he gently pushed the pantaloons over her hips, a tiny moan escaped her. He slowly released the ribbons holding up her stockings, and she stood before him, like an unwrapped present. He held her hands and stepped back, gazing at her adoringly.
Silently, she watched as his eyes wandered over her hair, slowly taking in the curls and waves and the location of pins holding it in place. Her ears burned as he noticed her earrings and inhaled her perfume. Her body felt as though it were on fire as he slowly charted each part of her body, at first memorizing the way she looked, and then, the way she felt. She could see that he was completely enthralled by her, and the realization was empowering. She never felt vulnerable, undressed as she was before him. Quite the opposite, she felt strong.
His hands skimmed the surface of her body like a gentle breeze. She leaned into his touch, craving the feel of him, his warmth. Her lips parted expectantly, but he surprised her by picking her up in his strong arms and carrying her to her bath. He slowly lowered her into the water, and he smiled as she reached for him and tried to coax him into the tub with her.
"You were the one who taught me how good it feels to have one's back washed," he said softly. "Let me do this for you." He rolled up his sleeves and dipped the sponge in the water, soaping it with languid circles as though he had nothing else to do tonight or any other night. Christine wished he were touching her the way he touched the sponge, so she closed her eyes and leaned forward.
He had never touched a woman like this, had never even imagined being allowed to do so, yet here was Christine, his living bride, sighing and moaning, making the most exquisite sounds, inviting him to touch her in all her secret places. He tried not to think ahead, to what would happen later. He wanted this night to last. More than anything else, he wanted it to be perfect for Christine. He knelt behind her on the marble floor, finally brought out of his reverie when Christine guided his hands. He leaned closer to her, and she rested her head on his shoulder as she silently encouraged him to touch her, to explore her hidden treasure.
She pushed his hand below the surface of the water, and he luxuriated in the curve of her belly, covering it entirely with the palm of one hand while he continued to cradle Christine's breasts with the other. She reached up suddenly, warm water dripping down her arm, and caressed his face. "I love you, Erik," she whispered. She could feel him smiling, so she proceeded boldly. "If only…." Her voice trailed away.
This is it, he thought. She has finally realized what a mistake she has made in marrying me, and she is about to ask me to go.
She turned so she could see his beautiful eyes. "I would be the happiest woman on Earth, if only you would get in here with me," she said, popping open his waistcoat. She placed her hands against his shirt, delighting with the way the wet fabric stuck to him, revealing his hardened muscles.
He sighed with relief. He reached up and extinguished the flames of several candles quickly with his bare hand, the water from Christine's bath hissing against the hot wick.
"What are you doing?" she asked, surprised, when he stood up to extinguish more candles.
"It's bright in here," he said, more of question than a statement.
She knew the true reason for his hesitation. "Don't be modest, Erik. I've seen you unclothed before; in fact, several times."
"I was unconscious," he said testily, blowing out a whole slew of candles. "This is different."
She considered her response as Erik wrapped his arms around himself and sat on the edge of the tub, hunched over like a small boy. "Then blow them all out if it makes you feel better," she said gently. "But you should know by now that I like the way you look."
His eyes narrowed as he considered her words, a look she found absolutely devastating.
"You are magnificent," she said calmly, resting her head on his thigh and wrapping her wet arms around his hips, "and I am aching to feel you against me."
He mustered all his courage to make it right for Christine. "Turn around," he said, motioning with his fingers.
"No fair," she groaned. She reclined in the tub and placed a hand over her eyes, opening her fingers so she could peek just the same. His clothes came off rapidly, an astonishing feat of legerdemain only Erik could accomplish. The light from the one remaining candle reflected off his pale skin, making him seem to glow in the darkness. She whistled at the sight of him.
"Madame duBois!" he scolded playfully, shaking a finger at her as he settled into the water at the opposite end of the tub.
She waited, biding her time as he allowed himself to relax. She stretched out a leg and let her foot find his lap, using her toes to chart the waters. He gasped when she ran aground in an ideal location.
"Husband," she murmured appreciatively.
He held her foot and regarded it like an old friend. He lathered it with soap, and rinsed it with droplets of warm water squeezed from the sponge. Then, before she knew what was happening, he began to kiss it, taking each toe into his mouth and suckling gently. He kissed her feet and legs, paying extra attention to the spot behind her knee that made her squirm, and soon he was nearly covering her with his own body. She could feel him pressing against her as he continued kissing her body.
She ran her hands across his back, shivering with his kisses, and pulling him closer to her. He moaned and shifted his weight so that he was lying on his side next to her. She turned to him as she kissed him deeply, raising her leg – and realized that he was poised to enter her.
This is what I've longed for, she thought. I want to remember every moment of it.
He stood and slipped out of the tub, lifting her as though she were an irreplaceable gift. He carried her into the bedroom, and with a glance at their wedding clothes, he laid her in the bed and brushed away rose petals that clung to her moist skin. His earlier modesty had vanished, and he exuded confidence and sexuality once again.
He lay down next to her, turning on his side to face her. Gently, his voice barely a whisper, he said, "Earlier, when you said I was about to pass the point of no return…"
"Yes?"
"…you were wrong. This is the true point of no return, my love. After this, we'll be joined forever in a way that can never be denied. Think carefully, Christine. If you wish to go no further, I will understand. I will be forever grateful for what you've given me today."
Tears spilled down her cheeks. "Oh, Erik," she cried, kissing his face as she spoke. "You dear, sweet, silly, stupid man! I passed the point of no return the first time you kissed me! I've been dreaming of this night ever since. Let's not waste another moment."
-0-0-0-
She climbed over him, trying to position herself so that he couldn't refuse her, and pressed her gates against him. His body responded instinctively at the touch of her body. He thrust against an unyielding band of tissue as she pressed downwards against him.
"Is that it?" she asked.
He smiled, knowing he had not even begun to penetrate her. "I don't think so," he said. He shifted his hips, and her body yielded slightly, holding onto virginity like a sacred trust. He had read enough to know that this first time – for both of them – might be a challenge. "I have an idea," he said, sitting up.
"I remember this," Christine said, giggling, "only one of us was fully clothed."
He touched her as he had that other time, and she thrust her hips instinctively against his fingers. He felt her maidenhead stretching as he entered a fraction of an inch at a time. His intellectual curiosity was almost as aroused as his need for her, as he approached their situation creatively. "I don't want to hurt you," he murmured into her hair, which had fallen loosely around her shoulders.
"You won't," she reassured him breathlessly, pushing herself onto him slowly. "I want you. I want to be one with you. I want you all the way inside me."
He gulped, knowing how much farther there was to go before her wish was granted, but it felt incredibly good—so much better than he imagined in his wildest dreams—to finally be joining with his wife. He felt her give way and he pressed against her, unable to go any further.
"You're…you're not there?" Christine asked, looking at him in surprise.
He winced to see pain in her eyes, and began to push her hips up, pushing her away from him, but she clung to him.
"Don't stop, Erik. I don't want you to stop."
He gauged her response, trying to be sure she was all right. Her skin felt like fire against his, and her pulse pounded all around him. "What if…" he said, struggling to find his voice, "…what if I am the wrong size for you?"
"Like a shoe?"
"Sort of," he laughed, putting his head against her shoulder. Oh, God, he thought. She is so close to my lips…
He began to nuzzle her. When she sighed and pushed against him again, he traced her breasts with his tongue, and felt her open a little more for him. He rolled over, holding Christine tightly to him. With her underneath him, he knew that he could force himself into her with relatively little effort. The trick was to make it right for her.
"This has to work," she said, biting her lip. "It has to." She laughed lightly, realizing his dilemma. "You poor darling," she said, kissing his earlobe.
"Oh, Christine," he moaned desperately. He fought to hold back the rush that nearly overwhelmed him as she cupped his buttocks and pulled him even further into herself.
"What is it?" she asked worriedly.
"Don't move a muscle," he said through clenched teeth.
"Am I hurting you?"
"No," he managed to squeak out. "It's just that…you feel absolutely wonderful…"
Hearing that, and recognizing the need in his voice, she relaxed even more, and thrust again—shifting her hips maddeningly.
The last barrier finally gave way, and he eased all the way inside her. "Are you all right?" he asked, trembling as his body yearned for release.
"I'm fine," she said, wiping away tears. "Erik, I am yours forever."
He brought her small hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles, then her palm. "I love you," he whispered.
She caressed his cheek and nodded, unable to speak.
He waited, giving them both time to adjust to the sensation that threatened to carry them away, before he lifted her up and redistributed his weight so she could breath easier. She was tiny in comparison to him; yet as she held him, she was the most powerful person in the world.
"Make love to me, Erik," she murmured, stroking his back. "Make me sing."
Slowly, he combed his fingers through her hair and traced the outline of her ear with a fingertip. He kissed her throat, then her lips, and murmured musically, so softly that she could barely hear.
Somehow, she understood everything he said. He spoke of the way she had answered the secret prayers of his heart, of how she had given him a better life, and of how he had been a ruin of a man before she made him whole. His words elicited not only her empathy, but also a passion she had never felt before. A white-hot desire welled up inside her, and she sensed that he was straining to withhold his own release, waiting for her to come first. If only she could tell him…but she had no words for what was happening.
"Don't stop," she gasped, before her body did as nature intended. He felt her shudder before she was aware of what was happening to her, and he came with her like water overflowing a dam. He poured into her with wave after wave of sheer pleasure, delighting in her murmurs of happiness.
When he could speak, he thanked her over and over again for becoming his wife, for sharing this moment with him. She held him tightly and protested when he tried to move to the side, so he braced himself on his elbows and stayed there as long as possible. He retrieved a warm washcloth and a towel for her, and cleaned her before returning to the bathroom and cleaning himself. He returned to their marriage bower, feeling more relaxed than he had ever felt before – but also feeling terribly guilty for having hurt her.
"What's wrong?" she asked, worried that he was slipping into one of his black moods.
"I'm sorry I hurt you," he said, holding her close.
"I'm not complaining," she laughed.
"There was blood on the washcloth," he said, unable to look her in the eye.
"That's to be expected," she said, waving her hand dismissively.
"I know. But it doesn't make me feel less responsible for hurting you."
"You didn't hurt me," she said. "In fact, if you want to know the truth, I was wondering…"
"What? What were you wondering?" he prompted.
"When we can make love again," she said, reaching down to touch him. "Need I have asked?" she joked.
"Shouldn't you…shouldn't you have time to recover?"
"I used to walk the length and breadth of Sweden, and later Brittany, with my father, Husband. I have tremendous stamina," she said. "Of course, if you need to rest, I can wait – a little while."
"I appreciate your consideration for this old man, Wife," he replied, "but you may soon discover why I married you while you are still young."
Her eyes drifted down, and she realized that Erik had also completely recovered from their first attempt at making love. In fact, if possible, he looked more eager. "I'll do my best to keep up with you," she promised, tossing her hair over her shoulder.
"Now that I have some notion of what to expect, I have a few ideas…," he whispered, as he reached for the bottle of almond oil he had brought from the bathroom.
-0-0-0-
Much later, they lay together, their bodies entwined, defenseless and silent. Erik paused, reflecting. "It really doesn't bother you in the least to look at it," he said with a touch of wonder in his voice. He looked at Christine and saw that she was puzzled. "My face, that is."
Christine, relaxing against him, responded, "When I look at you, I see a knight in shining armor on a fine white steed, strong and honorable.
Erik chuckled. "When I look at you, I...well, my thoughts aren't entirely honorable, Madame duBois."
She became playful. "Is that so? Perhaps, you could, well, show me what you're thinking of?"
-0-0-0-
Author's Notes:
If you're interested in recipes, here's one for Breton Marriage Soup. Serve it hot for 2 after a wedding – or to 4 for a snack or warming lunch. It's a good, filling, and spicy meal.
1 nut of butter
1 big onion, peeled and sliced very thinly
1 clove garlic, peeled and sliced very thinly
1 quart of milk
salt (preferably sel de mer, with its tang of the sea)
white pepper
stale (or toasted) bread, sliced paper thin
In a good-sized frying pan, melt the butter and brown it – either on a wood fire or on the stove. Add the sliced onions and cook them till browned. Add the garlic and stir until all is well browned. Pour in the milk, salt, and pepper. Bring to a boil, and then reduce heat and cook, simmering, to a turn – about 5-10 minutes. Pour over very thin slices of bread and serve – either to the newlyweds or to your own family.
-0-
As for those Breton instruments, the old biniou, alsoknown as the biniou kozh, it is a bagpipe that is smaller than the Highland bagpipe and is often used to accompany the bombarde. The two performers play alternate lines that intersect at the end. The bombarde or bombard is a Breton oboe, with 6 open holes and a 7th that can be closed with a single key. It has been around since the 15th century. The violon, as the name sounds, can mean either a fiddle or a violin. The violon has been played in Brittany since at least the 17th century. Treujenn-gaol is a Breton clarinet. The name literally translates as cabbage stalk. For those of you with musical inclinations, the Breton clarinet usually has only 13 keys, and sometimes as few as 6. This is in contrast to the common 24 key instrument used in jazz, classical music, and other fields.
-0-
Erik's poem to Christine during their vows is a reworking of a prayer by St. Francis of Assisi. When I came across another variation of it in one of my books on herbals and weddings, I thought it perfect for this occasion. As for the poem that Christine marked in the book she gave Erik, it is called To My Dear and Loving Husband, by Anne Bradstreet.
And finally, some of you who know your American history may recognize the name of Carl Schurz. He is one of my favorite "Red 48ers," and I could not resist the urge to include him as one of Mamma's "revolutionary" colleagues. If you'd like to learn more about Carl Schurz, just Google him.
