January 25th, 1767, Chastel
The old man huffed raggedly in the old chair. Jean-Charles loomed over him disappointedly. He'd allowed him a week between sessions, but he was being too persistent. He plucked the leech from Gilles's wrist.
"You're stubborn, old man. I respect you for that. But you are testing my patience."
Gilles bowed his head. "I'm telling you, monsieur. I don't know where she is. I haven't seen her in months. I don't even know if she's alive."
Jean struck his hand across his face. "Do you not know, or do you refuse to tell us? What have you done to her?!"
"Nothing!" he cried. "i've lost so much blood already...what shall you do to me now? Kill me?"
Jean stood back and contemplated. "Kill you, eh? Without reason? Why, how unreasonable do you think I am?" The door to the dark room opened. Victor and Clement hauled a large trunk into the small space. "Where have you idiots been?"
"Sorry, boss," Victor said. "We would have gotten here sooner, but Clement needed to use the washroom."
"There's nothing manlier than going in the woods!" Clement argued.
Arnaud hopped off the trunk they'd been carrying. "I rode on a box!"
The other three men cowered a bit as Arnaud scurried off on his hands into a dark corner of the room.
Jean-Charles turned to the trunk and gave it a knock. "Strong wood, even with all these months of lying about in the woods." Thomas handed him a crowbar, and he drove it into the gap. He pried it open within minutes and rummaged through the contents. He lifted out an old, worn axe.
"This yours?"
Gilles lowered his head. "It was in case she lost hers."
"Patron, look." Thomas dug out a nightgown, stained with splotches of red. Jean's face twisted into one of hatred.
"You...You killed her?!"
"No!" Gilles cried. "No, it's red mud! I never killed. She's alive, somewhere. I know it."
Jean-Charles exchanged looks with his lackeys. This old man had finally gone insane. "We could send you to hang for this."
"No, you have to believe me! She's somewhere in the woods; we have to find her!"
He clutched the axe in his fist. "I could kill you now."
"Please," Gilles begged. "I did her no harm! You must believe me!"
Jean turned back to the others. "Should we believe him, boys?"
Victor and Thomas voiced their disapproval, Clement shaking his head. "As much as I believe I can survive looking Arnaud in the eye."
Arnaud launched onto him and began scratching at his face. Clement's screams were muffled by Arnaud's stout body on his face. Jean faced the old man again. "I will give you a fortnight to confess. If you confess now, I will let you free at God's mercy. If not..." He cocked his head.
Gilles swallowed. Jean smirked, turning on his heels and leaving the room. "Let him have some food. He'll need to be healthy when he decides."
January 31st, 1767, La Maison du Loup
Catherine set the tray of tea on the table. The fire crackled in front of Matthieu, who looked worse for wear given his situation. She pressed the back of her hand to his forehead. "How are you feeling, Matthieu?"
He groaned softly. "My head is pounding..."
She handed him a cup and saucer. "Here. Drink some tea, it'll help you sleep."
He sighed. "I don't want to sleep."
She poured some cream into it and sat down beside him. "Don't be like that. I'll stay with you until you feel better. I'll even put George into little doctor's attire~."
George whipped his head around. "What?"
Matthieu sipped his tea. "Catherine, no one wants to see that."
"I do~!" she squealed.
He sighed. "I suppose asking you to leave is out of the question?"
"Does it look like I'm leaving any time soon?"
He sipped his tea again, glancing to the side. "No." He gazed back up at her, staring at her with intensity she hadn't dared to see before. "But promise me you'll stay safe."
She nodded. "I promise, Matthieu. Please don't worry yourself over me."
He scoffed, clearly offended by her statement. "I beg your pardon?!"
She sighed exasperatedly. "You know what I mean, Matthieu. I'm more worried about you in this moment than I am for myself." She pressed him back into his chair. "Just lay back and try to relax. Without that elixir working, I believe you're more vulnerable than you care to admit."
He opened his mouth to argue, but sighed and leaned back into his chair. She pulled a blanket over his legs. "Please, try to sleep?"
He stared pitifully at her before nodding. She rose from her chair, setting a kind hand on his shoulder. "I'll be right back. George will look after you while I'm gone."
"What?" he asked in dismay. "But where will you be?!"
She headed for the door. "I'm going to fetch something to read. I won't be long." She turned to George. "George, don't do anything foolish."
The boy looked up at her in confusion. "Catherine, do you think I'm capable of anything else?"
She bent down to his level. "Let me say it this way: Matthieu is unstable right now and if he gets angry, it will be your funeral. Literally. So, please, please, please try to behave yourself!"
George slowly peered over his shoulder at Matthieu. He glared at him, gripping the arm of his chair slightly. George turned back to Catherine and nodded obediently. She patted his head. "Good boy. I won't be long."
She left the room in a hurry. Leaning back, Matthieu sighed. Left alone with an idiot for even a minute was agonizing without her. At least she could control the boy. He turned his head, George immediately beside him with wide eyes.
"Whatever it is, no!"
George grumbled. "You didn't even know what I was going to say!"
"Exactly," he said. "But coming from you, I know it can't be anything smart." He turned himself around.
George followed him. "I have plenty of smart things to say. For example: manticores have three rows of teeth and a tuneful bellow that sounds like a trumpet."
"As fascinating as that sounds," he remarked dryly. "I'd rather you crawl into a corner and stare at the wall in silence." He flipped onto his other side.
George rounded the chair to look him in the eye again. "What would Catherine say if she heard you say that?"
Matthieu scoffed. "She'd say to behave yourself, George." He moaned. "Please, leave me be. I'm in no condition for any nonsense." He gulped down his tea and pulled the blanket over his face.
"No nonsense, eh?" He was silent for a moment. Matthieu, thinking he'd finally found peace, closed his eyes. "What about Catherine? Is she considered 'nonsense'?"
His eyes widened with fury. He flung the blanket from his face. "How dare you speak of her like that!"
George frowned. "I'm asking a question. Is she nonsense?"
"NO! She is the furthest thing from nonsense, and you have no right to speak of her in such a manner!"
He smirked. "So, that gives me the right to discuss her with you."
Matthieu averted his gaze, hoping to mask the growing color in his cheeks. "That's...she'll be back soon. I wouldn't dare speak of her without her knowledge."
"Oh, I think you would~," George teased. He glowered at the boy. Was this some kind of joke to him? To torment him when his feelings for this wonderful woman were so complicated and uncertain? He gripped the chair, wincing at the claws slowly extending from his hands.
George's sly demeanor fell, his arms crossing over his chest. "I care about her as well. You know that, right?"
His grip slacked, his claws returning to where they had been before. He cast his gaze to the fire, unwilling to relay complex emotions to his housekeeper's son. It was true; he did care for her. He had grown to care for her more than he could ever put to words, which is why he'd never tell a soul.
"George, you're her friend. But you couldn't possibly understand the situation I pose to her, to everyone here."
"Do you care for her?"
He didn't ask if it was love, thankfully. He still didn't know for sure. But care for her, he did.
George grunted in frustration. "Answer me, master! Do you care for her?!"
"More than anything!" he declared. "But do you not see how dangerous that is for her?! I can't keep putting her in danger because of me!"
"Then why keep her here?!" he questioned sharply. "If you know you're such a threat?"
"YOU COULDN'T BEGIN TO UNDERSTAND!" Matthieu snarled, his nose flattening, his teeth elongating, and his claws extending into the stuffing of his chair. George stepped back a bit, frozen in place while he waited. Matthieu inhaled deeply, grasping the back of his chair for support. His limbs trembled with the pressure as his features returned to normal. "...I don't want to hurt you, mon garçon."
George approached him slowly, pulling the blanket up to his shoulders. "Do you think she could break your curse?"
"How did you - ?"
"Mother told me everything when you first attacked us last month." Matthieu winced at the memory. "She didn't dare tell Catherine."
He nodded. "Good."
"Are you trying to break the curse with her?" Matthieu shook his head, then nodded, the shook his head again. "Which is it?"
"I'm not certain. But, I know I could never force her to love me." He shuddered at the idea. "How would I be any better than the man who tried to marry her in her village?"
George knitted his brow with incredulity. "She told you about that?"
"She told you about that?!" he shot back.
He shook his head and rolled his eyes. "We talk a lot, Matthieu. I think that's a sign she truly trusts you."
"What are you implying, George?" Matthieu asked.
George rubbed his arm uneasily. "Well, if you're not willing to let her go - as in, order her to leave - then I see one other option. Just tell her how you feel."
Matthieu's stomach tightened unpleasantly. Everything thought he had screamed "No! Absolutely not!" He couldn't even decipher what these feelings were, much less express them to her. He shook his head furiously.
"No! No, absolutely not! NO!"
George scowled. "Well, where does that leave you?"
He growled, beginning to sound more animal than human. "What am I supposed to say to her?! I don't even know how I feel about her!"
"You care for her, right?"
"Yes."
"Do you want her to stay safe?"
"Yes!"
"Do you want her to stay with you?!"
"YES!" he finally admitted. "Is that what you wanted to hear?! I want her to stay! But, I want her safe more."
"At least tell her that," George advised. "She cares for you just as much, I'm sure. I think you should tell her."
"Tell me what?"
The two spun around. Catherine stood in the doorway with a stack of books in her arms. Matthieu stuttered, trying to find an answer. His face began to turn red.
"That - That you should give your voice a rest until you two go back into the garden." George broke in, winking at Matthieu.
Catherine closed the door. "Oh?"
"Euh, oui!" Matthieu proclaimed. "I...I've prepared something special."
She moved over and set the books on the tea tray. "Later. For now, you must rest." She tucked his hair behind his ear, a gesture he'd come to adore from her. He nodded, smiling at her touch. "Has George been behaving?"
He glanced over at the boy, who had gone white as a sheet. He chuckled. Apparently, Catherine's wrath spared no one if they deserved it. "He's been agreeable."
She sighed. "That's a relief." She sat back in her chair, opening a book on her lap. "Would you like me to read to you?"
He nodded eagerly. "Of course."
He sank into his chair, listening to her rich, angelic voice flow over the pages of the book. He tried to follow the story, but he was too distracted. Now that the fire's glow hit her face, he could see features he'd never noticed before. Her hair tucked behind her ears with pulled back as usual, but crinkled over her shoulder. He noticed how her nose scrunched up when she read something particularly funny, and there always seemed to be a smile in her eyes. That innocent soul always lingered behind them, reminding him pf why he always called her 'Angel'.
In time, he stopped caring about the story and simply listened to her voice. He felt his eyes grow heavy as she reached the midpoint of her book. He briefly lamented that very soon, possibly in the coming weeks, he would cease to remember her, or Mrs Townsend, or George, even the damn cat! If his curse were under his control, now he truly wished he could break it.
He lapsed into sleep before he could think any more.
February 1st, 1767
Matthieu took his time preparing for the "event" George had arranged in the garden. The only idea he could think of was another song, something he was still a bit apprehensive to do. He could do it, sure. But his strength was sapping by the day. His fingers were growing stiff, and his claws had begun to hinder the strings on the neck of the guitar. He considered letting the roses do the work, but he selfishly insisted on providing music for her. By lunchtime, he managed a few chords.
He wandered the halls, his guitar clenched in his hand.
"Frustrated, are you?" Mrs. Townsend tucked the rag she was using on the windows into her apron.
"Mrs. Townsend, I - "
She held up her hand to silence him. "I know, dear. It's taking quite a toll on you."
He held his hand to his face and flexed his fingers. He winced at the effort. Mrs Townsend took his hand gently. He sighed despondently. "How can I do this for her?"
"You're too stubborn to give up now," she pointed.
He nodded. "You're not wrong." He brought up his guitar, barely strumming it with his claws. "Will she enjoy it?"
"She'll enjoy anything you give her, as long as it's thoughtful."
He fell against the wall and slid to the floor. "I'm losing my mind over her, aren't I?"
She patted his shoulder. "That's for you to decide. When you have children, that is a different matter - "
He leapt to his feet. "Alright, thank you! Thank you, very much." He squeezed the neck of his guitar. "I suppose it's time I meet her there."
She patted his shoulder again. "You'll do fine, my boy."
He smiled at her encouragement and rushed downstairs towards the gardens. He hoped she wasn't there yet, to give him a bit more time to prepare. To some dismay, she was there. That quickly turned to joy when she noticed his presence from behind the gate and smiled. He stepped inside, drinking in the beautiful sight. Her dress just covered her ankles, but was long enough to keep her warm. The deep shade of green set off her hair and eyes perfectly.
She looked down at the guitar in his hand. "Are you able to play it?"
"Oh!" he remembered, bringing it up to his chest. "I...I can try."
"Matthieu, your hands. Aren't they - ?"
"Catherine," he cut in. "Will you sing with me?"
She shot her gaze up to his eyes, her hair blowing into her face. She nodded and turned to the roses. They bloomed open, their petals dying a bright pink. An upbeat flute flowed from one section, followed by deep brass from the section beside it. Catherine clapped to the rhythm.
"Oh, oh, oh-oh-oh, oh-oh oh-oh oh-oh oh-oh I..."
He laughed, clapping along with her. Remembering the guitar just in time, he held his breath and played along to the growing crescendo. She spun around in a circle, eyes closed, taking in the melodies around her. His heart leapt to his throat.
"To feel unbearable never again
Even if I change
Deep inside I'll be the same
We have a tendency to be ashamed
Let me tell you how to
Help me break out of this chain."
He stepped backwards to step in front of her, enjoying the glowing smile on her face.
"Oh oh oh...
Just a little kiss will do
Oh oh oh
Just a little kiss from you."
His hands began to tremble, but he ignored it. He decided now was as good a time as any to join in.
"Don't you know, it's enough to believe
That every glass of water will return to the sea
It's very easy and you may not know
It's no more complicated than a simple hello."
She twirled around him gracefully, no indication that she was clumsy at all.
"Oh
So my love, et voilà
So my love can it be
To be to be in love
From one day, two days, three days
For everyday..."
The music stopped, except for the strumming of his guitar. His fingers no longer felt stiff, his hands reaching the chords as perfectly as he remembered. He beamed widely at Catherine, to which she happily reciprocated.
"Oh oh oh
Just a little kiss will do."
"Just a little kiss," she responded, swirling her skirts around her legs.
He'd never felt happiness like when he danced with her, simply being with her as the roses played them music. He set the guitar aside and ran up to her to join her in their strange dance. She whirled around quickly, her foot snagging the hem of her skirt. He lurched forward and caught her before she could fall backwards. Her cheeks turned a delicate shade of pink as she looked graciously at him.
He helped her to her feet, her eyes still on his.
"Just a little kiss from
Just a little kiss from
Just a little kiss from you..."
The music died down, except for one rose which decided to trumpet off playfully. Catherine glared at it, and it made one last squawk before shutting up. Catherine turned so she faced him. Matthieu gasped to catch his breath, no easy feat when staring at her. He slowly leaned towards her, his hands moving under her arms. She drew herself up to him as well. He instinctively closed his eyes and edged closer to her...
She wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him. "Thank you, Matthieu."
His heart dropped from his throat to the pit of his stomach. "Oh...You're - you're welcome, Catherine. You're very welcome."
She pulled back, smiling beautifully at him. He put on his best to put her at ease, not wanting her to see how he truly felt. She slid her ring off her finger and into the folds of her cloak before taking his hands and leading him inside, giggling. It elated him to see her so happy.
But how could he tell her that he wanted more?
Just a Little Kiss - Vanessa Paradis and -M-
