CHAPTER 14
GASTON tried to saunter into the tavern, LeFou trailing behind his heels, like old times, with the strength and bravado he was used to showcasing for Villeneuve almost the second they got Mary and Aiken's horse situated in the stables when they returned.
Though if the former military captain was being honest with himself, he felt anything but.
He tried his best to come back to their provincial village as a triumphant warrior, there to claim his prize: Belle's father's blessing.
The way he proudly set upon his stallion, his upturned jaw, and his tall, rigid posture, gave every inch the appearance of the conquering hero. He wanted to be the man that Belle's father would be proud of to have as a son-in-law one day soon.
Though the way his pulse pounded in his ears, the dryness of his mouth, the thickness of his tongue, and the uncertainty that had nestled its way into his heart and head made him feel more like a beaten, broken wreck, come to beg for his life. Who was he trying to fool? Maurice was no fool. He was clever, intelligent, and sure to see through his posturing in a heartbeat, especially when Maurice learned he had returned home without his daughter by Gaston's side.
He steeled himself for the old man's pained anger at best, and Maurice's cold indifference at the very worst.
The blacksmith outside had informed Gaston he would find the grieving father in the darkest corner of none other than Gaston's old tavern, which took the captain and hunter by surprise and caught the man off guard. Gaston was sure the stunned expression was painted all over his face at the revelation, considering in the entirety of Maurice and Belle living in the village, never once had he seen the painter and tinkerer venture into the tavern for a drink, much less a meal.
So, to hear that Maurice was supposedly drinking away his sorrows was…very, very new. Gaston wasn't quite sure how to take it, though he did what he always did in times of uncertainty: shoved his emotions to the pit of his stomach and relied on his military expertise skills in order to see him through an obstacle. LeFou's affianced, Claire, had been told to wait outside with a pair of women near the well, doing their weekly laundry. She'd not looked happy about being left out of the thick of what was going on, but once LeFou had pulled her aside and explained Gaston's reasonings, she consented and left, though not before giving him a swift kiss on the cheek that left the man extremely red in the face.
Ignoring LeFou's blustering, Gaston returned his attention to his place of establishment and his dark eyes scanned the entirety of the room until he sought out the one man whose company he wanted the most.
True to his word and true to form, Maurice was huddle in the furthermost corner of the room, which was also the darkest part of the tavern, his hands wound around a large tankard.
The poor bloke looked as though he'd not slept an ounce since Prince Adam's men had dragged him back to the village, and for that, Gaston did not blame him. He'd not slept well last night, either.
The moment Maurice sensed Gaston and LeFou approaching his table shrouded in shadow, the only light coming from a single lighted candle pushed against the edge of the table and the wall, Belle's father looked up sharply. Maurice narrowed his eyes and proceeded to eye Gaston as if the handsome military captain were dirt on the bottom of his boot.
"So, Monsieur Dupont, back from the prince's 'shining castle.' Without my Belle, I see…"
Gaston inwardly flinched and almost swallowed his tongue as he bit down on the wall of his cheek.
He could feel the contempt dripping from Maurice's voice. The old man was obviously aware that something had transpired at Prince Adam's estate, for he clearly remembered the promise Gaston gave to Maurice, shortly before the guards and foot soldiers who'd taken them away to the prince following Belle's outburst.
He'd promised the old man that he would do whatever necessary to protect Bell and to keep his only daughter safe.
It was as Gaston slid into the chair opposite Maurice, LeFou copying his movements nervously, that Gaston noticed just how gaunt and drawn the face of the painter and tinkerer really was now.
Maurice looked like a scared old man, hiding behind his blustering and his contempt for Gaston.
Something was troubling him greatly. Maurice was looking as though he'd not slept an ounce at all. His white hair and beard framed circle sunken in eyes. His brow furrowed in lines of deep distress.
No doubt Maurice had spent the last several hours in a state of agonized distress over the whereabouts of his beloved daughter. Yes, the man was exhausted, Gaston's trained eyes could tell that much of the monsieur. He also looked more than a little annoyed at Gaston's intrusion. His brow was furrowed, creased with deep lines.
Maurice was gravely worried about Belle. It didn't take a village idiot to see that much. Maurice was glaring at Gaston and LeFou both well past the point of comfort. Gaston flinched, only able to imagine what thoughts were running through the man's mind right now as he'd no doubt witnessed Gaston's quiet return to the village, and without his Belle…
"You've word of my daughter, Gaston?" Maurice questioned, his hoarse voice showing no signs of softness even at the mention of his lovely Belle.
"I—I do, monsieur," Gaston spoke up, forcing his voice to maintain a sense of calmness, trying to be as level-headed as possible, though it was becoming increasingly difficult the more nervous he grew.
Maurice was looking at the hunter as though the painter and tinkerer would like nothing more than to have Gaston drawn and quartered, had he the authority to give such a command.
But as it so happened, Maurice did not. He merely grunted wordlessly and took another hearty swig of his ale.
As Gaston watched Maurice reach for the tin flagon of wine next to him, having drained his ale and proceeding now to pour himself a goblet of wine, he thought the solemn painter considered that alcohol may be needed to soften the blow of learning what had transpired to his daughter in the prince's captivity.
But then Gaston took note of how violently the old man's hand had startled to shake. Maurice was stalling, terrified of learning the dire fate that surely must have befallen his daughter.
After draining one glass and pouring another, Maurice spoke as he braced himself, leaning back against the backrest of the booth, forever the image of a worried father now shattered at the loss of his child.
"My daughter, monsieur?" Maurice asked gravely, pursing his lips into a hard and rigid line. He inhaled sharply, drawing in a breath, and holding it. "Where is Belle, Gaston?" he demanded. Maurice's face paled a shade further, and he looked sick.
Gaston swallowed down hard past a lump in his throat, empathetic as well as sympathetic to the old man's fears.
"She's…at the prince's castle, monsieur. I-I tried to save her, I was able to get her away from the prince and his men, but she—she went back to the estate of her own accord, saying she had kept her word." He'd sincerely hoped to be able to give the father the same comfort and peace of mind he was now hoping for, and he felt like he was failing.
"You were there, Gaston, were you not?" Maurice seethed accusingly as he gritted his teeth. "How is it that you, a veteran and seasoned war hero such as yourself, could not even manage to maintain keeping track of one young woman, sir?"
The painter drew in a rueful breath, unable to escape the image of his beloved daughter and only child as a captive to such a monstrous beast of a prince. "Am I to believe you incompetent now?"
Maurice lifted his chin and glowered at Gaston, the fires of rage, pain, and fury flaming in his irises.
Gaston shifted in his seat, suddenly feeling not much taller than a pebble stuck at the bottom of the painter's boot, at a loss for words and unsure of what to say that might supplicate Belle's father now.
Whatever Maurice's hateful and abhorrent opinion he nursed against him, it couldn't be that much worse than what Gaston already thought of himself. He would never escape the notion that plagued him, that he should have sensed Belle leaving his side in the middle of the night to go back.
His heart should have acknowledged the danger she was in, and he'd curse himself forever for that, thinking he might as well just go and fling himself off of a cliff for how he'd failed to protect her. He could not bring his eyes to face her father.
"Belle took it upon herself to leave the safety of LeFou's parents' home in the middle of the night to return to the prince's castle, Maurice." Gaston tried to explain to the old man, not to excuse himself, but to begin to somehow earn back Maurice's trust that he had lost. It was perhaps, the only way of getting the old man's blessing and permission to marry her. "I—I should have…felt her leaving me, somehow."
Gaston shook his head in regret and tried to send away the visual image in his mind's eye of waking up to a pile of crumpled blankets by his right side, discovering Belle gone had been perhaps the only time in his entire life that the soldier had felt fear.
A cold debilitating and humiliating fear, an injury that he never wanted to face again, if he could help it. He silently vowed to do whatever it took to get Belle away from the clutches of Adam, that beast, that monster, and back home to Maurice.
"Please, believe me, monsieur. If I'd known she was going to escape, only death would have stopped me from ensuring that she made it home to you."
Maurice smirked indignantly as the edges of his beard twitched without prompting and the old man rolled his eyes in disbelief as he took another hearty swallow of wine from his goblet.
"You left Belle," he charged. "You could have gone back," he pointed out. Maurice nearly spat his indictment on the floor at Gaston's boots, a look of utter disgust in his eyes.
Gaston fell silent, knowing he had no defense.
LeFou, sensing his friend's hesitation, came to his companion's defense, sensing the discord between the two men and not wanting a brawl to break out. "He—he wasn't adequately equipped to deal with the situation at hand, Maurice," LeFou stammered awkwardly, tripping over his words. "One man armed with a sword is not nearly enough against the prince, a skilled dueler, and to say nothing of the—the guards at his commands. He's employed dozens of them, sir…"
LeFou looked as though he wanted to say more on behalf of his friend's defense, though he fumbled and fell silent as Maurice shot him a withering look and slammed the flat of his palm against the flat wooden surface of the mahogany table.
"That isn't good enough, monsieur! Belle is my child, my only daughter. What if he hurts her?" Maurice looked at LeFou while he spoke, though it was quite clear to all three men that he was addressing Gaston.
It took Belle's father a moment or two before he returned his attention to Gaston. Gaston licked his lips to moisten them, what little good it did, as his mouth had gone bone dry, and his tongue suddenly felt thick in his mouth as he struggled to remember just how the bloody hell words worked. His mind was drawing a total blank.
"I—I left Belle, to protect her, Maurice. You're right," he mumbled, shamefaced, as a fiery heat crept to his cheeks. "I could have and should have gone back," he confessed, all too painfully aware of how little good his actions had done by coming back to the village, though it was with the best of intentions. "I have no doubt in my mind that Adam would have hurt Belle worse if he'd known I'd returned," he explained, watching Maurice's face pale in shock as the old man's mind struggled to process the revelation that his daughter was injured. "There was an incident with a guard, monsieur. The man cut her cheek. It's going to scar her, but she will bear the marking permanently. LeFou's affianced, Claire, the young woman who arrived with us, is the young mademoiselle responsible for saving your daughter's life, sir," Gaston explained.
"The prince hurt my daughter?!" Maurice hissed, leaning forward over the table so that the tip of his nose was practically touching Gaston's. He flinched, but Gaston did not dare revert his gaze.
"I'd give my life to change that, Maurice, old chap, you know that I would," Gaston asserted passively, noticing LeFou cower a bit and grow hesitant at seeing the murderous look of rage in Maurice's narrowed eyes as he glowered at Gaston.
Maurice intently studied every last detail on the handsome soldier's face, scrutinizing his appearance. Something within Gaston's tone told Maurice that the man deeply regretted leaving his daughter behind to suffer an unknown fate at the hands of the prince, regardless of it was her voice or not.
The suffering in the man's dark eyes told Maurice that Gaston was being truthful when he swore that his greatest wish was to protect Belle and ensure his daughter's safety, to get her out of there.
He could understand that Monsieur Gaston Dupont loathed himself for what Belle had endured.
Despite his anger and heartbreak towards what had transpired, and not knowing if Belle was safe, Maurice nevertheless found himself believing the younger man's heartfelt confession of remorse.
"You love my daughter, Gaston," he stated flatly to Gaston in a tone that was very matter-of-fact.
Gaston nodded. "With all that I am, monsieur." He looked across the table at Maurice, and the honesty with which the sometimes boisterous and loud soldier spoke had moved the old painter then.
Maurice regarded Gaston in silence for a moment as his mind worked together to piece what he knew of the military captain and tavern owner.
In the past, the man's bravado, and bold, sometimes brazen attempts to woo his daughter had not worked, but even now, Maurice sensed a shift within Gaston Dupont that had changed him.
It seemed to the painter his overly-confident attitude whenever he was around Belle was a mask, to prevent his daughter from seeing just how much that her actions and words tended to affect Gaston.
"Your daughter has been through enough torment, monsieur," Gaston spoke up solemnly, his expression as grim as a graveyard, no trace of jest lingering in his dark eyes as he fixed Maurice with a pointed stare. "I've caused her more grief and suffering than Belle should ever need to bear. I will carry the burden of not being able to save her life as my cross the entirety of the rest of my life. I'd sooner have my own flesh flailed from my bones than to think of Belle suffering at the prince's hands. I'm going to do whatever it takes to get her back, but it's not going to be pretty, Maurice," he warned. "It will be dangerous. There's every chance that I might not succeed, but I'm going to try, sir."
He closed his eyes at the very idea of the pain which he was sure Belle was suffering at Adam's hands, and he shook his head wildly, trying to send the image his mind's eye was showing him away.
Maurice regarded Gaston, with somewhat a bit more respect than he had before only moments ago. "It does touch this old man's heart to see the devotion that you claim to have for my daughter. How on God's green earth will you get Belle back?"
"Climbing spikes and a few good men is all I need if I have to. Though if Adam isn't going to listen to diplomatic reasoning, I've no choice but to sneak in and reclaim her. Unfortunately, going against the crown is as good as a death sentence if I'm caught. It's not going to be easy. I'm going to get her," Gaston growled, a dark shadow flitting across his face as he grew angry at the thought of Belle remaining a captive in the prince's castle for any longer than she had to, though he supposed that could have been a shadow cast by the candle on the table. It was hard for Gaston to tell which was which. "I promise…"
"You won't be caught, Gaston, you never have been," LeFou piped up, eager to steer their conversation in a more cheerful, positive direction. He shuddered at the thought of an experienced soldier like Gaston ever getting caught.
"Thank you, LeFou," Gaston murmured politely, touched at the confidence and faith his oldest companion harbored for him, as he looked back at Maurice and waited for Belle's father to elaborate. When he did not immediately speak, Gaston took that as his cue to continue speaking, desperately hoping to convince the old man to bestow his approval for Belle's hand in marriage. "Somehow, your daughter is able to see me as the man I was always meant to be." An affectionate smile snaked its way onto Gaston's face. "She makes me want to try to be that man, for her," he vowed.
"Not many have bothered to understand my daughter's lovely heart. She's a kind girl, a pure soul," Maurice said bitterly, a shadow of rage flickering across his lined and weathered features at how he thought of the scorn and ridicule he and Belle had endured upon moving into Villeneuve several years back when Belle had been only ten.
Gaston's jaw clenched, mirroring Maurice's rueful misery. "Your daughter has been surrounded by many fools all her life." He shook his head as visions of the prince's face darted through his mind. "It's not just her heart that's captivating, monsieur," Gaston quickly corrected Maurice, his dark eyes now focused on a point somewhere behind them, as if Belle were standing before him. "She is easily the most beautiful girl in all France."
Lifting his head approvingly, Maurice leant back in his chair and gave Gaston a satisfied little nod. "I've waited a long time for a good man to see my Belle for what she truly is, to give her the love and admiration that I've always known she deserves." He paused, scratching the stubble along his chin. "But never in my wildest days did I think it would be you."
Suddenly, Gaston could not bring himself to meet Maurice's eyes.
"She deserves better, Maurice." Gaston conceded, ashamed to admit it now.
"You believe yourself unworthy of her attention," Maurice acknowledged with a curt nod. "Truth be told, you are not. No man is good enough." He asserted, his voice growing deadly quiet and serious as he continued to study Gaston.
A bitter and cold wave of disappointment coupled with anger quickly overcame the soldier, as his heart fell to the pit of his stomach. Did Maurice's disapproval mean that he would want him kept away from Belle forever, that he would refuse to offer up his blessing? He thought chillingly, bitterly. That was a punishment Gaston could not accept.
The old man across the table noticed Gaston's crestfallen demeanor, but Maurice continued talking.
"The fact that you finally seem to understand what a treasure my Belle is, and that you consider yourself woefully inadequate to court her and be a suitable suitor for my daughter is exactly why I think I am beginning to understand that you might perhaps be the only man in all of France who might be worthy of my Belle's love. If you can get her back and away from that boorish, disgusting prince," Maurice added, a note of gravel in his voice, and his eyes solemn as he addressed Gaston with pure honesty.
Gaston blinked owlishly at Maurice for a few moments as his brain processed the painter's words.
He came to understand that Maurice was giving his consent for the life he dreamed of with Belle, presuming that Belle could be rescued. He was not about to let the opportunity slip him by.
"Thank you, Maurice. Thank you, monsieur, I can guarantee that I will see Belle returned home, no matter what it takes, even if it means I give my own life in order to see that happen. I swear it, I will bring her back," he mumbled, as he rose to his feet, nudging LeFou out of the way, as he kept his hand on the hilt of his sword. He radiated almost with a newfound sense of happiness, though he knew the hardest part of him lay ahead: rescuing Belle and confronting Adam.
He reached for Maurice's hand as Belle's father copied Gaston's movements and rose from his chair, turning to face Gaston in solemnity. Gaston shook Maurice's hand firmly before Belle's father could withdraw his hand and turn away.
"You've given me the greatest honor I could ever know. You will never be sorry that you've trusted me, I swear it. I will see your daughter returned home safe for you. I swear this on my own life," Gaston vowed.
"I know that, boy, see that you do," Maurice accepted with a heavy sigh, only a hint of fatherly warning in his tone. After a moment spent of the painter fidgeting with his fingers, he dipped into the pocket of his shirt and procured a tiny brown pouch. "Perhaps…when you see my Belle, this would make an appropriate offering in terms of a betrothal gift," he said, speaking quietly, opening the pouch, and pouring the little pouch's contents into the palm of his hand.
Gaston numbly held out his hand when Maurice motioned for the soldier to step forward with a curt jerk of his hand.
He did so, feeling like his legs were moving of their own accord. A sharp gasp of surprise left his lungs, his breaths catching in his throat as Gaston stared at a simple pair of golden wedding bands.
"The smaller one is her mother's," Maurice confessed, a pained look flitting across her eyes. "I've been waiting for years for my Belle to find a man worthy of her before even daring to consider relinquishing all that I've left of her mother, aside from my Belle to her suitor. It was always my hope that Belle would wear this ring with pride one day, and think of her mother."
Maurice lifted his gaze and fixed the soldier with a grave stare that sent a cold tremor down Gaston's spine and spoke solemnly, leaving no room for misinterpretation as he addressed Gaston Dupont.
"Please don't make me regret this decision."