CHAPTER 25

GASTON curiously eyed the baker's daughter as his worn hand slipped out from underneath his soft cloak to tug on the dark fabric. The soldier did not think he could explain away the certain unease that filled his broad chest as he stood eyeing Claire Renaud.

She was standing alone, at the edge of the village, a strangely wistful expression on her face, marveling at the resemblance to his lovely Belle, his beauty that the baker's brunette daughter possessed. Minus the eyes and nose, of course.

He rose a shaking hand to one of his tired eyes and rubbed slowly at the surface of his chilled skin.

A scattered sigh escaped the military captain's barely cracked lips. His hand moved to his neck, the hood of his cloak rolling down over his broad shoulders. Gaston rolled his neck to crack it and lazily circled his head down to glance at the delicate little winter flower, Sweet Fairymoss, he'd heard Agathe call it once.

A delicate green plant that bloomed even in the dead of winter and looked vibrant and lush. Agathe had given it to him, sensing that Claire needed some small form of comfort after being dealt such a shock.

The beggar woman had gotten a strange, wistful look in her eyes as he had stalked his way down the cobblestone streets after the young mademoiselle, forsaking his friendship with LeFou, thinking that after what his friend had done, of that, Gaston did not think he could forgive. The small thing laid calmly in his large, gloved hand. In the soft lighting, as the sun crept lower beyond the horizon and set, the plant's colors looked brighter.

The thought of the baker's daughter and how much she looked like Belle flashed in Gaston's vivid memory.

Oh, he figured it would be easy enough to charm the lass, whisper a few sweet words into her ear, words that would make her swoon, and she would be tumbling in the hay for him, but…but…oh, gods, what was wrong with him?

He furrowed his dark eyebrows in quandary. The recollection of Claire Renaud's bright smile danced in the back of his mind. If he focused long enough, he could hear her laugh as if she were right next to him, instead of several hundred feet away now. Her smile, when she was happy, would lace over her face with such a tender sweetness, he was sure that the only other woman who could hold such a smile was Belle.

A sudden sharp pain thrashed through him just then, constricting his chest and rendering him stricken.

He felt…wrong. Or more so, rather, what he was feeling was wrong. It just had to be, for how could he look at another woman the same as he looked at Belle?

Even so, as he thought of the differences and similarities of the two French women, it was Claire's serene amber eyes that now drenched his memory.

Gaston would have never imagined that another woman could invoke these feelings he had once believed himself to hold only for Belle, but now…

Now, he was not so sure. Of course, these feelings were new for the military captain, aye, but they still held a familiar yet foreign sense for the soldier, like a distant fond memory, before Belle had chosen to stay.

However, something nestled deep within Gaston still fought against it. These feelings were light and breathless, yes, but underneath it all, there was something dark stirring within the former captain.

This same familiar 'wrong' feeling hurt him. Not only did Gaston Dupont feel 'wrong' for harboring such inappropriate thoughts of the baker's oldest daughter, but a snakelike voice sat in the back of his mind, taunting him. You haven't learned your lesson at all, soldier. What would Belle say to see you like this?

These intrusive thoughts left the seething and flustered man speechless and pondering the statement.

The Fairymoss flower in his hand was almost forgotten as his hold upon the delicate plant loosened. His dark eyes were left unblinking, breaths hitching and catching in his throat.

What would Belle say to you? The same question repeated itself in his mind like a mantra, over and over again until Gaston thought it would send his mind insane. Perhaps he already was.

A heavy hand found its way back to his face. Gaston squeezed his eyes shut tiredly in an attempt to block out the snakelike voice hissing degrading comments in the shell of his ear. The mocking tone that sounded entirely too much like Adam's voice for Gaston's comfort was laced with amusement and cold judgment.

Unfortunately, the man was familiar with the voice.

Did you really love Maurice's daughter at all? From what it looks like to me, Dupont, you've already moved on from one young woman to the next, the voice said.

"No!" Gaston's cracking voice erupted from deep within his chest as though the soldier thought that would be the silencer to the demonic voice inside his head. His shallow breaths only worsened as time passed. "You're…you're wrong.. I—I'm…happy…"

He almost choked on the last word that Gaston knew fully bloody well was a falsehood, as he lost control and buried his head in his hands, pieces of his black hair sticky almost every which way as they tangled his fingers as Gaston tugged so hard on the roots that he swore he could hear them scream in protest.

Or perhaps it was just the wind. The flower he'd been holding fell to the cobblestoned street as the bitter chilly breeze carried the feeble thing to the ground.

The petals of the Sweet Fairymoss plant bent as they connected with the stones. The poor soldier was practically hysterical at this point, overcome with conflicting feelings for both young women at this point, and losing not just one friend in Adam, but another in LeFou, for he did not think he could forgive his actions.

His lungs burned as the biting air thrashed in and out of him at a speed that Gaston could not, for the life of him, slow down. The thundering of his heart numbed his chest. The man was sure, considering the warm water that had started to brim behind closed eyelids, that slick tears would slip from his lids at any moment.

He tried in vain to fight down the salty liquid. After a moment of deafening silence that roared in his ears, the voices inside Gaston's head finally ceased their torment.

Gaston kept his head buried firmly in his hands for a good long moment. Thank God his lungs had calmed slightly, the burning feeling slowly but surely subsiding.

"I…I…love her…" His voice dropped an octave lower than he was used to. This was wrong. It had to be wrong. How could he look at another woman like this?

What would Belle say? The one question that Gaston could not answer, nor the one he wasn't sure he wanted an answer to, continued to swirl in his throbbing head.

As the heavy, cold silence around the soldier continued to thicken, a sickening bitterness seeped into his stomach, reminding him why he'd sent for D'Arque.

Adam. The Prince of these lands was the reason Belle did not return his affections, Gaston was sure of that.

"If only…" he breathed out a heavy sigh as he lowered his hands from his face, and looked out still, at the almost motionless figure of Claire Renaud, just standing there, watching the Wolves' Wood pensively.

A lump formed in his throat as his breaths caught.

"If she had come back with me, then maybe I…" he let his voice trail off and very nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard the young woman's voice speak up.

"First sign of madness, you know. Talking to yourself. Are you sure Monsieur D'Arque isn't coming for you, sir?" came Claire Renaud's voice as the brunette beauty slowly turned to face him, a placid look on her features.

She was talking to him. To him! Gaston looked around for a moment to ensure the baker's daughter wasn't addressing anyone else. No. Other passersby that came and went about their nightly business as they prepared to turn in for the evening barely spared Claire Renaud a second glance, save for maybe a few who knew her father and told her to tell him his baguette loaves were heavenly and deserved every single bit of their praise.

She accepted the compliment on behalf of her father with a curt nod of her head but kept her gaze fixed on Gaston, who was feeling shellshocked and at a total loss.

"What? I—I…no, that's…" His breaths caught in his throat and died as Claire slowly made her way to him, and for perhaps the first time since making her acquaintance at LeFou's parents' home, he caught a glimpse of the girl's amber irises up close and personal.

Gaston's breaths quickened in his chest in a panic as it tightened and his throat had hallowed, rendering him feeling even more lightheaded than before she'd spoken.

When he tried to speak, all that came out was a gasp. For perhaps the second or so time in his life, the other time had been in Belle's company, Gaston was left stripped of words. Not knowing what to say to the baker's daughter who'd caught him not only talking to himself in a moment of weakness but also spying, all he could do was nod his head at her and hope she didn't think ill of him for previously associating with LeFou.

Thankfully, Claire cut him off from whatever nonsense was about to spout out of his mouth just then, effectively saving him the trouble of responding to her.

"I tease, monsieur, I meant no offense. You worry too much, Dupont," she murmured, suddenly shy and downcasting her gaze to the ground.

It was a moment or two spent of her studying the cobblestone street in a far too engrossed manner before Claire summoned enough strength on her throat to manage to ask him, "Will you at least let me give you a bite to eat before you head back to that—that beast's castle?" she asked, a slightly teasing lilt to her shy voice now, daring to lift her gaze, keeping her head turned to the side so Gaston could not quite make out her expression, but just enough to study the soldier's reaction. "You're going to try to send the Duke's son…to the asylum, sir? Is that your plan?"

Gaston immediately felt the blood drain from his face. There seemed to be no air in the soldier's breath as the military captain struggled to find his breath, thinking that this young mademoiselle had rendered him speechless and awestruck when previously, only Belle had seemed to possess this particular capability.

He was not sure whether to feel impressed by this revelation or intimidated.

Had Claire somehow overheard his talk?

"I—I don't know what you mean," he stammered, hoping he sounded innocent, but he knew she wasn't fooled. The baker's daughter was surprisingly sharp.

But Claire shook her head and shot Gaston a pointed look and held up a hand to quiet any attempts by Gaston to deny the truth of what she already knew. A brief, pained expression flitted across her face.

"I ah…overheard you and Belle's father talking in the tavern today, sir," she whispered, sounding ashamed, and could not bear to bring herself to meet his gaze now. It was a moment before she spoke. "Is it true, sir?"

Something within Gaston was tempted to lie to Renaud, but that same nagging voice in the back of his mind told the military captain that it was wrong to do so, and more to the point besides, he did not want to lie.

Not to her. He heard himself speaking the truth to the girl in a voice that did not quite sound at all like himself.

"Yes," he answered, after a lengthy pause, eyeing the ground, nervous. "I have…unfinished business to attend to at my…old friend's estate," he almost whispered, not one to meet Claire's eyes, not knowing she couldn't look.

Claire shivered, understanding that whatever the soldier had in mind for the Prince of these lands could surely not be good if it meant D'Arque was now entangled in this mess with the painter's daughter.

"She is…upset with you? Belle? Is that why you do this?" Claire asked, almost in disbelief, as she boldly lifted her chin and jutted it out, slightly defiant. "Sir?"

Gaston sucked in his breath sharply. "Angry," he corrected after a lengthy and uncomfortable pause. "Perhaps more so than I've ever seen her with me," he bemoaned. "She did not want to come back with me."

Claire heard the soldier's words but did not understand as she blinked owlishly at Gaston Dupont.

"But…surely, Belle is aware of your purpose?" she breathed. Claire was utterly shocked, her eyes wide.

Gaston slowly inclined his head. "Aye, but she is not of a sound mental state to be thinking clearly. I'm sure that whatever witch's curse the Prince was put under has started to send Belle's poor mind addled and insane." He pointed out, hoping Claire would understand, not sure why he sought out her approval.

Claire furrowed her thin dark eyebrows into a disapproving frown. She looked as though she had more she wanted to say on the matter, but for the moment thought better of it. The girl heaved a tired sigh and motioned with a wave of her arm for the soldier to follow her inside her parents' home.

"Come, monsieur. I cannot then, in good conscience, turn you away to rescue whom I consider being a friend on an empty stomach. Let me make you something."

Gaston could only comply as a good soldier, he followed the woman's command and trailed behind.

It wasn't long before they reached Renaud's simple but modest homes, like all the others in their provincial village. Claire stepped inside the cottage first, followed by Gaston. The door opened directly into a large room that looked to be a sitting room of sorts, where the baker and his family all took their meals.

The fireplace was lit, sending its feeble warmth and light throughout the otherwise dimly lit two-room home, the minuscule blaze now dying in the hearth.

A frail, too-thin looking woman with light ash brown hair done up in a simple braid sat beside the fire, draped in at least two cloaks intended to keep her warm and comfortable. The baker's wife looked up as her daughter entered, her face brightening upon seeing that Claire had not only brought home company but the town's local war hero.

"Monsieur Dupont!" she breathed. "Please do forgive my manners, I did not know that my daughter was bringing home company."

"He helped me, Mama. He's hungry, Mama. I'm going to make him something to eat, you just sit and rest," Claire murmured.

Without waiting for Gaston or her mother to respond, Claire darted forward towards a small alcove that Gaston surmised served as the little family's kitchen and set about preparing a meal for the soldier who had saved her little brother's life, ignoring the soldier's protests that she did not need to partake in such a fuss like this.

Before too terribly long, a bowl of soup was set in front of Gaston, along with a cup of weak wine, sausage, a hard crust of bread to go with his bowl of soup, a rind of cheese.

The meal was warm and delicious, but sparse. Potatoes compromised most of the dishes, along with a few root vegetables that looked to be heavily seasoned. Gaston tried not to frown as he was almost sure that the spices had been used to disguise the taste of food that had nearly rotted in their village's fields.

The image caused his concern for this family to grow. As it was, he only ate small amounts, wanting to save the provisions for the baker's family to see them through the worst of the winter season was yet to come.

Claire waited until the man had finished his meal and clearing his plate away for him before she spoke.

"I don't think what you're planning is a good idea, sir," she whispered, her voice small, suddenly shy, as she turned back around to look at him. "You can force two people together, but you cannot make love grow between them. That comes on its own, if ever at all," she told him, growing annoyed with the military captain's ego and insistence that he was of a firm belief Belle could love him.

It was obvious to her and Maurice that she did not, and Gaston Dupont had no right to interfere again in her life.

Not now, and not ever. Claire only hoped to make the tavern owner see that before he did something foolish.

Gaston needed no reminder, grinding his teeth as he thought of the vicious way the new monstrous form of his former friend had looked. The hungry way Adam had looked at her, as though he could not decide whether to take Belle by the face and kiss her or to eat her instead.

"Belle must have given into Adam's persistent and annoying advances," Gaston conjectured with a low growl.

He had not been there to draw Belle away from the Prince's zealousness and his womanizing, intimidating ways.

Claire shook her head sadly. "You know Maurice's daughter better than I do, monsieur. When did you ever know Belle to give in to anything?" She scoffed, shaking her head sadly, and then she paused. She thought about how hearing how Belle's wish to stay alongside her master must be tearing the military captain to pieces.

Her previously harsh tone softened as she tried to explain.

"She's chosen to stay, monsieur. You need to respect that." A strangely wistful expression overcame the young brunette's features. Unfortunately, the look on her face only incensed Gaston.

"I am the one that Belle should love!" Gaston shouted, forgetting proper edict, unable to quell back his ire any longer.

Forgetting himself, the soldier slammed the flat of his palm forcefully down on the wooden surface of the table, the loud smacking sound making Claire flinch away in both hurt and surprise.

Claire watched, horrified, and stricken, as the handsome man's expression changed to that of a truly mad man, his dark eyes glistening with unshed moisture that was not tears, but insanity.

"I will go back. I'll take her," Gaston seethed, seeming close to being able to no longer be reasoned with, no matter who attempted to talk to him. "When she sees me come to save her from the likes of that—that…accursed beast, Belle will not be able to deny that I am the one that she should love," he asserted, passionately. "Then she'll come with me, and my old friend will be left alone to rot."

The soldier smiled, already imagining his plan. Claire gaped at Gaston Dupont in disbelief.

Again, she shook her head, hoping to make the man understand. "She will not leave," she said, confident in her words and what she knew of Maurice's daughter's character already.

"Then I'll take her, Claire," Gaston growled. The soldier began creating a dozen different options in his mind. "When she's away from Adam, she'll remember how much I love her, and that she and I are meant to be together."

Claire could only stare at their local war hero, fraught with disbelief, the furrow between her brows deepening. Had the man lost his damned bloody mind? It would seem so. It would seem that D'Arque should be examining Gaston, not the Prince.

"I—I can guarantee you, she won't let it happen." She looked earnestly at Gaston as she bit down on her lip.

"What makes you so sure, milady, that she won't come away with me of her own free will? How could she possibly prefer the company of a monster over me, Claire?"

Gaston now almost sounded angry with Claire. Of all people, he would have thought that Claire at a minimum would have sided with him on winning the heart of his beloved Belle.

But Claire did not seem to want to, he realized, as she looked up into the man's dark eyes with a sad frown. It killed the girl to see the man's heart ache like this, so longing for someone that he would never have. Claire's face began to sag with the enormity of the suggestion that he had just proposed to her then.

"Oh, I'm sure that's exactly what Belle wants for herself and her father," she rolled her eyes. "Would you stop a moment, and listen to yourself, monsieur?" Claire demanded hotly. "Do you even know what nonsense it is that you're saying? You claim to be a 'good' soldier capable of following orders, you talk of honor and respect, but so much talk of respect," she spat with disgust. "You propose to steal away Belle from the monarch of these lands when she made it quite clear that she does not want you, does not care for you in the way you hope for, and never will."

"I know exactly what I am saying, milady." Gaston resolutely lifted his chin and jutted it out slightly, as though silently daring the baker's daughter to contest his words. "I intend to fight for her," he declared. "No matter what it takes. Even if D'Arque has to find a way to kill it, Claire."

"You can't do this!" Claire spun on him, forcing the military captain to examine his so-called 'grand plan' from all angles. "If the Duke's son really is ah…changed, as you claim, then if you try to go after Belle a second time, you'd be dead before you could scale the gates and walls of the castle, and you might even cause Belle's death as well."

She illustrated the worst possible ending her mind's eye could conjure in the hopes it would stay him from the course. Gaston, for his part, said nothing. He simply stood in Claire's family's home, his mouth contorting into a grimace, his breaths turning shallow from hate and anger.

Claire allowed the man a moment to mourn what might have been before her practical nature took hold of her once more. "Belle made a choice, monsieur, and it is not you," she told the soldier stoically but quietly, eyes downcast.

"It was the wrong choice, Renaud," Gaston barked hoarsely as his eyes filled with bitter, disgusting tears as he looked over to Claire, knowing this was not fair to her now.

"Nevertheless, monsieur, you need to honor that choice," she impatiently told the tavern owner, raising her head in certainty. Claire's jaw was cut like steel with determination as she fixed the man with a pointed stare that rendered an icy feeling wound around his throat as it began to hallow. "You have no right, Gaston, to disturb Belle's life, sir. Not now, and not ever. Please reconsider your plan, sir. Please."

Gaston sat quietly, Claire's words permeating his skin like a thick, smothering heat. He sat at the table in Monsieur Renaud's home, his face reddening and quickly turning into a twisted grotesquerie, a mask of pure onslaught and anger. His hands shook, writhing into clenched fists.

He shook his head to himself, as though the man thought he could rid his mind of the resignation that Belle did not want him as her husband from seeping into his brain like an infection.

He had thought that he would finally know what it meant to be happy, assuming Belle had accepted his marriage proposal. But then Adam had to go and ruin it by taking an interest in the young woman.

"No!" Gaston bellowed, slamming his fist against the rough oak of Renaud's tabletop. "No, Claire! Belle loves me," he passionately proclaimed. "Just as I love her," he nodded vehemently, sure of himself. "She and I, we were meant to be together, milady."

Claire huffed in agitation, resisting the urge to stomp her foot in protest as a release of her frustrations. She threw her arms up around herself in anger. She let out a mournful sigh.

"Monsieur, please," she implored, biting down on her bottom lip. "Were that you could truly hear yourself. You talk as though you're turning into a mad man! I beg of you. Do not do this." Her amber eyes bore deep into Gaston as if she thought she could will the man back to his senses that way, pleadingly and hopefully so.

Gaston restlessly drummed his fingers against the table, his mind reeling with so many possibilities. He finally decided upon the actions that he knew he had to take, Belle's request for him to stay away from her be damned to the hells below.

It was clear that whatever witch's curse some enchantress had placed upon his former friend was starting to affect Maurice's daughter's mind too. Why else would she have agreed to stay?

Belle was clearly not of sound mental judgment and needed a dashing war hero to rescue her from that accursed castle and its monstrous master, no matter the cost, Gaston knew he would pay it.

He would see it through or die trying. What difference could it make? He was already a dead man with Belle's absence not here to ground him and remind him of what it was that was really important.

Gaston felt his entire body tense as he leaped to his feet, clutching onto his bow and arrow and short sword, shielding his precious weapons next to himself as if it were Belle herself that which he guarded.

"You will see, milady," he passionately vowed. "I'm going to win Belle's trust back, and her love."

The man was practically shaking with the intensity of his convictions as he addressed Claire.

"When Belle sees me, alive and well, ready to rescue her from that—that monster, that disgusting beast," he spat with no small measure of disgust in his tone, "Belle will forget all about her useless promise to Adam and come with me."

Gaston let himself smile at the thought. "She will then learn that it is me she should love. That I will care for her, provide for her, compensate for the tragedies she's suffered in a way Adam never could."

"Monsieur, I beg of you, don't!" Claire outstretched a hand to stop him, but Gaston was already striding towards the front door.

Gaston stopped, pausing to smile half-heartedly at Claire before leaving. "The whole damned bloody village will see," he said, his mind already racing three or four steps ahead of his erratic thoughts. "The next time you see me, milady, Belle will be my wife," he promised, his dark eyes sparkling with a glint Claire did not like.

Without another word, Gaston flung open the door of her father's home and disappeared back into the dark cover of nightfall, with Claire running fast on her heels, as fast as her legs could take her.

"Gaston! Don't! Come back! Let's—let's just talk about your options, please don't do this!" Claire shouted desperately. She ran out and down the front steps of her home, only to find the hunter already disappeared as if Gaston Dupont had never been there in the first place. Her growing distress over whatever Gaston was planning, and Monsieur D'Arque's involvement in his little scheme to ruin Belle's life gnawed at her as she restlessly paced the cobblestone streets of their village.

Claire had always admired the soldier for his personality and wished him a life of happiness. However, she knew that Belle was also more than justified in choosing her own path and deciding her own fate.

No one decided her fate, but Belle herself. She knew that Belle had bargained with the Prince of these lands—her servitude, whether that meant for life or however long, Claire could not even begin to fathom a guess.

But what the young mademoiselle did know, was that Gaston Dupont had no right to interfere in her life, or her decision. Claire knew she had only the one choice left available to her. There was no other way to stop the disaster that promised to occur. Mumbling darkly to herself, she darted back inside to grab her cloak off the wooden rack her father had placed strategically by the front door of their home and fastened it around her slender shoulders.

If no one in this village was going to take her seriously or to help her, then she would have no other choice but to go after him. Alone and by herself. Claire frowned as she flipped the hood of her dark navy blue cloak over her head swiftly before any of the villagers knew that it was her trailing after the soldier like a newborn colt on wobbly legs. Her gaze peered through the hooded cloth, her eyes still remaining fixed on Gaston's fading form as the man began to venture into the one place she was terrified to go: the Wolves' Woods.

"I really am a stupid woman," she grumbled to herself under her breath.

Her legs moved at a brisk pace, no longer taking directions from her mind, seeming to move of their own accord as she made her journey into the heart of the woods in hopes of stopping Gaston, the shadows from the fully risen moon in the sky following her, but the light from the moon was not the only thing following the young girl.

If Claire Renaud would have peered over her shoulder, she would have been made aware of Monsieur D'Arque, following her.

And behind him, another cloaked figure trailed behind him…