A/N: Ok I used the English to French translator forgive me! *Ducks from
being hit with rotten tomatoes*
I wanted to get the French in there because I feel it would be so sweet for
him to talk to her that way. So for those of you who speak French do not
cringe. Ignore the French grammar problems and look at the tenderness of
his voice as he speaks to her....*wipes excess tomato gunk off face*
Rain pounded the glass window. Christina was so weary of the rain. Hadn't the heavens already been emptied several times with torrents of rain? She had not seen Erik in nine days. She had counted each minute, and each hour. Her passion for him had grown steadily over the months she had seen him. It was impossible not to be drawn to him. But now the irony was which was worse being trapped in his lair, or being trapped by the rain?
Erik slowly rubbed the ring with the fabric of his cape to get the grit off of it. The ring was not fit to grace anyone else's fingers other than Christine's. It was so beautiful it was like magic glowing in the candlelight. He had slipped it on her finger without so much a glimmer of explanation. Christine's face had been one of shock and hurt. He had known she was in love with Raoul and yet he had done it anyways. He had declared their engagement with a lovely ring. That token meant nothing to her. She had loved Raoul and no number of gifts could take it away. He berated himself for not seeing that before.
Christina could wait no longer for the winter rains to cease. She would go when the rains diminished enough to order a carriage. It would be the most foolhardy thing she had ever done in her life, and she knew it. It was dark before the rains let up enough for her to journey out.
The candles cast a glow over the damp stones of the lair. Erik set his gaze across the dark lake with its deep dangerous waters. He'd come up with a systems of ropes that could pull the boat across for Christina. They had not been used for many days and he was lonely. He missed Christina's deep thoughts. And even though she was weathered by grief she had a calming spirit about her. He turned back around and headed for the store room. He picked up a candle once again and opened the creaking door. All was the same. He picked his way through the boxes wondering if Christine had left any other clues that she had been there. There was nothing else, but he pocketed the tiny white piece of cloth he'd left there the night before. As he was closing the door he heard footsteps in the darkness. It was Christina. She was dripping wet and her clothes were plastered to her body with cold rain. She almost fainted from exhaustion, but he caught her before she hit the ground. He almost swore out loud. She was icy to the touch. Her face was white and almost blue. Her pale features stood out in sharp contrast to the black dress she wore. He brought an old chair out for her and she sank slowly down onto it.
"Mon petit, my little one," He said softly. "What are you doing here?" His face was etched with concern. She mumbled something incoherently. "Vous êtes si froid, you are so cold," He said tenderly. "Parlez-moi mon amour, speak to me my love,"
"Oh Erik," She opened her eyes slightly. They had no light in them. That frightened him.
"Why did you come here?" He asked again looking directly into her eyes.
"To see you," She whispered so softly he had to lean in to hear her.
"You didn't take a carriage?"
"I did," She nodded weakly. She slumped forward, but he caught her with his arm and eased her back into it.
"Petit agneau, little lamb?" He whispered.
"I'm sorry I did not come this morning, I thought the rain would go away by tonight," She said sounding like a lost child. Erik flung off his heavy black cape, and wrapped it around her shivering form.
He shook his head. "You're going to kill yourself,"
"I don't care what happens to me," She said softly. She closed her eyes.
"Well you should," He muttered angrily. "What happen to using a carriage to get here?" He asked her.
"The wheels got stuck in the mud, I walked the rest of the way here," She murmured.
"So you trudged all the way here in the mud, and the rain?"
"Yes,"
"Sous la pluie! In the rain!" He cursed under his breath. He rubbed her arms vigorously to help the blood flow. She was still dangerously pale. If she stayed here she would die, it was to cold for someone so weak and wet as Christina was at that moment.
"I wanted you to know you weren't forgotten," She whispered. "Because you aren't,"
"I know," He almost choked. He smothered the urge to break down. She cared.
"You don't look so good," He said clearing his throat and brushing a strand of wet hair from her face.
"I'm not much of a fighter,"
"Oh Christina," He placed a finger over her lips. "Don't say such things,"
"I'm sorry Erik," She said. "I had to see you," She placed her cold hand on the right side of his face. He did not jerk away, but allowed himself to feel the smooth silkiness of her palm for a moment. It felt as though a snowflake had landed on his cheek. She slowly withdrew her hand. Her breathing was becoming labored. He was pulled back into reality. He suddenly swung her up gently into his arms.
"What are you doing?" She asked too weak to fight him.
"Taking you home ma petite beauté, my small beauty,"
"But the carriage, it's stuck," She said weakly. The warmness of the cloak Erik had placed around her made her feel sleepy.
"We aren't taking the carriage," He said striding towards the boat that lay waiting on the lake waters. Before he opened the door to the street he wrapped his large cape over her and around his shoulders. At least it would keep him half dry. His only concern right now was Christina.
They traveled on through back alleys and side streets he did not wish to be seen with one of the richest women in France, people would think he had kidnapped her. He had kept up with where Christine had settled down, but never once visited there. He had asked Christina for directions before they walked into the rain. He peeked once in a dark alley under his cloak to see how she was doing. Her eyes were closed and a gleam of feverish sweat was beaded across her forehead. His heart raced, and it propelled him onward through the heavy rain. The manor rose up in the distance. He hurried on up past the manicured gardens to the carriage drive way. He knocked heavily on the huge wooden door to the manor. A surprised servant opened the door in sleeping clothes. He had pulled his hat down lower over his face to hide the obvious trait to his character, his mask. If anyone recognized him they would kill him. He gently handed over Christina into the arms of the servant. He dipped his head curtly to him; the servant was still in shock at what had transpired. To shocked to notice who had handed Christina over to him.
Erik shook excess water off the cape. That girl! He shook his head. He desperately hoped she would live through the night. She looked very ill. She had seemed so weak in the lair. He wished he could have stayed with her through the night to help her battle the fever, but it was left up to her. He remembered how her eyes even though blinded had shone with gentle love for him. Her hand on his cheek had almost been his undoing. He was glad she had not seen the emotion spark in his eyes. Oh how he loved her...
Rain pounded the glass window. Christina was so weary of the rain. Hadn't the heavens already been emptied several times with torrents of rain? She had not seen Erik in nine days. She had counted each minute, and each hour. Her passion for him had grown steadily over the months she had seen him. It was impossible not to be drawn to him. But now the irony was which was worse being trapped in his lair, or being trapped by the rain?
Erik slowly rubbed the ring with the fabric of his cape to get the grit off of it. The ring was not fit to grace anyone else's fingers other than Christine's. It was so beautiful it was like magic glowing in the candlelight. He had slipped it on her finger without so much a glimmer of explanation. Christine's face had been one of shock and hurt. He had known she was in love with Raoul and yet he had done it anyways. He had declared their engagement with a lovely ring. That token meant nothing to her. She had loved Raoul and no number of gifts could take it away. He berated himself for not seeing that before.
Christina could wait no longer for the winter rains to cease. She would go when the rains diminished enough to order a carriage. It would be the most foolhardy thing she had ever done in her life, and she knew it. It was dark before the rains let up enough for her to journey out.
The candles cast a glow over the damp stones of the lair. Erik set his gaze across the dark lake with its deep dangerous waters. He'd come up with a systems of ropes that could pull the boat across for Christina. They had not been used for many days and he was lonely. He missed Christina's deep thoughts. And even though she was weathered by grief she had a calming spirit about her. He turned back around and headed for the store room. He picked up a candle once again and opened the creaking door. All was the same. He picked his way through the boxes wondering if Christine had left any other clues that she had been there. There was nothing else, but he pocketed the tiny white piece of cloth he'd left there the night before. As he was closing the door he heard footsteps in the darkness. It was Christina. She was dripping wet and her clothes were plastered to her body with cold rain. She almost fainted from exhaustion, but he caught her before she hit the ground. He almost swore out loud. She was icy to the touch. Her face was white and almost blue. Her pale features stood out in sharp contrast to the black dress she wore. He brought an old chair out for her and she sank slowly down onto it.
"Mon petit, my little one," He said softly. "What are you doing here?" His face was etched with concern. She mumbled something incoherently. "Vous êtes si froid, you are so cold," He said tenderly. "Parlez-moi mon amour, speak to me my love,"
"Oh Erik," She opened her eyes slightly. They had no light in them. That frightened him.
"Why did you come here?" He asked again looking directly into her eyes.
"To see you," She whispered so softly he had to lean in to hear her.
"You didn't take a carriage?"
"I did," She nodded weakly. She slumped forward, but he caught her with his arm and eased her back into it.
"Petit agneau, little lamb?" He whispered.
"I'm sorry I did not come this morning, I thought the rain would go away by tonight," She said sounding like a lost child. Erik flung off his heavy black cape, and wrapped it around her shivering form.
He shook his head. "You're going to kill yourself,"
"I don't care what happens to me," She said softly. She closed her eyes.
"Well you should," He muttered angrily. "What happen to using a carriage to get here?" He asked her.
"The wheels got stuck in the mud, I walked the rest of the way here," She murmured.
"So you trudged all the way here in the mud, and the rain?"
"Yes,"
"Sous la pluie! In the rain!" He cursed under his breath. He rubbed her arms vigorously to help the blood flow. She was still dangerously pale. If she stayed here she would die, it was to cold for someone so weak and wet as Christina was at that moment.
"I wanted you to know you weren't forgotten," She whispered. "Because you aren't,"
"I know," He almost choked. He smothered the urge to break down. She cared.
"You don't look so good," He said clearing his throat and brushing a strand of wet hair from her face.
"I'm not much of a fighter,"
"Oh Christina," He placed a finger over her lips. "Don't say such things,"
"I'm sorry Erik," She said. "I had to see you," She placed her cold hand on the right side of his face. He did not jerk away, but allowed himself to feel the smooth silkiness of her palm for a moment. It felt as though a snowflake had landed on his cheek. She slowly withdrew her hand. Her breathing was becoming labored. He was pulled back into reality. He suddenly swung her up gently into his arms.
"What are you doing?" She asked too weak to fight him.
"Taking you home ma petite beauté, my small beauty,"
"But the carriage, it's stuck," She said weakly. The warmness of the cloak Erik had placed around her made her feel sleepy.
"We aren't taking the carriage," He said striding towards the boat that lay waiting on the lake waters. Before he opened the door to the street he wrapped his large cape over her and around his shoulders. At least it would keep him half dry. His only concern right now was Christina.
They traveled on through back alleys and side streets he did not wish to be seen with one of the richest women in France, people would think he had kidnapped her. He had kept up with where Christine had settled down, but never once visited there. He had asked Christina for directions before they walked into the rain. He peeked once in a dark alley under his cloak to see how she was doing. Her eyes were closed and a gleam of feverish sweat was beaded across her forehead. His heart raced, and it propelled him onward through the heavy rain. The manor rose up in the distance. He hurried on up past the manicured gardens to the carriage drive way. He knocked heavily on the huge wooden door to the manor. A surprised servant opened the door in sleeping clothes. He had pulled his hat down lower over his face to hide the obvious trait to his character, his mask. If anyone recognized him they would kill him. He gently handed over Christina into the arms of the servant. He dipped his head curtly to him; the servant was still in shock at what had transpired. To shocked to notice who had handed Christina over to him.
Erik shook excess water off the cape. That girl! He shook his head. He desperately hoped she would live through the night. She looked very ill. She had seemed so weak in the lair. He wished he could have stayed with her through the night to help her battle the fever, but it was left up to her. He remembered how her eyes even though blinded had shone with gentle love for him. Her hand on his cheek had almost been his undoing. He was glad she had not seen the emotion spark in his eyes. Oh how he loved her...