1 Chapter Four—The Perfect Mistake
One month later. . . .
A month had passed since Marguerite's nightmare had occurred. For the most part, that night had been forgotten—at least by three of the treehouse's occupants. For the other two however . . . that night had definitely been a night to remember. And ever since that special night, the treehouse had been a different place.
Roxton and Marguerite could no longer control their feelings. That night had made the two separate beings one, both mentally and physically. When the couple had finally emerged from the bedroom that afternoon, hand- in-hand . . . the treehouse had much to celebrate.
"At long last!" Challenger had cried, madly shaking Roxton's hand.
"Hey, way to go, bud," smiled Malone, patting the hunter on the back.
Veronica had pulled Marguerite into large hug. "Oh Marguerite, I'm so happy for the two of you!" she exclaimed. She broke the happy embrace and ran to go fetch a bottle of wine—the one they saved for very special occasions. And that night, they celebrated . . . they celebrated a new, blooming love and a new happiness and peace brought to the treehouse.
In the midst of all the joy stood Marguerite and Roxton, together at last. As they smiled and looked into the other's eyes, each felt the bliss and serenity of the upcoming future, full of new horizons and opportunities.
That had been a month ago.
"Ah," Roxton sighed contently, emerging from his bedroom and walked towards the kitchen in long, smooth strides. "Good morning, everyone!" he cried cheerfully upon entering.
"Good morning, old boy," greeted Challenger, looking up from the table, "my, you're cheerful this morning."
"Indeed I am," replied Roxton, suddenly smiling as he eyed Marguerite readying the table for a hearty breakfast. The heiress looked gorgeous this morning, as usual. Her long, dark hair brushed across her back as she leaned over to set a tray of food on the table in front of Challenger.
Roxton smiled mischievously as he crept up behind his love and gently wrapped his arms around her waist. Marguerite grinned as she felt him tenderly kiss her neck. "Mmm, good morning to you too," she said, suddenly turning around and planting a small kiss on the hunter's lips.
"You're up early this morning," observed Roxton, "I missed you this morning, when I woke up and didn't find you beside me. . . ."
Marguerite sighed. "Aw, poor John," she said playfully, "I'm sorry. I had a few stomach cramps during the night and couldn't sleep."
"Again?" Roxton asked with concern.
"Yes. I've actually been awake since early this morning. In fact . . . I almost went with Veronica and Malone, who went out to get some herbs from the Zanga village that Challenger needed." She paused to smile seductively at the hunter.
"But you didn't?"
"No . . . because that would mean I wouldn't have a chance to say good morning to my handsome Lord." She leaned in once again to kiss Roxton . . . when suddenly, her stomach lurched.
"Marguerite?" Roxton asked as she abruptly pulled away from him. "Marguerite, are you all right?"
"Oh," Marguerite pressed a hand to her stomach, "no, not really. It's those damned stomach cramps again!" She clamped her hand to her mouth and ran towards the balcony, leaned over, and brought up the remnants of her early breakfast. And there she stood, coughing and hacking.
Challenger, who sent Roxton to get a small basin of clean water and a towel, soon joined Marguerite. He soothingly patted her back. "Easy, my dear," he said in his calm voice, "easy. Just take a breath." Marguerite nodded, her dark locks swing across her back and brushing against Challenger's hand.
Challenger suddenly narrowed his eyes at the touch of Marguerite's hair. He stopped patting her back to feel a lock of it. Strange, he thought, her hair feels different . . . it almost feels rough.
His thoughts scattered as Roxton stepped on the balcony with the water and towel. "Marguerite, here," he said, holding out the basin. Marguerite slowly turned around, smiling weakly. "Thanks," she said, dipping her hands in the water and scooped it into her mouth, rinsing it thoroughly. She spit the water over the balcony, and took the towel from Roxton to wipe her mouth.
"Are you feeling better now?" Roxton asked, stroking Marguerite's shoulder.
Marguerite nodded her head. "Yes, much better." She cringed as she felt another cramp. "Never mind, damn it . . . I guess I spoke too soon."
Roxton turned to look at Challenger, who was once again deep in thought. "Challenger?" he called to the elderly man, who paid him no heed. "Challenger? . . ."
"Hmm? Oh. . . ." Challenger shook himself. He first looked at Marguerite, and then turned to Roxton. "John . . . would you mind if I had a few private words with Marguerite? Regarding her stomach cramps?"
Roxton at first hesitated. "Challenger, if there's something I should know—"
Challenger smiled. "Roxton, please. It's nothing serious. I just want to ask Marguerite a few questions about her pains . . . maybe I can fix her a new serum to ease it. That's all."
Roxton nodded silently. "All right." He turned to Marguerite. "If you need anything, just---"
"Let you know." Marguerite finished. "I know."
Roxton nodded once again, and then stepped back inside the treehouse.
"Ohhh. . . ." Marguerite turned around, one hand still clamping her abdomen in pain. She looked up at Challenger. "So, how can I help you?"
"Marguerite," Challenger started, "have you been taking that new serum I made for you, not too long ago?"
Marguerite nodded silently.
"For how long?"
"I've taken it ever since you gave me the stuff." She paused and made a face. "All though the taste of it makes me want to bring that up too. . . ." she smiled humorously.
"So . . . the serum hasn't been helping you at all?"
Marguerite shrugged. "Well, sorry Challenger. I'm afraid it hasn't."
Challenger narrowed his eyes. "Strange." He stroked his red beard, and suddenly eyed Marguerite's hair once again. He reached out his arm and felt a small lock, feeling the texture.
"Challenger . . . what are you doing?!" Marguerite exclaimed, suddenly backing up.
Challenger shook his head. "Marguerite, will you relax? It's just your hair. . . ."
"What about my hair?" She said feeling just a little insulted, running her hands through it. "What's wrong with it?!"
"Well haven't you noticed?" the elderly man replied, "it feels different than what it should. It's gotten very thick, and course . . . almost leathery, if you will."
"So? I don't see what all this has got to do with my stomach cramps—" Marguerite managed before she was once again cut off by Challenger.
"Tell me something, Marguerite. . . ."
"What?" Marguerite asked in exasperation.
"Talk to me about your appetite."
"My appetite?!" Marguerite exclaimed. Now she was becoming impatient. "Challenger! What's going on here . . . what is it with all the suspicion?" Suddenly, she realized the answer. "You know what's wrong with me, don't you?"
Challenger at first didn't reply, but was compelled to at the glare her received from Marguerite. "I have my theories," he simply said.
"Well, why don't you fill me in on your 'theories', then?" Marguerite raised an eyebrow.
"I don't know if I should. After all, I could be wrong. . . ."
"Challenger! Please!"
Challenger sighed. "Well, all right then. I'll tell you what I think is wrong."
Marguerite also sighed. "Thank you. Now . . . is it serious?"
He nodded. "Oh yes, I believe so."
Marguerite frowned with worry. "How serious?"
"Quite serious."
"Quite serious? Is that all you're going to tell me?" Marguerite was once again getting impatient. Challenger's strange behaviors always worried her, especially when it came to her health. "Challenger, please . . . if it's as serious as you're making it out to be, I deserve to know. Now would you stop beating around the bush and just tell me, already?!"
Challenger nodded, and then looked straight into Marguerite's eyes. "I believe that you're pregnant, Marguerite."
One month later. . . .
A month had passed since Marguerite's nightmare had occurred. For the most part, that night had been forgotten—at least by three of the treehouse's occupants. For the other two however . . . that night had definitely been a night to remember. And ever since that special night, the treehouse had been a different place.
Roxton and Marguerite could no longer control their feelings. That night had made the two separate beings one, both mentally and physically. When the couple had finally emerged from the bedroom that afternoon, hand- in-hand . . . the treehouse had much to celebrate.
"At long last!" Challenger had cried, madly shaking Roxton's hand.
"Hey, way to go, bud," smiled Malone, patting the hunter on the back.
Veronica had pulled Marguerite into large hug. "Oh Marguerite, I'm so happy for the two of you!" she exclaimed. She broke the happy embrace and ran to go fetch a bottle of wine—the one they saved for very special occasions. And that night, they celebrated . . . they celebrated a new, blooming love and a new happiness and peace brought to the treehouse.
In the midst of all the joy stood Marguerite and Roxton, together at last. As they smiled and looked into the other's eyes, each felt the bliss and serenity of the upcoming future, full of new horizons and opportunities.
That had been a month ago.
"Ah," Roxton sighed contently, emerging from his bedroom and walked towards the kitchen in long, smooth strides. "Good morning, everyone!" he cried cheerfully upon entering.
"Good morning, old boy," greeted Challenger, looking up from the table, "my, you're cheerful this morning."
"Indeed I am," replied Roxton, suddenly smiling as he eyed Marguerite readying the table for a hearty breakfast. The heiress looked gorgeous this morning, as usual. Her long, dark hair brushed across her back as she leaned over to set a tray of food on the table in front of Challenger.
Roxton smiled mischievously as he crept up behind his love and gently wrapped his arms around her waist. Marguerite grinned as she felt him tenderly kiss her neck. "Mmm, good morning to you too," she said, suddenly turning around and planting a small kiss on the hunter's lips.
"You're up early this morning," observed Roxton, "I missed you this morning, when I woke up and didn't find you beside me. . . ."
Marguerite sighed. "Aw, poor John," she said playfully, "I'm sorry. I had a few stomach cramps during the night and couldn't sleep."
"Again?" Roxton asked with concern.
"Yes. I've actually been awake since early this morning. In fact . . . I almost went with Veronica and Malone, who went out to get some herbs from the Zanga village that Challenger needed." She paused to smile seductively at the hunter.
"But you didn't?"
"No . . . because that would mean I wouldn't have a chance to say good morning to my handsome Lord." She leaned in once again to kiss Roxton . . . when suddenly, her stomach lurched.
"Marguerite?" Roxton asked as she abruptly pulled away from him. "Marguerite, are you all right?"
"Oh," Marguerite pressed a hand to her stomach, "no, not really. It's those damned stomach cramps again!" She clamped her hand to her mouth and ran towards the balcony, leaned over, and brought up the remnants of her early breakfast. And there she stood, coughing and hacking.
Challenger, who sent Roxton to get a small basin of clean water and a towel, soon joined Marguerite. He soothingly patted her back. "Easy, my dear," he said in his calm voice, "easy. Just take a breath." Marguerite nodded, her dark locks swing across her back and brushing against Challenger's hand.
Challenger suddenly narrowed his eyes at the touch of Marguerite's hair. He stopped patting her back to feel a lock of it. Strange, he thought, her hair feels different . . . it almost feels rough.
His thoughts scattered as Roxton stepped on the balcony with the water and towel. "Marguerite, here," he said, holding out the basin. Marguerite slowly turned around, smiling weakly. "Thanks," she said, dipping her hands in the water and scooped it into her mouth, rinsing it thoroughly. She spit the water over the balcony, and took the towel from Roxton to wipe her mouth.
"Are you feeling better now?" Roxton asked, stroking Marguerite's shoulder.
Marguerite nodded her head. "Yes, much better." She cringed as she felt another cramp. "Never mind, damn it . . . I guess I spoke too soon."
Roxton turned to look at Challenger, who was once again deep in thought. "Challenger?" he called to the elderly man, who paid him no heed. "Challenger? . . ."
"Hmm? Oh. . . ." Challenger shook himself. He first looked at Marguerite, and then turned to Roxton. "John . . . would you mind if I had a few private words with Marguerite? Regarding her stomach cramps?"
Roxton at first hesitated. "Challenger, if there's something I should know—"
Challenger smiled. "Roxton, please. It's nothing serious. I just want to ask Marguerite a few questions about her pains . . . maybe I can fix her a new serum to ease it. That's all."
Roxton nodded silently. "All right." He turned to Marguerite. "If you need anything, just---"
"Let you know." Marguerite finished. "I know."
Roxton nodded once again, and then stepped back inside the treehouse.
"Ohhh. . . ." Marguerite turned around, one hand still clamping her abdomen in pain. She looked up at Challenger. "So, how can I help you?"
"Marguerite," Challenger started, "have you been taking that new serum I made for you, not too long ago?"
Marguerite nodded silently.
"For how long?"
"I've taken it ever since you gave me the stuff." She paused and made a face. "All though the taste of it makes me want to bring that up too. . . ." she smiled humorously.
"So . . . the serum hasn't been helping you at all?"
Marguerite shrugged. "Well, sorry Challenger. I'm afraid it hasn't."
Challenger narrowed his eyes. "Strange." He stroked his red beard, and suddenly eyed Marguerite's hair once again. He reached out his arm and felt a small lock, feeling the texture.
"Challenger . . . what are you doing?!" Marguerite exclaimed, suddenly backing up.
Challenger shook his head. "Marguerite, will you relax? It's just your hair. . . ."
"What about my hair?" She said feeling just a little insulted, running her hands through it. "What's wrong with it?!"
"Well haven't you noticed?" the elderly man replied, "it feels different than what it should. It's gotten very thick, and course . . . almost leathery, if you will."
"So? I don't see what all this has got to do with my stomach cramps—" Marguerite managed before she was once again cut off by Challenger.
"Tell me something, Marguerite. . . ."
"What?" Marguerite asked in exasperation.
"Talk to me about your appetite."
"My appetite?!" Marguerite exclaimed. Now she was becoming impatient. "Challenger! What's going on here . . . what is it with all the suspicion?" Suddenly, she realized the answer. "You know what's wrong with me, don't you?"
Challenger at first didn't reply, but was compelled to at the glare her received from Marguerite. "I have my theories," he simply said.
"Well, why don't you fill me in on your 'theories', then?" Marguerite raised an eyebrow.
"I don't know if I should. After all, I could be wrong. . . ."
"Challenger! Please!"
Challenger sighed. "Well, all right then. I'll tell you what I think is wrong."
Marguerite also sighed. "Thank you. Now . . . is it serious?"
He nodded. "Oh yes, I believe so."
Marguerite frowned with worry. "How serious?"
"Quite serious."
"Quite serious? Is that all you're going to tell me?" Marguerite was once again getting impatient. Challenger's strange behaviors always worried her, especially when it came to her health. "Challenger, please . . . if it's as serious as you're making it out to be, I deserve to know. Now would you stop beating around the bush and just tell me, already?!"
Challenger nodded, and then looked straight into Marguerite's eyes. "I believe that you're pregnant, Marguerite."