A/N: Thank you for the reviews! : ) – What's that famous line? Oh yeah - fasten your seatbelts, it's going to be a bumpy ride…and here we go….
ETA: Thank you to ghostwritten2 for informing me of FF's change - if you want notifications of chapters when they are posted, you need to go into your settings (under Account) and manually change it again to show that, and it sounds like you need to do it every 90 days, since they shut it off after that time (God only knows why). So if you haven't been getting the email notifications of new chapters from me (or others) that's the reason.
Chapter XXXIX
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The message of return Eustace relayed to the band did not have the effect for which Erik had hoped. The men grumbled and balked from retracing their route, even with the promise of additional treasure, complaining that he was taking them back to die and 'what use was treasure to a man dead?' In his guise as Le Masque, Erik decided enough was enough and to share the former leader's secret that he remembered.
"Our short vocation as troubadours in Brittany is at risk due to Marcel's folly. Thus I have decided to return to my roots." He looked around at the somber and curious faces. "I am the firstborn son of William de Chagny, wrongfully given to a witch on the night of my birth, in payment for a charm my grandfather requested to entrap one of the Fae. What belongs to the Vicomte is mine – and I will seize castle and lands to take back my rightful heritage. Those who stand with me will be rewarded. Those opposed, leave now, and go where you will."
His proclamation was met with shock and murmuring amongst the men, no more than expected, but at least no further accusations of ill will were made. This, they could respect – the desire to claim what was a man's to possess. Thieves they were, but a sense of pride, whether perverted or pure, was at the core of their every act.
Once he dismissed them to pack up their belongings in preparation for travel, either to accompany him or strike out on their own, Christine approached with questions in her lovely dark eyes.
Erik capped his flask from which he'd just taken a swig of ale, wishing for the rich, smooth wines of their century just as Christine wished for her morning coffee. However, just as coffee beans had not yet been discovered by European merchants for their flavor and imported to these lands, the superior vintage of grape was not made available to the peasantry, meant only for those of wealth and title. And so he made do with the substandard ale or cider, whatever brew was at hand, grateful those days would soon be behind them.
"Erik," Christine recaptured his full attention. "What you said – that we will storm the castle…"
He caught the worry in her quiet tone, and took hold of her arm above the elbow, noting that two men stood only a short distance away and might overhear their conversation should they step closer. "Come, my dear. We will speak of this in the privacy of our tent."
The moment they were secured inside their deficient mode of shelter, and yet the best to be found within a forest in these Middle Ages, he addressed her, keeping his voice low.
"Do not fear, Mon Ange, there will be no battle."
She shook her head. "But how can you avoid one? We have no weapons of account, not like the Vicomte's trained soldiers - of which there are many!"
He clasped her shoulder to calm her. "There will be no battle, because there will be no invasion."
"Then why did you lead the men to believe otherwise?"
He frowned. Though she did not come out and say it, he sensed her disapproval.
"And what would you have me tell them, Christine? That you and I must travel to the Megaliths of Carnac, so that we may go through the stones there and return to our time in the nineteenth century?" He gave a disparaging click of his tongue against the roof of his mouth. "They already suspect you of being a witch. Who is to say they would not take matters into their own hands and turn on both of us should we share even a fragment of the truth?"
She gave a little shake of her head. "Can you not simply hand over leadership to Eustace? He seems quite capable. And we can return together, alone?"
"It would raise questions, which could again lead to suspicion. For men of such unscrupulous caliber, they could view it as abandonment, even betrayal, or suppose you have me under a spell, to take their leader from them, and act accordingly. Distrust was bred after the events of Paris and my refusal to return with Eustace. Trust me. This way is best."
She did not seem reassured. "And what happens when we disappear and they are left vulnerable?"
He scoffed and tossed his flask to a crude table he had fashioned.
"They are hardly vulnerable, Christine!"
"The men, perhaps, but there are now women and children among them. Innocent children who do not deserve the Vicomte's wrath, should it come to that." While speaking, her hand lifted to her stomach, and he knew she thought of their own child.
"Those men are capable of avoiding danger," he said, his voice softer. "They have lived a life in hiding and stealth and certainly would not attack the chateau without me there to lead them - even with what is left of the gunpowder in their possession. My claim to the de Chagny rights is the sole reason I gave for invasion. Eustace will know what to do and act accordingly when I cannot be found. The families will not go unrewarded. They have the buried treasure to claim."
She gave a reluctant nod in surrender. "Yes, I suppose you are right. It is only that I'm so weary of deceit and had hoped those days were behind us."
He gave a little disbelieving huff of a laugh. "Every day that we inhabit this dark epoch of time we practice deceit. We are masqueraders living out a pretense in order to survive. In secrecy is the only manner by which we can exit this turbulent era."
His reminder caused her brow to furrow deeper. Perhaps she had deluded herself to the facts or simply ignored them. For one so pure of heart, deception was not easily accepted or practiced, especially after the events they shared in Paris of their century. A deceit he had carried out with her for years, with high walls both tangible and of the heart kept erected between them...
Taking hold of her hands, clasping them low, he held her eyes with his.
"Christine, I make a vow to you this day that once we return to our world never again will I practice deceit if it is not vital to our safety. And never again with you."
Her lips tilted upward slightly, and she nodded. "I will hold you to that vow, Angel."
Pulling her gently into an embrace, he smiled against her crown of curls. "I expect nothing less."
xXx
The days followed their courses bringing them closer to their former haunting ground and the festival of Samhain, immediately to be followed by All Soul's Day and the festival of La Toussaint. In the mornings, they pulled up their tents and traveled until near sunset, at which time they made camp, taking only one noonday break to rest and eat luncheon. It was during one of those occasions that the women approached Christine.
"La Toussaint will soon be upon us," Germaine announced. "We must gather fruit to make the kornigou cakes to prepare."
"Kornigou cakes?" Christine inquired.
"Cakes like antlers," Cateline explained, "to honor the god of winter shedding his cuckold horns as he returns to his kingdom of the Otherworld."
Christine realized they must fast be approaching their destination. Though Erik had chosen a roundabout route, not wishing to confront any soldiers who could potentially be following them, he mentioned they should make it back directly before the feast day.
"Might we have berries for the cakes?" Germaine's small daughter asked. Christine placed her at no more than five years of age.
"We passed by the bushes that bore them hours ago," Germaine said. "We have figs and the spices bought in the village and whatever other fruit we can find. It will taste well."
"But I want red berries!"
"Patience," her mother reprimanded. "That will be enough."
The child crossed her arms over her small chest and pouted, her name hardly befitting of her character. From what Christine had seen over the weeks, she knew that though Germaine oft exhibited a stern demeanor, she would ultimately surrender and likely go in search of the coveted berries once they made camp. Little Patience was her only living child, the poor woman having lost five babes, two stillborn, before the girl's miraculous arrival.
The thought made Christine slip a protective hand over her stomach, fearful for her own child.
Would traveling through the stones harm the babe, despite Erik's assurances that he'd found the answer to safe passage in the grimoire? Blood and gemstones – the latter of which Christine did not possess on her journey into this world and in all probability was the reason she had suffered such excruciating pain. Yet what if the price required proved to be more than that? Her husband was a genius; even so, his memory was sketchy in this period of time. What if he had wrongly interpreted the strange text of the witch's tome? Christine prayed each night and each morning for God's grace and mercy to cover them, but now that the time was drawing nigh, she couldn't help but feel apprehensive.
That night, she could not sleep. Her body ached with weariness but her mind remained fully alert. Erik, for once, lay deep in slumber, and Christine envied his ability to find rest. At the same time she was grateful. These past weeks he had done so much for the band, for her, and needed the restorative benefits that sleep gave.
Staring upon his unmasked face, smoothed of every line unrelated to his physical flaws, she kissed the corner of his mouth, feather-light, and drew back to look at him again. His lashes did not flicker and softly she smiled.
Indeed, she had exhausted her Phantom husband, but oh, what a lovely path they had taken to reach such satisfying fatigue…
The low and distant sound of a woman weeping reached her ears, and startled, Christine turned to look at the closed flap of their tent.
She debated only a moment before quietly reaching for her undergown and slipping it over her head, also donning her cloth shoes. Wrapping her cloak around her, she darted a look toward Erik. He slept so soundly she decided not to wake him and hurried out of the tent in search of the soft crying that had not ceased.
Germaine stood a short distance away, her face buried in her hands. Pierre's brother, Dirk, deemed the village idiot where he once lived, stood next to her. At Christine's approach, Germaine looked up.
"Oh, milady," she said, her tone laced in fear and sorrow. "'Tis Patience. I fear she is lost!"
"Lost?" Christine attempted to make sense of the matter. "But where would she go?"
"I know not!" the young mother fretted. "Dirk says he saw them go – Patience and Colin both."
Two years older than Patience, Colin, always a boisterous lad, had played the rat in the skit. Yet while Colin often boasted that he was unafraid, the dark forest of Brocéliande was no place for two small children at night. Christine turned to the young man. "Do you remember what direction they went, Dirk?"
He nodded emphatically and pointed past Christine, toward the stream. "They went looking for berries. Dirk likes berries."
"Yes, they are nice," Christine smiled. "Do you remember how long ago you saw the children?"
"Before the sun slept. They are good children. They will come back with berries, and we will have cake. Dirk likes cake."
Christine put a hand to Germaine's arm. "Do not fear. We will find them. Is anyone searching for them now?"
"Only Pierre," she said, speaking of her husband. "But he has been gone a long time. I fear what might have happened!"
"I think, perhaps, Dirk should wake the other men to search. Can you do that, Dirk?" Christine asked the big man gently.
He gave a huge, toothy grin. "Dirk help milady! Yes - Dirk will help."
His smile lessened slightly, his small eyes going past her, the look in them akin to reverential fear. At the same time she felt the familiar warmth of a large hand at her back and a wave of relief washed over her at the identity of who had slipped so silently behind.
"Erik," she said, turning to him. "Patience and Colin are missing."
His eyes behind the mask studied her a moment, then he gave a short nod. "I will gather the men to search."
"I will help."
"No, my dear. You will remain behind with the other women. You must not tire yourself unduly."
On the one hand, his unwavering concern for her well-being touched her heart, but at the same time she resented being unable to offer aid.
Germaine stepped forward, wiping her wet cheeks with her fingers, shaky but determined. "I will also search. I cannot remain here any longer and simply wait."
Minutes later, the men set off with torches, with Germaine and also Colin's mother, Cateline, joining the search. Cateline's niece, Druscilla, an orphaned girl of fourteen whose daily task was often to watch the children, remained behind to stay with her three-year-old cousin who still lay sleeping. Dirk, though dull of wit, was extremely strong and able of body and left behind as a guard. Apparently a guard also in need of sleep, as Christine's glance across the camp told her. He sat with eyes closed, his back against a tree.
Silent throughout the last few minutes, Druscilla fed small twigs to the communal fire that had earlier been banked, soon producing low flames. Still, Christine shivered in the night air that had a decided bite to it.
"I'm sure they will be fine," she tried to offer reassurance. "Likely they only lost their way and will soon be found."
The girl shrugged. "I do not fear for Colin – he is always off on an adventure and finding trouble, or it finds him. He knows the ways of the forest," she said with confidence, then hesitated and lifted her green eyes from looking at the fire. "Is it true what they say? Are you a witch?"
Weary of the accusation but knowing the girl meant no harm and spoke only from curiosity, Christine shook her head. "I am no more a witch than you are, Druscilla."
The girl nodded as if aware of the fact all along. "Tobias told me I should not pay heed to Eustace, that he does not always know the truth of a matter." Her face grew rosy when she said the boy's name, and Christine wondered if young love bloomed within their camp.
The frosty air caused another shiver to run along her spine, all she wore beneath her cloak a thin undergown. "I must go to my tent and put on my kirtle. I will return soon."
"I should check on Clarissa," the young woman answered and moved toward her family's tent on the far side of camp. The sound of her footsteps rustling in the leaves roused the great giant, and awkwardly he rose to his feet.
"I am the guard," he boasted, clapping a hand to his chest, and moved to walk with the girl.
Christine smiled at how willing the young man was to give aid, then worriedly thought of the two missing children. She silently prayed that Patience and Colin were safe and warm and would soon be found. Pulling the flap of her own tent aside, she stepped into near darkness and moved to stir the embers of the small fire pit to a brighter glow.
A brutal hand clapped over her mouth, pulling her back against a solid male body. She gave a little yelp against his tight hold and began to struggle, as she had on the night she first came to this century when similarly attacked. Her scream was feeble, smothered against his rank fingers.
"Shut up and be still! If ye do not want me t' slice you from gullet to belly," the fiend whispered in threat, this attacker fiercer than Eustace had been – and she felt the point of a blade press against her cloak over her collarbone.
Fearful for herself and her unborn child, Christine went completely still and nodded against him.
xXx
With the other men and two women, Erik examined every bush, tree, and shadow on the ground, forming a wide line with each member of the search party a short distance apart to better comb the area. Though he harbored no dislike or ill will against either of the missing children, even possessing a figment of partiality for the brash young upstart who was clearly a rebel's son but had not once disobeyed an order given and treated him with respect – Erik did not want to be here.
His first thought and breath and beat of his heart was always with Christine, and if it had not been for the plea in her eyes to search for the lost children, he would be with her now. He hoped that she heeded his advice and lay sleeping, her condition becoming vastly apparent over the course of past days: highly sensitive to the point of pain in areas she formerly wished touched… ill every dawn but the sickness never lasting and clearing away as the sun rose in the sky…the aroma of cooked game suddenly something she could not tolerate - and other oddities never before experienced.
His terror to father a child had waned though not fully dissipated, helped along with Christine's continual encouragement that no matter the child's appearance, he would be loved and Erik loved by him in return. Secretly, he wished for a daughter, as gentle and beautiful as her mother, but either gender Erik would accept since the child would be a part of his Christine. Whenever fear surfaced, Erik had the proof of her coveted assurances in his beloved choosing a life, forever bound in deep union, with him. She had chosen him and loved him, despite who and what he was. A miracle in and of itself.
He still had reservations – how could he not? – but was convinced that in their epoch of time the child would fare better, though sadly their offspring would doubtless need to fight some form of prejudice, even threat, given the child's paternity. For that reason alone, they could not remain in Paris. They would travel far from those hunting him, perhaps to his bride's homeland of Sweden and the Opera House there, so Christine might one day again showcase her sublime talent.
Never again would history repeat itself in the tragedy of the debut night of Don Juan Triumphant; never would he let it. In the knowledge that he had Christine's love, which grew deeper between them with each dawn, Erik felt reborn. Being a leader to men who had come to acknowledge and respect him, even if they believed him to be someone else, he felt accepted. Two coveted possessions he never thought to own, and in that novel confidence, he felt well able to travel to another land with his bride and carve a life among strangers there, a far superior one than they had experienced in this violent, barren century or the lonely epoch from which they had come – truly to begin anew.
After his detailed study of the grimoire, Erik was convinced that the key to a safe journey lay within the sacrifice of a precious gemstone, the key to the journey itself in the spilling of blood. Yet perhaps one gem would not be enough for his wife, since she carried another being within her belly, and he decided to return to her the ring the despised Vicomte had given, composed of a cluster of gemstones, and take another jewel from the abundance of those in the buried treasure for his token payment to whatever entity controlled the gateways through time.
After a short span, they ran across the path of the little girl's father, who still had not found the children. Long minutes after that, Erik made out a pair of small shapes at the entrance of a cave in the distance. Recognizing the truth, he waved his torch in a wide arc back and forth, the signal agreed upon and gave a shout.
"Over here!"
Before he could reach the children, Pierre ran past him. Both the girl and boy were trussed hand and foot and lying inside the entrance on the cave floor.
"Papa! Papa!" the girl cried, adding to the wealth of tears that wet her face.
Pierre quickly sliced through the ropes then brought Patience to him and held her tight, before releasing her and cutting through the boy's bonds. Colin seemed more angry and embarrassed than fearful, especially once his father also arrived on the scene.
Erik stood at a distance and looked on, but something disturbed him about the entire scenario. The children had been left where they could be easily spotted, with no captor in sight. Why tie up the children then leave them alone in clear view? The other men searched the near vicinity of the cave inside and the outer surrounding area but could find no sign of a third presence, and his suspicion flamed into a terrible certainty.
"How fortunate that they were left within sight," Tobias marveled.
"Not fortunate," Erik growled and turned hastily on his heel. "This was intended as nothing more than a diversion! Make haste for the camp."
He waited for no man but set off at a mad run, fearing what he would find when he got there, wishing for once he were truly a Phantom and could transport himself in the blink of an eye. Wishing he had ridden his horse.
The young woman, Druscilla, sat alone before the common fire. At the sound and sight of Erik tearing into camp, she jumped anxiously to her feet, eyeing him with nervous and fearful eyes as she so often did. Dirk stood nearby.
"Christine?" he barked in query.
The girl pointed to the tent he shared with his wife, and Erik rushed inside – to find it empty. Fear ripping into his soul, he returned with haste to the common fire.
"Where is she?!"
"I don't know, milord," Druscilla said, tears of fright trembling in her voice as she peered at his glowering masked face. "She said she must go to the tent and would return anon."
He turned on the young man. "What of you? Did you see her? Well?! DID YOU?"
Dirk shook his head rapidly, tears filling his eyes, suddenly struck mute for once. Had Erik believed there to be danger, he would have left more than a man of dull wit behind - hell, he would never have left the camp himself, despite Christine's pleas to join the search.
"Damn it!" Erik swore and paced, pivoting to take in the entire perimeter of the area. "How long since you last saw her?" he asked the girl, knowing he would get nothing more from the sniveling boy.
"Not long. My cousin woke from a nightmare and I did not leave our tent until moments ago."
"How long?!" he insisted, drawing closer to her.
"I -d-don't know," she replied, stuttering in fear. "A q-quarter hour?"
"Christine!" he called out at the top of his lungs, in the chance that she was near but sensing his effort futile. He had hoped with her new and delicate condition she had wandered off alone. On occasion she had need to visit the woods late in the night to tend nature's call, and each time he accompanied her, to keep her safe.
Damnation! If only he had been here…
"Did you see or hear anything strange?" he turned his terse attention back to the terrified girl.
She shook her head, and Erik swore again, bringing his torch low as he hurriedly studied the area for broken twigs and brush, to determine which way they'd taken her…
For that she had been abducted, he was now certain.
The torchlight caught something that glimmered on the ground and he hurried to snatch it up – finding Christine's sapphire ring. He knew, with what it meant to her, that she would never let it loose from her finger if she could help it and had dropped it as a sign as to which direction they'd gone.
"Good girl," he nodded in admiration of her quick thinking and tucked the band into the waist of his hose. He stuck the torch between rocks nearby and made a quick detour for his cloak, patting the pocket to be assured the familiar rope lay looped within, buckled on his sword, then hurried to untie the nearest horse, not bothering with the crude lacing and padding used as a saddle.
Tobias entered the camp once Erik had swung himself astride the black mare.
"Christine was abducted – no doubt by the Vicomte's men. Tell the others!"
Not waiting for a reply, he turned the horse into the dark forest and went in pursuit.
With no clear account of what had happened, he could only presume who had taken her and why – but if one hair on her head had been harmed, the Opera Ghost of lore would resurrect in all his fury.
xXx
Christine saw only darkness. She felt only the violent jarring of horseflesh beneath her form, where she lay draped in front of her abductor. Though terror threatened to overwhelm, she felt certain her genius Phantom of both the Opera and Forest would find her ring where she dropped it and soon find her. It was the hope on which she retained any calm and kept her presence of mind.
She did not see her abductors, hoods covering their heads, and had heard only their whispers. She suspected there were two of them, both men. Once they stopped and unceremoniously pulled her off the horse, forcing her to shaky feet, one of them grabbed her by the arm and dragged her with him, blindly, as he walked. With the blood having gone to her head, she found it twice as difficult and struggled not to pass out. She heard a warped door being forced open and was pushed harshly forward. Her shins hit wood and she fell sprawled upon what felt like a cot. Twisting around, she pulled off the sack from over her head with her hands they had tied in front of her, unsurprised to see Richard's face looming above. The vile brigand that Erik exiled from camp weeks ago.
Marcel walked into what Christine could now see was the witch's old hut, where she and her husband once found respite.
She glared at the former members of Le Masque's band. Two despicable characters without scruples, who had each acted against her husband's orders and sought their own nefarious methods and gain.
"What do you intend to do with me?" she bit out in an attempt to cover the fear that again escalated to note the identity of her captors.
"'Tis no concern of yours, witch," Richard shot back.
"I have a right to know."
"What is this 'right' of which you speak? No woman has claim to such a thing – and certainly no witch!"
"Oh, tell her," Marcel interrupted snidely then spoke in his place, as if eager to share. "You will go where you belong – to the Vicomte who owns you – and he will pay us in gold for delivering you to him. Be grateful we do not turn you over to the church, to be burned alive at the stake."
Christine repressed a shudder, knowing the two wanted outlaws wouldn't dare put themselves at risk of being spotted in the village, to do any such thing. Nor did she give the endless argument that she was no witch, weary of defending herself against those who would not listen. Recalling what little Erik told her in the early days of her coming here, when he thought of himself as none other but Le Masque, arrangements of marriage were considered binding and she would get no sympathy or aid, despite that she was currently wed, despite that she was not the woman for whom the Vicomte bartered...
To argue was futile. No one would believe her...
And as the seconds dragged into minutes fringed with dread, she shut her eyes and silently prayed for deliverance to come soon.
Thankfully, after their initial altercation, the brigands paid her no heed. Keeping their distance, they talked between themselves in low tones she could not hear. They prepared food they did not offer, nor did they share any of what was in their flasks. Not that she would take any had they given it.
She scanned the windowless hut for anything that could be used as a weapon she could retrieve, if the opportunity presented itself, or any sign of escape she could manage, finding nothing. The open door was the only way out, mocking her in its glimpse of the outdoors and freedom, the men never moving from its threshold.
Once they had eaten, Marcel rose from the stool where he had perched.
"'Tis as cold as a witch's tit," he groused, sending a leer Christine's way and dropping his gaze to her covered bosom. She wrapped her cloak more firmly about herself, and he smirked. "I will get wood for a fire."
Once he disappeared outdoors, Richard looked her way and rose from where he sat against the wall. A tall, brawny man, he never took his eyes from her as he made a slow approach.
"Are they like ice?" he asked snidely. "I wonder…"
"Leave me alone," she ordered, her voice trembling as she backed up on the cot. "Don't you dare touch me!"
"Oh, I intend to do far more than that," he delivered the threat. "After what Le Masque did to me, I will have my revenge in spades!"
"He will kill you – and if he doesn't, the Vicomte will," she cried out in a panic. "You said so yourself – he owns me through the marriage agreement!"
His laugh was coarse. "You are soiled, woman! He no longer wants you to wife. Only to see you punished for the humiliation caused. A little tupping will not go amiss…"
Richard wrenched away her cloak and grabbed her undergown, viciously pulling upward. She heard the thin material tear. Frantically she kicked her legs, kicking out at him, but that seemed only to excite him further. He grabbed her thighs hard and wrenched them apart, his eyes gleaming with what he uncovered.
"You may be a witch," he muttered, his words coated in lust, "but ye be a comely one at that…"
Putting his knee to her leg to keep it pinned to the cot, frantically he worked with one hand at his hose to free himself. He was too strong and the events of the night had exhausted her, but she fought with all the strength she had left. Lifting her bound hands to clutch fistfuls of his beard, she pulled fiercely. He gave a roar of pain and brought his large fist down to smash against her cheek. Through the searing anguish that flamed across the entire side of her face and head, Christine went slack, seeing a blaze of bright stars, her mind clouding lucid thought as she heard material rip further.
In the distance, she heard a scream – or perhaps it was her own, since her attacker did not deviate from his vile intent and moved his body over hers. His face loomed closer, blocking out candlelight in a nightmare of shadow.
"Please no," she whimpered in vain, knowing he would show her no mercy….
Before he could invade her, his eyes went suddenly wide with a look of shocked horror, his mouth dropping open in surprise. Mustering another wave of strength, Christine pushed him away, stunned when he fell sideways and to the floor.
Uncomprehending she hurried to sit up, glancing down where Richard lay on his side. A large spot of red soaked the back of his white tunic, quickly spreading. She lifted her gaze to see her Phantom near the foot of the cot, a sword clutched in his hand, blade pointed to the ground and dripping with blood.
She looked down at the deadly, crimson blade then up into his eyes. He stared at her, whether with shock or uncertainty, she couldn't tell and didn't bother to ask. Bolting off the bed she skirted the body on the floor and rushed to press against him, her bound hands preventing her from clutching him hard around the waist as she wished. His blade clattered to the ground, his arms wrapping tightly around her.
"Christine," he whispered against her hair, his voice shaking with a strong mix of rage and relief. "I so feared…did he –"
"No," she reassured, not letting him finish.
"Thank God," he whispered and held her a moment more before pulling away. Instantly his eyes went to her throbbing cheek, fury again entering the steely blue as he cupped that side of her face and gently made a wide sweep of his thumb over the bruise that had surely formed there.
Erik swore beneath his breath, his attention dropping to her bound hands. He made quick work of loosening the knots, pulling the rope from raw wrists. Her hands tingled with pain but once freed, she did as she earlier wished and fiercely embraced him.
"There, there, Mon Ange," he murmured tenderly, cupping the back of her head, and she realized she was crying.
"They were going to deliver me over to the Vicomte," she said against his tunic, and hearing the words, she pulled abruptly away in renewed worry to look at him. "Marcel…?"
He soberly nodded. "That scoundrel has also gone to meet his Maker."
"Good," she said, surprising him. "Their intent toward me, toward you, was nothing but evil. Had you not come when you did…." She broke off, shaking her head with the horror of what would have transpired.
"You are safe now, mon amour." He pulled the sapphire ring from the waistband of his hose, provoking her delighted gasp as he slipped it back onto her finger. "Always, I will keep you safe."
The comforting words were no sooner out of his mouth when the frightful sound of a multitude of approaching hoofbeats could be heard in the distance.
Christine's eyes went wide.
"Erik?"
He moved to the open door, with the hope that the newcomers were members of his band…
But the Fates had rarely smiled upon him throughout his harsh life to aid him now.
The moonlight caught the sheen of armor of several men on horseback – more than six in number – and told him they were not yet out of danger. And with a curse he realized - those two fiends had not planned to deliver Christine over to the Vicomte at the chateau - the designated spot for their betrayal was here!
"There's a body," he heard a man call out as swiftly Erik shut the door.
He dropped the wooden bar into the notches to barricade it then darted around the small, windowless hut, trying to locate a second way out. In the far corner of the back wall, the wood had rotted enough that it could possibly be dislodged, making a hole big enough for them to crawl through. He kicked at the thick beams with the sole of his boot thrice, but received only a moderate crack for his trouble.
The door was tried, shaken, pounded against. Christine backed closer to Erik.
"You are surrounded," a voice called outside the barricaded door. "Bring the Vicomte's woman out to us, and we will let you live."
The Phantom paid them no heed, continuing to kick at the beams. Another crack and one gave way.
"This is your final warning," he heard, then - "Burn it."
"Erik?!" Christine softly cried.
He put a finger to his lips and kicked the wall again. More wood broke away. Another kick - and flame shot through the hole he'd made. With a curse he fell back in retreat and Christine gave another soft cry.
She rushed to him and he drew her close.
"Are you hurt?" she anxiously asked.
"No."
The smell of smoke came stronger, the harsh crackle of wood coming from all around them as fire began to lick through the chinks of the logs.
"They mean to burn us alive!" Christine exclaimed, looking every which way as he did, while they held each other close. "I saw what was left of this place in our time – it had burned to the ground!" She whimpered with the realization. "Erik, I don't want to die – not like this…"
Clouds of smoke seeped into the room, a relentless gray fog, and she began to cough.
He swore beneath his breath, knowing there was no way out – no way, except, perhaps, for one.
"I will create a diversion. You slip away and hide yourself in the forest. With your dark cloak and hair, they likely will not notice you in the night if you are careful."
Fiercely she grabbed his arm and looked up at him, her eyes burning dark coals. "What diversion? You mean to hand yourself over to them, don't you – no! I won't let you do that."
"What else is there to do, Christine?!" he demanded impatiently, the acrid smoke burning his throat and making him cough as she did, the intense heat from the fire beginning to reach them.
"I'll go with them," she said and coughed again. "You hide. When it's safe, come to the chateau and find me."
"I would sooner cut off my arm than make you face those men alone," he gritted. "If we go, we go together. At least alive, we have a chance at escape."
"But they think you are Le Masque!"
"I see no other recourse."
She looked up at him helplessly, terror swimming in her tear-filled, reddened eyes, her coughs coming harsher. He likewise suffered, finding it more difficult to breathe. The wall opposite them burst into a sudden curtain of flame, showering sparks their way and making their decision for them.
Swiftly he whisked his hand through the few bits of glowing ash that had landed in her wild curls. With one brief, shared look of devotion bound up in hopelessness and sorrow, he kept one arm wrapped around her and hurried her to the sole exit to escape their fiery grave. The door had been spared, with only the walls torched, perhaps for that purpose. Erik shoved up the thick beam, uncomfortably hot to his touch, the flames crowding closer to the door, and slid it from the notches.
Before he pulled away the barrier that concealed them, she hurried to say, "I love you, my Angel, never forget."
"And I, you. Always you have my love, Christine. Always I will do what I must to keep you safe. Never forget," he whispered the last and with a fierce sort of determination opened wide the door.
The fingers of both her hands convulsively dug into his arm as she pressed in close and they stepped outside to meet their fate.
xXx
A/N: And, we are soon approaching the finale, with only a few chapters left…that said, I might concentrate on this one until it is finished…doing rounds with others, on those there have been recent requests for more, but doing this story every other chapter (kind of like I do with my music vids, doing PotO every other one…)
