Christine sighed, placing the book down, nibbling, rather unlady like, upon her nail as she thought. Her brows were pinched lightly, her pale skin glowing in the candle light.
At first, upon Christine's return, she had been just as closely glued to Raoul as he had been her, snatching a kiss and hand squeeze at every available minute. The first few weeks' nights had been engulfed within clinging love-making, but as the weeks had worn on, Christine found herself less inclined to stick to her fiancé's side every moment of the day. Raoul, on the other hand, had gone to great lengths to stay by her side. It came to the point where she would slip out of the bed in the dead of night, Raoul having exhausted himself (and ashamed as she was for it, she had allowed him to put forth all the exertion, so she would not sleep through the night) and spend time in the library reading, just to get some private time to herself.
It was all too much. Even being in the house, knowing that Raoul could come in search of her at any moment, she felt suffocated. Pushing herself to a standing position, she strode to the large entrance of the enormous library, its arched doors imposing themselves upon her. She glared at the rich wooden beams, daring them to close their doors to her, to stop her from escaping her gilded cage. Grasping a cloak from the coat stand just outside the doorway, she rapped it about herself. She needed fresh air, and time to herself. A brisk walk in the night air might do her some good.
Slipping out the doorway of the manor silently, she padded down the stone steps, the night air filling her lungs exhilaratingly with cool, crisp air. She breathed deeply, closing her eyes and feeling the light night breeze whisper against her fine skin. Smiling to herself slightly, she made her way down to the stables without a sound.
The light, white material of her night-dress flittered against her legs, her wrap covering her normally straight shoulders that were slumped with repression. She supposed that riding in a night shift and fine Turkish slippers and a simple wrap was not the best of ideas, but surely a short ride along the higher-ends of Paris that moved not a whisper in the night could not hurt. Perhaps a quick trot down a street or two, then turn back, nothing more.
She entered the stables, her breath in taking the aroma of saddle soap, hay, and grain. A few horses nickered at the sound of the barn entrance creaking as it opened, but otherwise made no sound. She smiled to herself, a bit more strongly, and began to make kissing sounds as she walked down the isle of sleeping horses. A single horse some three stalls down stuck her head out of her half-door, snorting softly. Christine reached the stall, stroking the mare's fine nose with her delicate hands, her gentle touch calming the horse. Gathering a brush from the bucket on the wall, she opened the stall door and slipped in, the dim light of the ever-lit oil lamps, perched high up and away from danger, reflecting the mare's chestnut coat. It shimmered brightly as the horse shifted her footing to nudge Christine lovingly with her muzzle. She was a fine specimen of a horse, a rare beauty among Hanoverian mares. The breed was sticky and sturdy, big and strong, magnificent creatures, but few had the fine lines and graceful curves that this mare carried.
"There now, pretty one," she murmured, stroking the horse's flanks and shoulders. She needn't be brushed. The young stable boy had done a fine job before closing up for the night. Her lips twitched in remembrance of how the boy blushed in her presence. He was twelve, maybe thirteen, but he had a way with the horses, and always took special care to be sure that Christine's mare was in perfect care. Raoul had gifted the fine creature to her as a return present, and she had fallen in love with the beauty that stood before her, her name reflecting her exquisite air- Mystique Mastery. And the mystique of beauty melded with strength had been mastered in the mare before her.
Clipping the lead-rope to the mare's halter, she led her to the main isle, saddling and bridling her deftly. If there was one thing she was grateful to Raoul for before all others, it was his allowance of her unlady-like connection to animals. Any other husband would more likely have ordered her banned from the stables and riding all together perhaps.
Grasping the reigns, Christine mounted the sixteen-hand mare with ease, but found that her night-shift hand been shifted up just below the joint of hip and leg. She had long ago refused to ride side-saddle, but now she supposed it was not a bad idea. Her skirts during the day were large enough to flow over the mare's flanks and shoulders, but this night-shift was proving problematic, modesty wise. Sighing, she shook her head. And who would be there to see her bare legs but the night air itself? None. Unlike the lower part of the city, the aristocracy did not travel out at night, so she saw no harm in riding out as such. Shaking her head, she nudged the mare with her heals gently. The horse set out at a walk, her muscles moving liquidly beneath Christine.
She held her breath until she reached the gate, sure that at some point, someone must have heard her. But none did. Releasing her breath with a joyful will, she squeezed the mare into a joyous canter, feeling the mare's muscles bunch and her body rock in smooth motion as her hooves clipped lightly upon the cobble stones of the streets. Christine's smile now spread itself brightly across her faces and she leaned forward, urging her horse onward.
It was not until she felt the mare's breathing disrupt her powerful stride that she pulled her mount to a stop, stoking her and murmuring loving words in the creature's ears. She leaned forward, kissing the mare's neck, then sat up-right, looking about her. She had foolishly ridden into the breaking point of the lower and higher parts of the city. One or two random women, more likely the lowest of whores, if they were this far out of the lower city, passed by, but said nothing. Christine cursed herself for allowing herself to run the mare this far, and wheeled her steed about, nudging her into a gentle walking pace, wanting to escape the area quickly, her legs bared uncomfortably openly, but she did not want to push the tired mare to hard so soon after such a long bout of cantering.
"'ey miss!" Christine's breath caught as she heard a man's voice call out to her. She pretended to ignore the voice, squeezing the mare into a quicker pace. The horse's stride opened into longer stretches reluctantly, but obediently. "Miss! Please! 'avn't you not any money for a poor sod like myself?" His voice was closer, and she could hear his footsteps quickening to keep up with the horse. If she pushed the mare into a run, would a pull out a knife or gun? "Please mademoiselle! Any money at all!" His voice was next to her leg now and she could not ignore him. She pulled her horse to a stop, looking down at the burley man that stood by her exposed knee. She prodded the mare over farther away from him, biting her lip.
"Sir I carry no money," she said tightly, her voice quiet. "Please leave me be."
"But surely a beautiful lady such as yourself…" the man's hand rested upon her bare knee, and she pulled the mare farther to the side sharply. The horse skittered, her head raised, feeling the fear emanating from Christine. The man stepped forward again, this time placing his hand farther up her leg, mid-thigh.
"Un-hand me, sir, or I shall call the police upon you!" she bit out, trying to push his hand away, but it did not budge. A flash from his other hand caught her eye as he raised a large, sharp knife aloft in his broad hand. Gasping, Christine went to kick the mare into a hard gallop, and the horse lunged, only to whiney in desperate protest as she was jerked by the reigns, her hooves chipping hard against the stones of the street. The man's hand clamped a harder grip up her leg, Christine raising a hand to strike the man, for his to release the reigns, but he raised his knife to block her blow, her hand slicing itself across the metal blade. A deep gouge bit into the back of her hand, causing her to cry out, and distracting her momentarily.
The moment's distraction proved her undoing. Without a moment to spare, the man grasped her arm, hauling her from the mare, releasing the horse in the process of holding her fighting body fast. The mare reared in fear, setting off at a dead gallop back the way they had come.
Christine tried to bite down upon the man's dirty hand, but it held tightly to her tender skin, chafing her neck terribly as she attempted to scream, and cutting off the cry. He swung her about roughly to face him, striking her across her fine-boned cheek, the deep aching telling her that he had caused a bruise upon her pale skin. But she cared not for the injury. She kicked at him violently, hoping to catch his crotch but he dodged and threw her to the ground roughly, her head striking the cobblestone painfully, the rack of the impact making her dizzy. He came down atop her, his knees trapping her arms painfully heavily, and sitting upon her ribcage and stomach making it almost impossible to breathe. He leaned down, kissing her roughly, his breath stinking of stale liquor. She turned her head away, gagging violently. He struck her again, splitting her full lip, smiling viciously as even then she fought to gouge his eyes with her hands, but he evaded and held them bone-crushingly hard in hi grasp.
"Yes," he growled. "You'll do just fine. Just fine."