A/N - Well, after much hemming and hawing over how this chapter was going to be written, I finally have the finished product to deliver. Not finished as in end of story. Far from it! I must warn you, I spilled the bag of Angst when I was cooking this chapter. Be warned!
Chapter 13
She was restless and the feeling would not go away. The snow had stopped falling and the ground was now thick with snow. But she could stand the house no longer. She needed to get out and breathe in the fresh winter air. With no hint of Erik in sight, Christine donned a red winter lady's cloak over her dark gown and laced up a pair of boots. She pulled up the fur trimmed hood and hurried out the door, tugging on the slender black gloves she had found in her wardrobe.
The wind chilled her cheeks, but she smiled at the icy touch. She remembered the many winters spent with her father. She could almost hear the bells of their horse-drawn sleigh upon the snow during a long Swedish winter. The image of the horses prancing before her was so vivid. Their exhalations rose in the cold air. She remembered her father smiling down upon her, as she lay tucked under a warm fur blanket, the frost nipping at her nose and cheeks. The cold was familiar to her. Although she longed for spring, with all of its fine greenery and flowered meadows, she enjoyed the cold nights of winter when one sat close to the fire with a warm drink, and heard stories and sung songs until late into the night. A smile tugged at her pale cheeks.
She stood ankle deep in the snow outside of the door. Icicles hung from the eaves of the house and frost covered the panes of the windows. She glanced up at the large house and admired its beauty in the drapery of snow. The stables suddenly caught her eye and she wandered toward the low building. The doors were tightly shut to keep out the cold. Christine laid a hand on the latch and lifted it. Inside the straw insulated building, she caught sight of the beautiful creatures that whinnied at her approach. The black one, the sleek Arabian, seemed to bow its head as she stopped to reach a hand out to stroke his mane. He neighed softly, bobbing his head in an amusing way as the young woman continued to bestow her affections on him. Beside his stall, Christine spotted a few other horses, but mainly, a lovely white mare. She marveled at her beauty as she moved to stroke the creature's nose with her gloved hands. If she believed the fairy tales her father used to tell, she could have sworn that the creature was more a unicorn in its unearthly beauty then a mere mare. But it was lacking a horn as Christine noticed with amusement.
A soft clear of a throat behind her suddenly pulled her from her thoughts. Christine spun around and saw Erik standing in the doorway. He wore a heavy dark cloak over his clothes, which appeared to be more fitted for riding then is usual formal attire. He wore a hood over his head, drawing in some semblance of shadows to hide his face.
"I was. . .admiring your horses," she said, suddenly feeling very foolish.
She heard him stir from his spot near the door and approach her until he stood beside her. Erik lifted a hand to the stallion, and Christine watched in admiration as the horse lifted its head to nuzzle its perfectly shaped nose against the hand of its master. He whispered a few words into the horse's ear before pulling back with a faint smile on his face.
"This is Leil," he told her.
"Ley-al," she repeated the foreign name, "what does it mean?"
"It is Persian for night," Erik responded, running his hand along the stallion's nose in great affection.
"And what of the other, the white mare?" Christine asked, pointing to the graceful creature that seemed to watch their conversation with mild interest.
"Alyona," Erik responded, moving towards the timid animal, "it is Russian for moon."
"She's very beautiful," Christine responded, feeling an instinctive pull towards the animal.
She reached up and moved her slender fingers along the horse's nose. The horse seemed to calm under her touch. It grunted quietly, pressing its nose against the palm of her hand as she caressed it. Christine laughed as it continued to nudge her even when she backed away. The soft laughter was such an unfamiliar and foreign sound, even to Christine. As she turned her head amidst her own laughter, she found Erik regarding her with a strange light in his eyes. Her smile began to fade.
"What's wrong?" she asked.
"Nothing," he responded, his voice sounding strained. He turned away from her for a moment, his head almost downcast. "Alyona is very particular about whom she bestows her affections upon."
Christine smiled softly, returning her attention to stroking the horse, but she could feel Erik's eyes upon her for a while.
Finally, he broke the uncomfortable silence. "Would you like to go for a ride?" he asked.
"Can we?" she asked.
Erik almost smiled at her enthusiasm, surprised that her weeks of sadness and solitude seemed to vanish within moments. His eyes drifted to her bandaged wrist.
"I would allow you to ride her, but because your wrist is still in a state of repair, perhaps it would be better if you would ride with me."
"It feels better," she said softly, stroking the bandage absent-mindedly as her eyes locked onto his.
His emerald eyes were burning into hers. "I do not want to risk further injury," he said, his voice strangely quiet.
"Alright," she agreed.
Christine drew away from him and watched as he readied his own horse, Leil. He drew a saddle from the wall and placed it upon the stallion's strong back. As he bent over, fitting his steed, Christine watched him quietly. He had drawn back his hood to better examine his ministrations. From this angle, she could see the unconcealed side of his face. She watched, embarrassed if he should catch her studying him so, as he set his mouth in a firm line while adjusting the saddle. So intent on his work, he did not notice the young woman staring at him. She could not help but notice how handsome he really was. Those elegant, long, tapered fingers worked swiftly on the saddle. She remembered the countless times she had watched them. Then she suddenly remembered the rare occasions when they had drifted across her face. She found herself lifting a hand to her own face as her mind was mired in thought.
"Are you ready?" his silken voice asked.
She glanced up at him, nearly startled, to find him regarding her with curiosity.
"Yes," she struggled to say.
He motioned for her to come closer and when she stood awkwardly beside him, she felt his hands at her waist. She drew in a sharp breath as they tightened and lifted her up onto the horse. Firmly in the saddle, with her dress carefully draped about her and her cloak hanging down nearly to her boots, Christine watched Erik as he rose up behind her in the saddle.
Christine could barely remember a time when she had been this close to her strange tutor. When he had come for her at the chapel, she had been tired, and had not paid much attention as he rode back with her, asleep in his arms. But now, when all senses were acutely aware, she felt suddenly nervous. She could feel his strong frame right behind her. There was nothing to do but rest her body against his.
"Have you ridden much?" he asked, his voice so close to her ear.
She turned her head slightly.
"You're tense," he observed, "your hands are tight upon the mane. It's alright. I won't drop you. I assure you, I am an experienced rider."
She had not realized, but indeed her hands were clenched in the horse's ebony mane. She loosened her grip just as his arms came around her, drawing the reins up.
They rode down the lonely, snow-laden road, with only the sounds of Leil grunting in the cold. Christine watched as her breath rose up on the air. She could feel the chill of the air upon her cheeks and undoubtedly, they were rose-hued. The ride was so peaceful that she nearly forgot where she was or whom she was with. A light snow had begun to fall.
"Are you warm?" she heard him ask softly.
"Yes," she replied, knowing that he could not see the small, pleasant smile upon her lips.
They rode in silence for what seemed like hours. They left the road and took a course on a trail winding through the still forest. But the passing of time or the chilling of the late afternoon air went unnoticed.
"How did you know where to find me?" she asked suddenly.
"What do you mean?"
"When you found me in the woods after the men had brought me there, how did you know I was there?"
She felt him stir in the saddle. "I am more aware of what occurs within these woods then you may realize. I watched as they brought you to the tree and tied you to it."
A frown tugged at her mouth. "You. . .watched me? But, I was there for so long. Why did you not come to free me sooner? I spent hours there. . .in the cold and in the dark. I thought I was going to die. I even. . .wished. . .for it," she said sadly, her lovely voice faltering.
The horse came to a halt and Erik slipped down from the Arabian. He turned and looked up at her, an unreadable expression on his face, but one combining anguish and guilt with other, more powerful emotions. He looked up at her as she still sat in the saddle. Her hood had fallen back and revealed the glorious cascade of brown curls. Eyes of deep brown stared back at him with hurt. Her face was pale, and amidst the snowy backdrop, her rose lips were more pronounced.
He lifted his arms and gestured for her to reach out to him. Christine reluctantly complied, feeling his hands once again at her waist. As she slipped down and dropped softly down into the snow beside him, she found herself paralyzed for a moment. His hands had not released her yet and she stood there, her small hands still gripping the fabric of the cloak at his shoulders. She felt one his hands release her and felt a silent protest rise up within her. But suddenly, she found that he had raised his hand to her face, and was running it softly along her cheek. It felt warm upon her cold cheek and she ached to lean into his touch.
"Never wish for death," she heard him say. His voice was low and husky. "I could not bear for you to leave this earth."
Her large, glistening eyes rose up to meet his. She found herself transfixed by his penetrating gaze, as though he truly were an angel as she once believed. The soft pad of his thumb continued to stroke the tender flesh of her cheek. She felt her eyes flutter shut to hide back the emotion that was welling behind them.
"Don't close your eyes," he nearly whispered. "Do not hide whatever pain it is."
"We both have our own secrets," she murmured. "You have yours. . ."
"You do not know what secrets I hide," his voice drifted. "But you are an innocent in this world. Such a person does not deserve death, or the pain I see in your eyes every day. I waited that night because I knew you wanted an angel. I heard you pray for one. I am no angel, but I considered your plea. It was. . .the only way."
"What other secrets do you hide from me?" she asked, her eyes narrowing.
"Christine," he said gently, withdrawing his hand from her face, "do not ask me these questions. You do not know what you ask for."
"I will always be a child in your eyes, won't I?" she said sadly, stepping away from him and drawing her arms up around her body.
"Come," he said softly, turning his back on her as he trudged through the snow.
They walked for a few minutes before the woods began to part and Christine could glimpse an open expanse beyond the line of trees. She nearly gasped when she saw what lay before her. But she drew up her gloved hand to her mouth and suppressed the noise. Ahead, beyond the last of the trees, lay the clearing that she had not seen for many months. A couple of miles beyond the tree line laid the small town of her youth. Smoke rose up from the chimneys of the snow covered houses with their thatched roofs and shuttered windows. Only faint glows of firelight and candlelight lit the windows, but beyond that, nothing stirred in the cold outside. It was already late afternoon, and the winter sun was beginning to sink low in the sky.
A cry befell her lips as she walked forward slowly, finding that he had brought her to the edge of the cemetery. It was a sight that she never would have dreamed to see again. The walls of the small cemetery rose up like strange monoliths in the snow. The iron gate was partially open. Christine wove her way through the entrance and found the graveyard quiet and still. The headstones poked out solemnly through the layer of snow. Statues of heavenly hosts and cherubs lined the rows. Her hand drifted across the frozen surfaces. She did not need to look to find where she was going. So instinctive was her journey that she suddenly found herself before the familiar grave of her father.
She dropped to her knees in the snow and lifted her steeped fingers to her lips. Her breath warmed the frozen tips of her slender fingers.
"Father," she whispered. "I did not expect to come here again. You do not know how much I have missed you!"
Her voice faded but her lips began to move in wordless prayer. She did not notice as her vigil was disrupted by another. A dark figure, so out of place amongst the whiteness of the landscape, stirred and followed her to the grave of her father. There, Erik stood behind her in the snow like a fallen angel and watched as his own angel prayed. He could remember how she had sat just like this before her father's grave when she was younger. The practice was still the same.
He saw her tremble and her shoulders shake slightly, as she sat in the snow. The hem of her dress was already caked with snow. There was a difference in this scene now. Before, he could only watch as she sat praying in front of her father's grave. She had never known of his observations. She had never sensed his presence. She once had only her pain to comfort her. Granted, there had been the affectionate arms of Madame Giry and her daughter Meg. But nothing could replace the embrace of her father. There was no one who could have drawn her to them and truly cared for her with an undying love. A love not bought or asked for. A love that had always been and would always be. She had never known of a love like that. She still did not.
But he was here now. She did not know everything. She could not. . .yet. He did not know if she was ready for such unrestrained claims of an emotion that he had never harbored for anyone else in his life. But he was here now. He could at least comfort her in her pain and bring some semblance of protection to her trembling body.
She felt strong, gloved hands at her shoulders. They turned her around as she lay in her sorrow. Erik knelt behind her. He drew her shuddering body into his, and she felt the heat of his body envelope hers. He wrapped his cloak about her as she nestled her head against his chest. A sob wracked through her body and he wrapped his arms around her tightly. Nothing mattered now. Damn the self restraint. Damn all of the times I have held back. I cannot deny her anything, he thought.
He felt her small fingers tugging at the collar of his shirt. Her warm breath seeped through his clothes and caressed his skin. But all of his selfish desires were irrelevant now. She needed him and he would not fail her. But this strange, close intimacy was foreign to him. Never had anyone wanted to be this close to him. Not even his own mother wanted to touch him. His was a face that only repulsed and horrified. But here, now, with this young woman in his arms going through a similar grief, he felt a sudden kinship.
His reward was a muffled thank you beneath the fabric of his cloak.
The journal back was long. Not only was the daylight beginning to fade, but the chill of an oncoming night began to freeze the bones of even the most acclimated individual. Erik rode as swiftly as he could, avoiding the prying eyes of townsfolk by leaving the cemetery by the distant way that he first come, and prompting his horse into a quicker stride. Christine, so overcome by the day's events, lay nestled before him, pressed against his body for warmth. Her head was nearly buried in his cloak, but often when he looked down at her sleeping form, he could see the flutter of her eyelash upon her cold cheek.
They finally reached his house late into the evening, by way of several hidden trails that eventually led to the main road. Not wanting to wake her, he carried Christine inside and stopped in the drawing room to light a fire in the large fireplace. But as he was about to place her on one of the many couches, he felt her fingers tighten on his shirt.
"Christine. . ."
"Please," she whimpered softly, "don't leave me."
He smiled softly, knowing that in her sleep-induced delirium, she probably had not noticed. "If you wish me to stay, I will," he said gently, "I will build us a fire first."
She waited as he made the fire, drifting in and out of sleep fitfully. But every time sleep threatened to claim her, she was rattled awake by the dreams that were filling her mind. No, please God, not now. I cannot endure these dreams anymore. She felt the tangle of his arms about her every time she closed her eyes. Felt his hands moving across her arms. And when his voice sounded in her mind, she felt all defenses dropping. She was so utterly vulnerable to that voice. It was a voice that could drive her to him in an instant. She could feel the crush of her body against his.
"Please. . ." she cried out softly in the haze of dream.
Her eyes shot open and she saw her mysterious tutor standing before the fire, his silhouette framed by the orange glow of a large fire.
"Please what, Christine?" he asked, strolling towards her.
There was something about him that looked dangerous now. Perhaps it was his darkened form looming before her like a vengeful spirit, outlined by the flames of hell. Or perhaps it was the strange fire that rose up within his eyes. A fire that frightened her because her mind was too afraid to conceive of its meaning while her heart throbbed with the knowledge and truth of it.
"I was dreaming," she said softly. She rose quickly from the couch, as though if she were to stay any longer, she would not be able to leave.
She stood before him trembling, the blanket slipping from her shoulders.
"What did you dream about?" he asked, his voice so alluring she fought inwardly to reign in her thoughts.
I cannot meet his eyes. If I do. . .I will never escape them. He will know. . .everything. Oh, but how I wish I could be braver. How I wish I could fall into that sweet oblivion without fear. To look within his eyes but for an instant! She looked down at the floor, but his finger caught her chin and forced her face up. She still could not meet his eyes, but they burned into her.
"Look at me," he commanded. His voice was stern but gentle.
She refused, without word, but still he persisted.
"Christine," his voice nearly boomed, "look at me."
Her eyes, which had fought so hard to avoid his, were suddenly thrust upon the emerald pools – one peering from behind the strange mask, the other naked on his exposed cheek. His eyes searched hers for what seemed like an eternity. Wavering eyes of brown fought hard to avoid falling into the trap. Why must he torture me like this? Does he not know what power he has over me? This is why I'm afraid! This is why I cannot endure his passing glance. . .his touch.
"What did you dream?" he asked again, this time, using the power of his voice to command her.
Her lip trembled, eyes watered, and she shook her head with ferocity. "Why must you do this!" she suddenly cried out. "Why must you know everything? Why must you control me so! Do you not see how much it hurts me?"
Erik was suddenly behind her with his arms raised beside her own, as if to draw her back into an embrace, but they reluctantly fell back to his side. She could hear him breathing, and because of his closeness, could feel the rise and fall of his chest. But it was nearly drowned out by the racing of her heart. He began to calm. The fury and emotion of the moment began to pass. She had not realized how escalated the argument had been.
"Do you fear me?" he asked, so softly, his lips near her ears.
"I don't know," she quaked.
She felt his hand graze her cheek softly. His knuckles drew across her jaw in the most tender of gestures. Her eyes fluttered shut. They moved to the exposed flesh at her neck and she almost cried out in protest as her head moved to the side of its own volition. A finger gently stroked the delicate skin.
"Please," she whimpered.
"Please what?" he asked, his voice husky. His attention never wavered from the gentle caress.
"I'm. . .cold, sir," she replied.
He turned her around gently and gazed into her uncertain eyes. You lie, he seemed to say. There was so much confusion and trouble in her lovely eyes.
Erik looked down upon her and found that his other hand had moved to grip her arm. His grip softened and he lowered his hand to reach for the blanket that hung below her arm. Erik pulled the blanket up around her shoulders and found that she was still shivering. He brought his arms around her, one beneath her knees, the other behind her back, and lifted her into his arms.
"What are you. . ."
"Shhh," he said softly. "Don't struggle."
He carried her back to the couch and laid her down gently, careful to adjust the blanket. Rising again, he walked over to a nearby chair and slumped down into it. Christine began to feel sleep descending upon her mind. Her eyes grew heavy. But she kept watching her strange angel as he sat across from her, bathed in shadow, his eyes glowing.
It was more vivid this time. She was no longer in the strange hall with its tall windows and fluttering curtains. This time she was in the dark. Though she could not see that it was him, she felt his arms about her from behind. For once, she did not struggle, nor did she protest. She let her body fall back against his and felt his chest rise and fall with each breath. He drew his arms tighter around her and she leaned her head against his neck. Now, the soft lips that she had studied so often brushed against her ear.
"You do not know what you ask for," he seemed to warn.
"I don't care," she found herself saying, lips trembling with emotion.
"But you should," he responded, drawing away from her suddenly.
He began to slip back into the shadows. His hands grazed her features, slipped across her cheek, and brushed her parted lips before vanishing into the darkness.
"N-no!" she choked. "Don't leave me!"
Nothing.
"I would die!"
Silence. He was gone.
"Please," she sobbed bitterly, tears coursing down her pale cheeks. "I need you. . .so bad."
Then she thought of the only word that might stop him.
"Erik," it fell from her lips in a whisper.
Her eyes flashed opened. She had been dreaming again and her face stung with fresh tears. She brushed her hands bitterly over the mess. She looked up to find the fire still burning in the great fireplace. Her legs were twisted around the blanket that had once covered her body. To her shock, he still sat across from her. Not sleeping. Not drifting off in thought. No, his attention was focused squarely on her. His eyes burned in the shadows. Strong, slender hands gripped the arms of his chair.
He suddenly leaned forward, and in the firelight, she could see his face. The exposed half was filled with some unnamed emotion. He knows, she cried inwardly, he knows!
"Erik,' she whimpered, not knowing if it was a plea or a defense.
But as he rose up suddenly and knelt beside her on the couch, she did not care anymore. She did not care if he thought her a child. She did not care about the protests of her mind. She did not care that she still feared the strange emotions his nearness stirred. When he embraced her, his arms pulling her body tightly into his, she did not struggle. She leaned her head against his arm.
"I'm afraid. . .and I don't know why," she cried softly.
"Shhh," he lulled her, "I would never harm you."
"I know," she replied, her eyes closing in sleep as he stroked her hair.