Chapter Summary: Raoul awakens in a deserted cottage with men who mean him nothing but harm. Philippe and Christine receive another letter and a very graphic warning.

(Author's Notes: Okay folks, the icky torture bits begin with this chapter. Explicit violence and possible emotional disturbance for the reader ahead. Consider yourselves warned! And I mean it!)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The cottage was located in a glen deep in woods that eventually crept up the mountains outside the village of Chagny. Long ago someone had tried to carve out a life from the primeval forest. They had felled trees and hauled stumps. They had dug up rocks, using them to fashion a three room house. They had plowed the hard ground, slaving and sweating as they struggled to tame what could not be tamed. After years of hard work that had claimed dreams and lives, the small glen had been grudgingly returned to the surrounding woods. The human inhabitants had gone, leaving behind all their hopes and dreams, taking with them only the bitter taste of failure. The cottage had then stood still and silent; its walls and windows witnessing only the constant change of the seasons. It had been that way for many years until someone had stumbled across it and a plan had formed in the dark recesses of a troubled mind. Now the cottage was no longer lonely but the walls could not speak to the happiness or sadness they felt in regards to the new inhabitants.

Three of the new inhabitants sat around a rickety table, passing a hand-blown green bottle back and forth as they slammed cards down. They studied their opponents, careful to move quickly when the cards fell in their favor. It appeared that all their concentration was focused on the game and the bottle before them. Yet at every small sound from the next room, their eyes would travel from the card game to gaze intently at the shadowed opening. As the sounds disappeared into the darkness of the room, the three men would shake their heads and return their attention to the cards that distracted them and the bottle that numbed their senses.

Inside that darkened room, a fourth man sat upon a handmade chair that leaned against a wall. His hands were twisting a knife with an elaborately carved handle back and forth. His fingers would occasionally give a loving caress to the sharp blade, a small smile passing his lips as he contemplated all the pleasure that awaited him at the end of that blade. While his hands played with the knife, his dark eyes never strayed from the opposite wall of the room. He watched the shadowy shape that slumped against that wall, listening to the soft sounds that came across the room. He could feel the fire burn in his veins as the sounds began to happen more often, growing in volume. The twisting of the knife began to slow as the man straightened knowing that the moment he had been anticipating was close. So close that the fire he felt began to grow into a blaze of anticipation that wrapped him in its heated excitement. A stray thought passed through his mind as he set all four of the chair legs upon the floor – he wondered what was being felt by the person on the opposite side of the room.

The first thing Raoul felt was a throbbing in his head that seemed to be centered at the base of his skull. He kept his eyes closed as he struggled to think past the pounding ache, finding it difficult to put two coherent words together. Some strange little instinct urged him to keep his head bowed and Raoul found himself following that urge as he gingerly reached out to the darkness beyond the ache. He first struggled to understand the cool dampness that assailed the back of his legs and Raoul slowly realized he was sitting on a floor of some sort. That was good; it was something he could understand. He slowly moved his sensory exploration upwards and felt a heaviness holding tightly to his chest and arms. Raoul swallowed deeply as he struggled to understand the feeling without opening his eyes. He tried flexing the muscles in his upper arms and as the muscles came up against an unmovable force, Raoul carefully cracked his eyelids open. And his heart fell to the bottom of his stomach. Chains. There were chains wrapped around his upper torso and they were binding him to a wooden pole whose rough-hewn surface dug into this back through the thin linen of his shirt. Raoul slowly closed his eyelids as he tried to still the panic that raced through his veins. He willed himself to think calmly, to try and remember how he had gotten here.

Oh God, he thought, the men in the woods. A feeling of self-disgust washed over him as Raoul wondered why he had not fought back, had not tried harder to go against them. Then he remembered the two guns pointed at him and amazement replaced the disgust as he finally realized he was not dead. Raoul involuntarily raised his head as the realization that he was actually still alive crossed his mind and he winced, moaning lightly as the tender spot on the back of his head connected with the wooden pole.

"He's awake," a voice called out.

Raoul heard the sound of heavy footsteps on the floor.

"Oh, is he now?" another voice asked.

Raoul could feel the touch of hot breath against his cheek, a body standing next to him.

"He is," the first voice replied softly. "Open your eyes," the voice ordered.

Raoul was not yet ready to face what lay before him and kept his eyes closed. He felt something cool run down his cheek to rest on his neck.

"I said open your damn eyes!"

Something sharp and pointed pushed at the tender flesh beneath his chin and Raoul inhaled deeply to steady his nerves before opening his eyes.

"Such a good boy," the man holding the knife beneath his chin said.

"Who are you and what do you want with me?" Raoul asked.

There was a movement in the shadowed room and Raoul risked removing his eyes from the man before him. He saw an older man approach and Raoul recognized him as the man who had originally grabbed his horse.

"The name is Louis," the older man said as he approached. "I can see you remember me. Good." Louis stopped just short of where Raoul sat bound to the post, nudging the sole of Raoul's boot with the tip of his own. "That," he said as he nodded to the other man, "is Nico. I suggest you do not try anything foolish; he has a bit of a blood lust, our Nico does."

Raoul could feel the point of the blade caress his skin and willed himself not to look at Nico. "What do you want with me?"

"What does anyone want with the son of a wealthy family," Louis smiled at the surprise in Raoul's eyes. "Oh, we have been waiting for you to come our way a very long time, Monsieur le Vicomte." He chuckled; it was not a merry sound. "As to what we want, why that should be perfectly obvious – money. We want money for your safe return. It is as simple as that. Your brother pays what we tell him to pay and we return you to the arms of your family."

"Philippe will never give in to your demands," Raoul said through clenched teeth. He and Philippe had discussed this very possibility on more than one occasion, each of them agreeing to never give into such demands for the fear of perpetuating more such actions.

"Then, perhaps, your lovely wife will pay to have you returned," Nico whispered in Raoul's ear, his voice silky smooth and very deadly.

Christine, Raoul's mind cried out, a wave of despair washing over him.

The knife moved away from Raoul's chin as Nico began to lightly run it across the skin of Raoul's neck. "Or should we take her as well? Would your brother pay to have you both returned to him?"

The proposed threat to the woman he would always love - despite any real or imagined hurts - momentarily chased away the pounding pain and Raoul's head whirled toward Nico, the anger evident in his face. "You touch her and I will kill you!"

The knife in Nico's hand moved away from his neck to poke at the chains binding Raoul. "I do not believe you are in a position to make any threats, Monsieur," Nico said with a smile on his face. Suddenly the hand holding the knife lashed out and Raoul cried out in pain as the blade connected with the flesh beneath his collarbone. Nico held the bloody knife in front of Raoul's eyes. "That was only a warning," Nico hissed. "Remember - you hold no power in this place."

Raoul stared at Nico, his chest heaving against his chains, the warmth of his blood tracing trails of fire down his chest, staining the white linen of his shirt. Raoul locked his jaws together in an effort to keep thoughts and words to himself; the only sign of his inner anguish and turmoil, the movement of the muscles at the edge of his jaw line.

"Do not say that I did not warn you," Louis reminded Raoul in a tone of voice meant to be friendly but that carried with it the promise of more pain to come. He once again kicked out at Raoul's boot to get his attention and waited until Raoul had turned back to him. "I really have to believe that your brother will pay handsomely to get you back." Louis shook his head. "I would hate to think that we would have to return you in pieces just to make a point."

"I would not mind," Nico said to the still room.

"Yes, well," Louis replied as he ran a hand through his greying and thinning hair. "That is your preference, Nico, but it is not what we are being paid to do."

Raoul's eyes narrowed at the older man's words. "Someone is paying you to do this?" he asked through clenched teeth.

"There is always money where the wealthy are concerned," Louis said with a smirk and a raised eyebrow. "And we must make sure that your brother understands we are deadly serious when it comes to his money for your life." The smile disappeared from his face. "I think Monsieur le Comte is going to need proof of our intentions." Louis turned his attention to Nico. "You know what to do."

Nico's eyes glittered dangerously. "I do," he breathed, "I do."

Oh God, Raoul thought as he listened to the soft sound of Nico's breathed reply and braced himself for additional pain, unwilling to let these man have the satisfaction of knowing they hurt him. Raoul could feel the edge of Nico's blade run along his scalp.

"Such pretty, pretty hair," Nico whispered in his ear in the brief second before his knife flashed and a hunk of Raoul's hair came away in Nico's hand. Nico waved his hand in Raoul's face. "Such pretty, pretty hair," he repeated a bit louder. The knife flashed again. And again. And again. And each time it flashed another hunk of Raoul's hair was separated from his scalp. There were moments when Nico "slipped" and bits of scalp came away with hair, blood droplets staining the golden-brown strands and running down Raoul's neck.

"Enough," Louis finally said as he noticed the uneven movement of chest muscles against chains. He eyed Nico as the knife paused against Raoul's scalp. "I said enough," he repeated and held out his hand. "Give me what have you taken."

Nico reached down to the floor and retrieved the pile of red-stained gold that sat there. He stood and handed Raoul's hair to Louis.

"Come along," Louis ordered as his fist closed around the hair, "we still have work to do."

Nico watched Louis leave the room and turned back to Raoul. He bent over, a single finger going to a blood trail on Raoul's head. Nico placed the bloody finger in his mouth and sucked at it before grinning at Raoul. "This is not over yet," he promised as he turned on his heel, exiting the room and leaving Raoul alone.

Raoul bent his head over, fighting down the impulse to retch. He could feel the cooling blood on his chest and the cooling blood on his head. Neither place truly hurt as the cuts inflicted by a skilled practioner were not deep but his scalp felt as if it were on fire as cool breezes blew across barren patches of bleeding skin. Raoul almost wished they had hurt him for he would know how to deal with the physical pain. The emotional pain of the humiliation Nico had put him through was far worse. Raoul felt ill and dehumanized and was glad he could not see what they had done to him. Then a different kind of pain took over as Raoul realized that Philippe and Christine would be receiving the parcel containing his bloody hair. It was an emotional sensation that flared outwards, encompassing the physical, creating a whole new world of pain for Raoul.

"Don't do this to them," he said softly, knowing it was useless even as the words passed his lips. "Please do not do this to them." His breath caught in his throat as he thought of the reason he had left his brother's home in the first place. It had been a stupid fight for a stupid reason. "Do not do this to her," he whispered. "Oh God, Christine," came the desperate prayer as Raoul succumbed to the pain and the dizziness and the darkness.

"Oh God, Christine," came anguished question, "what have you done?"

Christine looked at her reflection in the mirror and found there was no answer forthcoming. She closed her eyes and turned away, unwilling to look any further at the foolish child who stared back at her. Christine could feel a familiar fear gnaw at her soul, familiar but strange. There was a desperation in this fear that multiplied and heightened the intensity of the emotion until it was all that Christine could sense, until it was everything that she was. Even in her darkest moments, Christine had never felt such fear and she longed to crawl out of her skin to escape it. Trembling hands massaged her arms as if Christine were trying to rub away the fear. A wave of nausea began to bubble in her stomach and Christine placed a single hand to her mouth.

"Not now," she pleaded. "Not now."

The sound of carriage wheels drew Christine's attention away from the sick feeling that seemed to be her nearly constant companion. She quickly crossed the front parlor, drawing back the draperies to see the back end of a carriage that was moving down the lane. Christine let the draperies fall back into place and nearly ran from the parlor, out into the hallway and down to Philippe's study. She did not even pause to knock but burst through the door, one hand refusing to let go of the knob, using it to steady a body that longed to collapse into a weeping pile of expensive satin.

"Philippe?" she asked, hoping and dreading the answer.

Philippe stood behind his desk, his head bowed, hands splayed across the blotter. He had raised his head as Christine burst into the room, giving her a shake of his head.

Christine stared at her husband's brother and knew the dark circles under his eyes and his ghostly pallor were reflected in her own. She could not stop the sob that escaped her lips. Christine held up a hand to stop Philippe before he could cross to her side. "Please do not," Christine said.

Philippe was confused. "Why not?"

"Because," Christine replied, her voice breaking as she turned her head away.

"Christine, please," Philippe tried. "I cannot face this alone."

"How could you possibly want to face it with me?" Christine's whispered reply carried across the still room.

"We both love him," Philippe's brow was furrowed in confusion, "and we both want him back. I cannot carry this burden and fear alone; it will be easier to share it with someone who understands."

Christine turned her head to look at Philippe. "You do not understand!" she began softly, her voice gradually increasing in pitch and volume. "This is my fault! Raoul and I were arguing and he left! He ran away from me because I could not tell him why I was pushing him away! And I pushed him right into the arms of the men who took him away from us!" Christine was now shouting. "I am responsible! This is my fault!" She finally allowed her knees to crumple and she sank to the floor, her hands covering her face as she sobbed hysterically. Christine felt a pair of gentle hands touch her shoulders and she tried to pull away only to find the light grip of those hands tightening, lifting her to her feet, pulling her to a strong shoulder where she buried her head, a pair of sturdy arms holding her close. Christine sobbed for a few moments into Philippe's shoulder, her breathing finally evening out, her shaking body going still.

"Is that easier?" Philippe wondered.

Christine nodded, feeling Philippe's arms draw away from her and she raised her head to him. "I am so sorry," she said, her breath catching between each word. "I never meant for this to happen."

Philippe smiled sadly at her, his hands capturing hers. "Come with me," he told Christine as he led her to a small sofa that rested against the wall behind the study door. They sat down, Philippe still holding to her hands. "There is something you need to hear," he began. "Something the local police inspector told me mere moments ago."

Christine studied the blue eyes staring at her, feeling her heart break as she saw her husband's concerned gaze in his brother's. "What is it?" she wondered, her breath still catching with each word as Christine struggled to keep her sobs under control.

"The gendarmes searched that wooded trail that Raoul," Philippe shook his head before he continued, "loved to ride along. They found a camp in the woods that had obviously been there for some time." Philippe briefly closed his eyes in pain. "They were waiting for him, Christine. Do you understand? They were waiting for him and they just happened to take him the day that you and he fought." Philippe laid a hand on Christine's arm; the gesture reminiscent of touches Raoul had placed the same arm. "You had nothing to do with this. The disagreement between the two of you is just a sad coincidence."

"But Raoul is gone!" Christine said. "And he is never going to forgive me!" She was so close to slipping over an emotional edge and into the whirlpool of hysterics again.

"He will be back!" Philippe was insistent. "And he will forgive you. If I know nothing else, I know that my brother loves you. Every couple has disagreements and it has pained me to see you and my brother in the midst of one. Yet I know that once Raoul is back with us, he will want to be in your arms and everything that has come before will be forgotten." Philippe managed another sad smile. "By you both."

"Are you sure?" Christine asked him, her eyes desperately seeking the truth in Philippe's face.

What Philippe might or might not have said was interrupted by a knock on the open study door. Philippe and Christine both turned their attention toward the sound, the hopeful look on both faces disappearing as they saw Arthur standing in the open doorway.

"Yes?" Philippe asked.

"I do not wish to interrupt," Arthur began and withdrew a hand from behind his back. It held an envelope. "I thought you would wish to see this. It was found tacked to one of the back portico columns." Arthur kept an even gaze and an even tone of voice. "It has the same writing as the envelope from yesterday."

Philippe was on his feet in an instant, at Arthur's side in the next. He held out a shaking hand, feeling Arthur grip his hand as the envelope was passed. Philippe saw Arthur flick his eyes to the envelope and back to his face. Philippe cautiously lowered his eyes and drew in a sharp breath as he noted a small brown stain on the back of the envelope.

"The desk?" Arthur suggested softly, watching as Philippe nodded, following him to the desk. Arthur managed to give what he hoped was a reassuring smile to the woman who had slowly risen to her feet, a hand going to her throat.

"Philippe?" Christine wondered.

Philippe had opened the envelope, looking inside, carefully pulling out a letter. He placed the envelope down on his desk, fighting back the sick feeling that was growing in his stomach. Philippe read the letter he held. "They assure me that Raoul is still alive."

"Thank God," Christine whispered.

"And they will tell us how much money and where to deliver it with the next letter," Philippe finished, re-folding the letter and placing it next to the envelope.

There was a long moment of silence as Christine watched the two men across the room from her exchange glances, unwilling to meet her eyes. "What is wrong?" she asked. "What is it?" Her eyes flicked to the envelope under Philippe's hand. "What are you not telling me?" the question came as Christine crossed the room to stand at the edge of the desk.

"Christine, do not," Arthur tried.

"Oh God," Christine said, feeling the panic and hysteria beginning to overwhelm her again. "What have they done to my husband?" She turned her gaze to Philippe. "What have they done to Raoul? Philippe, tell me!"

Philippe and Arthur exchanged a final glance before Philippe finally raised his eyes to his brother's wife. "There is something that came in the envelope." He shook his head. "They sent it as a warning and to show that they mean for us to follow their every order."

Christine wondered where the heat of an early summer afternoon had gone as a cold chill crept up her spine. "What is it?" Her gaze traveled to the envelope once again, her head cocking to the side as she studied it. "Is that ... is that mark ... is it blood?"

Philippe swallowed hard. "Christine."

"Is it?" she interrupted him, her voice sounding hollow and distant to her ears. Christine watched Arthur come around to her side of the desk to place a steadying arm about her waist. She raised her head to him and saw him nod at Philippe.

"It is blood, Christine," Philippe told her as he picked up the envelope, reaching inside and drawing out some familiar golden brown strands of hair.

Christine's hands flew to her mouth but were unable to completely muffle her scream.