Disclaimer: "In dreams he came to me..." He enchants my imagination...Would that I had created him!
Chapter 4: The Heart Prevails
He awoke gradually, his eyes fluttering open, and then closing again, quickly. The late afternoon light streaming in through the window was too much for him. He tried to move his right arm over his face, in order to protect his eyes, but found that this was impossible. His arm was mysteriously too heavy. He finally kept his eyes closed, licking his dry lips. Why was he so thirsty? He tried to ask for water, but no sound would come from his throat. His lips simply moved, soundlessly. There was a rustle of fabric very close to the bed in which he now lay, and then he felt a soothing hand on his brow, followed by a feathery kiss. He felt that kiss to his very soul...
"Erik," her voice, sweetly melodious as always, came to him, and he basked in its gentle warmth, although he could not reply. "You are thirsty, my love, are you not?"
He attempted to nod his head, but only succeeded in moving it slightly. He heard the rustle of fabric once more, and realized that she had risen from her seat. 'Don't leave!' his mind screamed.
A few seconds later, he felt something being held to his lips, and a hand was behind his neck, trying to push his head up a little. He opened his eyes quite suddenly, and saw her hand, holding a glass of water to his trembling lips. The hand tipped the glass slightly, and his lips came into contact with the water. Parting them, he allowed some of the liquid to trickle in. She tipped the glass a little more, and he was able to gulp down two or three mouthfuls, as the rest dribbled down his chin. Then he looked up, meeting her eyes. Her instant smile was like a little sun, coming from behind a dark cloud.
"Is that enough, Erik?" she whispered, so adoringly he wanted to take her in his arms, holding her tightly to his body, to kiss her madly, greedily...
She must have read his mind, for she removed the glass, replacing it with her lips. The kiss started out to be a chaste one, in deference to his present condition, but quickly turned into something more. Weak as he was, Erik grasped her lips with his own, forcefully opening her mouth to plunge in his tongue. Christine sighed into the kiss, sweeping her tongue over, then under, his. He groaned, and attempted to pull her over him. He was only prevented from doing so by his extremely weakened state. Christine, not wanting to tax his energy, started to pull away from him. He groaned again as her mouth left his. His piercing golden eyes fixed their burning stare into hers. He spoke to her with his eyes, telling her what she needed to know. She could not look away. His lips parted again, but she placed a finger on them, smiling as she did so.
"No, my love," she murmured. "Do not try to speak as yet. You must rest. You are out of danger, but must regain your strength."
"You...," he managed to say, hoarsely, "...are...my strength..."
Tears suddenly filled her eyes. She placed one hand on his lips, and he kissed it fervently, closing his eyes rapturously, as his own eyes brimmed over...
"Christine, how is he?" The unwelcome voice came to Erik's ears, and he instantly tensed.
There was a short silence. Raoul took note of the scene: Christine was sitting on the bed, next to Erik, and he was kissing her hand. His heart sank, and he turned away without a word.
Christine guiltily pulled away her hand, and Erik was quick to moan in protest.
"Erik," she whispered, "I...I must speak with him." His eyebrows drew together in anger, and she pursed her lips in anguish. She did not want to leave him, but she must speak with Raoul.
Their eyes locked. She moved her head down again, meeting his lips once more with her own. The kiss was gentle and sweet. She slowly pulled away from him, straightening up, and he fully expected her to leave the room. Instead, she did something he would never have expected. She began to unbutton the front of the simple gown she wore...His lips parted as his pulse accelerated. Gazing at him steadily, she continued to move her hands down the front of the gown, until enough buttons were undone. To his great surprise, he saw she wore no corset, but only a chemise underneath. She slowly pulled the sleeves of the gown down, as she continued to stare at him steadily. Then she pulled down the straps of her chemise, slowly, oh, so slowly, tantalizingly...His eyes burned. How could she be doing this to him, in his condition? Yet, he did not want her to stop...
She pushed the chemise down to her waist, and he was once again treated to the sight of her beautiful breasts. He groaned, as rising passion ripped through him. His breathing quickened. Once again, he wondered why she was torturing him like this. Surely she knew that he could not...perform...just yet...
Still looking at him, she leaned down over him, placing one breast within reach of his mouth. He gratefully closed his lips around the nipple, sucking on it, his eyes closed in ecstasy. After a few seconds, she moved her other breast into his mouth, to receive the same loving ministrations from his tongue. Then, inexplicably, she pulled back from him, and he looked at her, questioningly.
"I am yours, Erik, my love," she murmured, tears in her voice, her eyes, as she pulled the straps of the chemise back on her shoulders, and then buttoned her gown up again. She then arose, and wafted slowly out of the room, blowing a kiss back at him before she softly closed the door behind her.
Erik awoke with a start. He looked wildly around for her, but she had disappeared. Where had she gone? He vividly remembered kissing her lips, and then, kissing...Turning his head on the pillow, he saw the half-empty glass he had drunk from. He suddenly knew that their delectable interlude had been nothing but a dream, albeit a very vivid one...
Raoul was waiting for her in the small sitting room of the spacious suite he had procured for them. He courteously rose from one of the comfortable divans in the room, and immediately sought her eyes. Christine met them, taking a breath to steady herself.
"Christine," he said gravely. "Is he conscious? The doctor said he was out of danger now."
She nodded as she slowly walked to one of the bay windows in the room. The roaring surf of the nearby shoreline could be heard as well as seen from the windows of the inn. "He is very weak, Raoul. He needs to rest for a few days."
He took a deep breath. "I see." There was a short pause. "How many days do you suppose he might need?"
"I would say at least another week," she answered, her back to him as she continued to stare at the surf in the distance. In her mind's eye, she saw a little boy braving that surf to rescue a little girl's scarf...
"Well, then," he continued, lacing his hands behind his back as he walked over to her. "We can continue on our journey. We are not far from my hometown now."
She whirled around, pleading with her eyes. It stabbed him to the heart.
"No, Raoul! I dare not leave him yet. He needs a nurse right now, to look after his needs. He is far from being well. It's only been a week since he was injured!"
Raoul hated himself for trying yet again. He would surely berate himself later, for being such a blind fool. Anyone could see what was happening here. Why could he not simply lick his wounds, admit defeat, and retire from the battlefield? Because he loved her. He adored her. He could not imagine himself loving any other woman. Why could she not love him in return? Then the bitter thought came to him: she did love him...as she would love a brother.
"Christine, do you love me?" he asked abruptly, with an undertone of hostility.
"Why do you ask me this, Raoul?" she returned with an air of injured innocence.
"Christine!" He surprised himself by raising his voice, he, a well-bred aristocrat! "Answer my question, if you please! Do...you...love...me!"
She hesitated, very briefly, and he knew the answer in that hesitation. Turning on his heel, he walked over to the door.
"Raoul, wait!" she called out, trying to stop him. "You did not let me finish!"
"Finish?" he snorted in derision. "Yes, I suppose you should finish...finish our relationship!" With that, he pulled the door open, stalking out of the room.
She ran after him. He had taken the stairs, and was swiftly on his way to the first floor.
"Raoul!" She continued down the stairs after him. He did not stop, did not turn to look back at her. She still followed him. They both came out of the main entrance of the inn. Raoul was heading for the seashore. With a pained heart, she continued after him, although he was walking much faster than she.
Unexpectedly, he whirled on her. "What do you want, Christine? Go back to your lover! He needs you!"
"Raoul," she implored. "Please listen to me...I am sorry...I do not want to hurt you. I do love you..."
"As a brother, is that not so?" he interrupted angrily.
She was momentarily silent. "I cannot deny that," she said quietly. "But I love you as more than a brother, as well."
"Then why have I seen you kissing his forehead, and caressing his hand? Why so many sighs over that man?"
She looked down, not daring to meet his eyes. "I myself cannot understand this, Raoul...I love him, yes. My love for him is different from the love I feel for you...It is intense, passionate, and burns in my heart, giving me no peace. Yours is steady as a candle flame, calming my heart...But my soul knows the truth...It is to him I truly belong..." The ground at her feet blurred beneath her welling tears.
"For this you have followed me?" he asked, his voice full of pain. He turned from her, to stare out at the restless ocean. "Leave me now, Christine. Go back to him. You say he needs you. Very well, go to him. I must be alone for a while." So saying, he started down the hillside, striding toward the sand dunes.
Christine could find nothing further to say. She stood staring after him as he went toward the ocean, wringing her hands in great consternation. At last, she turned to go back to the inn. Erik, the man her heart had finally chosen, awaited her there.