A/N: Thank you for the reviews! Borrowed a bit from the 2009 WH movie here too (I just love the new version!)... and now …
V
.
They left the horse tied behind. The distance was short and it seemed foolish for them to ride, perhaps even announce their presence by doing so.
Christine hurried down the hill beside Erik as they scrambled over rocks in the moonlit night, the path familiar to them. She felt grateful that time had made her legs long and lean, making it easier to keep up with him since she now ran and leapt like a gazelle to his wildcat. Rarely did she get winded anymore.
They sped across the shallow stream that fronted the estate and climbed the low rock wall like the trespassers they were, stealthily moving around the side of the house, hushing one another and chuckling quietly at their mischief. A white birch grew near the open glass doors of the ballroom, out of the light but close enough to get a good view of the inside and Christine pointed to it in question. Erik hesitated, unsure about such a scheme, but at last nodded in assent. They hastened toward the tall tree, where he bent to lift her onto his shoulder so she could reach the first branch. Once she at last stood upon the thick limb and had a good hold of the branch above, he leapt up, his motions quick and fluid as he effortlessly climbed to join her. The limb stretched within easy reach, the leafy boughs thicker, offering a better shield to obscure them, and they climbed higher for a better view. They had never dared get so close to the manor before.
She giggled and held to another limb above as he perched beside her on the thick branch, high off the ground, at least midway to the tall roof. "That must be the Vicomte," she whispered, pointing out a fashionably dressed young man with golden curls that hung almost to his shoulders. He danced with a well-dressed young lady in brown satin.
"He looks like a dandified fop," Erik dryly observed.
She giggled. "He does, doesn't he? And that woman with him might be the cousin Berta told me about. She came to The Grange last week. My, but she's not very pretty—nothing like the fair de Chagnys. Rather bird-like, don't you think?"
"A fitting companion for the Vicomte's vanity. The strutting peacock and the little brown wren."
She bubbled into laughter again then clapped her hand over her mouth afraid someone standing near the open doors might hear. They pointed out other guests to each other, Erik offering a derisive remark about each that had Christine laughing helplessly with mirth at his wit until Erik covered her mouth with his own hand, pulling her head against his shoulder and chuckling quietly in admonishment for her to be silent. The sudden sound of barking in the distance brought them instant alarm.
"Oh!" Christine gasped as she swung her head around then looked back at him. "The dogs! Someone must have let them out!"
"Quickly, we must go!"
Fear of being caught made her act in haste, and she slid on the smooth bark, losing her balance. "Erik!"
"Christine!" His hand shot out and grabbed her arm as she fell. Desperately he clung to her.
"Erik!" She squealed a little in fright and clamped her other hand to his arm. "Help me!"
Erik's own hold was precarious. If he let go of the branch above, he would fall, as would she. Her fingers slid down his arm.
"ERIK!" Desperate to return to the branch, she kicked her legs trying to swing herself up to him though it was useless.
"Christine, be still! Don't move …" He grunted, pulling harder and lifting her higher, just as she felt one of her slippers drop to the ground.
The barking grew louder. Guests from inside the ballroom drifted outdoors to the terrace to see. Christine screamed as Erik's loose shirt tore beneath her grasping fingers. Despite his iron hold on her, the weight of her writhing body pulled her downward. Suddenly she fell to the ground and folded as though broken.
"CHRISTINE!"
Erik scrambled down to the lowest branch and jumped to the ground, just as the Vicomte made an appearance.
"What in God's name," he shouted, "Victor, what is the meaning of this?"
A pack of guard dogs appeared around the corner of the garden. They ran for Christine who lay motionless. Erik grabbed a stick and bared his teeth, jumping in front of the beasts that threatened to come near her, striking out at those closest.
"Isn't that Henri's gypsy servant?"
"And that's the Daaé girl with him!"
"The violinist's daughter? From The Heights?"
"Get that wild man away from my dogs!"
"Erik …"
Two men grabbed Erik before he could run to Christine, who moaned his name.
The dogs were restrained by two more of the Vicomte's men. One cur broke free and raced to Christine, clamping its teeth around her arm, growling and tossing its head as if she were a rag doll. Her piercing scream came terrified and anguished.
"CALL OFF THE DAMN DOGS, VICTOR!" The Vicomte rushed toward her. "NOW!"
The man quickly reined in all of his beasts.
"What should we do with him, sir?" one of the men holding Erik asked.
"Throw him off the grounds! Henri will damn well hear about this."
Erik watched in horror as the Vicomte picked Christine up from the ground and carried her into the ballroom. Her sleeve was bloodied and torn and she lay unconscious.
"Why do you wear that rag tied 'round your face, gypsy boy?" one of the men sneered.
Erik spit in his eye and struggled hard, breaking free. He escaped their grasping hands and mocking insults … and the beatings of the monster that always had followed when the cloth was pulled away ...
He ran until they lost sight of him, but didn't leave the grounds. Panicked, he moved in the shadows of the bushes, searching through the windows for the room where they'd taken Christine.
x
"Erik … Erik … Please … I want Erik …"
Christine writhed on a bed, the faces above her a strange blur. Too bright, the room was too bright.
"Where is he?" she groaned, "Where's Erik …?" She tossed on the pillow, wishing the faces and brightness away. For the first time, praying for the darkness to come and give her comfort.
"Hush, child." An icy hand patted her face and a chilled cloth whisked across her forehead and cheeks. "You've been badly hurt, but we're here to take care of you and bring ye back to health, God willing."
She wished to push the hand with the cloth away, but her arm throbbed with the most horrendous pain … her body felt sore and hot … so hot. Erik … He must come … where was he …?
The voices kept speaking but she could make no sense of the words. A strange hum filled her ears. "Erik," she whispered in strong entreaty and then sadly, "Erik …"
The hum grew louder as she slipped into nothingness.
x
Hours must have elapsed once Erik finally found the right balcony window and ran back to the Summit to collect the horse, which now stood ready for them outside the rock wall. He waited for the infernal gathering to leave her bedside and the guest room. Once they did, he waited several seconds more then smashed his fist through the glass pane, pulling the latch down to unlock it.
Heedless of the blood staining his knuckles, he hurried to where Christine lay, senseless and deathly pale. Her eyes were closed. Her dress had been removed and her shift clung damply to her body, her soft curves beneath the white linen brought into prominence by her sweat-soaked flesh. A strip of material was tied near her shoulder, blood seeping through the cloth. The sheet beneath her was stained with it.
He threw back the comforter at her waist and cradled his hands beneath her slight form. Her eyes cracked open, heavy-lidded. A faint smile tilted her lips, and her voice came out a mere wisp.
"You came …"
"Yes, my Little Angel, I came." He lifted her into his arms, anxiously studying her fever-flushed face. "I wouldn't leave without you."
"Take me home …" she begged him, her eyes falling shut as she drifted away again.
He almost made it to the window before the door swung open.
"What?" The Vicomte's irritating high tenor assailed him. "YOU! Put her down this instant!"
Erik whirled around, holding Christine more tightly against him, and glared at the insufferable fop. The wren-like woman in the brown dress stood beside him in the entrance, an older man with a black bag standing behind both the de Chagnys.
"I'm taking her where she belongs," Erik growled. He turned again, toward the balcony.
"If by that you mean The Heights, think man," the Vicomte's annoying voice followed. "She's in need of a physician. We have summoned one here. Her cousin isn't likely to provide her with the care she requires. She fights a high fever … Do you want her to die?"
His last words stopped Erik cold. Curse the fool, the boy was right. Henri was likely off somewhere drinking and whoring, and Berta was only a servant who'd tended minor scrapes and bruises. As far as he knew, she had no knowledge of how to treat a serious wound. Erik had seen the foul cur literally rip into Christine, and his heart again twisted at the painful memory. He had no choice.
"If anything happens to her …" he growled, slowly turning to face the boy. "You will answer to me."
He knew the imprudence of such a threat – he, nothing more than a servant they could order beaten for his insolence and thrown out with a simple command. They had tried once. But he meant every word and stood motionless, staring daggers at the boy until he curtly nodded in acknowledgment and awkwardly looked away.
Erik moved back to the bed and laid Christine on it, gently lowering her head to the pillow. Crouching low, he swept tendrils of damp hair from her face and neck.
"Erik …?" Her thready voice seemed confused, her eyes unfocused.
"It's all right, Christine," he said, taking her hand in his and stroking it with his other one. "You will be well and home soon. I swear it." He gently brushed his fingertips against her temple once more and laid her hand beside her on the coverlet.
At his soothing words, she again grew still and closed her eyes. Erik straightened and glared at the others who'd not moved from the doorway. Nor did he walk past them to exit. Swiftly he retreated to the balcony and slipped out the way he'd come, vanishing into the shadows. With one last, lingering glance at his Angel, he swiftly descended the rope he'd tied there, jumped astride the waiting black stallion, and raced into the night.
xXx