A/N: I appreciate the reviews! :) And now, onward and upward...
VII
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Christine stayed five weeks at The Grange and came back to The Heights different than on the night she left it.
Upon exiting the de Chagny carriage, she was shocked to see her welcoming committee: Henri stood there, neat and sober, next to a pale, thin woman he introduced as his wife. His wife! What shocked Christine more than the news that he'd married a stranger in the weeks that she'd been absent were the two swift thoughts such news generated – what would this mean to the household? And what kind of woman would bond herself to him?
Uncertain how to receive the poor, foolish creature, she smiled warily at the newcomer, Elizabeth, briefly allowing her to take her hands in greeting. She gave a distant smile to Joseph and the other servants and ran to give Berta a kiss on the cheek, evading her hug upon seeing the dirt covering her apron.
"Oh, just look at you, Miss!" Berta lifted Christine's arms to the sides, much as she did when she was a girl, her words full of admiration as she stared at the pale yellow silk dress Arabella had a seamstress make for her with its matching hat. Inside her trunk were two dresses of similar quality and variation of color and one gorgeous evening gown of emerald velvet and black lace. "You have grown into a fine lady. Your Papa would be proud."
Christine beamed at her praise, her heart racing, her eyes scanning the grounds. "Where is he, Berta? Where's Erik?"
Berta's expression clouded. "I'm not sure, Miss. He's not had an easy time of it since ye left."
Her words brought a pang of distress to Christine's heart. "He's not here then?" At Berta's quick shake of her head and telling glance toward Henri, who was entering the house with Elizabeth, Christine frowned. "I must find him."
"Miss Christine, will you not be wantin' your tea?"
"Later, Berta. Thank you. I must speak with Erik first."
Eagerly she hurried to the stables but found the door barred, the interior curiously empty. In a burst of revelation she knew where he would be.
Heedless of the gathering storm clouds, Christine left the courtyard for the moors, her hand held firmly to the crown of her new hat. She moved as fast as she was able to their favorite spot high atop the hill of standing rocks, needing to climb or step up many of them to get there, thankful her ankle had healed well enough to do so though it still felt too weak to run. She was careful not to soil her dress, though it was impossible for it to escape all grime, and she vigorously brushed at her skirt when she noticed any spotting it.
She saw him at once. With his back to her, he stood tall and impressive between two columns of stones and stared into the distance. Her heart quickened at the long coveted sight of him.
Due to the manner in which she was gasping for breath by the time she reached the summit, she knew he had to have heard her approach, even without his acute hearing. But he made no move toward her showing that he had. For that reason alone she held back from hurling herself into his arms and hugging him close in her delight to see him again. She hoped he wasn't in one of his foul tempers.
She cleared her throat and stepped forward, forcing a cheerful tone. "Erik! There you are. I had hoped you might be at The Heights to welcome me home."
"I was not aware that you would return today."
His beautiful fluid voice, after not having heard it for so long, sent a shiver along her spine, though she thought his tone and explanation odd. Had not all of the household and small staff been there to greet her?
"Well, I did," she said needlessly. "And here I am!"
She was so eager to see him and for him to notice the change in her, she reached up to press her hand to his shoulder. He jerked from her touch as though he didn't want it. Drawing her brows together, she frowned, hurt by his behavior.
"Will you not at least pay me the courtesy of looking at me when we speak?" She had not intended her voice to sound so brittle, but after weeks of wishing to see him and days of dreaming how wondrous their reunion would be, his moodiness was making her angry.
He turned then, very slowly. She saw the bruise on his uncovered good cheek and gasped, instantly lifting her fingers toward it, but he flinched away before she could make contact and she dropped her arm limply to her side. A detached look filled his eyes as they coldly roamed from her pert hat and upswept curls to the silk gown and matching slippers peeking beneath.
"Forgive me, mistress, I meant no disrespect." His sardonic tone reeked of it.
Mistress?
Angry tears filled her eyes. "Why are you speaking to me like this? To ME? Why are you being so distant and grim? I've been gone for weeks –"
"No one held you prisoner there, except your own desires."
"Wh-what?" she blinked in disbelief. "Erik, I was badly hurt! The doctor said I needed rest and should not be moved."
"Five weeks, Christine?"
"They were kind to me." She lifted her chin. "And a lot more agreeable than the present company, I must say!"
"Oh, yes. I'm sure the Vicomte was most charming." His scathing words flowed dark and erroneously sweet.
"As a matter of fact, he was. He told me I looked enchanting in this dress! He offered me compliments as if they were sweetmeats – daily and in great number."
His eyes widened as if in revelation, his little smile one of surprised disdain. "I see! Then it is flattery you desire to keep you here? How remiss of me not to feed your conceit like the pompous ass who lives at The Grange."
She gasped. "That was cold and cruel! Why are you being so horrid? What have I done to deserve your contempt? Do you now hate me?"
"Hate you?" He scoffed out a laugh. "I don't even know you." His eyes sparked with an intensity that made her heart pound. "Look at you! Where is the spirited girl in the plain gray dress who snubbed her nose at the upper classes?" He glared with scorn at her silk finery and scowled in disgust. "You look like one of them now. The de Chagnys."
"And what if I do? Just because they have money doesn't make them empty-headed and coldhearted as we thought."
"Is that what you truly wish, Christine?" His voice grew soft but no less dangerous. "To become one of them?" He took a step toward her. "To indulge in a life of luxury while your spirit withers among the milksops with whom you bear nothing in common?"
"At least I'll not starve!"
"No, there's no danger of that. But what of your soul, Christine?"
She winced at the memory of her words to him over a month ago, winced also at how accurate his words were.
"What would you have me do?" she cried angrily. "Is it so wrong to enjoy being pampered when I've missed it so much, ever since Papa died? YOU certainly never tell me what you think of me, of what I am to you. You are so quick to throw my words back in my face, but have you any to offer in reply?" Her accusation flew from her mouth, and too late to snatch it back, she pursued, taking a step toward him. "I had hoped you might speak before this; now I insist on knowing – precisely what am I to you, Erik?"
"What can you ever be to me?" He gritted out the words quietly between clenched teeth, grabbing her arms above the elbows and giving her a little shake to make her understand. "Angels are not meant to consort with demons …"
"Oooooo! THAT again?" She pressed her hands against his chest, trying to push him away, but he held to her tightly. "Do you know what I think is at the heart of your denial? I think you use your face as an excuse. The chief obstacle that holds you back is your wretched PRIDE!"
"PRIDE?" He laughed sarcastically and glared. "With a face like this, I haven't a shred of pride to claim!"
"No, indeed – YOU ARE FULL OF IT!"
He growled low, shaking her again. "WHAT IS IT YOU WANT FROM ME?"
"THE TRUTH, DAMN YOU! FOR ONCE, TELL ME HOW YOU REALLY FEEL!"
The echoes of her answering shout resounded in the sudden lethal silence. His eyes blazed a dangerous, feral gold as something seemed to snap, making her catch a quick, anxious breath, and she knew she'd pushed him too far.
"Erik …" she whispered nervously.
"The truth is what you want?" His voice lowered to a fierce snarl as he pushed his face close to hers, "Then by God you shall have it! You are a vexing, vain, and stubborn female …" – at this, she glared, trying to break free again, but he held fast – "… with a spirit I don't wish to see broken, a talent that surpasses mere mortals, and a beauty that drives me to madness! I BURN FOR YOU, CHRISTINE, AND THAT – THAT IS THE WHOLE DAMNABLE TRUTH!"
Stunned, she had no time to think as he grabbed fistfuls of her hair, knocking her hat to the ground, and crushed his mouth to hers.
All the fight in her melted away as desire, hot and stark and heavy, swept through her in flaming torrents. She grabbed handfuls of his loose shirtfront, her tongue and lips as eager to meld with his. She wanted to cry with relief. This – THIS was what she had been aching for during the long, bland, empty weeks of teas and cards and charades.
He kissed her breathless, moving her back until her shoulders hit a stone column, and trapped her with his strong body. His hands swept through her carefully coiffed hair, impatiently ridding it of the confining pins, until it fell in a tangled mass to her shoulders and down her back. His long fingers pressed against the globe of her breast, his heated touch a brand upon her skin. And she was his, had always been his … always would be his …
No demon or angel or mortal existing could separate them, she was sure of it.
Their breaths ragged, she groaned in need as his mouth scattered fire along her throat, to her collarbone and down the middle of her breasts that threatened to burst from the delicate, lacy edging of her bodice. Their awkward explorations of more than a month ago seemed a sweetly burning flame to the violent wildfire that now consumed them. Faint with the desire coursing through her blood and the need to be closer still, she grabbed his head and held him desperately to her. Her fingers threaded through his thick hair as he kissed his way down to her stomach, his hands spanning her waist while insistently pulling her to him and, trembling, she went willingly with him to the ground.
He moved over her, covering her with his long, hard body. Holding her wrists pinned up beside her as he had in the hayloft, he kissed her with wild abandon. His warm lips moved over her face and down the side of her neck then over the swells of each breast, making her gasp with hungry pleasure to feel his moist touch there. He reclaimed her mouth and their tongues tangled in need as she squirmed beneath him, both of them caught up in a whirlwind of raw passion, the hardness that made him different from her, made him physically a man, felt through her skirts. A thread of uncertain shyness made her grow still though she didn't pull away, didn't even wish to, and soon the heat of his mouth burning against her throat made her again forget everything but his damp caresses on her skin. His searching hands upon her body. Reckless. Urgent. Inexperienced as she while matching the desperation she felt to know more ...
She felt her skirts lifted, his fingers bold, determined, running along one calf and up the length of her drawers while drawing heat along the inside of her thigh through the thin material. To her shock, his hand ended its exploratory path by cupping her most intimate place, the cloth wet from his passionate caresses. He groaned low and she opened her eyes wide at his forthright touch. Her head reeling with the ache and the pleasure, she inhaled a sharp gasp that turned into a shuddering moan as his fingers slowly, boldly began to rub through the slit and against her. Again he reclaimed her mouth. Closing her eyes with the strangeness and bliss of such discoveries, she wrapped one leg around his, moving her arms around his shoulders, her fingers frantically pulling up his shirt and digging into the heated skin of his back.
He pulled away from her mouth, sucking in a sharp hiss, not of pleasure but of pain, and she froze in shock, not only from his unexpected reaction – but from the horror of what her hungry touch had revealed. Gently, and oh so carefully, she ran her fingertip along a fresh welt on his back, leading to another, and another …
"Erik?" she rasped in anguish, watching his eyes squeeze shut. "Wh-what happened?" Tears filled her eyes when she felt warm drops of wetness on her fingertips and knew it was blood. "Henri did this to you?" she whispered between clenched teeth.
He moved away from her, leaving her body suddenly cold and forlorn. She also sat up. Her hands went to his shirt, but he blocked them, firmly grabbing her wrists. He would not look at her.
"Let me see," she insisted in a tender whisper. "Please …"
At first she thought he might refuse, but at last he turned his back to her, grabbed the shirttail she had loosened and awkwardly pulled the baggy material over his head. The naked sight of his defined muscles and strong back, her first time to see him thus unclothed made her a little breathless. But it was the horrific sight of multiple lacerations from a whip, barely healed over, several reopened and oozing drops of blood, that made her clap a hand to her mouth and her other hand over that one, to silence the cries of anguish that tore through her chest.
If only she had come home when she should have! If she had not stayed at The Grange, this never would have happened! She never would have let it happen, if she had to wrest the whip from Henri's fist or cover Erik with her own body to prevent it!
"Do not cry on my account," he said after a moment, sensing her response. "This is not the first time I've endured a flogging. At the carnival, they beat me with regularity."
His lifeless words with their bitterly wry twist did the opposite of reassuring her. They added to her misery as if her back were the one covered in fresh weals and she noted the old scars too. She wished to press her lips gently to each split of his skin, but knew in his present mood he would regard her action as nothing more than pity and wouldn't welcome her affection. She worked to compose herself and brushed the tears from her cheeks lest he should turn and see her despair.
"Henri will get his just reward and I will soon have my revenge." He tightened his hold around his shirt, looping it over his hands and wringing the material now spotted with red. "As I will one day have revenge on all who oppose me."
"Wh-what do you mean?" she moved to his side to look into his eyes.
He sneered, "He has seen my face! Oh, he's tried before but I was always a step ahead of him, always able to prevent it. But now he has seen. The gypsies who caged me said my face is cursed, that I have the evil eye. And now I have put my curse on him!"
She winced, wishing he would not speak of revenge and casting curses as he so often did. "I have seen your face. I'm not cursed."
He looked away without responding.
The white flash of lightning lit up the rocks, and he clenched his teeth. "You should return to The Heights."
She ignored him. "You said you had no knowledge that I was coming home today. How did you –"
"After Henri whipped me last night, once Joseph and his men caught me, he locked me in the stables. I escaped out the loft window and came here."
Thinking how high the confined opening stood from the ground and how difficult it must have been for Erik to climb down through after having been beaten, she winced.
"But why? Why did Henri do this to you?"
He looked at her then, his eyes steady. "He learned I had been to The Grange after he ordered me not to go."
She blinked. "Y-you were there? I never knew."
"I looked in through the parlor window. I saw you. More than once."
His emotionless words chilled her. Had he seen her with Raoul and Arabella, laughing and conversing? Singing for them after supper? Sharing in all the odd little diversions in which the nobility found amusement?
"Why did you not come to the door and ask for me?" she inquired hoarsely.
His smile was bitter. "Christine, think. A gypsy slave welcomed as a guest? And a heathen gypsy slave at that! They would sooner let the stable animals run amok in the ballroom." His eyes lost some of their angry sparkle, looking almost sad. "I am pleased that your voice did not suffer from your fall. I am sorry I could not prevent it."
Her heart twisted, understanding what he withheld. His anger and hurt, his guilt and pain …
"Erik …"
He swiftly rose to his feet and pulled his shirt over his head. "You must return before the storm hits. It would not do for you to be exposed after the recent fever you suffered."
"I will not return without you." Seeing his scowl, she insisted, "Berta should treat your wounds so they don't fester. You cannot stay here overnight and in such foul weather!"
He curtly nodded and she felt gratified that at least he agreed.
They left their hideaway in silence. Erik offered his help, lifting her down off the more precarious rocks as they descended the summit of the hill, but otherwise he remained distant. The storm, however, did not, and by the time they reached The Heights, both of them were drenched to the skin.
xXx