A/N: Thank you to all for your reviews and your unwavering patience – (I thought I'd never get this up!) Hope everyone is having a wonderful holiday, on this, the 11th day of Christmas…. ;-) And now…

XXXIII

.

The overcast day boded more of the same inclement weather that had watered the forest all week, unusual for this time of year, she was told, yet Christine's heart was light. Bad weather meant quality time spent with Erik, alone inside their tent with no interruptions, and she welcomed the impending rain – for later. At present, she had no wish to be caught in the midst of it. To postpone this trip was no option, not if they wished to leave Brittany in a matter of days, as was the plan.

Keeping an observant eye on the heavy gray cloudbank seen through the topmost branches of soaring trees, she willed the rain to delay as she accompanied Tobias to the village, the boy leading a horse. The lad was the only member of what remained of the band of thieves without a wanted poster on his head. She had offered to go along and help carry whatever could not be loaded upon the horse's back, having assured Erik she would be fine. No one in the village knew her or knew of her, and certainly, in commoner's garb, with her hair braided and tucked beneath the confining headpiece Erik insisted she wear for the excursion, she would not stand out to warrant attention. No one would suspect her as being the mistaken fiancée of the Vicomte. Still, she had been somewhat surprised that there had been no need to plead her case and her husband had given in so readily to her idea to go with the boy, with only an initial hesitance. Five minutes into their trek to the village, she understood why.

A multitude of years under the tutelage of her Phantom teacher taught her when his presence was near within the Opera House, and that intuition had not waned in Brittany's thick forest. To all scrutiny, it might seem that she and Tobias walked alone, the soft moss and pine needles padding their steps in relative silence, save for the occasional splash of a puddle ahead or a rustle of leaves to the sides, and the usual chittering of woodland creatures all around - but she sensed the protective shadow that followed at a distance and smiled a little to herself at the knowledge.

Once they left the cover of shielding trees, the wind blew more brisk, and she was grateful for both braid and headpiece that kept her long riotous locks from flying into her face and obscuring vision.

The village was well-populated and large, but nowhere near as massive as Paris. Erik had warned her not to initiate conversation or likewise draw attention to herself, and she drew her long cloak closer about her form as they walked the muddy streets. Should they be confronted and questioned, she was only to say that she was visiting with her nephew to gather items for a pilgrimage they would soon undertake, to visit Rome and some holy relic of the risen Saviour - a common occurrence in this medieval world Erik had said. He seemed to know a great deal more about the Middle Ages into which they'd been thrust than she, likely from the extensive library in his 19th century lair, and for that she was grateful.

Wooden placards hung above doorways and on wooden stalls that held no words, only pictures displaying what services and products were sold there, and Christine made mention of the oddity.

"Only the nobles are taught to read and write," Tobias explained, curiosity rampant in the sidelong glance he gave, as if she should know this; had she been a true inhabitant of this century, she would. She sensed also a wistfulness shade his words.

"Would you like to learn, Tobias?"

He shrugged. "It fails to matter. Such a privilege is not meant for the common folk."

Christine lightly snorted at such twaddle. "I could teach you. It would be our secret, if you like."

Hope glistened with the incredulity that filled his eyes. "You know such skills, milady?"

"I do. And surely, with all those tales revolving inside that mind of yours, you would like the ability to pen them onto paper?"

"For what purpose?"

At his evident puzzlement as to the benefits of an education, she sought for how to reply. "For posterity sake, if nothing else. The mind can only hold so much, and memories you may wish to keep forever, sadly, after a time, can and do fade." She thought of her dear Erik and the difficulty he faced with the mysterious black spells that yet crowded out his awareness of the past. "Should you marry and have children one day, you could teach them to read and write as well. You will find that learning such skills can give you an advantage in life. There will never again be a need to resort to thievery if you have knowledge under your belt."

"Under my…belt?"

She giggled at his clear bewilderment and the curious glance he cast to the sash tied around his waist.

"Not literally, of course. It's a saying we use where I come from."

His smile was bashful. "You would do this for me? Teach me these skills?"

"Yes, Tobias. I would like to help you, as you have helped me."

"But, what if the Phantom does not agree?"

"I don't think that will be a problem." She could recall multiple times in their century when Erik complained about a lack of intelligence in the minds of crew and management at the Opera House, calling them imbeciles and fools in dire need of enlightenment. She felt he would welcome the opportunity for improvement in one of the few members of the band he tolerated. "I will speak with him tonight, but I doubt he would refuse."

Nothing more was said, but she noticed a new bounce to the boy's step that had been missing before. Tobias led her along the congested path and a row of wooden buildings. It seemed the entire village was out and about, and she noticed with both relief and a smattering of disappointment that a watery sun had broken through the clouds, which were beginning to disperse. They made a turn onto another street and walked a short distance, stopping before the door of a modest sized and narrow three-story building, much like its neighbors. Christine surreptitiously looked over her shoulder, hoping for at least a glimpse of her cloaked Shadow hovering in the background.

"Milady?" Tobias queried once he knocked. "Is there a problem?"

"No," she said with a smile. "Not at all."

The door opened to a short, rotund matron with two missing teeth and a smile that was sunny with welcome in the gray light of day. From beneath her blue kerchief, wispy strands of salt and pepper hair stuck to her face and neck as if she'd been busy before the hearth. Her cheerful attitude made Christine relax and anticipate this leg of their task. It had been so long since she had truly conversed with another woman.

"Tobias!" their hostess exclaimed, giving him a warm bear hug. "It has been long – my but how you've grown…" This, as she pulled away and measured him with a look. She turned that look on Christine. "And you are…?"

Christine sensed the slightest amount of suspicion in the pale blue eyes cast upon her, the weighing of mental scales to determine if Christine could be trusted.

"Maude, this is Le Masque's wife," Tobias said low, so as not to be overheard, "my lady, Christine."

A light of surprise and something like realization sparked in the woman's shrewd eyes. She opened the door wide enough for them to enter, first darting a glance both ways down the narrow street before closing the door behind them. Turning, she regarded Christine head to toe and nodded as if satisfied.

"The clothes suit you. You are pleased?"

Noting a spinning wheel that sat near the hearth, Christine asked, "You made them?"

"I did. I have five growing daughters in constant need of clothes to fit. You are pleased?" she asked again, studying her handiwork on Christine with a critical eye.

"The dress is quite lovely, though the undergown fits a bit snug," she said, almost apologetically, not wishing to hurt the woman's feelings. That, and the tinge of berry stains from scrambling over a dark garden, which no amount of scrubbing had erased, led Christine to add, "I should like to purchase another in a larger size if you have it."

"Eustace is ignorant of such matters," the woman said with a disparaging huff. "He said you are this…" With her hands, she made curves to depict a girl's budding form. "But with my eyes, I see you are this…" This time, her hands arced in more generous curves from top to bottom. "My daughter, Rosalyn, has outgrown an undergown that will fit you."

"Thank you, but I don't wish to take from your daughters –"

"The gown would swallow Clarissa," Maude broke in with an indifferent shrug. "She has not yet grown into it. It is best you take it. Now, you must both eat. How is Galen?" she addressed Tobias.

"He has chosen to remain with the band," the boy said after stuffing bread into his mouth. "He sends warm greetings."

Christine knew from a previous conversation that Galen was this woman's nephew, knew also that Maude and her husband could be trusted to help the band obtain whatever necessities they required, and had for years. As the woman set cheese next to the basket of bread and poured cider into earthenware cups, Tobias outlined Erik's plans, telling Maude exactly what they would need.

"Instruments to play music?" she said doubtfully. "You'll not find such a shop in Brittany, though my husband's cousin likes to carve wood and may help. He made a reed to play once, giving it to my only son, God rest his soul. I will speak to my husband when he returns. A curious idea Le Masque had, to become traveling troubadours, but to start anew far from Brittany and the fear of capture is wise. Galen can keep a crowd well entertained. It comes as no surprise that he agreed to stay with the band."

Christine noted that though the humble dwelling was kept neat, flour had been spilled on the table in the process of baking, and she reached over, smoothing a hand across it to make a clean canvas and drawing the curious eyes of Tobias and Maude. With her fingertip, she drew an outline through the fine brown powder.

"I wonder, if perhaps you could locate an instrument that looks like this?" She did her best to draw anything close to a violin, recalling they'd not yet been invented, but unlike Erik, she possessed no skills in that vocation of art.

"I have never seen anything like that," Maude said with a shake of her head.

"I have," Tobias said, and Christine was encouraged when he nodded in promise that he would see to it.

They stayed long enough to finish their meal, while Tobias laid out the plans in detail of what was needed, and Christine handed over the pouch of coins Erik had given Christine to give the woman for trade.

While there, all five of her daughters, from 8-year-old Cecily to 19-year old Rosalyn came into the room. All were immediately sent on specific errands by their mother with coin in hand to purchase what was required from the shops and stalls in Brittany. The two youngest each went off with the two eldest, all in pairs, only 12-year-old Marie setting off alone. Christine would have liked to tend to the shopping or at least accompany the child, visiting each vendor to see their wares, but as Erik had warned, it was best not to risk catching attention, especially that of a soldier's, what with the Vicomte's chateau no more than a short ride away.

Christine shivered at the troublesome thought, to Maude's observation. "Be you cold, milady? I can put another log on the fire."

"No," Christine quickly deferred. "Thank you, I'm fine."

Maude continued to study her in speculation. "Never would have thought how Le Masque would find himself a bride, him being one to hide himself away from others. It be a rare occasion I see the man, him always sending one of his aides when my help is needed. How did you meet, if you care to tell it?"

Christine hesitated. She couldn't very well mention that they had known one another for nearly one decade, not with Tobias there listening, but she hated to deceive, even for so paltry a reason. To her way of thinking, no lie was "white." Yet she certainly did not wish to admit to her initial and voluntary captivity.

"We share a love of music."

"Oh?" This surprised Maude and Tobias both, the boy remaining silent but his dark eyebrows sailed toward his hairline. "I wasn't aware the Maestro could carry a tune," the woman said, an evident question in her voice.

"He sings wonderfully well," Christine disclosed, with the same dreamy sort of breathlessness of her girlhood upon hearing an angel during the solitude of chapel prayers.

Tobias eyed her as if she wore the mask and felt unsure of her identity, and she remembered, too late, their discourse around the campfire on the outskirts of Paris, when Erik as Le Masque refused to sing, no matter her persuasions.

"That is, when I finally convinced him, which was no easy task – Tobias can attest to that." The peculiar look did not leave the lad's eyes, and she hastened to add, "He did after all agree to this venture of a traveling show."

"Then it was your idea, milady," the lad said, as if it now all made sense.

"I cannot take full credit. He had a hand in it too." She felt uncomfortable by the turn the conversation had taken. "It is much better than stealing to make revenue – and much safer – don't you agree? And with your lovely voice, you will make a fine addition to the troupe."

"Ah, Tobias does have the cherub's voice, so peaceful," Maude put in. From that point on, the conversation blessedly detoured from the plateau of treacherous ground to the flat and safe area of local lore.

It wasn't until she and Tobias were again headed on the path to the campsite, equally burdened with baskets of wares, what the heavily-laden horse could not carry, and safely ensconced within the bower of the thick forest that the lad reintroduced the topic of Erik's leadership.

"If I may be so bold, milady…"

"Yes?" she urged him to continue.

"I have noticed how Le Masque has changed in thought and deed since you came to live in our camp. Even changing his name from Le Masque to what he now wishes us to call him – Phantom. Others have noticed too."

At his sudden words that startled, Christine almost lost her grip on the basket with the bolts of cloth she carried and bounced it higher, shifting the unwieldy construction of woven reeds to obtain a better hold in her sweaty palms. She darted him an uncertain glance.

"You have nothing to fear, milady – from me. I like the idea to sing for our supper, as you put it, but not all men are agreed."

"I had hoped those opposed would have left by now."

"For the most part, aye, though even Eustace has his misgivings."

"Enough to cause trouble?" she ventured.

"Oh, nay, milady. Eustace is loyal to milord and always ever will be. And you surely must know that I'll not fail you. I speak of this only to warn you never to let down your guard."

A day had not passed since she'd come to this archaic time that Christine was not vigilant; there were just too many dangers to indulge in being unwary.

"I do know of your faithfulness to us, and I'm grateful," she agreed warmly, causing a flush to rise to the boy's ears.

"As am I."

Christine had been aware of Erik shadowing them, of course. But true to his designation of Phantom, he had glided up behind on silent feet – a noteworthy achievement in a forest of undergrowth that crunched underfoot – and yet again, taken her by surprise.

Once the leaping of her heart resumed its normal pattern, she narrowed her gaze upward to where he had taken a place beside her and looked beyond the coal black mask into the dancing eyes of her husband.

"Must you always do that?" she asked with a tinge of annoyance.

"Do what? Protect my wife? What a question," he scoffed.

"You know perfectly well what I mean…" Before she could lightly scold further, Erik lifted the basket from her weary arms and transferred the heavy load into his strong ones.

"I shall offer no apology for keeping you safe, Christine. By appearance and from the sound of it, I have good reason to watch over you." He nodded ahead to the boy, who with a grin to both had moved out of earshot and ahead of them on the path after Erik appeared out of nowhere and nearly spooked her out of her skin.

"Appearance?" she asked, instantly forgetting her irritation with him. "Did something happen in the village to alert you to trouble?"

He pulled his lips together tightly. "Let us just say, I shall be greatly relieved when we are on the road and away from Brittany."

"Erik, please tell me. I'm not a child that you must mollycoddle."

He let out a heavy breath. "No, you're not. Soldiers. Two of them. They were watching you too closely. In all likelihood, due to the fact that they have never seen so beautiful a creature in existence – but I will not tempt fate and allow you to leave this forest without a strong escort again. Not with the present-day fool of a Vicomte so close."

Only her silver-tongued, devilish angel could both instill dread and leave her flustered with his praises in the same breath.

"I know that look," he said quietly. "Have no fear, Christine. I'll let no harm come to you. Once preparations are made, we will leave this forest. Until that time, I have fashioned traps for those foolish enough to come within one kilometer of our camp."

His admission gave her both relief and concern.

"What of the innocent wanderers who travel along the road? Tell me no harm will come to them."

"Only should those few "innocent" wander off the road a good distance will they be trapped. Trapped only, Christine not harmed; I made you a promise. I left those more violent methods behind at the Opera House, chiefly used as a means of self-defense against prying interlopers. However, in this century or any other, I would kill any man who dares cause you harm - make no mistake. And for that, I offer no apology."

She did not doubt his sinister claim, now knowing a good deal of his history, including those horrendous years in Persia, and though she felt it a sin to admit, a tiny part of her reveled in the knowledge of his obsessive protection. She remembered too well the terror that had shaken her to the bone, the horror of it, after having been tackled and abused by that piece of filth in the dark streets of Paris. In that, Le Masque and her Erik shared one like mind, and she could not honestly say she was displeased.

In his fathomless eyes there glimmered a hope for understanding, and she gave it, tucking her hand beneath the tense muscle of his arm while bringing her other hand to his sleeve to hug him close to her side. Only then did she feel her fierce, warrior-like Angel begin to relax.

xXx

The following afternoon, with all talk of known and unknown terrors beyond the periphery of conscious thought, Christine was surprised to come upon her husband dozing beneath a tall elm. Beside him on the dry patch of ground he had claimed, to her chagrin, was the wretched witch's grimoire. He seemed fascinated by its mystery, Christine having twice caught him poring through its pages when not busy at work. She knew that his scientific mind could not grasp what had happened to place them in another century, and he sought intellectual answers that would pacify his genius. As for herself, she would rather the tome be misplaced and forgotten, along with the mystical standing stones. It no longer mattered how she got here, only that she was here, with Erik.

To actually see him in slumber was a rare occurrence, since usually he woke before she did and slept at some point after her eyes closed. Christine hesitated with what to do, looking down at the tin plate of a roasted pheasant's leg she had brought him.

Deciding that he needed food as much as he did sleep, she quietly approached, coming up from behind, an imp of mischief persuading her to take him unaware as he so often did with her. She kept her footfalls silent, thankful for the moss that covered the forest floor. Transferring the plate to one hand, she used her freed one to press lightly against his shoulder.

His reaction was immediate – more feral than human: a sudden tight grip around her wrist along with a violent pull, and Christine found herself spun around and plunked unmercifully in his lap, his large hand instantly going around her throat. Blinking up in stunned emotional unbalance, she saw the panic leave blue-grey eyes still hazy from slumber as, at once, he realized the identity of his captive. And though his grip on her wasn't dangerous, he did not immediately remove his hand.

"What are you doing, Christine?" His voice was a low rumble.

"I brought you food to eat from what Eustace cooked." She swallowed hard against his hand and looked with some dismay at the pheasant leg now lying on the ground, the plate overturned nearby. "I didn't mean to startle you."

"Did you not? If so, then why did you approach with such stealth?"

She blinked in surprise. "You heard me? You weren't asleep?"

"I was, but I'm a light sleeper."

Of course he would be, given all that he once suffered in life, and she should have realized and not surrendered to such petty childishness to give tit for tat.

"Next time that I approach from behind I shall be sure to stomp about like a clumsy bear."

This earned a slight tilt of his lips as his hold gentled to a caress of her throat. "You could never be anything but graceful, ma Damoiselle Ange."

She smiled at his new version of sobriquet, highly approving the alteration. 'His angel' he called her in their century, coupled with 'his damsel' that he dubbed her in this one, before he'd come to the knowledge of his identity. To speak the endearment, she would always know it was her Erik and never pause with worry to wonder.

Lifting her hand to his mouth, he brushed a kiss to her palm that made scattered senses tingle. But as he pulled her hand away, the troubled expression on his face perplexed her.

"Erik? Is anything the matter?"

His eyes never strayed from the silver band on her finger as his thumb fingered the ring, causing it to give a slight spin around her finger.

"There is much I still cannot remember, though as I told you, some details of past days have been returned to me with each new dawn…" His tone came wistful. "I recall standing before a massive window of colored glass that cast lights of the rainbow over your face and hair, a glorious vision of you painted in my mind. Was that real?"

"Yes, it was." She released a sigh of sweet nostalgia and settled more comfortably against him, resting her head against the hollow of his shoulder. "Our wedding. It was quite beautiful, held in the grand cathedral of Notre-Dame before the Rose window."

"Would that I could remember the vows made on a day I coveted most in my wretched existence." His reply came filled with self-disgust.

"Well, they weren't much really." She gave a little shrug. "The standard for this era, I was told," and she repeated the words for him.

He waited and when she said no more than the two lines they exchanged, he replied, "That was all?" He let out a disgruntled snort at her nod. "A pithy excuse for the giving of one's heart and soul to the one most adored…!" A calculated look came into his eyes, as if he was suddenly made aware. "The ring, may I see it?"

She brought her hand close to his face.

"Take it off, Christine." At her startled look of concern, he reassured, "Only for a moment."

Reluctantly she pulled the precious token of their marriage bond away, placing it in his palm. He brought it close to his eyes, turning the band, and her heart gave a little jump at the secretive smile that suddenly tilted his mouth and the gleam in his eyes when he again turned them toward her.

"At last, a valid memory. I recall paying a vendor twice the amount to have it ready in time. Read the inscription, my love."

"There's an inscription?" she said with some shock, and took the band from him, looking inside it. "Melodiam …combined duos …ex opinationibus," she read slowly as she turned the ring and surveyed its miniscule letters bunched close together. "But…" she looked up in confusion. "What does it mean?"

"It is Latin, roughly translated: Two strands of melody entwined."

She gasped, hot tears pricking the back of her eyes as a treasured memory of the Opera House came rushing back to her. He had told her then that 'to love her was his destiny," stating that they were two strands of melody entwined. She did not fully appreciate the sentiment then, still uncertain where her future lay, much less who her heart belonged to, but now the words were like golden chords of music to her ears.

"Even in the guise of Le Masque," he said softly, "my heart remembered you."

"Oh, Erik…" Christine briefly let her eyes fall shut and pulled her teeth against her lip in an attempt to quell an intense rush of emotion. She felt the callused pad of his thumb brush with tenderness along the sting and rounded her lips into a soft pucker, laying a kiss against his skin. "I'm sorry, so sorry for all the time wasted. Had I known then -"

"Hush, my love. We have the rest of our lives, and I intend them to be lengthy and fulfilled."

"Yes," she agreed and thrilled to feel the brush of his lips against hers.

At the knowledge of the cherished secret the ring had concealed, it no longer mattered to her if Erik should recall the entirety of their days together as Le Masque or otherwise; for now she had proof positive that in the core of his soul, he'd never forgotten her.

"I have something for you," he said, and with a bit of shifting, never moving her off his lap, he pulled a pouch from his belt and opened the drawstring. "Hold out your hands cupped together, as if you are catching water from a stream to drink," he instructed.

She did so, tilting her head in curiosity –

and gasped as a stream of gold and jewels rained into her palms. Small golden circlets, each with a distinctive gemstone or several. The small treasure amounted to a handful of elegant rings, what must be ten in number.

"Erik – what on earth?!"

"Never can we locate their original owners, not without risk to our lives, and they will do no one any good stowed away in bags buried beneath the soil. They are meant to be worn and admired. As my bride, you should have had more than what you were given, Christine. Had I been in my own mind, I would have seen to that. The sentiment of the ring is genuine, but the vehicle on which it is inscribed is paltry. Nor would the ring of our former life together do, stained from the past as it is and having originated from another man."

"But I'm happy with my ring," she countered, holding her hand with the token against her breast. "It's quite lovely with its etchings, and doubly so with its message."

"Nonetheless, it is a ring selected when I erroneously thought myself to be Le Masque with no memory of our former life together – and now I am no one but Erik. Keep the band, Christine; I would never take it from you. But I want my wife to have a wedding ring of my full choosing. Select one or I will select for you."

She refrained from further argument, seeing how important this was to him, relieved that at least he did not insist she take the Vicomte's ring, which she knew he still wore beneath his tunic. True, these rings offered were stolen goods; but this time, in this century, Erik was not the brigand to blame, and it did seem a shame for them to be hidden beneath the earth for years, decades, even centuries if the treasure trove was never uncovered. He had told her they would not take all of what was buried with them, only a portion, though he did mark the area so as to return and collect the remainder if ever needed.

The sunlight bounced in flashes of brilliant color off the stones, some cut, some uncut, and after a short deliberation she selected a small but elegant oval sapphire that would lay along the breadth of her finger, the band running like graceful branches along the top and bottom of the ring to twist together and form the band.

He nodded with approval at her choice. "That would have been my selection as well. The stone of love, fidelity and commitment. Some sources cite also wisdom, virtue, and good fortune."

Christine looked at him, never ceasing to be amazed by his genius. "How is it you know all of that? And Latin too? Le Masque knowing, well it made some sort of sense since he comes from this century – but you belong to mine."

Erik chuckled. "Spending more than two decades holed away from the outside world, one does tend to rely on numerous forms of literature."

"But how can you remember all that when you can't remember us?"

Too late, she realized the vulnerable area she had trodden, and wished to take back her curious words.

"Oh, Erik, I didn't mean –"

"It's all right, Christine," he said, somewhat sadly. "Who can reason the workings of the human mind? I wish I could give you all the answers you seek, but in much of this, I am simply without explanation. Though I do believe I have uncovered the translation of another of the mysterious symbols carved into the stone – its meaning is blood."

She shivered at the unwanted information. "Please forget I spoke. It doesn't matter, you not remembering all of our time together - not like it once did," she said and meant it. "Discovering the message in the ring has given me great joy and helped me put things in perspective. Memory or not, we are mated by the soul. Whatever you don't recall, even if you never recall the fullness of our life together - I will be here to fill in the voids, as promised. All that matters is that you're with me now. We will always have this day and every day hereafter."

He nodded, gently collecting all but the ring she'd chosen from her cupped hands. Depositing the remainder into the suede pouch, he pulled the drawstring closed and tied it back to the leather sash around his waist. Before she could slip the new ring onto her finger, he took it from her and did the honors, sliding it to meet with the wedding band. It was, she was pleased to see, a perfect fit.

"I, Erik, give to you, Christine, all that I am, my heart and my soul. I vow to love and cherish you as you so richly deserve, for as long as we both shall live and beyond, throughout all epochs of time. You are my life, my song, my very breath. That will never change. No matter what each day brings, we will face it together. You and I are two strands of melody at last entwined. To love you has always been my destiny…"

Overwhelmed by the beauty of his vow that sprung forth from the innermost strings of his heart, like music, for a moment she couldn't speak. She laid her newly be-ringed hand tenderly against his jaw.

"Erik, my great love for you brought me through centuries of time and to this unfamiliar world, to find you, though I didn't know it then. Now that we are at last reunited and together in union – let no man ever tear us asunder a second time." She stroked her fingers against what she could touch of his cheek where the mask did not cover and the gentle shimmer of a tear that had fallen there. "I love you, my Angel. My husband. Forever, I am your Christine."

Though they were legally bound through the eyes of the church, this impromptu sharing of their hearts meant as much if not more to her. As all sacred vows must be sealed, she leaned forward to seal theirs with a kiss. A gentle token Erik readily received and returned in full measure, each of them soon desiring much more.

The sun angled away to the horizon, leaving the pair of lovers in a forest bower of cool green shadow, to engage in the ancient art of love, as beautiful as it was timeless.

Lips to lips, flesh to flesh, heart to heart…

Made all the more beautiful, as it was theirs to share.

xXx

A/N: In honor of the holidays, my gift to you: leaving you with a sweet chapter end for E/C and no cliffie. But be ye warned…these gentle lulls of a finish are soon to be a thing of the past. ;-)) (snippet of lyrics from ALWs LND - "two strands of melody at last entwined.")