A/N: Thank you so much for the reviews! : ) And now…
Chapter XXXVIII
.
Christine had lost all track of the passage of time.
Days had blended into weeks, the turn of the foliage and cooler weather all she had to tell her they entered autumn. Most of the trees in this part of the forest remained evergreen. But there were others with leaves that had brightened to crisp red, vibrant yellow, and shimmers of bronze and copper, and it was on those revealing trees she concentrated as she recalled her enlightening conversation with the two wives who had joined their band of merry minstrels.
Upon their arrival that first day, weeks ago, they had been leery of her, no doubt because she was their leader's beloved, a truth she delighted to experience and he did not refrain from making apparent to all. But also with her frequent slippage of the tongue, speaking of objects that must not yet exist in this era, the women regarded her with a curious caution. She recently excused her accidental utterings as learned in the theatre where she once worked, and intrigued they had abandoned their wary shyness around her and peppered her with questions about her former life that she tried to field as discreetly as possible.
Such had not been the case moments ago, when she again slipped with her tongue in a matter well known to each of those women. Their resulting questions had been quite intimate and personal, enough to make Christine blush and excuse herself from the campfire where they had gathered. Before she could leave, Cateline announced what she believed to be true, and in dwelling upon the passage of days into weeks Christine herself came to understand…
A delightful conviction she would welcome with open arms -
But she feared her cynical Phantom might not be so amenable.
He followed, as she knew he would, but Christine did not turn to address him. She clutched her skirts, bolstering what courage had foundered upon hearing the rustle of his footsteps in the grass.
For once, he made no effort to conceal his approach.
"Christine – why did you flee? Is anything the matter?"
Flee? She supposed from his perspective it appeared like that. Once she abruptly rose to leave the other women, she had spotted Erik speaking with Tobias a short distance away, and her husband had shifted his eyes to look at her. Still in shock and somewhat anxious, she had hurriedly turned in the opposite direction as if she had not seen him and walked with haste through the trees and the path that led to a brook, wishing to revive her numbed senses and splash water against her face and neck.
She never made it that far.
"Christine?" He swiftly moved up behind and grabbed her arm when she remained silent.
Reluctantly she turned to face her fate; he did not release her.
Erik searched her nervous eyes, concern written in his.
"Tell me, what is the matter? Did someone say something to upset you?"
"Not exactly."
"Not exactly?" He shook his head and his lips thinned. "What in blazes is that supposed to mean? Did one of those women say something to offend you? Answer me, Christine!"
With his swift rise to impatience evident in the low rumble of his words and slight tightening of his fingers, she could fashion a pretext that might be believed but knew well that the time when excuses could work would soon no longer be viable. He should know; she must tell him. From her rattled bevy of thoughts, she had composed words to speak during her exit from from the campsite, words that might be received with favor...
Oh, how she earnestly prayed they would be received with favor.
"Erik, there is something I must tell you…" Taking his other hand in both of hers, she relied on every ounce of courage she could muster and looked up at him. "I carry our child."
Not a flicker touched his eyes. Nor did he seem to breathe, seeming as if he had turned to a pillar of stone.
"Erik?"
Her soft prodding of his name snapped him from whatever trance held him bound and he pulled both hands from her, taking a step back in retreat as if in denial. Still, he did not speak.
"Say something," she pleaded, fiercely clutching her empty hands together in her skirts for whatever meager support she could garner. Without his staying hand on her arm and with the tremor of her knees, she felt she might sink to the ground.
"You are certain?" his voice was rough velvet.
"As certain as I can be under these circumstances," she admitted quietly, and her face slightly warmed with her next words. "After speaking with the other women, I am convinced. I have not bled since coming through the stones. I considered it once, weeks ago, that my body might have been affected when slipping through time, the experience was so harsh –"
"So, you are not certain," he interrupted with blatant relief. "Then it is hardly a consideration, my dear. Likely the problem is as you thought, and your experience through time has disrupted your cycle."
She frowned and grasped her elbows, hugging herself. "Would it be so terrible if that was not the cause? And if it is as I have come to believe?"
He looked at her incredulously. "You can ask such a question?"
"It seems I must," she insisted.
He waved an impatient hand toward his mask. "Have you forgotten what lies beneath this?"
She had chosen her words carefully. 'A child' had seemed too impersonal. 'Your child' she feared would serve to remind Erik of the flaw that damnably mattered so much to him – 'our child' she had hoped would remind him that the babe was equally a part of her.
She had hoped in vain.
"What does that even matter?" she implored.
"And what if the little beast shares my deformity?! Tell me that would not matter, Christine," he said dryly.
Tears sprung to her eyes at the callous manner in which he referred to their child and the heartlessness he inferred that she would exhibit.
"How can you speak so cruelly to me? Have I not proven that what you consider insurmountable is of no account with regard to my feelings toward you? I love you and will love our child, no matter his appearance."
"Christine, I know that," he amended softly. "You have proven what dwells inside your heart each day since we have been reunited and would make a wonderful mother."
"Then why?" she asked plaintively.
He threw his arms out to the side in exasperation.
"This world in which we live is no place to raise a child of my loins. Another monster – for that is how he will be perceived if he too is cursed with my loathsome malady. Even if he should be spared my face, he will always bear the stigma of coming from my blood." He shook his head in self-disgust and paced a short distance away, knocking aside a slim vine that impeded his path.
Christine ached to speak, to refute all of what he said, to assure him that they could prevail, and to stem the wretched tide of tears that swam to her eyes with his frightening spate of reason. But the tightness in her throat prevented any further words from spilling forth. She, herself, had witnessed and known the brunt of men's foul superstitions in this devilish epoch of time. And despite her desire to shove that despicable knowledge aside, as brutally as he did the vine, he made a valid point.
"I blame myself alone," he went on in a quiet fury of remorse. "You were innocent of such knowledge, but I am well versed from books read and knew how these things come about. I should have been more careful with you…."
"Careful?" she managed to squeeze the word out when he said nothing more.
Standing in profile, he gave a short nod, his hands on his hips, his eyes going distant as if reliving the past.
"Of the many insults and criticisms I bore in my youth, I was told by the gypsy fiend who was my handler that I was a devilish beast, death in the flesh, led to believe I could not reproduce and create life. My own mother declared much of the same. Once I grew into a man, I tried to abandon such cruel words when considering their source, those wretched beliefs drummed into my head, though an infinitesimal part of my soul always wondered if it was true. I was told I was the Devil's Child, a banner above the tent where I was imprisoned proclaiming it, also told I had the evil eye – a curse to all who looked upon me. Caged and beaten, scorned and starved - " He whipped around to face her. "This, in the nineteenth century, Christine. In this dark era of the Middle Ages, superstition is rife, the punishments unjust and deadly, matters ten times worse than in our lifetime, and they were the epitome of hell back then. Is this the kind of world to which you wish to bring a child?"
Trembling head to toe, with horror to hear of his past experiences and with dread that such fiends might try to harm her own child, Christine shook her head – not in reply to his question but to reject such harsh revelations.
"We will love him and teach him to love. We will protect him from harm…won't we?" she added anxiously, when again he abruptly looked away, toward the distant brook.
For herself, she spoke in earnest, the child becoming more real to her with each passing minute, and a tender love for their unborn babe slowly unfolded within her heart, like the petals of a fragile flower, as she spoke of its existence. But she suddenly felt uncertain and fearful of her husband's feelings toward him.
"We cannot live forever, my dear. One day, when we are absent of this mortal coil, who will protect the unfortunate one then?"
"We will instill within our child the courage and strength to protect himself – as you have done."
Her words, quieter than before, seemed less certain in the strength of his mockery, and she hated the sudden wave of doubt that swept over her. Hated, too, that he was instilling a caution and foreboding she had no wish to recognize or receive.
He shook his head irritably. "You are naïve in your perception, Christine. One can hardly blame you, an angel in the flesh, for your lack of understanding with regard to the harsh mindset and methods of this damnable world toward its mortal monsters and others equally undeserving."
She despised when he spoke ill about himself – but to call her naïve? After all she suffered this past month alone she had learned a great deal about the harshness of the world and was long past such an infantile and unworthy description. She was no fool. She knew it would be an uphill battle. But was that not true with all those things in life that really mattered? From the dance and her song, to finding her beloved Angel again, the path had been difficult, treacherous even -
Though in this moment, he seemed little like her Angel and better resembled the dour Phantom of theatre lore!
"No matter your feelings," she began bravely, dashing away another tear, "This child is a consideration, Erik, not a burden, and I want him. I will sacrifice if I must and do all I can so that he may live a happy and fulfilled life and would hope you come to feel the same – that we will face this challenge together, as we have all else we've come up against. But I fear in this moment I must distance myself from you before I say something I will come to regret – and, in fact…" She lifted her chin with a bitter coolness though her emotions were a-jumble, ready to boil over. "…until you can speak of our child with something other than scathing animosity or dread, do not bother coming back to our tent!"
Christine turned on her heel, her steps hurried and tense as she retraced her path. Not once did he call out to stop her, and before she took the bend leading back to the campsite a hasty glance over her shoulder placed him where she'd left him, standing in profile with his head bowed.
By the time she reached her destination, her eyes were so flooded with tears that she couldn't see where she was going and collided with the short redhead who had opened her mind to the truth.
"Cateline – I'm so sorry." Christine swiped the moisture from her eyes with the back of one hand. "I wasn't watching where I was going."
The young woman regarded her in curious concern. With her thick braid hanging over one shoulder and down to her hip, her freckled face as smooth and innocent as a child's, she was only a few years older than Christine, though Cateline had borne two children, one the young boy who played the rat in the skit.
"Milady, did he not take the news well then? You did tell him?"
Christine looked at her in surprise.
"Anton saw milord go into the woods after you," Cateline explained, speaking of her husband.
Despite that Erik ordered the band to address him by name, it had not yet become habit, and those few who respected their leader and his wife still sometimes used their presumed titles. Christine had grown weary of correcting her new friends and let it pass.
"No, it did not go well."
Cateline studied Christine's tear-streaked face and damp eyes.
"Men can be such beasts," she sympathized.
"He is not a beast!" Christine snapped, the thoughtless words rubbing the raw place inside her heart that had formed every time Erik declared himself as one.
"No, of course not," Cateline hurried to say, her manner now guarded. "I meant no offense."
"I know," Christine sighed. "I am weary. Forgive me. I think I shall lie down. Will you please manage today's rehearsal?"
Cateline nodded and Christine entered the tent shared with Erik.
Dismally she recalled her rash of parting words to her stubborn Phantom of a husband and wondered when or even if he would return….
Fearful he might take her reckless ultimatum to heart…
Terrified that he could never come to love or accept their unborn child.
xXx
Even had she not donned the aura of invisibility, Lillith doubted she would have been noticed for all the interest the woman clad head to toe in black and the short Persian paid each other.
Were these mortals not supposed to care for their own kind? Had they forgotten that one of their supposed own lay near death's door within the black veils of the enormous bed? Did their desire for cinnamon cakes and tea accompanied by superficial conversation surpass the fact that this was his home that they treated as their own? Perhaps not in verity, since they failed to recognize his true identity, but they did not know he was anyone other than the man they called Phantom…
In a stew of mounting impatience Lillith waited for what already seemed a small eternity. With time literally at her behest, she could easily transport herself to an earlier day within this era, if she dared. It was in dealing with mortals through the time continuum, using the altar near the standing stones which laid the foundation for such a journey that her queen had forbidden. For the Fae, it was common practice to visit different realms, but to repeatedly go back and forth to the same era within a short frame of weeks suggested a desire to change matters and would be noticed, especially if she were to immediately travel to the previous day. Doubtless, her activities were being watched and reported upon by the queen's spies. She had to be careful not to overextend her powers in this century…
Indeed, she could never visit here again.
The realization remembered brought a strange pang to the center of her chest, and Shailene's alarming words of love relentlessly came back with it.
Contrary to her sister's belief, she was not entirely heartless. She had lost a better piece of herself on the day she unintentionally betrayed her parents into exile, believing herself solely responsible by having trusted what she wrongly believed to be her closest friend with a confidence that had troubled. Never having known she was a spy. Shailene betrayed Lillith as well, in keeping the truth from her for so long, though if their positions had been reversed, Lillith might have done the same.
From her own she received only suspicion and censure, always feeling a need to prove her loyalty. She had not known true kindness or unconditional acceptance until she'd met Le Masque. True, she had offered him a service in her guise as a lady of the night, but he had never needed to leave with her enough gold coinage while she slept, so as to quit the establishment altogether. Not that she needed such mortal luxuries, being Fae. And she reasoned that his commendable traits must be why she felt this strange bond formed with a mortal, this constant lure to be near him, when only weeks ago she manipulated his total destruction, his and his descendants.
All for the queen. All to regain lost favor. Favor she was no longer certain she wished to curry…
She no longer needed to bear the unendurable burden of what happened to her family. She was not responsible for her parents' punishment in their little rebellion to usurp Fae rulership …
But she was responsible for the current state of the man who lay insensible in the black swan bed.
And now, more than ever, amid the confusion to understand why, she experienced the powerful need to right that wrong. Though to join her sister and nephew in their plot to bring the de Chagnys back into their own eras without using strong magic that would be noticed by the queen was a major consideration she had not yet decided upon. If they were caught, it would be considered treason.
She could lose everything…everything!
Yet as she pondered what that meant and somberly stared at the man lying so horribly wounded in the veiled bed, she questioned the value of all that entailed. And she ceased to question the reason for this strange wealth of emotion with regard to him, finally acknowledging its truth. A truth that could lead to her downfall if she let it…
At long last, the pair sitting at the table in discussion laced with mild flirtation parted, the Persian remaining behind once the Giry woman left. Any frustration Lillith felt not to be awarded solitude with Le Masque dissipated when Erik's middle-aged friend settled down on the sofa with a thick book and almost immediately nodded off to sleep before the hearth.
Lillith shed her invisibility and approached the large round bed, pulling the filmy black veil aside. She stared at the man lying on his back, so tall, his feet nearly reached the bottom of the mattress. His breathing came uneven and labored. Above the blanket that covered him to his waist, wide strips of bandages had been wound around his torso, where the Persian cut out the bullet that so nearly caused his death. She should act with haste but in these, her last moments with him, Lillith took a moment to memorize his features, what she could see of his face that the cloth bindings around his injured head allowed. His flaw from birth was not as widespread as his descendant's, the deformity not as pronounced though the plum and rosy discoloring was the same.
Le Masque did not stir as she sat on the edge of the coverlet, his eyes remaining closed, and she recalled his mesmeric stare and gentle touch, how both had stirred her inside so that she felt aflutter and adrift. Even now, even when not in the disguise of a mortal, her heart tripped in its pace…
Forcing her mind to the present task, she unstopped the small vial that Shailene prepared. Then, slipping her hand beneath his neck, she tilted his head and dribbled a few drops of the glowing potion past his lips.
To her shock, his steel-blue eyes wearily flickered open. He tried to focus on her face, his confusion apparent when he did not recognize Lillith absent of her glamour. Her locks not the red-gold she had assumed on that astounding night shared with him, but of their usual shade of silvery blond, her features her own - only the iridescent violet of her irises were as he once knew them, and his curious stare swept there and held.
"I know you." His voice was a bare thread, uncertain in its proclamation.
Nervous that he might raise the alarm and wake Erik's friend, she quickly spoke in the lilting tone used to entrance -
"This will help end your suffering, Le Masque. Trust me..."
Powerless against her mystical sway, he did not question and swallowed the entire contents of the vial she held. His intense eyes never left hers until once again his closed, his rough breathing at last becoming slow and even as he slipped deep into a realm from which no one could rouse him.
Without truly being aware, her fingertips pressed gently to his badly bruised cheek then caressed the other side, finding a peculiar beauty in its oddly-shaded uniqueness.
"Sleep, my brave bandit," she said softly. "Sleep until it is again safe to awaken, and only then shall you open your eyes."
Unable to curb the strong desire, Lillith briefly touched her lips once more to his. Slowly she pulled back in retreat and stood, tears rimming her lashes as she looked upon him one last time then disappeared from the Phantom's lair and the nineteenth century…
Forever.
xXx
After a long cry that physically and emotionally drained her of energy and brought her to the depths of heavy slumber, Christine awakened what must have been hours later, distressed to see that she was still alone. In her hurt and dismay with Erik's unsettling reception of her news, she had angrily told him not to return until he could speak with less disparagement of their child, and now regretted her unbridled tongue.
It was not that she failed to understand or even sympathize with his harsh misgivings – after having heard the heartrending accounts of his wretched past, especially those of his childhood, how could he not help but feel as he did?
What upset her was that he seemed unwilling even to make the attempt to try. Of course, they had months before they must reach that point. In appearance, no sign of her condition was apparent, her belly as flat as always, but in her heart she knew that a babe did indeed grow inside her womb.
She looked toward the tent entrance, noticing the light beyond the wall of canvas had grown dimmer. It was nearing sunset. Nightfall would soon be upon them …
Had he truly left then?
Even as the horrid possibility crossed her mind, Christine dismissed it. Her parents had abandoned her through no fault of their own, making her into an orphan, and the one man she'd given her voice and soul to once ordered her to leave him forever, what seemed eons ago but was only a matter of months. After those dismal milestones of her life endured, she supposed it wasn't so unusual that her mind would play traitor and immediately travel to the idea that he had again forsaken her.
He might be angry but had vowed his protection and especially after having found themselves in this bygone era had been even more vigilant to keep her safe. There existed between them a love not fully realized months ago, but its promise felt and growing stronger with each passing day that yielded its reality.
Her husband may be many things, both good and bad, but he was always a man of his word. He loved her and was a safeguard to her in this violent age. He would not leave her in solitude for long.
At the reassurance, Christine relaxed, her heart slowing its apprehensive beats. Having no desire to seek out a meal yet, her stomach somewhat unsettled as it had been for the past few days, she made do with a cup of the water Erik collected and boiled from the stream that morning, then decided to pass the time in attempting to master bone needle and thread with her mending. She was halfway through her irregular stitches on a sleeve of Erik's black tunic, when she heard a stir and swiftly lifted her head.
He stood halfway in the entrance with his hand holding up the flap. They stared at one another across the distance for unnerving seconds.
"Am I welcome here?" he asked quietly.
"Of course," she said with a tense nod, wishing she had never issued such a foolish ultimatum.
He walked the rest of the way inside, stopping at the circle of rocks in the center of their tent to prepare a low fire that would help keep them warm through the chill of the evening.
She watched as he struck flint to steel, creating sparks that immediately caught to the dry leaves he had packed. He prodded them with a stick, until they fed the short stack of tinder with flame, only then standing to remove his cloak, which he tossed to the ground.
The entire time not a word passed between them.
Anxiously she watched his every movement, at last putting her excuse for mending aside, no longer able to concentrate on the ragged stitchery and not even making the attempt.
He picked up one of his newly acquired instruments, this time a lute, and lightly strummed its many strings, focusing his entire attention on them.
"Will you not talk to me?" she asked over the soft chords he produced.
"What would you have me say?" His words came low, almost weary, directed to the wooden instrument he held.
They had never lacked for words to exchange, their interests shared and varied. Usually, especially after such a lengthy time apart, he exhibited immediate awareness of her presence and did not cease from staring at or touching her in some manner, at the very least making an inquiry as to her well being.
Tonight he would not even look at her, and though she doubted that he had formed any kind of resentment, she found herself blurting words she never thought she would ask of him –
"Do you hate me now?"
Clear shock brought his gaze up from the strings to lock with hers.
"What a question!" he shot back. "How can you ask such a thing?"
She shook her head in impatience, the dratted tears again welling up to sting her eyes.
"So it is only our unborn babe that you despise?"
He flinched as if she'd struck him. At last setting the instrument down, he approached her where she sat in the midst of their bed of furs. She tilted her head up as he came to stand before her then lowered himself on his haunches so that his eyes were more at a level with her own. He frowned and lifted his hand to cup her face, with his thumb wiping away an errant tear that slid down her cheek.
"Christine, I never once said that I hate the child."
"Then you don't?" she asked hopefully. "You inferred it. You called him such horrid names."
He sighed. "Often when I feel a loss of control I react with cynicism and mockery. You know this…"
She nodded, she did know, but she needed to hear him say it.
"Then you don't…?" she repeated awkwardly. "Hate him, I mean."
He shook his head slowly in chagrin, his lips quirking into a slight half smile.
"No, Christine, I don't hate him. How could I help but love any child borne from you?"
At the words she so needed to hear, she lunged forth and wrapped her arms about his neck in a stranglehold of a hug. He gave no complaint and it was wonderful to feel his hands press possessively against her back...
Abruptly she drew away from their embrace, her brow furrowed, as another disturbing thought occurred.
"We have been speaking as though it will be a son, but what if I give you a daughter instead?" She knew for many men their preference was for a boy.
"It makes no difference." He shifted position so that he knelt before her and cupped her face in his hands. "Forgive me for your tears of misunderstanding, mon amour, and allow me to make myself perfectly clear - I vow to love and care for this child, as it is a part of you, and will protect him, come what may."
Her smile trembled with happiness at his quiet words. "And I shall love our child, as it is a part of you."
He snorted softly in mild disdain. "Let us hope, boy or girl, it shall receive your angelic beauty and none of its father's demonic countenance."
She regarded him with loving exasperation, hoping one day he would see himself as she did.
Erik sobered, all signs of wry amusement gone. "It will be a continual struggle, Christine, make no mistake. I meant what I said earlier – the cards are not stacked in his favor, simply by having my blood coursing through his veins. There will be hatred and bitterness, scorn and rejection from the majority of the populace, if not indeed the entirety. This is an unforgiving era, when to be marked as different is immediately associated with devilish influence, the very devil himself, and can mean death for all involved, one more terrible than you can imagine."
Her eyes going round in fear, she shook her head slightly in confusion.
"But those of the band who have remained accept you as their leader. They respect you and heed what you say. What do we care what anyone else thinks? They are only strangers to us."
"It is much more than that, my dear. There is always danger, even living here among the band. Save for Tobias and Eustace, I am uncertain who to trust and with the Scotsman I am still wary. It is too much of a gamble to take." He shook his head in a slow, determined manner. "Therefore, I have decided…"
He hesitated, running his hands from her cheeks to cupping her shoulders.
"We must return to our own time."
Stunned, she could only stare a moment.
"Return? But how?"
The question was foolish; there was only one manner in which such a feat could be accomplished, and she dreaded hearing what she knew he would say -
"We will circle back, to the Megaliths of Carnac."
At his mention of the wretched stones, Christine couldn't help but shudder. "Won't the men question, since we fled from Brittany for our very lives?"
"I left half the gold and other treasure buried at our initial campsite. We will tell them that we must retrieve it to continue onward. They have spent a lifetime in thievery and will doubtless be agreeable to the idea."
"But must we go back there. Is there no other way?"
Her words came childish and desperate; they both knew the truth of what must be done and that his ominous words rang with the verity of the way things were and would always be. At least for another two centuries, when they finally dispensed with torture and death based solely on foul suspicion of witchcraft and devilry ...
"I have long studied the grimoire, until it ceased to make sense to me and the memories of what knowledge that had been instilled through whatever spell I was under have faded. In that time, I was able to glean valuable information through its pages. I told you that blood was involved…" He took gentle hold of her hand and turned the palm up, running his thumb along the scar there.
Christine shivered again and Erik moved to sit beside her, wrapping his arm around her and drawing her close to his side. Gratefully she melted into his strength, bringing her arm around his torso.
"Your experience into this era was horrendous, the physical trauma you endured, judging by all you have told me. But I believe I have come to understand the reason why you suffered so."
She turned her head to look up at him in question.
"The place of the stones is ritualistic, this we know. The altar with its engravings requires the blood of the one who seeks its use, to travel through time. But one more item is required, one you did not possess weeks ago. A precious offering that originates from inside the earth, to give back to the earth. A gemstone of high quality..."
She watched as he pulled from within his tunic the leather thong he wore tied around his neck with the diamond engagement ring she'd long ago folded into his hand.
"With this, we can travel back to our time absent of the anguish you suffered."
She stared at the ring in wonder. "Will it be enough for both of us?"
"Even if it is not, you have the sapphire on your finger."
She stretched her hand out to look at the ring she'd chosen. It would be difficult to part with, after what it had come to mean to her, but she still had her precious wedding band he'd had engraved.
A possible alternative, one more satisfying, came to mind.
"If you plan to unearth the treasure anyway, perhaps we could use one of the other rings as an offering instead?"
He smiled and nodded. "Yes, we could do that. A fortnight from now will be the feast day of La Toussaint," he went on, "What we know as All Saints Day. From the grimoire I learned that a pagan ritual is celebrated at the stones on that night. We will break camp tomorrow at dawn, so as to arrive beforehand."
"So soon?" she breathed, overwhelmed by all he told her. "Surely there are other feast days when we could do this. Perhaps during the Winter Solstice in two months – or even Beltane, in the spring…" She recounted those feast days she had heard the women discuss.
Though in all likelihood she would be heavy with child then, but wished to delay the inevitable as long as possible.
"It is best that we leave without delay, before your delicate condition is perceived. I will inform Eustace tonight so he may tell the others. Fear not, Ma Damoiselle Ange," He kissed the crown of her curls. "You will be safe. Never would I attempt anything that could jeopardize that."
"But Erik..." Christine shook her head with a new concern. "What if we are not sent back to our century but to another? How can we be so sure that we will return to our own time?"
"You told me that the unseen voice demanded of you what you desired, before you were propelled backward into this era, and you said that you wanted to be with me." His voice went softer, as if still awed by her decision that day. "In declaring your wish aloud, you chose your fate. We will do likewise."
Could it be so simple? Still, it made a wretched kind of sense. For Erik, to live a life with him in a better world, if not a perfect one…and for their child…she would gladly make the sacrifice. And though she abhorred the idea of traveling through the stones once more, to have her husband by her side, Christine felt she could enter the mouth of hell…
How apropos the term for such a frightful place!
And how adequate to describe what would surely come to pass if somehow, due to his faulty memory, he had been mistaken with how he deciphered the grimoire …
That night, as they expressed their devotion through the profound act of their love, Christine clung to Erik more tightly than ever…and could not help but notice he did the same with her.
xXx
A/N: Ah, 'The best-laid plans of mice and men…'
And we all know what comes next. ;-) … muwahahaha!
We are rounding the final bend of this tale, with several more chapters to go (at least four, maybe a couple more than that) … it has been a wild ride, with an even wilder one to come - all mapped out in my head, just needing to be transferred to text. I have so enjoyed the experience and hope you have to. : )
Next up – more from Through Bonds Immortal….