It was utterly painful. Andre held back a few tears, fearing he would look weak.
"Ah," he allowed himself a few grunts and complaints.
But his companion was not to be deterred.
"OUCH!" he yelled finally.
"Sssshhh! Keep it down!" she whispered.
"You're hurting me!" he hissed at her.
"Well, I'm trying my best not to!"
"Give it here and let me show you how it is done."
"NO!" she cried. "I want to do this for you."
"Unnnhhh," he grunted again.
"I told you to stop squirming like that!"
"Well, that's kind of hard to do when you keep forcing my neck a certain way!"
"Good God, you complain too much!"
"And you're terrible at this!"
"Oh…" her tone changed suddenly.
"Oh… what?" Andre stiffened and straightened his back. They were sitting on the edge of Oscar's bed, the one closest to the only fire burning in the house at this hour. Immediately upon arrival, Oscar had assigned herself the task of tending to Andre's wound. A task that she was not very skilled at, given that the Commandant of the Royal Guard had never had to nurse anyone before.
"This…" she said sheepishly as she opened her palm and, to his horror, he saw a full section of his thick beautiful locks lying limp in her hand.
He snatched it from her immediately and turned his face away.
"Is this why you kept hiding your face this whole time?"
He blushed and did not look at her. In fact, he avoided eye contact with her as much as possible. He must look monstrous!
Any hopes he had had of a somewhat romantic reunion with her were instantly dashed. It seemed that every time he evoked his feelings, it never went the way he wanted it to.
"Andre," she said, her voice soft.
The whip had taken out a small section of his hair on the left side, leaving a deep red scathe that would probably leave a scar. He was on the brink of tears, Oscar could tell, probably feeling humiliated, even. How she longed to hold him in her arms and comfort him. This was all her fault anyway, was it not? She should not have dragged him out into this mission.
Her fingers lightly touched the area around his wound, occasionally stroking the locks of hair nearby. Andre had thick black-jet hair that was so soft to the touch. She was compelled by a sudden and new desire to bury her face in his hair, to inhale his scent.
"It will grow back, don't worry," she said in a sheepish attempt to try and comfort him.
He let out a gentle chuckle that teetered on a snort.
He was trying to deflect; she knew him all too well. But the pain and disappointment in his eyes were so visible, it nearly broke her heart. I'm sorry for everything, Andre… I'm sorry for all the pain I ever put you through… IIt pains me so much… It pains me because I love you. I love you, Andre…
The words burned in her throat, stuck and unable to come out.
The fact that she had not yet voiced her true feelings to him weighed down on her.
Fear was not a familiar emotion to this formidable warrior. After all this heartache, she had expected herself to reciprocate his feelings on the spot, should he ever say "I love you" again. Yet as soon as he said it, she had launched them both into a frenzy gallop, as if she was trying to escape from her own shadow. She told herself she would tell him as soon as they dismounted, but then she had simply stood there, quietly watching, as Andre arranged her horse. No matter, she would tell him when they were inside. However, one glance at Andre under the moonlight showed her that his wound needed attention right away. Then, her confession would have to wait. So, she had dragged him from the kitchens to her bedroom without letting go of his hand, much to Andre's amused whispered protests of "someone will see us!" and "could you slow down!"
If there was a good time as ever to finally tell him, it would be now: he finally turned to face her after a long silence, and she could feel his eyes scanning hers, looking for something, an answer. Some hope.
Her heart pounded in her chest in anticipation. She could feel her palms turning clammy. Swallowing became difficult. His gaze was becoming heavy on her.
She awkwardly broke away and set herself to the task of wrapping bandages around the circumference of his head instead.
"Thank God it wasn't your eye," she said, trying to restore some objectivity into the situation.
She was standing in front of him, their legs touching, and she brought his head up to face her again so she could wrap the bandage behind his head. Andre gazed up at her with such tenderness that it almost made her heart burst. The effect was further compounded when he placed his hands on hers, stopping her robotic movements. The warmth of his skin, the touch of his hands… and then, the heart-shattering phrase that he uttered: "Thank God it wasn't yours, Oscar…"
She struggled to hold back her tears, to swallow that lump in her throat that threatened to implode within her. Never had she experienced such tenderness. Here was a man who loved her. This was what it meant to be loved.
"Andre," she said, her voice thick. She tilted her head back to alleviate some of the pressure in her throat. While this broke their gaze, she did not disengage from him. Her fingers naturally intertwined with his.
"Do you remember when we were young? We used to get into all kinds of scrapes. We used to fall from high up on the trees and scrape our knees raw as we dove into fresh green meadows. And there were times when I would get in trouble with some of the boys from the neighboring estates when we fought with them with pretend wooden swords."
"Mhm," Andre chuckled softly and nodded.
"Do you remember? You always used to sneak into the house to get bandages and alcohol and a change of clothes for me so that Grandmere didn't see what a mess we were in!"
Andre laughed. "Yes, of course! Except, I would always forget to get a change for myself and then she would think that I was the only one getting into trouble, so she would hit me with her ladle."
They both laughed. The nostalgia of these long-gone memories, these golden days of careless youth spent with each other, imbued the space between them, reminding them of the unbreakable bond they shared.
He now held her hands closer to his chest, his thumbs caressing her skin. Oscar looked down at them, fascinated by how that young scrawny boy she used to play with had grown into this tall handsome man whose hands were now so much larger than hers. She smiled to herself.
"I hanker for those times," she said softly, letting her thumbs caress his skin in reciprocation. She could tell he appreciated her gesture as he brought her hands up to his lips and gently deposited a kiss. She closed her eyes and inhaled. Every small gesture awakened a mountain of sensations in her.
"They were simpler times, indeed," Andre commented.
"Back then…" she started, "back then…" and trailed off. Something else now felt heavy.
It was the other elephant in the room. The one they had not talked about at all.
Gently, she disengaged her hands from his and sat back down next to him, propping up her elbows on her knees and resting her chin on her fists.
He kept quiet, giving her the space to formulate her thoughts. Admittedly, there was a part of him that feared this might concern Fersen.
"Back then," she finally said. "There were no walls. I was me, and you were you and there was nothing else to it." Turning to him she said, "Andre, I want you to know that I never thought in terms of titles and ranks. I never did then, nor do I do now."
Andre felt mortified. Of course Oscar would never think of him like that. He felt angry with himself for making false allusions to the condition of their stations a few times over the past few weeks. Of drawing that line of servant and master. He just hadn't been thinking clearly.
"I know that there are facts that I cannot change," she went on, "But I don't want the circumstances of our birth to dictate the rest of our lives. That is not the world I want."
"Oscar…" he whispered, his heart welling up with emotion.
She inhaled, then added with some resignation: "It is true that I followed you that night when you went to the chapel, but it wasn't for the reasons you thought."
"Oh?" he raised an eyebrow. "Then why go to such great lengths when you could have asked me and I would have told you honestly? I would have even taken you there."
She pushed her hair back and exhaled. "The truth is, I thought you might be… meeting someone."
"Who could I possibly be meeting?"
"You know, someone."
He scrutinized her, still not understanding. "Someone like whom?!"
"A woman, Andre!" she let out in frustration. "I thought you were seeing a woman. There! Happy?"
Andre blinked at her for a few minutes, speechless.
She avoided eye contact with him, mortified as she was, which was exacerbated when Andre burst into uncontrollable laughter.
She kicked him to make him stop.
"Ow!" he cried through his laughter. "You truly thought I was… having relations with a woman?"
"Stop laughing!" she kicked him again.
"Alright, alright," he rubbed at his knee and then playfully kicked her back. "What woman could I possibly be with?!"
"Oh, I don't know, Andre, one of the thousand and one maids that work in this house maybe?"
"Ohhhhh!" he nudged her shoulder with his. "So that is why you have been terrorizing those poor maids! I had been meaning to talk to you about that, you know!"
She glared at him. "If you weren't already injured, I would have smacked you on the head."
Andre bit his lip. He knew he might be pushing his luck, but he shoved his face in hers, gluing his forehead to hers: "say what you want, but I know you were jealous," he teased her.
"Ugh!" she swatted him away. Then, turning her nose up at him and crossing her arms over her chest she said: "It's not like it's far-fetched anyway, given your 'illustrious' performance at the All Hallow's Eve and the Servants' ball."
Andre was indignant. "Hold on a minute now! I came to the All Hallow's Eve specifically to see you-"
"Oho!" she interrupted him, "And the seven women you ended up dancing with? Those were all me?"
Andre chuckled. "No, that was just a cover for my mission. A bonus, if you will! But you, ma cherie" feeling emboldened, he wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her close to him. "You, were my target all along."
This abrupt move caught Oscar off-guard, the directness of his manner and the intense way in which he looked at her made her body tremble. Her heart began to race and she began to feel hot, signalling to her what she probably could not express for herself: that she desperately wanted him.
There was a tense quietness that descended on them just then. He eyed her lips and she his. She had automatically placed her hand on his chest, as if to achieve some illusion of boundary between them, but the gesture had taken on a sensual effect instead.
He leaned in closer to her.
She closed her eyes halfway, and her breath caught as his lips brushed hers. She wanted him to press more, to take possession of her like he did the first time he kissed her. She craved his passion, the way he took control over her.
Alas, her hand acted with a life of its own when she applied the pressure to his chest, pushing him slightly away. The Commandant, it would seem, was still not satisfied. "So how would you explain the night of the servant's ball then? You obviously did not come for me."
Andre closed his eyes and, moving his face to the side, exhaled sharply, letting out a sigh of disappointment. Will this kiss never happen? "That," he said, tearing himself away from her, "was an exception."
"An exception?" she snorted.
He exhaled loudly again. "I… actually wasn't planning on going to the ball that night," he confessed. Then, shifting his gaze to the floor, he said, "I had hoped we would spend the night together like we used to, drinking and playing music. I was on my way to your rooms when I saw Fersen. I waited a while but then it got quiet and I thought…"
He could not bear to say it. It pained him to think about it and he knew that the allusion would embarrass her.
He was right, she was blushing.
"So you went to the ball to try and forget…" she said in a thick voice, more to herself, feeling guilty for all the unnecessary pain she had caused him.
Andre chuckled. "Ironic, isn't it?"
They sat quietly for a few minutes, each of them grappling with the realizations and the ramifications that these confessions carried.
"About Fersen- " Andre started to say, trying to clear the air and explain his irrational actions to her.
"I love you."
The words cut him off like a sharp blade, leaving him practically lifeless and out of breath.
By this point, of course he knew how she felt. But to hear those words… to hear them spoken out loud from her… from Oscar…
He stared at her without blinking for a long minute.
"Andre," her voice penetrated through his stupor. "I am going to kiss you now."
He felt her fingers first, then the whole of her palms, warmly enveloping the skin on his cheeks and jaws, as she drew him to her. Her breath intermingled with his for a few seconds before she sealed the distance between them with her lips.
These lips I know…
Her kiss, this time, however, was timid. It felt as though she was merely placing her mouth to his, unsure of the outcome.
Before she could disengage from him, before he could lose her and lose this moment, Andre's hand clasped onto her arm and he pulled her to him. With his other hand, he lifted her chin and pressed his lips to hers.
He wanted to drink her up, to lose himself in her. In response, she placed her hands around his neck and helped him deepen the kiss. An appreciative sigh from her that soon followed kindled a fire in him.
He encircled her waist with his arm and, obeying the force of their passion, they fell backward onto the bed, Andre's upper body onto hers, his hand cushioning her head.
"Mm!" she moaned. Memories rushed to his mind of the night in the servant's ball when he had her pinned up against a wall, as she was completely succumbed to him and he was drunk on her. He wanted to go back to that moment, to recreate it, to relive it… to… continue it…
Alas, he paused gently and looked in her eyes searchingly. Now that it was Oscar, and not any masked lady he met a ball, now that it was Oscar, his Oscar… Andre didn't know what was permitted.
As if reading his mind, she uttered in a small voice: "Don't stop."
Her eyes were half-closed. He could feel her chest move fervently underneath him. Andre's heart raced faster than a horse. He longed for her. His body was starting to ache from this sustained pleasure. And there she was, signalling to him that she, too, wanted more.
Their lips met once more and Andre traced humid lines along her jaw, and down to her neck. Slowly at first, just to tease her. Her breathing became heavier, a few sighs escaped her, much to his pleasure. He sustained this exercise for as long as he could, until he decided to test her limits a bit more. His hand traveled down to her thigh.
He lifted himself slightly from her and held her gaze steady, - with no less intensity - as he moved his hand up and down her thigh in gentle strokes, feeling her, observing her, trying to gauge whether she liked it or not. Her initial shock gradually subsided. Her gaze softened and she occasionally closed her eyes and arched her back in appreciation of his touch.
He permitted himself to explore even further, now stroking her thigh from the front. She seemed to like it too, but then she stiffened when his fingers reached the top of her thigh where her legs met. She inhaled sharply and Andre paused.
Keeping his hand there, he lowered his head and gave her a tender kiss.
He engaged her eyes once more. They stared into one another, the beads of sweat were now apparent on Andre's forehead, who was still clad in his costume, which was becoming more and more obtrusive and painfully tight in between his legs.
His thumb carefully extended towards her inner thigh, leading the rest of his hand closer to that sensitive area. "Ah!" Oscar convulsed underneath him and Andre stopped.
He withdrew immediately, feeling guilty for his infringement. He was going too far, forgetting that this was, after all, Oscar Francois de Jarjayes, illustrious Commander in one of the highest Royal Regiments in the country.
"Sorry," he whispered and retreated away from her, positioning himself upright in an attempt to curb his desire.
"No, don't," she breathed. "You just caught me by surprise…"
She lifted herself up to meet him, restoring them back to how they were before. Then, without hesitation, she wrapped her hands around his neck, drawing him back to her with a sultry kiss. "I don't want to stop," she whispered. In a swift and decisive move, she moved into his lap, each of her legs on either side of him such that he now cradled her in his arms.
"Oscar!" Andre let out, completely taken off guard by her move. This was a dangerous position for him, in which he was utterly vulnerable. She was sitting right where his groin was. He saw her mouth open slightly, a small gasp escaping her as she evidently felt the hard bulge protruding beneath her. Her eyes betrayed her inexperience, taken aback as she was by the unexpected feeling, and her cheeks were flushed red.
Andre also blushed. To assuage the embarrassment and awkwardness, he stroked her back gently, then brought his hand to her cheek, he stroked her there too and kissed her.
"I love you," he said.
She smiled and kissed him back. "I love you too."
She let him shower her with kisses once more. Tender, soft kisses, at first, which she surmised he was doing to ensure that she was feeling comfortable. She loved him all the more for this gesture. She loved him so much so that she did not want to receive only tender kisses for the rest of the night. She cupped his face and dove for his lips.
By now she was gaining some experience in how to coax Andre back into a more intense and passionate corps-a-corps, and she congratulated herself for it. Her tongue penetrated his mouth, swirling around his, then she bit his lower lip and Andre let out a loud groan. One glance at his eyes told her that she succeeded.
His kisses on her lips, jaw and particularly on her neck became more aggressive and urgent. He gently sank his teeth into her skin a couple of times, eliciting a loud moan from her.
"More," she ordered him.
"I…can't seem to be able to…" Andre complained after a while, as he tried to fold down the collar of her red-wine vest so that he could get more access.
"Hold on," she said, catching her breath, as she proceeded to unbutton and remove the cursed vest. "Better?"
"Much!" Andre was ecstatic. He even went as far as to undo the laces in the front of her chemise. He brought his fingers there and caressed the skin that was revealed to him. Oscar tilted her head back as more moans of appreciation escaped her.
"You're so beautiful," Andre whispered against her body, as his lips caressed the skin on her chest.
"Mmm," she sighed, smiling. She let her hands caress his neck, his shoulders and his hair, while his hands frantically travelled up and down her back, searching, wanting. She knew he wanted to go somewhere else but was preventing himself. He was waiting for her permission, which she gladly gave when she guided his hands from her waist and up her trunk and towards her breasts.
"Touch me," she ordered him, her voice raspy.
Andre held his breath and obeyed her.
The sounds of moans and grunts intensified, filling the room entirely as the new fire they stoked between them took on a life on its own.
The heat between Oscar's legs was reaching a boiling point. She could wager it was probably the same for Andre. The bandage around her chest was becoming more and more uncomfortable as it restricted her breathing and prevented Andre's hands from touching her where she desired. She ached from the desire born of imagining Andre's fervent lips encircling her breasts.
"Untie it," she said to him in between one of their feverish kisses.
Andre stopped dead in his tracks and stared at her. Did she mean it? She was looking positively drunk. Drunk on desire, desperate for more.
One firm nod from her was enough to egg him on.
She untucked her chemise, as he wrestled with the knot she had tied. God damn it, it was not easy!
But the reward was absolutely worth it.
The fabric came sliding down, as Oscar drew a sharp audible breath.
He slid his fingers underneath her chemise and the contact was absolutely electrifying.
Andre bit his lip, as he observed her closing her eyes, tilting her head back and her mouth forming an "O". She was breathing heavily, as his hands took to exploring her.
"Andre…" she sighed, and tucked her face in the crevice of his neck, where she found just the right spot to tease him with her lips.
"Ahh!" Andre groaned. She played on his skin with her tongue and teeth, simultaneously as his hands reached her breasts and he gently rested them there.
The plan, of course, was to cup her breasts gently, study them and imprint them with his fingertips. He wanted to know her figure by heart, from the size of her waist, to the shape of her breasts to how her nipples felt. He wanted to touch her where it would please her, to caress her until she moaned and asked him for more. His lips were thirsty for the contact.
Alas, Andre's luck was running out for the night.
Their embrace was abruptly terminated by a sudden and loud commotion that seemed to be coming from downstairs.
There were voices. And yelling.
And soon, Grandmere's shrill screams could be heard.
Oscar and Andre exchanged a look of the utmost alarm. Could it be…? Had the Black Knight followed them?
As if reading her mind, Andre nodded. Oscar practically leapt in the air like a pouncing feline and he followed suit.
They each hurriedly grabbed their swords and rushed out of the room.
…
Reaching the top of the stairs, armed and ready for action, both Commander and valet stopped dead in their tracks.
This was not whom they were expecting.
Not one bit.
It was almost dawn, yet the entire household was assembled below.
It wasn't just the household. There were at least two dozen Royal Guard soldiers standing in the foyer.
Oscar descended the stairs carefully and slowly. She had a bad feeling. A very bad feeling.
"...WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS!" she could now hear her father bellowing. The General de Jarjayes was clearly woken up in a hurry, since he was in his sleeping gown, having only had time to don his robe to give himself some sort of dignity. Oscar materialized into view just as he was in the process of tossing a parchment paper towards the person who was seemingly in charge.
The person she couldn't see until she rounded the stairs and stepped into the foyer.
The very person whose identity she knew deep down, even before she laid eyes on him. The thought of whom made her absolutely nauseated, especially as she took those two steps that would confirm his dreaded presence.
For who else would come knocking on the Jarjayes door at dawn with such earnestness and bring with him a platoon of the Royal Guard? Who else if not her…
Victor Clement de Girodelle.
"Ah, Commandant," he greeted her.
Her body shuddered from top to bottom. While her father was busy demanding explanations and reparations for this untimely and absolutely unacceptable display, Oscar was breaking into cold sweat. She knew exactly why Victor was there. Then she suddenly remembered Andre, and she hoped to God that he had stayed upstairs.
But in her stupor and confusion, she had forgotten to look for him. And as dutiful as always, he came into view behind her a few seconds later.
A few seconds too late.
"There he is!" Victor cried. "The Black Knight! Arrest him!"