Irene hadn't been familiar with the brutality of the Murfree Brood before her and Charles inconveniently came across their ambush. It was true she'd heard tales of their barbarity when she used to wait tables at the Old Light Saloon. But she'd always believed the worst of those stories had been exaggerated to entertain the crowds at the tavern.
She'd always thought of them as monsters hidden deep in the woods. Surely only the most reckless of travelers who ventured too far were ever targeted.
That preconceived notion proved false the moment her and Charles were stopped so brazenly on a main road. For years, the Murfree brood must have been just beyond her doorstep, and only incredible luck had allowed her never to have run into them.
During Irene's first face-to-face encounter with the Murfrees, she'd known instinctively by the cold gleam in their eyes they meant harm. Every disturbing detail she'd ever heard had flooded her mind as Charles attempted to talk their way out of a physical confrontation.
He had done his best at holding a non-threatening manner with the Murfrees, and it seemed they were about to be allowed to pass. Yet, just as Irene breathed a sigh of relief, the two men holding them up changed their minds and launched an attack.
She'd flinched when they began shooting, and she'd frozen in place when they'd started to charge down the hill. She could only brace herself for their oncoming assault.
What Irene hadn't expected were two more of the Murfrees to break through the trees from the forest at her back. They tore her off Falmouth before she realized what was happening. She'd dropped to the ground, landing hard enough on her elbow and hip that she cried out.
A Murfree had nabbed her by the collar before she could get her bearings. He clutched her so carelessly that he pulled her hair while dragging her away from her horse. Tears of pain sprang to her eyes and she called out to Charles.
She was foolish not to have a weapon of some sort on her person. She'd had to resort to clawing at the man's forearm with her fingernails. The Murfree didn't even flinch, instead turning up a foul grin. He acted almost as though he liked the pain, that he liked her fighting him.
All the way from Falmouth to the woods, the Murfree spouted absolutely atrocious things that he meant to do to her. They were unimaginable torturous acts that no human should ever want to endeavor to commit. She'd fought harder and this time was able to slow his long strides down.
Just as suddenly, the Murfree stopped, and she thought he meant to strike her to make her compliant. Instead, he looked back the way they came and his eyes widened. Irene glanced up and saw Charles running after them, low and quiet, and quick. His eyes were locked on the Murfree, like a wolf locked onto its prey.
The Murfree released his grip on her instantly, and Irene watched in relief when he didn't engage, but instead turned around and fled. Charles didn't seem to trust the Murfree to keep his distance, as he followed after, catching up and tackling the Murfree to the ground.
Irene turned away when Charles raised his knife, but she still heard the dying gasp as the Murfree took in the last bit of air he'd ever breathe in.
When she looked up again, Charles was next to her, holding his hand out, to help her up from the ground. She spotted the blood on his hand like a glove and released a little gasp at the sight. Her eyes trailed up his arm, but there was more red, not less.
At her look of horror, he curled his fingers and started to pull back. She sprang to her feet and exclaimed in alarm, "Oh my God! Charles! You're injured!"
He looked away, suddenly closed off. "It's not my blood."
She clutched his wrist, her other hand resting on his upper arm near the line clearly cutting through his long sleeve shirt. Blood had already started to stain the material below the tear.
Surprised, he turned his attention to where she was examining. He murmured, "I...don't know when that happened."
Concerned at the injury, she asked, "Do you have any bandages?"
In answer, he turned his head in the direction of the road and whistled, sharp and clear. Taima came trotting towards them obediently. Charles unbuttoned his shirt, pulling down the sleeve so they had a better look at the cut.
It curved upward, towards his shoulder. It was more than a thin line, but not as worrisome in thickness as a gash. Still, there was enough blood flowing from it that it would need wrapping. Her heart started thumping in fear at the sight of his injury.
This was her fault.
Irene shoved that thought down, determined to fix the wound herself. She gently pushed Charles towards a mossy, fallen log. "Let me tend to it."
She approached Taima, quieting the spotted black and white Appaloosa, before she moved to the saddlebags. Since she'd already been in the pack to grab some food earlier in the day, she knew where the bandages could be.
"Is it hurting too badly?" she asked as she returned to Charles' side, sitting next to him on the fallen tree.
"No."
She unwound the cloth gauze, her thoughts racing. This whole encounter was entirely because of her. Charles was out here for her. They could easily have been killed just a few minutes ago. They survived because of his bravery and skill alone. Tears blurred her vision and she tried to dash them away before Charles could notice.
"Irene," Charles caught her trembling hand, showing her efforts to conceal her emotion were a failure. "I'm fine."
His large, brown hand enveloping hers was a comfort. It steadied her into halting her frantic, worried thoughts. She sniffed a little, composed herself and then nodded, returning to the task of wrapping his wound.
He watched her as she worked and it helped her to concentrate. She was so engrossed, she didn't notice when his attention shifted downward, towards her hands. "What is that?"
Charles had noticed the discoloration on her right hand and Irene forced herself not to pull away in reaction. He'd noticed an ugly and unpleasant splotch of her skin. She hated anyone scrutinizing it, and she desperately wanted to shove her sleeve down to cover it. However, she kept a level tone as she answered, "It's only a mark I've had since I was very young."
Once she wrapped Charles' cut enough that the blood wasn't soaking through, her eyes strayed briefly to his open shirt. Her mind wandered as she remembered how his chest felt beneath her fingers when she'd rose up over top of him. Her cheeks flushed and she couldn't meet his eyes. At the same time, she was also reminded of her actions from this morning, how she'd pushed him away when they had started to get intimate.
As she set aside the extra cloth, she told him quietly, "Charles, I'm sorry for what happened back at the manor. The way I acted was, well, irrational, to say the least. I ruined what could have been a lovely start to the morning."
He remained silent a moment, his head bowed. He shook his head minutely and answered her, "It doesn't matter."
"Yes, it does," she insisted. "You don't deserve that sort of treatment, and certainly not by me. I don't mean to give excuses, but I just..." She blew out a breath and smoothed out her skirt in a nervous gesture. This was harder than she thought to explain. She said carefully, "There are things about myself I've had to deal with for so long that I grow defensive when someone else takes notice."
Charles met her gaze now, his eyes dusky pools of unfathomable depths, yet a hint of curiosity skipped on the surface for a moment. He raised a hand, his fingers grazing the cheek she'd brushed over with layers of foundation and powders. "Is that why you covered this up?"
"More or less."
He deserved an explanation, but once more the words stuck in her throat and she wasn't ready to reveal her reasoning for hiding its existence. The mark reminded her too much of who she used to be, of who she was supposed to be.
"Is it hurting?" he asked.
Irene cupped her cheek as if to cover the mark even though it should still be under her make-up. "No."
At the moment, the parts of her body that hurt were one side of her hip, her left elbow and where the Murfree had yanked on her hair. Her hip, from when she hit the ground after being pulled from Falmouth, would likely bruise. Her elbow stung slightly so she must have skinned it when she'd tried to break her fall.
All in all, she'd come out of the scuffle better than expected. She rested her hand on Charles' forearm, where she noticed a white scar line in his skin. His newest cut would probably heal in a similar fashion. If he continued to remain in her company, it was likely he'd gain more. As much as it pained her, from this point forward, she had to somehow find a way to keep him at a distance.
In a quiet voice, she told him, "Thank you, Charles. It seems you're ever my savior."
"I welcome the duty."
She lifted her eyes and met his. His stare was always intense, but it didn't unsettle her, only...excited her. She'd known him as a man of few words, but she'd come to learn over the last few months Charles held everything in his eyes, one only needed to pay attention.
Most of the time they were narrowed and dark when he was watchful of his surroundings. But once he was used to the people around him, the guarded look lifted and softened to an inviting bronze. When they had been threatened, his eyes had grown hard, their shade a cold blackness that would send a chill down anyone's spine.
The manner in which he was peering at her now hitched her breathing, had her cheeks warming, and enticed her to lean closer. The brown shade was soft, yet blazing, and his lids were hooded. It was the look of a man ready to be in the heat of passion. Charles glanced at her lips, causing her heart to skip a beat. Almost imperceptibly, Charles began to lean towards her...
"Where's Falmouth?" she blurted out before she was completely swept away in his gaze, and disregarded the vow she'd just made to herself to keep her distance. One look from him was all it took to have her nearly swooning.
Disappointment flickered across his expression before it turned grave. He looked down the road. "I attempted to stop her theft. I killed the Murfree who meant to steal her, but she took off."
"She's not usually skittish." Irene stood, ignoring how wrong it felt to leave Charles' side. She peered down the road as if she could will Falmouth back. "Then again, I can't say she's ever faced a danger like this."
Charles asked, "Is she familiar with these woods?"
Irene wasn't even familiar with them besides knowing the general direction of Van Horn. Maybe they were close enough for her horse to seek a familiar area. But she was unsure of the possibility.
She was about to answer that, but quickly averted her gaze as she caught sight of Charles buttoning up his shirt. She suppressed the desire trying to overtake her senses. Her want to be in his arms, against his chest and kissing him was almost too strong.
"Come on," Charles tilted his head towards Taima, unaware of her inner turmoil. "We'll take a look around and try to find her."
Irene followed him to Taima, realizing that, without Falmouth, she was going to have to ride behind Charles. She sighed a little miserably. That wasn't going to help her to not get her lustful thoughts of him off her mind.
Charles turned to her with a raised brow, and she realized her sigh might have been louder than she'd intended. She ducked her head and focused on getting on Taima. She clutched the horn of the saddle, slipping her foot in the stirrup and climbing up. Charles grabbed hold of the reins from around Taima before he swung up in front of her. She hesitated a second before wrapping her arms around him.
His back was warm, and every part of her that touched him tingled with excitement. But she dragged her mind from the vision of Charles' wide shoulders and concentrated on calling for Falmouth. She'd never got the hang of whistling, though she believed Falmouth would respond if she heard Charles doing it.
They started by inspecting the area where the Murfree who had tried to take her had fallen. Charles was able to follow her hoofprints even from atop Taima, which eventually led into a creek. Charles still managed to track her trail for some time, enough that Irene thought they would catch up. But Charles struggled to spot exactly where she had exited the creek. He jumped off Taima a few times to search the ground on foot for a time.
After an hour of an unsuccessful search, Irene's worry for Falmouth outgrew her awareness of Charles' proximity. She noticed they'd looped back around to the area they'd started, the two corpses of Murfrees in the road already fodder for the crows. They didn't react to her and Charles' presence and she had to look away if she didn't want to witness one of the birds feasting on a man's eyeball.
Since they'd circled back, she knew what that meant. With dread at the pit of her stomach, she asked, "We're not going to be able to find her, are we?"
Charles didn't have to say anything. They were already on a slimmed down time limit from the start. Now, they'd used up more.
"I don't want to move on without her, but we need to get to Mozelle's, and then all the way back to Saint Denis, by tomorrow."
"At this point, we'll have to board the train just to make it back before Hahn' s deadline." She sighed. "I suppose, all I can do is pray she has fallen into kind hands."
"She's used to people. She may wander into town."
It was the best Irene could hope for.
As they rode Taima down the trail, Irene fought the despair trying to take over for losing Falmouth. She had to believe that no matter where her horse was, she was better off freed and wandering the forest than in the sadistic hands of a Murfree. She refused to grieve Falmouth, fearing it may manifest her demise. She had to hold onto the hope that they would chance upon her again.
Falmouth was the greatest loss of course, but Irene had also kept all of her possessions on her saddle, except the few essentials she could fit in the smaller satchel across her shoulder. Besides her horse, all of her clothes, books and an old journal were now gone. Suddenly, Irene had almost nothing to her name in the world.
Needing comfort, Irene squeezed Charles, hugging his back. She soaked in the smell of his long hair, cedar and leather overtaking her senses. She wasn't sure he understood her distress until he laid a hand over her arm in response. His quiet empathy brought tears to her eyes so she closed them.
After some time, when she'd freed herself of most of her self-pity, she loosened her grip of him and checked their surroundings, to see how much further they had to go.
They'd gone deeper into the woods and she wondered at the path Charles had taken. She thought by now they would be on the trail along the Lannahechee River, with Van Horn in sight. Yet they seemed to be on a lesser used path. In fact, she thought she recognized the creek from which they'd been trying to track Falmouth.
Confused, she asked, "Are we going in circles, Charles?"
"Yes," he said succinctly. "We're being followed."
"Falmouth?" she asked hopefully, though she could feel the tension in his back and knew it was nothing so promising.
He shook his head. "A rider. Maybe two. I caught a glimpse of them between the trees a few minutes ago."
"Oh dear." First the Murfree ambush and now this? How had this journey turned into something so dangerous? "Who would be following us?"
"You said you've been pursued by bounty hunters before."
Irene frowned. "Yes, but how would they know how to find me? We're in the middle of the forest. No one else knew I was leaving Saint Denis."
"That Hahn person did."
"But I haven't brought him the ring back yet. Why would he send bounty hunters after me?"
"They might have been paid to take it from us and deliver it to him themselves."
It didn't make any sense to her. Hahn had never stooped to paying bounty hunters before. Irene believed he thought of them as beneath his regard. Had he become desperate enough to seek help from outsiders?
It was another couple of hours of traveling, where Charles decided to throw off their pursuers by leaving the path and carefully directing Taima between the trees. Charles acted as if he knew these woods, so sure of every route he chose, no matter if Irene couldn't see an obvious path on the forest floor. She was tense at every sound that wasn't Taima moving through the woods. All she could do was cling to Charles, keep silent and pray they remained safe.
Eventually, they came out of the woods, and were spit out back on the main road. Charles waited a moment with his head cocked to one side, listening to the wilderness.
After several minutes, he told her, "We've lost them."
Irene finally released her held breath. Now that she wasn't on edge, she noticed the hill they were climbing was familiar. They were almost there, but they'd unfortunately lost so much time escaping whoever was following them in the woods.
Charles looked to the lowering sun and voiced her concerns, "You may be right about running out of time. Taima can carry us both, but it would be faster if we rode to Annesburg in the morning and took the train."
She nodded, accepting this change of plans as best she could. "In that case, I hope the house has remained empty since I've left. It will have to be our shelter for the night."
They climbed the hill, getting off the main trail and following a narrow path that she recognized. It had been so many years. How much had the house changed?
"Here we are," Charles said and Irene shifted in order to see over his shoulder.
There it was. To their left was a small, weathered sign, printed in gold lettering, Madame Mozelle's House. For those customers who couldn't read, Madame had once owned a large portrait of a nude woman that leaned against the porch. That portrait was missing now, probably stolen.
Besides the grass overgrowing the footpath to the porch steps, and the vines creeping up the windows on the side of the house, nothing in its appearance had changed much.
The body of the house had once been a single bedroom home, but Madame had had a second room built when Irene came to live with her. It had been one of many gracious kindnesses she'd been given. This little house was what filled Irene's mind when she thought of home. It was the only home she remembered with clarity. It was small, but it had been enough.
Yet, today there was something lacking about it. If not the same thief who'd stolen the portrait, someone else had also taken the velvet-clothed chair Madame had set out front, where she often had sat in the mornings when she had her coffee and cigarettes. The red and pink poppies Madame always had springing into life each season were also missing. Now, weeds and tall grass had overtaken the garden bed. Irene felt a pinch of guilt at the sight. She hadn't been here to take care of this place and now it had begun to wither.
Charles helped her down from Taima. She rummaged through her satchel and found the long metal key she'd been gifted years ago. Luckily, it was one of the items she'd kept in her personal satchel and not the packed bag or they'd have to ruin more of the home to get inside.
She approached the door, its cherry color with golden embellishments a welcome sight even with its aged appearance. As she stepped over the threshold, she closed her eyes a moment and let the nostalgic memories wash over her.
The smells of fresh baking had always filled the house when she was a girl. Breads, pies, cakes, cookies...Madame's favorite thing to do had been to bake. Madame had always told her she would have opened a bakery if it had paid better than running her own brothel.
Josie worked the saloon most nights, but she'd be up here nearly every breakfast with them. Irene had found it a pleasure to listen to the two women go back and forth, an odd pair of friends. For so long it had been the three of them. Back when Irene didn't have to worry for her safety, when she could be herself. Madame and Josie had always known who she was, and had always accepted her.
Tears pricked her eyes and she opened them. Blurrily, she watched as her bright, lively home faded to become the dim and empty space the house now was. It was Madame who had made this place special. When she died, Irene had felt the change instantly. There had been no reason for her to continue living here.
"Did you live here long?" Charles asked. He'd followed her in, checking the small area as if he expected someone to be here awaiting them. She supposed, with bounty hunters on her trail again, it was better to be safe about it.
She told him, "Madame passed when I was thirteen. She left me the cabin, but it wasn't the same without her. Eventually, Josie hired me on to serve at the bar in Van Horn. I lived in a room above it until I left town." She let her eyes drift across the dusty cabinets, the undisturbed table and chairs, the thick curtain at the back that concealed Madame's bed from the rest of the house. "I...I hadn't the heart to come back here since I moved out."
"I see." Charles eyed the room, and then asked, "You're sure your ring will be here, after all this time?"
Spying the cobwebs across the sink, she told him softly, "It seems just as I left it, just a little dustier and neglected."
Irene moved to the only other door besides the entrance. There was enough sunlight streaming in from the window that she could still see without another light source. The top of her bed looked a little dusty with its white covers, but neatly made. Her side table that held a lantern remained, and a low dresser stood next to the doorway. A small, round mirror hung over the dresser and Irene's blurred reflection stared back at her. That really was all the furniture that could fit in this tight of space.
It had never been much, and it remained the smallest area Irene had ever lived in, but she'd been grateful for it all the same. Madame had had a way making everything feel like more.
"Will you help me move this over a little?" she asked, pointing at the dresser.
Charles managed by himself to pull the dresser away from the wall a couple of feet. Irene crouched down and felt for the floorboard that was loose. She wiggled it until a corner separated and came up. She set it aside and reached into the shallow space, which was a wide enough hole that barely fit her own hand. The folded cloth was still there, and she lifted it out with care. She stood and gently opened the red cloth to check for the ring.
"It's still here." For some reason, she'd half-expected it to be gone, for another obstacle to land itself in the middle of their journey. But it was exactly where she'd hidden it. Its glamour hadn't diminished, and the sight of it awed her, the same way it always did. The band was thin and silver. A dozen small diamonds surrounded a smooth, oval-shaped emerald.
Irene quickly bunched the cloth over the jewels before her memories started to overtake her again. She turned to Charles and said brightly, "Let's make this place feel a little more homey, shall we?"
The rest of the evening, the two them spent their time preparing the house to spend the night. The two worked in near silence, but in harmony. Charles got the little heater stove in the kitchen lit. Meanwhile, Irene found all the lanterns she could to bring some light to the rest of the house. Next, she took the bedding from both hers and Madame's bed and took them out outside to shake. She didn't have time to freshly clean them, but they'd at least be dust-free for the night.
At one point, Charles left briefly with his bow and a set of small arrows, returning several minutes later with a rabbit in hand. She admitted to being impressed with the speed of his hunt, complimenting him as he walked inside. He paused and responded with a modest smile.
After Irene finished shaking out the blankets of most of their dirt, she gathered all the linens up and went back inside. Charles had begun prepping dinner on the stove top. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbow, exposing two muscled forearms as he stirred a stew.
The warm glow and meaty smells of the small house brought a smile to her face. Maybe if she'd stayed, Irene actually could have turned this into a home again.
Charles caught her watching him and raised a brow at her. "Something amusing you?"
"A little," she admitted as she crossed the room. "As long as I lived here, I can't say I ever saw a man in the dining room."
"You did say Madame Mozelle had retired before taking you in. It's not so hard to believe."
She grinned, unable to help herself. "Madame had retired the brothel, yes, but she also wasn't one to spend more than a few nights without a bedfellow."
At his baffled expression, she laughed fully and continued onto the bedroom.
Once Irene had made both of the beds, she returned to the kitchen again to help Charles finish setting up dinner. The bowls were in the cupboards where she'd left them, and so too were the flatware. With a little water and a wipe down, everything was ready. It was a simple meal, and Irene was lucky she had Charles to have made it as successful as it was.
As they sat next to each other at the little wooden dining table, Irene felt content at what they'd accomplished this evening, but most of all, with the company.
At the end of dinner, as they set aside their bowls, Charles chuckled under his breath.
Irene tilted her head. "What is it?"
"I just realized it's usually you who brings me dinner at the café. For once, I was able to serve you."
"And I really do thank you for it, Charles. For such short notice, it was well made."
"I'm happy to do it."
They shared smiles with each other, and Irene suddenly felt the most wrenching of pulls towards this man. It was somewhat unsettling, as if he'd just taken a part of her without saying a word. She shifted in her chair, unsure of what to make of it.
"You're lucky to have had someone like Mozelle who cared for you."
Grateful to be distracted, Irene nodded and told him, "I was very fortunate. She did so much for me. It was Madame who helped me get over my fear of storms. Well, most of it. Obviously, I'm still not cured of that particular phobia, but she did her best after the particular night that exacerbated my fear."
Charles cocked his head, his attention fully on her. She realized he expected her to continue. She swallowed and tucked some hair behind her ear. Irene hadn't recounted this tale since Madame adopted her, but, nonetheless, she was already being thrown into that night as if had happened recently. She plunged forward before she lost her courage. "When I was six, my brother and I were sent by my parents to visit an uncle."
Charles' eyebrows lifted at the mention of her brother, and she continued, "Wilhelm is ten years older than me, and as far back as I can remember, he never liked me. We were stuck in a carriage for days together and it did nothing to endear us to one other. On our last night of travel, there was a thunderstorm. I felt scared and alone, and I cried nearly the entire time. There came a point where Wilhelm lost his patience. He yelled at me to stop or he would throw me out of the carriage."
While callous, the threat had worked for awhile. She'd tried to keep quiet, sniffling in silence, but jumped at every loud crash of the thunder. She remembered sitting catatonic, clutching her doll so tightly it would surly have her fingertips indented by the end of the journey.
"Eventually, I couldn't hold in my sobs anymore, and as soon as I started crying again, Wilhelm had the driver stop the carriage." Irene rubbed her wrist in memory. "He grabbed my arm and dragged me outside into the rain and to the back of the carriage."
She'd grown confused when he'd opened her trunk and started tossing her possessions onto the road. She was about to break into more tears at seeing her pristine and pretty dresses sinking into the muddy puddles. She'd thought this had been his new threat, that he'd throw more and more of her things away until she stopped whimpering.
"I was about to agree to anything he wanted when he lifted me up and dumped me inside my own trunk. Then he slammed shut the lid and returned to the inside of the carriage."
As soon as the carriage started moving again, she'd hit at the walls of the trunk. As young as she was, and with the rain coming in through the seams, and the thunder muting her screams, she thought she was going to die. Being in that trunk, in the dark, with the rain lashing outside and seeping in had heightened her fear to its highest degree. To this day, she wasn't sure how long she was in there. Eventually, she'd exhausted herself with her crying and fell asleep.
"How did you get out?"
Irene left the memory, refocusing on Charles, who had reached over the table to hold her hands. She felt a couple of tears spill down her cheek. Damn. She couldn't believe how emotional she was today. It must be because of her return home, as it brought all these sensitive feelings to surface.
She answered Charles, "I don't think my brother planned it, but when he'd opened my trunk initially, he'd loosened it from the straps holding it down. So, when carriage hit a deep rut in the road, it fell off, with me inside. The carriage carried on. By some fortuitous timing, Josie and Mr. Crawford, who owns the fence in Van Horn, were coming back from a supply run. They found my trunk in the middle of the road."
"But didn't expect to find a child inside, if I had to guess."
"No." She smiled slightly, as she remembered how Josie had jumped back and swore when Mr. Crawford opened the lid. She must have looked a frightening wretch, all bedraggled, wet, with a face hot with tears. "Josie didn't own her tavern yet back then, so, she took me to Madame's."
Charles frowned. "Did your brother not come looking for you?"
Irene blew out a breath, her hair catching in the slight draft she created. "He did. But not immediately. By the time I discovered he was trying to bring me home, I had already settled in happily with Madame. I didn't want to go back."
"What about the rest of your family?"
She turned her head, ruminating. "I've thought about going back over the years, but the few memories I have of my mother and father, I remember them as completely indifferent towards me. There was no love, or warmth with them. We weren't a family. Not in the same way as it was with Madame and Josie."
She felt Charles's gaze on her, but she was staring at their joined hands. She should pull away, but found herself unable to do so.
"I can understand," Charles said. "There are those outside my own family who I've grown close to. After my mother was taken, my father stopped caring. About me, about himself, about life. He'd spend his days drowning himself in whiskey. I chose not to stay around, or I may have gone down a similar path."
"Your mother was taken?" Irene looked up at him, shocked as she forgot her own woeful tale. She recalled the fondness he'd spoken with when he'd told her a little of his mother.
Grimly, Charles said, "By soldiers. She could even be alive. I...don't really know."
"Charles, that's awful. I'm so sorry."
He shrugged as if he'd accepted it long ago. "We all have the burden of our childhood. Some of us have heavier ones than others."
"Yes, that seems to be true."
She'd been dealing with yesterday's problems her whole life, with only short stints of tranquility. She wasn't sure she believed her particular situation would ever disappear. So much trouble had always followed her, and she somehow doubted it would be so simple to escape it.
Her and Charles had come this far, but she hadn't been fully convinced the right thing to do was facing Hahn again. She knew the ring's weighty significance, and why Hahn sought it so vehemently.
She swallowed and admitted, "There are times I believe I'll never be free of my past." Then she confessed, "I don't know if I should return to Saint Denis."
His brow furrowed. "I can protect you." She opened her mouth, but he continued, "It doesn't have to be Saint Denis. We can go anywhere."
We. All she wanted was a clean start, to forget where she came from and begin again. It was all she ever wanted. If he knew fully what he was getting into, would he understand?
"I...I want to believe my life can be my own again, but it's difficult."
Charles left his chair, keeping hold of her hands. He startled her when he knelt down. He vowed, "I will keep you safe, no matter where you want to be, Irene."
"Charles..."
With him so close, she could see his heart so easily in his eyes, blazing and bold and earnest. His unfailing support had her choked up as she could tell he sincerely did have her best interest in mind. All of the secrets that she'd withheld from him suddenly burned on her soul.
Charles was so firm in his convictions and more than ready to fight on her behalf. It humbled her with just how much he cared. His words gave her a glimmer of hope. But she didn't know if it was enough.
"Charles, this morning you reasoned that I don't need to share my past with you because I hardly know you. But how can you commit yourself to me when you hardly know me? We're strangers."
"I don't agree."
His short answer frustrated her. "How can you say that?"
"Because the moment you first spoke to me at the café, I no longer felt lost."
That admission took her breath away. "What?"
"You don't know how often I came into the café just to catch a glimpse of your smile. Since I've known you, all I've wanted to do is find ways to spend more time with you."
His straightforward words captivated her. She was stuck in place, stock still and staring at him with her mouth parted as she listened.
"No matter your past, no matter what you believe, I see you as the woman I want to be with. Life can be confusing and strange. But not this. We make our own way through it, and, sometimes, it can turn out alright. I don't see us as strangers, Irene. I see us as a part of each other's futures."
It was the most she had ever heard from him at one time, but his certainty had rocked her to her core. She felt the power of his words burrow into her heart, and they sang true. Charles had always felt different, and the connection he spoke of was undeniable.
"I want to you to feel like you can live your life again. Let me be a part of this. Let me be a part of you."
She swallowed, awed at his bare honesty. It left her wanting to make her own leap of faith. Barely above a whisper, she said, "Okay."
Charles glanced at her lips, which was all it took to enrapture her and escalate the mood between them. Her heart fluttering, she raised a hand to his cheek. He turned his head and kissed her palm, then her wrist. She shivered with pleasure, buzzing with anticipation.
He stood, taking her with him, his hand on her waist. He pulled her towards him. Instead of her lips, he grazed the side of her cheek and rested his mouth behind her ear. She shuddered and tangled her hands in his hair. She gasped at the sensation of his warm breath skittering across her skin, at his whiskers lightly scratching her neck.
Charles kissed along her jaw until he reached her lips and captured them. She couldn't handle his unhurried pace any longer. She responded with hunger, deepening the kiss, earning a groan from Charles. She pulled him to the bed as they fumbled together at each other's clothing.
They tugged up each other's shirts while simultaneously moving backwards to one of the beds. As they walked, Charles' shirt fell to the ground first, Irene's close behind. Next went her skirt, spilling to the floor as she shimmied out of it. Charles' cotton trousers soon joined the rest.
With every touch, with every kiss, Charles was making her his. When he held her so gently, but firmly, she believed everything he said to be possible. She could live in peace, she could move her life forward, and stop looking over her shoulder.
Irene took her pleasure, offering Charles all of herself in the process. Once they were spent, Irene rested her head on Charles' chest, his heart thrumming soothingly in her ear. She listened to his breathing turn steady, as he slept, content.
But Irene felt anything but. Her mind was aflurry with everything that could go wrong. No matter how much she tried to push aside her distress, it returned to the front of her mind in full force.
Would the chase be over if she did hand her ring over? The idea that it wouldn't had her on edge. Would she ever feel safe? If Charles knew the full truth about her, would he still feel committed to her? She'd tried not to lie to him, but things had gone too far now for her not to have already given him full honesty.
As more of the night passed, her worries didn't fade, but expanded. Her mind was unable to rest. Tomorrow, their plan was to face Hahn. The little bit of dread she'd started the day with had compounded into fear. So much could go wrong. Charles was confident in confronting Hahn, but there were too many variables Charles didn't yet understand. Things he couldn't fix no matter how much faith he had in her.
She felt safe with Charles. Her time with him had been worth it in so many ways, but maybe involving him had been wrong. She'd unintentionally thrown a lifeline his way, wanting desperately for his help. But the hush of the night had her second-guessing everything.
Her anxiety had her too restless to sleep. She had to get her mind off of this. She carefully slipped from the bed so as not to disturb Charles, finding her shirt and skirt they'd tossed to the floor. She went to the dresser where she'd set her satchel and the ring.
Irene stared at the mirror above, the lantern casting shadow and light simultaneously across her face. The mirror was covered in cobwebs and dirt, and a crack spidered the corner, but she could see her own reflection well enough, even in the dim lighting. She could see the fear in her own eyes.
She wasn't brave. What did Charles see in this woman with the hunted look that she didn't? What had him so willing to risk his life to fend for her when others deemed to do the opposite?
On the dresser, she unfolding the ring from its cloth shroud. The colors of the diamonds and emerald were muted in the middle of the night, but the path the ring represented was broadcasted clearly to her.
She bunched up the cloth in her hand, concealing it as if could make the truth of the matter disappear. She wanted to believe Charles could be the difference, to believe in him. But her brother and Hahn were too influential. If she gave in, if she made it known Charles was someone she cared about, he'd be their target and she wouldn't be able to refuse any demand they made.
She slipped the the ring in her satchel to get it out of her sight fully. As she did so, her fingertips brushed the soft tendrils of something else. She recognized it without having to see it, but she brought the feather out anyway.
Irene examined it as best she could in the darkness. Charles had gifted it to her, and she recalled clearly how full of emotion his eyes had been. This feather was a sign of his high regard for her, of how much he trusted her.
But Charles didn't know she was a coward.
Yet it didn't mean she didn't care. And the longer Charles remained with her and stood by her side, the more she put him in danger. It was her own fault. Two days ago, when she knew it was the time to run, she'd instead risked everything to spend one night with Charles.
It would be best if he hadn't met her. Since that was not a feasible task to change, she needed to create a reason for Charles to move on from her, for him to eventually see their time together as nothing special. What she was going to do would break her heart, but in order to make Charles forget her, she had to break his first.