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La Belle Christiane

Copyright 2011 by Lyn Cote

All rights reserved

Chapter Fifteen Scene 2

The major leaped out of bed, his gaze doing a quick circuit of the room, hoping for some clue to her whereabouts. Then he raced to the thickly frosted windows. Scratching and rubbing with his nails and palm, he cleared a peek hole. There she was just rounding the gate and heading south. She’s going to get her mare and leave! In stark panic, he sped around the room, pulling on a shirt, breeches, boots, and coat. He thundered down the front steps.

Racing out the gate, he saw her two corners ahead. He put his effort into running swiftly and silently over the snow-packed street. The distance between them shrank. He ignored the startled looks the other early risers as they watched him, a disheveled English officer chasing a girl down a main street in broad daylight. He closed the gap and from behind took hold of her arm . He startled her into a gasping scream.

“What do you mean by leaving me like that?” he demanded through gritted teeth.

She struggled against his grip. “Let me go.”

“Not until you tell me why you chose now to leave.” His hold did not loosen.

She stopped twisting. “Please people are staring.”

He thought rapidly. He could not hold onto her indefinitely, but he had the irrational feeling that if he let go of her she would disappear and the night before would have only been a dream. He had to have time to persuade her to stay. “Please take the time to explain why you are leaving now. I think you owe me that much.”

“Major,” she said in a warning tone.

“Please.” He couldn’t stop the desperation that tinged his voice.

She frowned. “Very well,” she said grudgingly.

He released her, alarm still rippling through him.

“I’m not going back to your room,” she insisted.

Scanning the street, the Major spotted a corner inn. “How would you like some breakfast?” He had to have time to plan what to say to her. He must, above all, avoid telling the truth.

Her stomach rumbled at the mention of food.  “Yes, I would,” she admitted, still sounding put out.

In spite of her lack of enthusiasm, he stood taller, squaring his shoulders. Now he had time. Though very aware of his unshaven and rumpled appearance, he politely offered her his arm and escorted her into the inn. The common room was filled with working men quietly eating breakfast. The men looked up and, seeing the disheveled couple, grinned and muttered comments to each other. Christiane blushed and looked away. The Major cast the room a reproving glance and addressed the innkeeper, “Your private dining room please?”

The man scratched his head, but nodded, and directed them to a door down the hall closer to the kitchen. He opened the door, ushering them into the frigid room. “Girl will be right in to make the fire,” he said shortly and left. The two of them stood like uncomfortable strangers. A girl appeared almost immediately and kindled a fire on the cold hearth.

Next a large woman bustled in with a tea tray. “Since the room be so cold, I brought ye tea right out.”

“Thank you,” the Major said formally and motioned Christiane to sit at the lone table near the fire. She obeyed and accepted her tea with a smile.

“What can I get ye now?” the woman asked.

“Ma’am?” he asked politely.

Christiane ordered: eggs, rashers, porridge, and muffins. Though he had no appetite, he requested the same. The woman left and he sat down across from Christiane, took his tea, and considered his plan. What to tell her? As little as necessary. His urbane mask slipped back into place.

“Now, madam, will you answer my question? Why did you leave me without so much as a word?”

“I apologize. It does seem ungrateful, but I thought it would be best, less trouble for you.”

“I am surprised at your decision. There is no reason for you to leave now at all.”

Her eyebrows lifted. At this juncture the young serving maid entered, carrying a heavy tray. Quickly the meal was placed before them. As the girl turned to leave, the major told her, “We do not wish to be disturbed again please.”

“Yes, sir,” the girl said softly and exited, closing the door firmly behind her. Not to betray himself, he began to eat in spite of the tension between them. In between untasted bites, he repeated, “There is no reason for you to leave now.”

“Nothing has changed, Major,” she responded mildly. “I am going.”

“Why? To be a companion to some old lady? I can offer you so much more.”

“Major, I told you. I have no desire to live the life of my mother. I am leaving.”

A little of the desperation that had propelled him out of his bed returned. His tone became more serious. “Madame, I am not suggesting a casual liaison. I am not that kind of man either. You would be with me as long as you wished and you would be well-provided for when we parted.”

She studied his face. One night of passion? How could it mean so much to him? True he was not like most of the other officers here, but still. Silently she considered him. “I’m sorry, Major. My mind is made up.”

His appetite died and his palms began to sweat. What more could he offer her? Then unexpectedly something totally out of character happened. Tears sprang into his eyes. Angrily he brushed them away and stood up.

Turning his back to her, he went to the mantel and leaned his hands against it, fighting for control. Six years of agony, six years of trying to forget completely, trying not to feel the pain, the guilt, or anything at all, welled up inside him. Last night had been his salvation, his blessed release from the prison he had been forced into. And she had been the key. Though he struggled, his tears would not be denied.

Christiane set down her fork. He was weeping in earnest now in that clumsy, unpracticed way men had. She had to do something. His pride would be dreadfully wounded. There was something he had not told her. That was the only explanation.

“Major,” she spoke as calmly as possible, “please come back to the table. Evidently you are keeping something from me. Come and sit.” Her unemotional tone had struck the correct note. She watched as he began to gain control again. Soon he sat across from her though he would not meet her eyes. “I will freshen your tea,” she continued matter-of-factly. She handed him his cup. Soberly he sipped it. Finally she rested her hand on his arm. “Please tell me,” she entreated softly.

He did not want to. Only he knew the truth, but he was caught. Perhaps she would stay if she understood how important, how incredibly she’d become  to him. “I don’t know where to start,” he said in a resigned voice.

“Tell it all.”
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