Leila Baptiste and Christian Du Maure ~ Part One

She heard the knock on the front door, then, Josephine scurrying across the stone floor to answer it before they banged again. Frantically chopping vegetables from the garden, she half listened as Phillip ran towards the foyer as well.
“Bon sois, Josephine, is Michel here?”
Leila stopped chopping, the deep voice resonating throughout the foyer, the same deep voice she remembered from her youth, but never thought she would hear again. The voice belonging to the only man she had ever loved, a man she would never forget though it had been ten years since they had spoken, or stared into each others eyes.
She quickly ran into the foyer just the door closed.
“And who are you?” The tall stranger asked.
“Phillip DeAraigne,” her son replied sheepishly, in a soft, high-pitched voice.
“Pleasure to meet you Phillip.” He knelt down to shake the boys hand, “Christian Du Mauré.”
He noticed the child’s unusual dress and light, green eyes. He is not from Meudon, Christian guessed, yet, I know those eyes, I still dream about those eyes.
Leila watched her son take his hand hesitantly, just as she came behind him, placing a delicate hand on the child’s shoulder.
Christian studied the white hand and the contrasting gold band on one finger. He noticed the intricate pattern of a dress, the long, dark braid thrown over one shoulder, almost touching her waist, and he knew that hair could only belong to one woman. He felt her eyes on him, and he wished he had put on cleaner clothes, studying his muddy boots and trousers.
What is she doing here, he thought, still kneeling in front of the boy. Why didn’t Michel tell me she had come home.
Their parting still twisted him into knots. It took him years to accept her leaving yet here she was, a breath away. He stood up slowly, his heart racing, afraid to look at her.
“Hello,” he blurted out, suddenly tongue-tied, frozen by her presence as if he were face to face with a ghost.
“Hello Christian,” she whispered back, studying his tan face and dark eyes, as the pain of seeing him washed over her. He is still so beautiful, she thought, holding Phillip’s shoulders for support.
“Phillip, this is a very old friend of mine and your Uncle Michel’s.” She explained. “We all grew up together. Christian, this is my son, Phillip.”
Christian found her still delicate and beautiful, noticing slight lines around her green eyes. Her black hair was longer than he remembered it, as wisps framed her oval face, falling out of her loose braid. He noticed a sadness that filled her once bright eyes.
It had been ten years since he had come to this house to say goodbye to her. She was preparing to leave for Brittany to meet her future husband, a member of the minor nobility on Belle Isle. He remembered how she cried and he whispered lies, telling her it was for the best. Her arranged marriage had been inevitable, something he thought he had accepted until the envoy came to escort her away. Though he was only sixteen, losing her had almost destroyed him.
“Where is Michel?” He suddenly felt the urge to run.
“He’s in the stables,” Phillip blurted out, “do you want me to get him mother?”
“Thank you Phillip.” Leila patted the boy’s arms still trying to calm her racing heart. .
“Tell him if he plans on hunting today, he better get moving.” Christian called after the boy, his booming voice echoing throughout the quiet manor house.
Phillip slipped past him, running out the front door as Leila watched him go, slamming the heavy wooden door.
The silence became deafening as they stared at each other in silence.
“Handsome boy, he has your eyes and your hair.”
“Thank you.” She smiled, wiping her hands on her apron, “I was just in the kitchen cutting up some vegetables for supper.”
“I had no idea you were coming home, Leila.”
She felt his stare as he followed her back into the sunny kitchen.
“Neither did we.” She tried to focus on the pile of carrots and leeks she and Phillip had just picked from the garden. “There has been talk of rebellion and my husband thought it best to get us as far away as possible, so here we are. We just got here yesterday.”
“It’s that serious?” He grabbed a carrot remembering all the nights he would stay for supper, while she prepared dinner for him, Michel, and her father. He had spent most of his childhood in this house, in this kitchen with his best friend Michel, and his beautiful sister, Leila.
“It is, in fact Michel had no idea we were coming. There are always those who want us dead but over the last year there has been a growing faction that desperately wants the throne.”
“How serious is it?” He asked, taking more vegetables. " What does Phillip know?"
“We slipped out in the middle of the night, but I told him it was time to visit my family.” She tried to focus yet found his close proximity distracting. “How rude of me,” she stopped. “You must be thirsty. Can I get you some wine?”
“I can still find my way around Leila.” He smiled, taking a pewter mug out of a cabinet, pouring some wine. “So how long will you be staying?”
“I don’t know, “ she shrugged, noticing how lean he was, and how his thick, wavy hair still fell to his shoulders. His skin was sun kissed, not pale like the men of Burgundy. In some ways, it was as if no time had passed between them; and yet, as she watched him, she felt such awkwardness; two people with so much left unsaid. She wondered how much he knew about her life.
“Michel told me about your father. I’m sorry.”
He nodded, refilling the mug.
“He was a good man. He died peacefully.”
“Michel told me that you live---”
“I never married if that is what you are asking.”
“I just can’t imagine you working that farm alone, that’s all." She shrugged, remembering how direct and argumentative he could be, never one to mince words or back down from a fight.
“I manage.” He shrugged.
“All you ever wanted was a family. I am just surprised that---”
“With you.” He gently touched her arm, forcing her to drop the knife onto the wooden counter. “I wanted a family with you.”
The front door slammed before she could respond.
“There he is.” Michel burst into the kitchen with Phillip trailing behind him.
“Mother, can I go hunting with Uncle Michel and Christian?”
“It is up to them, Phillip.” She eyed both men, taking comfort in the restored threesome. She could not remember a time when her brother was not with Christian. Now that Michel was a widower with no children of his own, she assumed they spent most evenings together. Leila felt a sudden pang of sadness.
“Sure, he can join us.” Michel glanced at Christian seeking his approval..
“Go change your clothes, Phillip,” his mother commanded, waiting until he was safely out of earshot.
“I know what you are going to say sister."Michel took her gently by each shoulder. "He is a possible heir to the throne, be careful, take no chances. Do not worry.” He took his sister in his arms, hugging her. She fought her own tears, missing her only brother so much.
“And no talk about the rebellion, do you understand?” She whispered. “He is to know nothing. He already has asked me how long we were staying and I have been purposely vague.”
“Is he that homesick already?” Christian asked finishing his second mug of wine.
“No, quite the opposite I think. He has found a male who will give him attention.” She avoided Christian’s intense stare.
“What’s not to like?” Michel smiled, and Leila realized how much she missed that smile.
“True.” She smiled, “now catch something so we can have a nice supper.”
“Whatever you say sister.” He released her, tugging on her braid. “You are staying for dinner my friend?”
Leila continued chopping vegetables, not looking at him. She reminded herself she was a married woman with a child, not a young maiden, looking for a husband.
“Let’s get going Michel, if we plan on catching anything.”
Michel nodded, following Christian already out the door.

Long Ago Moments Remembered

As Christian lie back, soaking in the hot water he reflected back to Josette as he often did as he reclined in his bath. Maybe it was feeling relaxed him or being totally alone that allowed him to drop his guard and allow her to creep back into his waking thoughts. They had shared some of their deepest secrets while soaking in her bath after a night of love making. It was as if they were cocooned against the petty politics of both their kind.

Christian chuckled to himself as he remembered them, luxuriating in her bathtub. Her body glistened from the steamy, warm water. He picked up a strand of her wet hair.
“So now what, Madame Delacore?”
She smiled back at him and he was lost in her emerald eyes. There was nothing he would not do for her, well, almost nothing.
“What is your wish, Christian?” His name rolled off her tongue.
“Perhaps you could be dissuaded to leave Gaétan and come to me.” He brushed her wet cheek as he ran his fingers down her neck. She trembled under his touch but held his gaze.
“Would you like having a mortal mistress?”
“I want you.” He whispered as his lips found the pulse of her neck. She surrendered to him, yet he fought the urge and pulled back.
“And what of Michel?” She whispered, “I sense he hates me.”
“Michel is very covetous of our friendship. He does not want to share me with anyone, living or dead.”
“I can’t say I blame him.”She raised one foot up through the water and wiggled her toes.
“I would be lying if I thought this would be easy. Gaétan hates me and Gabrielle will despise us both once she loses me.” He tried to grab her foot but she pulled her knees up to her chest without as much as a ripple. Christian knew Michel would come around in time, but Gabrielle and Gaétan were another story.
“What is it?” She asked; her eyes suddenly darker, her face worried.
“I worry about you, Jo, you’re just ---”
“Please don’t,” she smiled, yet he knew she was pretending to be strong for his sake.
“Gaétan cannot hold onto me without my consent. He is powerless to stop me and he knows it.”
“If he feels about you as I do then he will never let you go.”
“You overestimate my charm, Christian.”

She smiled up at him and for a moment he wondered what it would be like to have her by his side for all eternity. Would their love remain as it did at this moment, or would it be subject to the ravishes of time, even though they would not? He loved her scent and the rhythm of her blood coursing through her veins. The sound of her heart beating soothed him and her warm skin made him feel safe and secure.

He was not sure he would ever want to give that up, despite the simple fact that she would grow older and die; unless he turned her. She was willing, yet how could he tell her that it was her very mortality that attracted him and held him to her? It was complicated and there was no solution other than to let her go when the time came, leave her and endure the pain of her absence.

But for now, there was no one else, no place he could ever imagine himself being, other than in her arms, gazing into her dark eyes.