Protection

Chapter Four

Never forget that I love you truly, Alayna."

His face was fading away, but she held onto his hand fast. "No! No, please, Adrien-not Adrien!"

Alayna opened her eyes in the dark, cold sweat drenching her body. Terror and hope mingled in her heart- but then she realized it had only been a dream.  "Oh God," she called out. "How many times will I have to relive it?"

    She closed her eyes and laid back against the pillow, preparing her mind to go through the whole thing once again.

"It is not fair, Adrien. How can they just chain us up like dogs because of who we are?"

He smiled down at her, and wrapped his strong, fortress-like arms around her waist. "You are still femme fatale, even without your fine dresses and jewels, mon petit mimi."

   "How can you say such a thing when there is dirt on my face, and in my hair? My clothes are ugly and I'm far too thin to be pretty."

     "Ah, but that is the best part. Even without rouge and coiffure, your eyes are exactly the same, mon amore. Your nose is the same, oui? Your pretty petit mouth," which he kissed languidly, "oui," he said with a husky chuckle, "your mouth is as...kissable as ever. And your heart is the same, non?"

    She leaned in closer to him. "As long as you are with me, Adrien, my heart will never change."

 "If we are ever apart, ma chère, remain true to yourself," he told her, eyes passionate. "Our France has not remained true to her own heart...now look at her, spilling the blood of her children."

    "Oh, let us not talk of the old days and everything that is changed," she had said, looking up at him. "If we look back today, will we not look back tomorrow, too? And with regret? Non, Adrien." She kissed his jaw tenderly. "Won't you say it again."

By then, she was sobbing into the thin pillow, unable to breath, her heart wrenching painfully in her chest. Why? Why him? Why such a good man? Those were the moments she could not carry on. When her heart was so tired and she remembered his hands grasping hers, and his lips touching hers. When Alayna remembered his gentle, euphonious words in the dank dampness of the cell, when he would hold her close to him and tell her that everything would be allright, she wanted to lay down, and die.

     But she could not do that. She was his legacy; she was the only proof left that he had existed. He had marked her as his,  he had promised her that even if dimensions seperated them, he would love her forever.

    She sobbed until she hiccupped, her eyes burning with the heat of shed tears. She had shed so many tears in the last days. How was it possible that she had any left? Many times before, Alayna had heard people say that- and she knew how they felt.

     "How can I possibly live with so much on my shoulders?" she wondered aloud, her voice cracking and hoarse.

     Silence. No voice reached out from the unending nothingness of space. She knew she was crazy for hoping that someone would comfort her. There was no one. Papa was gone, and so was Mama, and Marcel and Adrien. She had just lost James.

     And now they were after her again. Panic beckoned tears she did not have, bringing back the only memory she wished she could let go. But everytime, every blasted time, it came back as clear as it had been the moment it happened. The trauma was as fresh as it had been the moment she had sprinted away from the scene, begging God to keep her safe from them.

 Tell him. He would take care of it for you, Alayna.

No, she couldn't tell him. Not him. The more people that knew, the greater the perils were. And even though she did not particularly care for the man, at all, she did not want him to suffer the way she had suffered.

    Heavy boots thumped up the stairs. Alayna turned to her side, facing the wall, pretending to be asleep when the door creaked open and light fell on her from the hall way. The door closed, and she heard the sound of shuffling around. It fell silent momentarily, and she heard the tiny strike of a match. Then, the little bitty bed chamber was illuminated by the lamp.

    "Guess I'll sleep in the chair," he muttered, kicking his boots off. She knew he had discarded them because they made a rather loud thump at the end of the end.

   What did he expect? For her to sleep in the chair? Through her tears, Alayna felt a stab of irritation, and gritted her teeth. What an inconsiderate boar! After all he had put her through, and he wanted her to sleep in the stupid chair?

    She almost laughed aloud. He deserved the chair as far as she was concerned. All he did was cause her more trouble.

    Their "gracious" hostess had given Alex the room withone bed.

She had said they probably wouldn't need two beds, and commented something about snuggling.      

   Snuggling?

So he settled down in his chair, for he did not wish to disturb the sleeping beauty with an extremely beast-like disposition.

   The night was going to be long; he had known it was going to be long when they had scrapped. Wherever his comment had hurt her, it had obviously hurt her deeply. He hadn't thought it would hurt anything. He honestly hadn't thought about it at all.

    But the hurt in her sharp green eyes had been sincere, bleeding hurt. The type of emotional bruising that lasted a long time. Part of Alex wondered curiously what it was. The other half wanted nothing to do with any problems she had. They were her problems, not his. She seemed to be able to keep most of her emotions locked away.

     Oh well then, Alex said to himself, to each his own.