Protection

Chapter Eight

Perhaps they could be friends.

Alayna found herself even happy when she followed Alex up the stairs. He held a candle and lit the blinding darkness that had frightened her so- she flocked to the protection he offered. It made her feel warm inside, and good. Good in a way she hadn't felt in weeks. Almost like things would be alright; she had forgotten about the shooter on the highway, and the innocent dead driver. The only thing Alayna knew was that she enjoyed being with Alex- that was, when he wasn't such a cad. When he said nice things, it was almost as if they had known one another forever.

    Then, he reached the door to her chamber, and opened it.

  "Good night, Alayna." He slid to the side so she could get inside and get to bed.

She smiled sleepily, and yawned. "I think its morning."

  "Your analysis is correct, I believe its after four," he answered, eyes following her as she stepped into her bedroom.

    "Well," she yawned again, "good morning, Alex."

 And as she closed the door, she heard him whisper, "Good morning, Alayna."

She leaned with her back against the door, listening to his foot steps down the hall. What a comfort. Her feeling of aloneness had faded somewhat; she felt that he understood her more now. Perhaps they would be friends and they would help one another.

    Taking a few steps to the side of her soft, inviting bed, Alayna decided to herself that maybe things were looking up. She climbed into her bed, and snuggled down deep into the covers, the deliciously intoxicating spell of sleep falling over her. She felt oddly at peace.

   But then she opened her eyes, and saw a note addressed to her, sitting on her bedside table.

"My lord, it's ten of the clock."

Alex's eyes popped open and he jumped; his butler was standing at the foot of his bed, face drawn, holding a glass of water in one hand.

   "What did you say?" His head pounded from lack of sleep- and he shouldn't have drank even one sip of that wine.

   "It's ten o' clock."

Alex shook his head. "Is-"

"Madam'selle Bordreaux is recieving her breakfast in the dining room."

"Now?"

The butler did not have time to answer. Alex was already out of bed, and heading to his wash basin. He washed his face, then proceeded to reach his hand out for the glass of water to brush his teeth- something he did daily. Dental hygiene was important to Alex, and he was extremely particular about it. 

   When he was finished brushing his teeth, he dressed quickly, with Burroughs' assistance.

 "Are you not going to shave, my lord?"

Alex looked to the door, wondering about Alayna.

"The lady has only sat down," the old butler confirmed, and Alex sighed, rubbing his hands over his face. Best to shave. He did have quite a stubble.

 She could not eat.

 She had not slept.

She could barely breath.

All she could do was picture that note, written in French, the handwriting unfamiliar. But she recognized the name. She would always remember that name. It frightened her more than the mobs had in France. It frightened her more than the guillotine.

  Jacques Vachon.

And the note had said one thing:

"Vous obtiendrez ce que vous méritez. Refuge est impossible."