Protection

Chapter Twenty Five

"Mama, I don't want to marry him! I don't know him. And...and you and Papa like Adrien. He's from a good family, too, you know, with a good name. No Englishman could make me as happy as Adrien has," she heard herself say, and the dream began again.

  What a perfect day. The sun was warm on her skin, and for once, her mother  agreed with her.

She looked about the austere house, her home, and quietly slipped out the back doors. Her hair was rolled at the nape of her neck, and she wore a simple white morning dress. She hadn't felt too inclined to dress up, seeing that Adrien was to meet her in the garden until he had to leave.

Her tresor, her Adrien, was the only distraction from the nasty Revolution. She frowned, and thought to herself that revolutions were to bring joy and equality.

   Alayna wove through the hedges, listening to the gentle wind through the leaves.

He had said he would meet her at eleven, and eleven it was. Her heart pumped, and she heard it in her ears. The deliciousness of it made her blush- and she thought how wonderful it was that her first and only love would be just that:

   Her only love.

She stopped in the middle, where the sandstone fountain gurgled, where they met. The garden was empty, as always. Alayna knew that her parents were aware of the fact that the lovers met in the garden. But they both had the decency and she supposed embarrassment not to say anything.

   Hands wrapped around her waist. The familiar smell of sable and clean mingled in her nose, and she turned into his embrace.

   "Bonjour, mon petit mimi," he laughed huskily. He wore a white buccaneer shirt, and she saw his immaculate black overcoat strewn over the bench.

   "I've missed you."

There was a moment of silence between them, and it was a silence full of understanding. It would be difficult to say there was a man who understood a woman more than he understood her. And because he understood her was probably why he loved her so much.

  They were the same type of people. They had the same dreams and the same lifestyle.

Truly, life, in itself, was a dream for them. Never hungry, never tired. One might have thought they were immortals.

   "Adrien," she sighed. "Papa wants me to marry an Englishman." She laughed, and hugged him tighter to her. "Isn't that absolute poppycock?" she teased in a mock British voice.

   "You said you would marry me," he said in an even tone, reminding her and bringing on a blush.

"And marry you, I shall. There are no others, Adrien- and there could never be any others. Why," she declared softly in a merry voice, "you're...you're the perfect ending to my fairy tale."

 He swallowed, eyes gleaming sadly, as he thought of the aristocrats and the Revolution. "Even the sweetest fairy tales have a villian, ma chere."

   "And  a hero, mind you."

"And a damsel."

She rolled her eyes, melodramatically draping a white hand over her forehead. "Oh, I fear I am a damsel in distress." Her hand fell away as his expression changed, and she stood on her toes. Breathing became difficult. "...won't you save me?..."

   Oh- those kisses. Those perfect kisses. And truly, really, their kisses were perfect.

  But the sounds that followed were forever etched in her mind.