Unchaining Alice

Chapter 10

James did not speak for a while. Instead, he leant against the wooden bench and looked at the wall, as if it were incredibly fascinating. She couldn’t imagine what he was thinking. He probably thought her horrible. A murderer. But she never would and she never could kill anyone.

“I was not even supposed to be there,” Alice admitted quietly. “No women were. But my brother wanted me to be. ‘e wanted me to experience victory. It all happened so quickly. I was given a pistol and I fired it. I ‘it a solider in the arm and I immediately panicked. I believed in our cause … I still do. But that was not who I wanted to be. I couldn’t hurt anyone.” Alice felt so ashamed. She’d never seen the revolution from the point of view of an aristocrat before. She knew he was judging her, no doubt condemning her to hell where she probably belonged.

In a move that completely shocked and startled her, James quickly turned to her and wrapped his arms around her tightly. He buried his face atop her head and she could feel him scent her hair. She was frozen, not knowing what he was doing. Didn’t he hate her?

“You needn’t defend yourself to me,” he murmured against her hair. “You are completely right. I don’t know what it is like to go hungry and I hope I never shall. But if I did, I hope I would be brave enough to fight for the right to survive.”

He astounded her. How could aristocrats be so rich yet so kind? They couldn’t all be like James and his family, perhaps they were an odd family in their social circle.

“Are you being completely serious?” Alice asked as she succumbed to the feel of his hard chest. The sense of security that she got from James was like no other. She felt like nothing could hurt her when she was in his arms.

“Who am I to judge you?” James said simply. “What right have I? I know nothing of what you endured in France. If it were me I would like to think that I would have done the same thing. You are not any less of a person for fighting for what you believe in,” James promised her.

To hear such reassurance from someone who was progressively becoming more and more important to her made her feel, for the first time in a long time, somewhat less cowardly. But then again, she wasn’t fighting for what she believed in, not anymore. “I’m not though,” Alice said softly. “I’ve been ‘ere for three years cowering.”

“Hey,” James snapped. He brought his index finger underneath her chin and forced her to look up at him. His eyes and jawline were hard and stern. “Do not belittle yourself. You have endured what no other your age should endure.”

If only he knew what she had endured. Taking part in a revolution was one thing, hiding in a crate while watching her brother die was something else. But she couldn’t speak about that. It was something utterly personal that she wasn’t ready to share. She’d never properly dealt with Jacques’ death, she’d been in denial for three years. Speaking about the happenings in June three years earlier made it real.

“Do you think less of me?” Alice asked worriedly.

James smiled and shook his head. “I always knew you were keeping something to yourself. ‘Jacqueline’ was reserved with few emotions, ‘Alice’ is a real person with perfections and flaws. I like her much more than I liked ‘Jacqueline’ and I didn’t think that was possible.” He was speaking so sincerely, she felt touched.

She paused. He liked her? What could that possibly mean? Was it an English term for affection or did he just foresee friendship for them? She caught herself mid thought. What did she foresee for them?       

“What perfections?” she mumbled, choosing to just remark on that part of his statement. She didn’t believe she had any perfections, she thought most women felt that way.