Protection

Chapter Nineteen

Before she could respond, his hand was on her shoulder, and he had jerked her around painfully.

"How dare you-"

"Stop it," he hissed. "We've been through a terrible bloody lot together, Alayna. I know you and you know me."

   "I thought I knew you," she snapped back, her voice every bit as venomous as his.

His expression read one of confusion and questions.

 "Kindly take your hands off of me." She used a hand to pluck his squeezing fingers from her shoulder, determined to remain cold and not to break.

  "There is something we must discuss."

"Alright, fine. But do move away from me; you smell a fright." And he did. Like musk and dust.

She scrunched her nose up, her teeth peeking out, and he took a few steps down the stairs.

"Speak."

He looked around, as if there were ears on the walls. "Into my study."

Dread sank deep into her stomach. What could this be about? Did he know? She gulped, and followed him into the room. Her heart thundered.

   He stood behind his desk, fingers flexing. His back was to her, and she could tell he was thinking about something.

  "You're keeping something from me," he announced slowly, confirming her worst fears. He turned to face her. "And I know it. I don't...I don't know what it is, or how big it could be."

  Oh, good heavens.

She almost fainted. The stars began to crash on her head, but after a moment, she shook them away like a confused owl. No, she must keep her head.

  "I don't know what you're thinking of," she lied, her voice catching on a lilting, innocent note.

"You most certainly do. And it has to do with France."

He knew. He knew. He knew.

She felt sick to her stomach, and she wanted to vomit. It was like he had struck her in the face. But what would he do? Would he-

 "Everything I left in France is dead," she said, words painful and heavy. She grasped the back of a chair, and avoided eye contact.

    "Apparently not," he taunted lightly. "I was...I was out last night-"

"With that horrible trollop!" she exclaimed, and thought she had turned the conversation on him.

 "My location the evening prior has nothing to do with it, blast you," he growled. "Listen to me."

"I will not," she countered, bile rising in her throat. She swallowed the metallic, bitter taste back and stared meaningly into the dead fire.

  "Yes, you will. And you do know what I'm thinking of, Madam'selle. Otherwise, you would not fight so harshly to avoid the subject."

  What was there to say? She had to throw him off. If he knew...

 "Look," he continued, "there is something amiss here, Alayna. I have millions of thoughts running through my head. And none of them are good."

  She turned away. "I shan't listen to you. You're drunk."

He ignored this accusation. "I'm beginning to wonder- was the Revolution the true reason you left France? Or is your secret much darker?" He rubbed his hands together.

   She spun about angrily, and gripped the chair until her fingers ached and turned white at the knuckles. "What do you mean?" she hissed between her clenched teeth.