The Heart is Slow to Learn
 

Chapter Six

        �India, for the love of God, come quick before they kill one another!�

          Looking in her vanity mirror, India Montserrat took one look at her pale, wide-eyed sister in law and stood.  �What in the world is the matter Christine?�

          Taking her hand, Christine pulled India away from her bedroom and down a hall.  �If we take the back steps it will be quicker.  For heaven�s sake, hurry!�

          Foil flashed as Raoul and Erik circled each other in a graceful dance of death.  There was a lunge and then a counterpoint and then a parry that followed a vicious downward stroke.  Each man fought silently, tempering each stroke with remarkable accuracy.

          Christine gasped and at the sound, Raoul turned, barely missing Erik in the unexpected movement.

          �Christine!  What in the world?�

          In a rush, the young woman was practically falling into her new husband�s arms.  �Raoul . . . you must not . . .�

          Pausing in confusion, Christine heard Erik�s soft laughter.  �I suggest, my friend that you assure your young bride that you aren�t about to cut out my heart.�

          Turning, she saw a soft, almost parental glow in Erik�s dark eyes.  A look that vastly turned when India softly slipped into her lover�s arms.

          �You know about this, India?�

          Nodding, India snuggled closer to Erik, her hand paused over his bare chest.  �They have been doing this for weeks now. �

          Fear turned to swift anger as Christine looked at Raoul, her eyes blazing.  �And why wasn�t I told?  Why does your sister know, but not your wife?�

          �Oh my friend, I am so glad that I am blessed with a more understanding � partner.  I think we had best leave you to resolve this matter in privacy.�

          Chuckling softly, Erik took India�s hand and started to leave.

          �Wait!�

          Pausing, Erik slowly turned, watching as comprehension began to dawn in Christine�s eyes.

          �You . . . I know that laugh.  I know that sound from before � only now it is not muffled behind a mask.�

          With a broken sob, Christine pulled away from Raoul, stepping backwards.  �How long were the three of you going to play this charade?  Poor Christine,� she mocked, �not able to understand the most simple of affairs.�

          She stood there simply staring at both Erik and her husband.  One had almost broke her sprit in turning her voice free, only to trap her in a fearful dilemma of having to chose between gratitude and freedom.  And Raoul . . . the man that she had loved and married.  A man with secrets that at times kept him silent and brooding. Between them, they had both pulled and tugged at her until at times she thought she would shatter in two.

          �Christine . . .let me explain . . .�

          Evading his hands, Christine darted from the room, her heartbreaking sobs echoing down the hall. 

          Cursing, Raoul flung down his foil, rushing after her.

          �Raoul, no!�

          Leaving Erik�s arms, she gently stopped her brother.  �Let her be for right now.  She has every right to be angry for not being told the truth before now.�

          Looking down at his sister, Raoul for a moment seemed the na�ve young man of years past.  �You saw how she was just now.  Do you think her reaction would have been any different yesterday? Or last week?  When would have been a good time to tell her?  And what would I say?  That the man that she had once admired � and yes, even loved a little, was living under the same roof as she?  That the man she sees before her � the man that I had once swore revenge on is now my friend?  How would she understand that?�

          Slowly, Raoul left the room, a bewildered look still on his face.  For all the hell in Persia, he had always had his code of honor, a standard to hold on to.  And there had been his memories of Christine � an image of an innocent, pure love that had been burned into his mind.  Now he wondered if anything could repair the betrayal that she was feeling now.

* * * *

          Christine paced her elegant bedroom, oblivious to the fine satin chairs, the elegant roses in cut glass bowls, and the moonlight filtering through the open French doors.  She was angry, filled with nervous energy. 

            Moonlight spilled over the pond, and the air was thick with the scent of roses.  She had been up in her room all day.  Time to forget the tension in Raoul's jaw.  Time to forget a pair of blue-gray eyes that held pain.

           Christine had a sudden urge to watch the moonlight glistening over the pond.  There was a sense of restless energy in the house that perfectly matched her own mood.  Slipping on a fragile silk scarf that matched her silk dress, she stepped out.

           Taking a deep breath, Christine walked toward the pond.   Tonight, the mansion was haunting, caught in a dance of moonlight and shadows.

           Some instinct made Christine step into the shadows as a horses' hoof beats were heard in the drive.  The white stallion cut sharply across the lawn it's rider dressed in black.  Goosebumps rose as Christine recognized the rider.

           Raoul would always do the unexpected.

          As he rode off, Christine didn't move.

           The wind played with the scarf at her shoulder.  Once again she felt so terribly alone . . .abandoned.

            Something had been wrong with Raoul since before their escape from Paris.  But she had been so distracted, so . . .self involved that she had failed to see how he had changed from the young man that she remembered.

            Sighing, Christine tilted her face into the wind.

            Around her, roses trembled in the wind, and Christine felt an instant of foreboding so strong it was painful.  And then a man in black broadcloth and crisp white linen moved out of the shadows.

            Her breath caught.  "Lord, you startled me."

            "It wasn't my intention."  Erik's dark eyes probed her face.  "But then we really never knew each other, did we?"

            Christine blinked, hardly knowing how to answer.  Even standing half in the shadows, his face unmasked, there was a power that seemed to shimmer about him.  "I'm not even sure I know Raoul."

           "Do you not?"  His hard face turned chiding.  "I'm said to be a good judge of character, Christine."  He laughed softly, "it is one of the traits that has kept me alive."

           Something about that husky laugh made Christine relax.  "It seems strange to hear you defending  Raoul."

           Again that soft laughter.  "I suppose that's true."  Christine blinked, struck by the sudden impression of light and shadow swirling abut his tall form.  "You're very wrong about him my girl.  He is neither callow nor unfeeling.  He would walk across broken glass for you . . . he almost died to save you . .as we both know."

          He turned away, gazing at the roses growing riotously over the base of the granite wall.  "And at one time . . .so would I.  But we have both moved on, have we not, little Christine Daae'?"

         Christine's shoulders stiffened.  "No longer Daae, but Chagney.  Yes, I suppose that Raoul does love me."

         Erik looked at her sternly, "Supposition has nothing to do with love.  It is very black and white, m'dear.  Either you do or you don't.  And he loves you beyond time, space or reason.  A love that is very rare to find. "

         A cloud ran before the moon.  "The way you love India?"

         His long fingers reached out and gently caressed her cheek.  "As you say, Christine.  Use your heart and soul to see what it really true."

        Christine did not move as the whispered words broke chant like directly through her mind, almost as if they had bypassed her ears.

       The moon slid from behind the clouds.  Somewhere a dog growled on the darkened lawn, the sound noisy in the cool, night air.  And even before she could look up, Christine knew that he was gone.

       And he was.

      Only a hint of lace flashed silver in the distance, then faded back into unbroken shadows. 

* * * *

            Outside an inn, a shutter was banging in the wind.

            Frowning, Raoul de Chagney tossed off the last of his brandy, cursing at the noise, at the ache in his heart.  For once he had actually succeeded in forgetting, putting the death and blood of Persia out of his head.

            The he had swept into the noisy inn that squatted in an unknown village.

            The same wind that banged the shutters sent the scent of his tobacco wafting through the room filled with gamesters and footpads and thieves. 

            The Vicomte de Chagney scowled down at his empty glass.  Damned if he cared.  If Erik had followed him, that was his problem.  He was here only to forget.  To drink himself into utter oblivion, where he could finally escape the memory of Christine�s angry tears.

            �May I sit down?�

            �No,� Raoul snapped, trying to be as rude as possible. 

As Raoul poured himself another drink, Erik pulled over a grungy chair and sat, his legs sprawling under the grimy table.  �Look, I�ve been to every dive and tavern in the last five miles looking for you.�

�And now that you�ve found me, you can leave.�  Raoul was surprised to hear that his words were faintly slurred.  Ah, well, a bottle of brandy could make even the king slur his words.

�Really, R ��

He cut him off abruptly.  �Not a place for real names.�  Raoul scowled at him, wishing he would go away.

�You�re drunk, sir!�

�That is usually why one stops in a tavern.  Or in all your travels have you never been in an establishment like this?�

Leaning forward, Erik�s dark eyes bored into Raoul�s face.  �I�ve been in places and dives much worse than this, young man.  I may have had a monsters face, but in places like this, I was left to my own devices.  Now, are you going to listen to me, or continue to pour yourself into that bottle?�

Abruptly, the candle on the table fluttered.  A cold wind rushed through the room, and the door was thrown open by a crowd of noisy farmers.

Drunk, no doubt, Raoul thought.  And so would he be, if Erik had not found him.  His eyes narrowed as Erik drew kid gloves off his expressive hands.  �Go away.�

�If I do, so help me, I�ll pack up India and Christine and take them so far away that not even you can find him.  If you won�t protect them, then it is up to me.�

Erik�s words were like the cold wind that had blown in the tavern.  Running a hand through is tousled hair, Raoul pushed the glass away.  �Alright, now that you have my attention, do you want to tell me why you followed me?�

�Do you remember my mentioning the mysterious benefactor that helped Christine and her father?  I didn�t want to mention any names until I was sure that the bastard still lived.�

Signaling for another glass, Erik continued, �His name is Stefan Rodriguez.  His mother was a soprano known more for her feats in the boudoir than on the stage.  When she heard of a young soprano named Christine Daae, she sent Stefan to look into the girl.  Evidently, the young man, whose funds could never be explained, fell in love with Christine and was consistently pressuring her father into an alliance.�

Erik poured a liberal amount of brandy into a glass and then continued.  �My contacts in London tell me that he also has connections with someone in the Admiralty.�

Raoul looked at the man who had saved his life.  �You work fast.  We talked about this less then twenty-four hours ago.�

Erik shrugged his shoulders expressively.  �When the lives of those I love are threatened, one does what one has to do.�

Raoul smiled grimly.  �I didn�t mean to pry. What else did you find out?�

�He was passing messages to the Dey in the manuscripts that Christine�s father wrote. Through the Dey, the messages were passed along to all the principalities in the Barbary Coast.    Sailing dates, manifest lists of the passengers names as well as any possible wealth or jewels that they may be carried.  The man is efficient, he even told them how much ransom might be paid for every prisoner.  I suspect that when Stefan discovered your friendship with Christine, it was he who arranged for you to be delivered to that prison ship and eventually to the Corsair�s.�

The effects of the brandy, washed out of Raoul�s system with a rush.  His hands tightened around his glass as anger cold and deadly took its place.  Reaching over, Erik gripped Raoul�s arm.  �Now is not the time to lose your temper.  I suspect the person sending Christine those mysterious notes is Rodriguez.  I don�t know for sure why, except that I suspect Christine knows more than she realizes  . . . or remembers.�

Sitting back, Erik toyed with his gloves as Raoul sat looking in amazement.  �Now, are you ready to return and make amends with your bride?  By now, even India�s remarkable patience has to have reached its limit, and if we are not careful, both of us will end up sleeping with the horses.�

* * * *

Raoul allowed Christine five minutes to shout out her anger and indignation.  Five minutes of amazement as he watched the sweet young girl that he had known turned into a searing woman.  Five minutes of watching the shadows that played against the gossamer peach gown she wore.  Then he took her struggling into his arms.  �Enough Christine, perhaps I was wrong to have kept Erik�s identity from you . . . but I did it to protect you. �

�I don�t need protecting.  I need  for you to treat me like a woman.�

�Is that what you want, beauty?�  With one swift move, he removed her gown.  His blue eyes darkened as he looked on her flushed face as his thumb moved roughly over the outline of one dark nipple. 

Color flared over Christine�s cheeks.  She swung her palm against his wrist and knocked his hand away.

�Why are you angry?  You told me that you wanted to be treated like a woman.�

Christine�s breath caught as he bent toward her.  His face was dark with intensity.  His mouth was hard.  His nose was proud, with just a bit too much of arrogance.

It was a warrior�s face.  The face of a man who knew exactly what he wanted and took it.

Right then, Christine had the dizzy feeling that she was the only thing in the world that he wanted.  If so, she suddenly had not the strength to deny him.  She made a breathless sound as his lips meet the curve of her shoulder, then her rib, and then the lower swell of her breast.

He moved carefully, leisurely, tonguing every inch of her like the lazy connoisseur, he was.

Her need grew to a fury.  She was breathless in a second, wild in five, and clinging blindly at ten.

But he did not hurry.  Smiling broadly, he broached the shadowed triangle of her thighs.  And then her breath broke free.  He found her, circled her, and stroked her wetly.  Even deeper he swept, understanding her body much better than she did, drawing the fire inside her.

She cried out wildly.  �Raoul, don�t.  I can�t ��

�You can my love.  And now you will.�  He laughed darkly, showing her that indeed she could, again and again, while his strong arms held her granite-safe inside the storm.

Her back bowed.  Her body tensed.  Pleasure slammed through her, full, rich, and heavy.  She gave a breathy cry of wonder, flung into shining currents, her nails digging into Raoul�s shoulders.  And as she did, Christine felt him drive his mark upon the curve of skin caught between his teeth and hungry tongue.

She exploded to a second crest of pleasure.

Raoul laughed huskily, his hands slow and soothing as he watched her drift back to him.

When finally she could speak � when her body took on solid form once more � Christine�s eyes opened, all emerald and smoke in the aftermath of her passion.  Lifting her into his arms, Raoul carried her to their bed, laying her gently on the silken sheets.  Drawing him to her, she gently touched the beginning of a bruise on her shoulder.  �Is this a brand I see?�  There was a faint grin on her beautiful mouth.

His eyes were wickedness itself.  �A lover�s brand.�

Her lips sought his.  Skimming, tugging, she turned Raoul�s own skill against him.

By the time she was done, he was iron jawed, white faced, the pain in his groin next to unbearable.  �Slow down, Christine,� Raoul growled.

�Not yet . . .� She bent her head.  With her hair a velvet cloud, she nipped his neck and planted a mark of her own against his skin.  �There, how does it feel to wear my brand?�

Raoul couldn�t bear another word.  Not when she was hot and as lush as honey against him.  �Hush, beauty.  No more talk, not with words.  Listen to me � with your body.  Talk back to me just the same.  Shout at me, growl at me.  Whisper hot and slow to me.  Let me hear all that those sweet curves have to say."  His voice broke, hoarse with his effort at control.  Every muscle throbbed, screaming for him to forget subtlety.  To pin her down and impale her, fast and deep and fierce, then ride her to his own release.

But he didn�t�.  If he could, he would have made that moment last forever.

But waiting was definitely not going to be easy.

Especially when the woman was reckless, with wild, carnal ideas of her own.  She pressed against him, taking him deep inside of her.

�Damn it, Christine, you can�t.  You shouldn�t.�  Raoul�s jaw locked as she sank another hot, velvet inch around him.  �Sweet God, I don�t think I can bear it . . . �

He found that he could, of course.  Even though his breath was ragged and his body glistening with sweat, he loved every second of her silken torment.  She pressed against him, all warmth and light and life, a magical being, sprung from his deepest dreams.

And when Raoul felt a faint tremor snake through her, he smiled crookedly.  Even if he could wait, he wasn�t sure that she could.  She shivered.  Her body moved longingly against his.  She shuddered.  �Now Raoul.�  Her body whispered, teased, pleaded.  Raoul groaned as he read the meaning she was too lost to voice in words.

When he felt her open, Raoul moved against her slowly.  His thighs tensed, sliding deeper as the tender skin parted to sheathe him.

He was dying, he thought.  Any second his heart would give way and he would gasp out his last breath.

But he had his heart back.  He felt it beating; he knew its sure heat and steady hunger.  She had done that, and truly, there was only one way he could reward her.

He move again, much deeper.  He braced his arms and gave her his whole length, one log, perfect jolt of velvet.

She urged him on.

Christine buried her fingers deep in Raoul�s hair.  �Take me Raoul,� she whispered.  �Take me now.  Take me fast and deep, anywhere you want to go.�

She offered him the shimmering depths of her soul then.

He offered her the mysteries of his, troubled dreams, dark deeds and all.

She smiled and took all that he had to give her.

Her face was innocent; her thighs moved with luscious, wanton abandon.  The combination nearly killed him.

�Then I shall, my heart,� Raoul growled, pinning her to the silken sheets, driving hard and deep and fast.

She rose against him, clenched him fiercely, their bodies stretched in a silken counterpoint of passion.

His forehead fell to hers.  He shuddered when he heard her cry out his name and convulse around him.  In that instant he drove inside her, deep, so deep, claiming her, needing her, filling her with his hot, potent seed.

She wrapped her legs around him, taking all, holding firm, her body convulsed in pleasure.

* * * *

�What happened to you?  What did you do after you returned to Paris that changed you so? 

They lay entwined, Christine�s hair as dark as a raven�s wing across his chest.

�I need to know about this.�  Christine traced the silver scar across the length of Raoul�s back.

          He answered her with tiny, heated kisses over her shoulders and neck until she wanted to scream.  But she didn�t.  There were questions that needed answers.  �Tell me, Raoul.�  She toyed with a strand of his hair, her eyes thoughtful.

          Raoul frowned.  �Later.�

          �Now.�

            He stared down at her.  �I�ve tasted hell in Persia . . . are you sure you want to hear this?�

            So beautiful, Raoul thought.  He could hold her this way forever, her husky cries ringing in his ears.  In her honesty and giving, he felt free, the years swept clean, and for a moment, it was almost as if Persia had never happened. 

            Never before had he known such bitter regret.

            For Persia did happen.  He had killed men and ignored his conscience.  He had had too to survive.  Then had came the women.  To young, they had been.  Far too small.  When the Dey had seen Raoul�s size, he had cackled and ordered his frenghi prisoner to a coupling that would punish the women for their disobedience.

            And after many whippings, Raoul had finally complied.

            To survive, he had done what the Dey had ordered. 

            Now he had to see the fear and horror in Christine�s eyes.

        Christine looked at the man she had loved since childhood.  Raoul stood before her, waiting for a judgment that never came.  Instead, he was enveloped in a cloud of her perfume as she tightly wrapped her arms about him.

          �Don�t you know by now, dearest, how very much I love you.  Now, after what you have told me, I only love you more.  You�re the man I love, Raoul, and there is nothing that you have done or could do that would ever change that.�