Authors: Lorena Dureau
"I'm afraid it's precisely because of your uncompromising
attitude that Monique and I have had to resort to such unorthodox
means," retorted the young man, finally beginning to muster enough
courage to stand up to Vidal's wrath. "After all, if you'll permit me
to remind you, once Monique and I are married, the courts will
recognize my rights over her as her husband—rights that will
supersede all others, including yours as her guardian."
Vidal smiled sardonically. "Perhaps, but you're
not
her husband yet, so there's nothing to recognize at this moment except
my legal guardianship over Mlle. Monique, and I tell you, senor, I will
never consent to this."
Monique, who had been standing beside Vidal listening in
dismay to the two men discussing her future, suddenly found her tongue
and dared to break in.
"I think I should have some voice in all of this," she
ventured indignantly, but her guardian turned angrily toward her and
cut her short.
"You just be quiet!" he snapped.
"Am I not to have any say-so, then?"
"If you don't hush, you'll have your say-so from a
convent."
Monique glared at him from out of the ruffled frame of her
black silk hood, which she was trying to hold close around her throat
despite the nagging wind pulling at it. "Oh, but you're horrid! A
despicable tyrant!" she hissed at him between clenched teeth.
"At this moment I feel every bit that and more," he warned
her with equal fury. "I've been riding the wind at top speed now for
well over two hours so I could reach you in time to save you from this
latest childish caprice of yours. One thing is certain, I'm in no mood
for any arguments in the middle of a deserted road in the wee hours of
the morning with a thunderstorm about to come down at any moment!"
"Really, Vidal. my intentions toward your cousin are
entirely honorable," interrupted Maurice, trying to keep a conciliatory
tone in his voice. He, too, was sporting a fancy rapier by his side,
but he was painfully aware of the fact that next to Vidal's finely
tempered Toledo blade, his own seemed like a toy. Also, he was certain
that his fair-to-middling swordsmanship would be found equally wanting
if forced into competition with the Spaniard's. "If you'd but give your
consent, all of this would be unnecessary," he pleaded.
Vidal tried to hold on to the last vestiges of his
patience. "
Mira
, Foucher, I may as well be frank
with you and settle this matter once and for all. First of all, I don't
think Monica is mature enough to marry anyone right now, but even if
she were, I'd never consent to her marrying you."
Maurice was taken aback. "But I love your cousin," he
protested. "I swear to you, Don Miguel, it wasn't my intention just to
run off with her. We were going to be married in—"
"I don't question your feelings, senor, nor do they
interest me. Frankly, it's only Monique's future that concerns me."
"But what do you have against me? Is it simply because my
loyalties are with the French instead of your country?"
"I don't give a damn about your loyalties, either, as long
as you don't drag my ward into your foolhardy world of radicalism and
fantasy. Your very actions tonight simply show that you are as
irrational in your private life as you are in your politics."
"Many a true patriot has been slandered before…"
Vidal gave a short sarcastic laugh. "Patriot of what, may
I ask? You're simply a pigheaded fool, risking your life and the lives
of those around you in treasonous activities on behalf of a country
that doesn't even want you… that doesn't even know you
exist! But permit me to remind you again, this is neither the time nor
the place to be discussing politics or anything else. I'm afraid we're
in for a bad storm and we'd better get going before we find ourselves
caught out here in the mud and rain… another situation
brought about by your idiotic behavior!"
Somewhat abashed, Foucher yielded. At least Vidal was
right in one thing. They'd better get wherever they were going before
the storm broke. The wind was increasing in force, and large drops of
rain were beginning to fall.
"For Monique's sake, I agree we should get to some
shelter," acquiesced Maurice.
"I don't know where you're going," Vidal corrected him
acidly. "It can be to hell for all I care, but for what it's worth, I'd
suggest that wherever you go, it be as far away as possible from me and
my ward! And let me add that in the future you'll approach my cousin at
your peril. I'd hate to have to take certain actions unless they were
absolutely necessary."
Foucher's rain-spattered countenance colored despite his
efforts to remain conciliatory. "Are you threatening me, senor?"
Vidal shrugged his rapidly dampening shoulders with an
exasperated sigh. "I don't like making threats, and it's not my usual
manner of doing things, but if it's a choice between your life or my
ward's, I'm afraid I wouldn't hesitate for a moment in deciding which
it would be. I'm sorry, but that's the way it is."
Monique shook a tiny fist up at her guardian.
"You're… you're ruthless and… and
utterly detestable!"
He looked down at her calmly from where he towered over
her, apparently unmoved by her outburst. "Yes, I'm afraid I could be
both of those things if pushed far enough," he agreed, "so I suggest
that you and your friend here remember that."
Foucher held his ground for one last moment. "I won't
trouble you with my presence," he told Vidal stiffly, "but for
Monique's sake, I'd still like to offer you my carriage so she can
travel more comfortably."
Monique took a step toward the cabriolet, but Vidal caught
her by the wrist and suddenly, without any preamble, hoisted her with
one swift movement to the top of his horse. Then, before she could
react, he had swung himself up behind her.
"Thank you, Foucher, but I think we can make better time
on horseback," he replied curtly.
Monique was about to dismount in protest, but he clamped
his arm firmly around her waist and pinioned her there in front of him.
"The carriage would be too cumbersome to maneuver on a muddy road," he
continued addressing himself to the young man, "and yet it would be too
fragile to offer much protection if a heavy storm hit us. Frankly, if
you'll permit me to point out, you, too, might do well to abandon the
cabriolet and just make all speed on your horse to wherever you plan to
go."
Monique was squirming restlessly in the crook of his arm,
but he only tightened his grip on her.
"I think we've wasted enough time," he told Maurice as the
latter stood there alone on the road looking up at them rather
bewilderedly from beside his carriage. Under the circumstances, the
young man didn't know what else to do except let her guardian take the
girl wherever he wished.
"I think we're in for a bad one," Vidal observed from his
perch atop his horse. "Time is of the essence now."
His last words trailed off behind him as he flicked his
roan and was off, riding on again on the crest of the rain-laden wind,
holding his indignant ward fast in his arms.
"Hold
tight," he said tersely in her ear. "We must hurry."
Monique obeyed, but only because her instincts wouldn't
let her do anything else. He was riding like a demon out of hell now.
There was still so much she wanted to shout back at him, but she sensed
that every moment counted at that point, so she sat there quietly
fuming in his grip, while myriads of droplets stung her cheeks like
tiny sharp arrows as they spattered against her face. The pending storm
seemed like a huge invisible monster, howling and screaming in their
ears, ready to overtake and devour them at any moment.
Vidal's arm was like a steel clamp around her waist,
fusing her against his loins, as the added impetus of the wind pushed
them ever forward, faster and faster catapulting them through the night
past the grass-covered levee on one side and the almost endless row of
swaying trees on the other.
A flash of lightning zigzagged across the dark sky and a
roar of thunder followed, sending a shudder through Monique's body as
Vidal tightened his grip on both the reins and her waist. He was doubly
glad now that he had decided in favor of just the horse instead of the
cabriolet. The animal responded to him better. Nevertheless, he slowed
down now into a more cautious trot, since not only was the steady
drizzle beginning to make the road slippery, but he also calculated
that they must be nearing the Chausson plantation by now. Between the
wind and rain blinding his eyes and the darkness of the night as the
moon drifted in and out of the blackened skies, he feared he might
overshoot the entrance. One thing he knew for certain, he'd have to
take refuge at the very first shelter they passed. He cursed the
stupidity of Maurice Foucher to have chosen such a night as this to try
to elope!
The roan was so skittish now, between the thunder and
lightning and the increasing difficulty of the terrain, that he feared
the frightened animal might lose its footing and throw them in a sudden
fright. He was just beginning to consider dismounting and leading the
horse, with Monique on its back, carefully by the reins over the
pitfalls of the road, when suddenly he caught sight of the familiar
gate in a flash of lightning.
"The saints be praised!" he exclaimed in her ear over the
shrieking wind. "We're here!"
He rode a short distance more and then dismounted in front
of the large black wrought-iron entrance with its lacy arch spelling
out the name of the Chausson plantation.
Clutching her flying cloak around her as best she could
against the angry, lashing wind, Monique continued to sit on the horse
and steady it while through a curtain of rain she watched her guardian
struggling to push open the gate.
When he had finally succeeded, he held it against the wind
so she could ride the animal through. Then, after latching the gate
once more behind him, he caught the reins from her and continued
guiding the horse with her still on its back up the oak-lined driveway
toward the main house.
High above the dark tumultuous lane, the trees tossed and
twisted in agony as the wind howled and hacked its way through their
tormented branches, sending the weaker limbs flying through the
blackness like shrieking demons in the night. One of them came hurling
against the already frightened roan with such force that it took the
combined efforts of Monique and her guardian to calm it down once more
before they could continue. But doggedly they pushed on against the
wind… the manor, white and ghostly, their only guide,
beckoning to them like a beacon at the end of that long black tunnel of
gesticulating trees. They were in a shrieking inferno and there was no
other way out but forward…
By the time they finally came out into the clearing in
front of the main house, the storm had burst in all its fury, and
Miguel had all he could do to lead Monique and the horse to the first
refuge at hand.
Afraid to risk running the gauntlet of that long open
flight of stairs up to the entrance of the manor at that moment, he
lifted Monique down from the roan and pulled her and the animal into
the shelter formed by the overhanging gallery and the wide staircase
slanting upward to it. There they at least found some protection from
the wind, although it still sounded all around them like a pack of
hungry wolves stalking its prey.
Miguel hitched the frightened horse to the nearest column
supporting the gallery above them and stroked the length of its sleek
wet body soothingly a few times to reassure it. Then, retiring even
deeper into the relative safety of the niche under the stairs, he
finally turned to his bedraggled ward.
She stood there, completely drenched, her cloak thrown
back wet and limp behind her, while the damp, disheveled tendrils of
her hair, free now of the confining hood, cascaded in a tangled mass
about her shoulders. In the darkness, only the whiteness of her skin
and the pale gold of her hair were faintly visible in the reflection of
the whitewashed wall behind them.
It was pouring down rain now, and although the shelter
offered them some protection, the wind lashed in at them from the
sides, angrily spewing its spray against their faces.
The fury within Monique, however, matched that of the
storm around her. If it hadn't been so dreadful outside, she wouldn't
have stayed there another moment. As it was, she hated the confinement
of those close quarters that forced her to be so uncomfortably close to
her guardian.
Nor was Vidal in an especially understanding mood at that
moment. After having spent three hours riding frantically across the
countryside only to end up trapped under a staircase soaking wet with
an ungrateful brat, he was not about to tolerate one of his ward's
tantrums. His best beaver hat sacrificed now to the winds and the dark
ringlets of his windblown hair dripping down his flushed cheeks, he
stood there glaring down at her, the scowl on his face matching her own.
Monique shifted restlessly from one foot to the other,
like a filly chafing at the bit to be off and away. "I suppose Celeste
was the one who told you where to find me," she exclaimed at last,
unable to hold back her rage any longer. "Wait till I see her!"
"You should thank her for it," replied her guardian. "If
you'd gone with that jackass Foucher, you'd probably be stuck in the
mud out in the middle of nowhere, or perhaps even lying on the road
with the carriage turned over on top of you by now!"
The sound of the rain pounding on the gallery boards and
stairs over their heads, together with the rush of the wind as it tried
to search them out from their hiding place, was so deafening that they
had to shout at each other just to be heard, yet somehow it all seemed
to be in keeping with the mood of that moment.