Her resistance began to evaporate when she felt the hard muscles of Stefano’s body as he pressed her close. She felt his lips on her hair and wondered why she should continue to resist. It was hopeless, she was trapped, and who could imagine what else they might have planned? Perhaps they were right—she should just let herself enjoy it. For all she knew, she might not survive the night. Why not pretend it was Richard there with her, Richard loving her as he always had?
When Stefano lifted her chin to kiss her, she kissed him back with a passion that surprised him and pleased her husband immensely.
It went on as it had that night so long ago. He dried her hair with his shirt and she let the coverlet fall to the floor as his gentle hands aroused a longing in her that she’d thought she’d never feel again.
Finally, he lifted her and carried her to the bed. “You’re doing fine,” he whispered as he settled her against the pillows. “Just don’t say anything and don’t move. And whatever you do, don’t turn away.”
Then he left her and went back to the little table in front of the fireplace. He poured two glasses of wine and held one out to Guy. Guy joined him and as he took the glass, Stefano leaned over and kissed him.
Christina was feeling the effects of the wine Guy had forced on her and it took her a moment to realize what was happening. She watched, confused as Stefano began to unbutton Guy’s shirt, but when Guy was finally undressed and Stefano lovingly wrapped the coverlet around him, Christina thought she would be sick. She sat up and looked around her, wondering if there was any way she could escape. Stefano cast a stern look in her direction, which effectively stopped her. Helplessly, she pulled the sheet around herself and huddled in the far corner of the bed.
There was nothing she could do but watch as Stefano’s hands continued to slowly caress Guy’s pale skin.
Chargez-vous de votre vie. Avec résolution vivez vos jours.
Uniquement à vous le déroulement,
Pourtant la vie elle-même, c’est le don de Dieu.
—Désrosiers
Take your life in hand. And with firm purpose live it.
The living of it’s yours alone. But Life—only God can give it.
February 1759
Arles
“Relax,” Stefano insisted as he watched Guy pace back and forth across the library. “At least we know where she is.”
Guy stopped long enough to pour himself another glass of wine. He took a big swallow and set it back on the table.
“You just don’t see the danger, do you?” he said impatiently.
“What danger?” Stefano asked calmly. “She’s with the Abbot at Montmajour, correct?”
“The Abbot, my dear, just happens to be Richard’s brother.”
Stefano knew from Guy’s look that his words were meant as some sort of explanation, but the relationship meant absolutely nothing to him.
“And?”
And, Christina could mention that Richard is dead, which might come as quite a surprise to Robert. And if Robert saw fit to tell her Richard is still alive…if Christina found out I’d lied to her, that the man she loves still lived
… Guy knew that if that happened, she would never come back to him. He studied Stefano. There on the sofa sat the very image of Richard. And Stefano, too, believed Richard to be dead. Guy saw no reason to tell him otherwise.
“And,” Guy said, instead, “I find the idea of my wife unburdening herself to Richard’s brother distasteful, at best.”
“Come here,” Stefano said, patting the silk cushion beside him. “I think you’re upsetting yourself for nothing.”
Guy joined him, lying down and putting his head in Stefano’s lap as he kicked his feet up over the end of the sofa. Stefano carefully smoothed Guy’s hair back, out of his eyes.
“There is absolutely nothing in that letter you read me that would indicate that Christina has ‘unburdened’ herself,” Stefano said, reasonably. “If she’d told the Abbot what was going on here, do you think he’d have written to tell you where she was?”
Guy wasn’t quite ready to be convinced there was no danger associated with Christina’s escape. But Stefano’s cool hand was marvelous against his skin and he could feel the tension slowly draining out of his neck and shoulders.
“Think about it,” Stefano urged, his tone soothing. “Even if she told him about our situation, do you think he’d believe her? Afterall, you two have been married for nearly seven years and she hasn’t registered any complaints yet, has she? I suspect the Abbot might think her slightly mad if she told him that you and she were sharing a bed with a man who looked exactly like his dead brother.”
Guy smiled briefly, imagining that.
“Well then, what are we going to do? Christina
must
come home.” Guy’s tone made it clear there was no alternative.
“I think she will. We have to give her a little more time. We’ve been pretty hard on her these last few weeks.”
Stefano had heard Guy say some terribly harsh things to Christina over the past month. Her passivity and lack of enthusiasm made her husband furious and he’d begun to treat her roughly again. Stefano had done his best to deflect Guy’s rage, but he wasn’t always successful. He’d tried several times to talk to Christina, to convince her to at least pretend an interest in their three-way relationship, but it was obvious she no longer cared what happened to her. To be honest, Stefano was surprised she’d gathered enough courage to run away to the abbey.
“I don’t understand why she isn’t happy with us,” Guy said with a noticeable lack of concern. He was much more interested in the sensation of Stefano’s fingers against his rough cheek. He closed his eyes as he felt the stirring of his response to the caress.
“I think she’ll find she misses us.” Misses
me,
Stefano thought, which brought a satisfied smile to his lips. He’d felt the depth of Christina’s passion their first night together and again the next night when they acted out that little scene in the stable. He’d also noted her reaction to her husband’s awkward lovemaking. It was obvious she preferred his own skillful touch, a preference which, curiously enough, seemed to delight Guy. Stefano was sure that, given enough time, he could have as much control over Christina as he had over her husband.
He smiled as he ran a finger lightly over Guy’s lips and watched them part.
When Christina awakened, it took her a minute to realize where she was. At first, the familiar hangings on her bed caused her to think she was at home, in her father’s house. Then, the sight of the stone walls that surrounded her made her think perhaps she was at the Conservatorio. When she turned over and saw her trunks stacked against the far wall, she realized she must be at Montmajour, but she couldn’t remember how she’d come to be there.
She finally got out of bed and put on her clothes, which had been carelessly tossed across the back of the little sofa from her father’s library. At the window she threw open the shutters to the midday sun, surprised how late she’d slept. As she looked across to the Abbot’s tower where she and Richard had played as children, she felt disoriented until she understood she must be in the pilgrims’ hospice on one of the upper floors of the new chapterhouse, part of the massive reconstruction project Robert had undertaken in the years since he’d taken charge of the great abbey.
There was a soft knock at the door and Robert appeared with a tray of bread and wine and a pale cheese with a wonderful aroma that suddenly made Christina acutely aware of her empty stomach. He set the tray down and came to where she stood, taking her hands in his.
“Are you feeling better?”
Christina looked at him in confusion. Seeing her expression, Robert put his arm around her shoulders and gently guided her to the sofa.
“You seemed quite upset yesterday afternoon when you arrived. Is there anything I can do?”
“No, I’m…” Christina frowned. She looked up into Robert’s eyes, their expression so gentle. “I’m not quite sure why I’m here.”
“Well, no matter. Just relax and make yourself comfortable. Perhaps we can talk about it tomorrow?” Her disconnected expression worried him. “Would you like me to send someone up to help you unpack?
Christina glanced at the trunks. She knew they were hers and vaguely remembered sending them to the abbey after her father died. Maybe that was why she had come. Maybe she wanted to arrange her things in this place?
Yes, that must be it. S
he got up and went to one of the trunks, no longer thinking of trying to answer Robert’s question.
Before he left, he turned back to her. “Christina?” When he was sure he had her attention, he continued. “I want you to know that I told Guy you were here with us. I didn’t want him to worry.”
Christina stared at the door as it closed behind him. The mention of her husband’s name had been sufficient to remind her of exactly what had brought her to the abbey and it all came back to her in an unwelcome rush of disgust. The lid of the trunk fell closed and she sat down on it, clutching her stomach as a wave of nausea assailed her. Good God, had she finally escaped her intolerable situation, only to have a friend innocently disclose her whereabouts? What was she to do now? Surely Guy would come for her and force her to return to his house.
She began to wonder what, if anything, she could say to Robert that would persuade him to allow her to stay at the abbey. She smiled bitterly, thinking what his reaction might be if she simply told him the truth. But what was the use? He might not believe her, and even if he did, it would only shock and hurt him, and to what purpose? There was nothing Robert could do to help her except to convince Guy that she needed some time to herself. Afterall, a retreat was not an uncommon thing. Why shouldn’t she be allowed to spend some time in contemplation? Robert, of all people, might be able to make Guy believe such a thing coulld eventually yield a more obedient wife.
Christina went back to unpacking. A few of her favorite books, some linens, three of her older, simpler dresses—all found places in her new sanctuary. As she put things away, she began to feel more secure in the unfamiliar surroundings. She leaned the portraits of herself and her family against the wall on both sides of the fireplace, thinking she must ask Robert to have someone help her hang them.
Returning to the trunk, she pulled out one of two silk comforters to reveal the layer of treasures she’d packed so carefully between them. She knelt down on the cold stone floor and looked at the collection of objects nestled in the folds of fabric, feeling an overwhelming urge to weep. Each one of them had come from Richard, a gift or memento of one sort or another, each a reminder of a life that now seemed very far away, and of a future which no longer existed.
She had a difficult time falling asleep that night, but when she did, she dreamt of Richard. They were together, happy, husband and wife. He led her to their bed where he kissed her passionately, but as the kiss ended, the eyes that gazed into hers were no longer Richard’s. They were Stefano’s.
Just after Terce the next morning, Christina met Robert in his study on the second floor of the tower. It was a large room with windows offering a fine view of the orchards beyond the little hill on which the abbey sat, the trees still bare though the warm morning air carried a promise of the spring to come. Despite the fresh air and sunlight, the room smelled of dust and old leather, testament to the presence of the several thousand books that filled the shelves on all four walls.
“You’re looking much better this morning,” Robert said, motioning her to one of the chairs that faced the ancient oak table he used as a desk.
Christina smiled at him, but she didn’t know where to begin.
Robert sensed her discomfort and smiled sympathetically. “Christina, please don’t look so distressed. You know I care about you. I hope you also know I’ll help you any way I can.”
“Please don’t make me go home. Not now. Not yet.”
Not ever.
“My dear, I have no intention of making you do anything. You can stay with us as long as you like.”
“But you wrote to Guy…”
“I did, indeed. But I only wanted to let him know where you were and that you were safe. You weren’t at all yourself when you arrived and you didn’t seem able to tell me why you were here. Do you want to tell me now?”
Christina just stared at him. She would have given anything to tell him why she was there, but she knew she couldn’t. It was a burden she just couldn’t share with him. At the same time, she had to say something, something that would keep him from worrying about her.
“I’m having a little trouble at home.”
Robert waited for her to go on. “Nothing serious, I hope?” he offered, though he could see by the look in her eyes that it was, indeed, serious. “Forgive me, Christina, but is it another woman?” That was certainly the most common complaint he’d heard from any number of unhappy wives over the years. Perhaps Christina, raised primarily in the pristine atmosphere of the convent conservatorio, didn’t realize how sadly universal that particular problem was.
Christina sighed, thinking how grateful she would have been if that were the case. How simple if Guy’s attention had been claimed by another woman. That, at least, would have afforded her some measure of peace. She could have even endured her husband’s love for another man if he hadn’t forced her to become involved.
Robert misinterpreted Christina’s expression, and assumed he’d discovered her problem.
“I’m sorry, my dear, truly. And I’m not at all pleased to hear it. I expected better of Guy. But surely you understand it’s not unusual for men to tire of their wives, no matter how devoted, and seek alliances elsewhere? You mustn’t blame yourself.”
Poor Christina, would I be sitting here talking to her like this if she’d wed Richard?
Somehow, he doubted it.
Christina twisted the little garnet ring around and around on her finger. Robert got up and went to sit beside her, gently taking one of her hands in his. They felt very fragile, very small. She looked up at him, with an expression that concealed the fact that she found his eyes, so similar to Richard’s, painful to look at.