A Marq's Woman Ch. 09

Remy stirred from her position atop the goose feather ticked mattress, a cat-like mewl escaping her lips. She stretched, raising her arms above her head before extending one to the side of the bed where Scar slept. Her eyes blinked open when she realized that her lover wasn't beside her.

Clasping the sheets to her breast, Remy sat up and looked around the large, unlit room that she would be staying in whilst Scar went on her mission.

Even though Remy had insisted that she would be fine in their home – that she could defend herself if need be – Scar had been unbending in her resolve to get her baby somewhere safe, and her image of 'safe' had been the Royal castle. Remy smiled into the darkness, thinking about the small argument that they'd had about the arrangement, and how Scar had cradled Remy's face in her hands and said very simply that she loved her, and if anything happened to her, Scar would never forgive herself for leaving her alone.

It had been that love-filled look that broke Remy's insistence and made her nod her acquiescence to the plan. And Remy was glad that she'd come, for she'd made a new friend because of it.

A scruffling noise from the small expanse of a terrace caught Remy's attention, and she shuffled to the large, glass doors, holding the sheet protectively about her. She inched the curtains apart to see Scar's silhouette against the dark night, the spikes in her black hair a clear sign that she had run her fingers through it more than once.

Quietly, Remy pushed the door open and slipped onto the cold terrace. Scar hadn't heard her entrance, and Remy took advantage of that. With a child-like smile, she inched forward and encircled the tall woman's waist tightly.

"Boo," she whispered, breathing the musky scent that was her lover.

"I knew you were there, baby," Scar said, fingers reaching into her thin coat, feeling the small, velvet pouch that lay there, waiting.

"Aw, you're no fun," Remy murmured, rubbing her rapidly numbing nose against Scar's back. Scar let out a weak laugh, looking into the night, watching the stars twinkle in the sky.

The two stood in the cloak of darkness for several minutes, absorbing the rightness of being with each other.

Remy thought of how much she loved Scar, of how much she would hurt if anything ever happened to the woman. For four years, Scar had been by Remy's side. Scar had never raised a hand to her, nor had she demanded anything of Remy that Remy hadn't wanted to give. With Scar, Remy had found a sense of belonging and comfort that she never thought existed.

She remembered that fateful night, four years ago, when she had been chased by two lust-raved men. It had been a wet, cold night, and she remembered having fallen twice on the rough roads of Farrow's Town. Her palms had been scraped and raw. She knew she had a cut on her cheek. But she could not stop running, for if she did, they would catch her.

She had only been a girl of six and ten, then, running for her virtue. A girl of the streets, she never had a home, nor anyone whom she could call kin. Her mother had abandoned her when she was but a child, and an old woman who lived on the street had nourished her until the day she died. Remy had been four.

After that, she had done everything imaginable for food. She'd stolen, pick-pocketed and even worked in a saloon, serving jugs of ale to seedy men who took swipes at her skirts.

It had been a busy night at the saloon when one of those men had caught her around the middle and hauled her into his lap. Remy had struggled against him, futilely trying to disengage herself, when he'd reached down and tugged on her hands. Her gloves had slid off in an instant and a hush fell onto the on-looking crowd who'd cheered the vile man on. Remy had quickly folded her hand into the folds of her skirt, but it was no use. Each and every soul in the crowd had caught sight of it.

Remy found herself on the floor, for the man had thrust her off his lap. Pain shot up her back, but she ignored it, for fear of the large group of men that surrounded her had taken over. They looked at her in disgust and horror before the name-calling had started.

"It's the Satan's spawn!" she heard.

"Nay, it's the devil itself!"

"Look at her fingers. Good Gods!"

Another sank to the floor in prayer. "I ate what it gave me, Gods, forgive me…"

Remy's chest heaved as she fought to take in enough air, her head swiveling, trying to find a route through which she could escape. Tears crept to the surface of her lashes, but she willed them back, knowing they would do no good.

She knew that her fingers were unusual, the land-owner that she'd worked for before had often called her 'the strange one', but she hadn't thought of herself as a devil's spawn until then.

Her gloves. She needed her gloves.

Remy crawled to where her simple gloves had fallen to the floor. She noticed that the crowd backed away as she moved, and she saw her escape. Quickly, she picked up the pieces of cloth that she'd owned since she was ten, and ran out of the saloon, her meager belongings still lying in the small, cramped room that she shared with three other girls above the saloon. She was unbearably hurt, for even when she'd known she was different, she hadn't thought of herself as the evil before.

She had often questioned the Gods as to why she had to be born different. The other children at the landing had teased her; some had even played pranks on her, just because she was different. Remy accepted the fact that she had one extra finger and that she was different… but she couldn't accept being calling the devil's spawn.

What was wrong with her? Wasn't she passably pretty? Why did the fact that she had six fingers make her evil? She had a kind heart, for she always gave what she could to the other children on the street before she ate something herself. She was not evil! She knew she wasn't.

Silent tears fell onto her cheeks, and the chilly wind whipped them into her flaxen hair as she ran. She did not understand, she simply didn't understand. Why was she different? Why did she have to be different?

So caught up in her own thoughts she had been, that she hadn't noticed the two brawny men that stumbled up the road, until she ran into one of them. She pulled back immediately, her muscles poised to flee.

"Well, what do we have here?" leered the first one, his fingers digging into Remy's thin shoulders, holding her still. Under the street lamp, Remy could see that he was missing more than one tooth.

"Unhand me, sir," Remy murmured, wrenching herself away from him, but he caught the front of her blouse.

"Such a fine-looking thing you are," he went on, eyeing the small swell of her breasts.

"Release me!" Remy insisted.

"Now, why would I do that, girly? Don't you want to earn a few coins?" he sneered, reaching out to run his other hand over her breasts.

"Let go!" she screamed, twisting in his grip.

"Let's see what she's got, brother," the other man spoke up, and Remy felt another pair of fingers digging into her waist.

A loud, ripping sound was heard in the next second, and Remy uttered a wordless cry, her foot coming up to kick both men away.

It was the luck of the stars that she caught both of them by surprise, and they released her momentarily, an opportunity that Remy did not hesitate to take. She took off in a dead run, hearing the men's startled cries of 'hey' and 'get back here!'.

She slipped and fell onto the rocky roads, scraping her cheek and palm. Pain shot through her body, but she knew the consequences if she stopped running to nurse the wounds. She had managed to keep her body clean from men's blasphemous caresses for sixteen years, and she would not submit to it now. And so she ran, skirt in hand, looking back every once in a while to see if they were still advancing on her.

She felt as though she had been running for hours when, suddenly, she misjudged a bump on the road and tripped yet again, falling and hitting her head against the hard earth. She tried to rise to her feet again, but found that her limbs could not move. Everything hurt. Her vision had somehow, become impaired, and everything seemed extremely fuzzy. Her mind told her to get up and run, but her flesh was weak, unable to summon the energy to stand.

Boots rang hollowly against the road's surface as she heard someone come up behind her. Moments later, the two men staggered up the road, huffing and out of breath. In fear, Remy tried to stand again, but felt herself being lifted high into the air.

At first, she thought that the Gods had finally called for her, and she relaxed, feeling weightless. Then she heard a voice.

"The wench is mine."

Her limbs tensed, but she couldn't move them. She struggled against her captor for a moment before the blessed darkness claimed her…

"Baby?"

Remy blinked, feeling Scar hand moving over her arms. She smiled against the taller woman's back, unable to believe that four years had flown past so very quickly. And she owed her lover every minute of her life, for if Scar hadn't saved her that night, her body would probably be rotting away in an unknown alley right now.

"Yes?" she replied, lifting her head. She could sense that Scar had something to say, for whenever her jaw was set like that, she was thinking of something important. "What is it?"

Remy un-entwined her arms from around Scar and moved to wedge herself between the railing on the terrace and her lover. She smiled up at Scar, who returned her smile in the darkness.

"I love you so much that you wouldn't believe it's possible," Scar said softly, her hands coming up to adjust the sheet that Remy had wrapped around herself, so that it would cover her shoulders as well.

"I love you, too, Scar. You know that," Remy said, wondering what in the universe her lover was up to.

"Remy…" Scar whispered, ducking her head for a kiss. It was slow and sweet, and when she pulled back, a little, shiny web of moisture stretched between them. Remy flicked it away with a finger.

"What is it? What's wrong?" Remy asked, made anxious by the worry in Scar's eyes.

"Remy…" Scar trailed off again, running a hand through her hair.

"You're making me nervous, Scar," the pixie-like woman said.

"I'm sorry. It's just…" Sudden determination entered Scar's eyes, as though she had steeled herself to doing something. Remy bit her lip, wondering what was going on in Scar's mind.

Scar took two steps back and sank to the floor on one knee. She reached into her pocket and slipped the beautiful, sapphire ring out of its pouch. She raised it to a surprised Remy who swallowed thickly.

"Remy, my baby, will you marry me?"

*

Kistle awoke slowly, hazily sifting through the realms of consciousness, being pulled from the torn parchments of a dream that she couldn't comprehend. She drew in a breath, pulling into her lungs the heady scent of someone familiar, and felt the weight of a hand on her waist.

She jolted upright immediately when the sensation registered, looking around frantically for any sign of him. Her heart beat like a wild, untamable thing in her chest, oozing with the fear that he was in close proximity.

But as she tilted her head this way and that, she could not catch even the merest hint that he had been anywhere near her. His warmth was not on the bed, nor was his scent on the pillows. And yet… the feeling of his hand on her waist had been so real; the warmth had been so real. Had she imagined that? Had she started dreaming of him now?

Kistle placed her palm over the area on which she had felt his heat. Unwittingly, she began to trace it with her fingers, her thoughts flitting into the past, only to have her memories shattered when rapid knocking came from the door to her chamber.

Her chamber? Kistle wondered blearily. How had she gotten to the chamber? Then, another thought popped into her head. Oh, Goddess! Was it morning? It couldn't be! For she had planned to escape the castle during the night! Had her plans for escape been thwarted by her foolishness?

Kistle tried to decipher the time of day, but she found that the drawn curtains were not of much help. There was no light peaking from beneath the curtains, and she took strength from that. Perhaps all her plans were not lost. She had just slipped out of bed to peek out of the curtains when the rapid knocking ensued. It sounded urgent, and Kistle silently prayed to the Goddess that it would be nothing that would detain her from leaving the palace as soon as possible.

She opened the door a crack after adjusting the lovely, stained gown that she'd slept in. On the other side of the door stood the King, flanked by two male servants.

"Your Majesty," Kistle said, surprised to be visited by the King, in what was probably, very early in the morning. She pulled the door open wider.

"Lady Kistle. I apologize for bothering you at this ungodly hour, but I'm afraid I need your help. It is about my little girl," the King said, massaging the back of his neck anxiously.

"Has something happened?" Kistle turned pale quickly, remembering how scrawny and weak the girl had looked. She fervently hoped that nothing untoward had happened to the lovely baby.

"I'm not quite sure. Would you follow me to the Royal suites?" the King asked, his voice strained and laced with confusion. He didn't know what was happening, and being untutored in subjects such as newborn babes was wearing on him. Dom was not untutored in many things.

"Of course, sir," Kistle said, stepping out into the hall without hesitation. She fell into a step behind the King, moving away from the figure that quietly crept out of her chamber, blissfully unnoticed.

*

Kistle rushed into the Royal bedchamber to find white foam dribbling out of the little baby girl's mouth. Shocked and instantly worried, she went to the Queen's side and asked her what was wrong.

"I don't know!" a tearful Chiara exclaimed, tears flowing from the corner of her eyes. "She doesn't want to drink any of my milk. She throws up every sip I feed her! I don't understand! My boy drank so much, but…"

Kistle sighed and reached for a towel, calmly wiping the milk from the baby's cheek, feeling her muscles relax from the alarm. She knew that there was nothing to be alarmed about now.

"Your Majesty, if you wouldn't mind my advice…"

"No, of course I wouldn't mind it. I would do anything for my baby girl," the Queen said, shifting the slight baby to a more comfortable position, wiping at her eyes at the same time.

"You should try feeding her goat's milk, milady," Kistle said, looking up into the Queen's eyes. "There might be something in your milk that she doesn't like, so you should try some other form of milk. It has been more than eight hours since she's been born. She needs some form of nourishment soon."

Dominique, who had been hovering over the two women, quickly dispatched two of his servants to procure goat's milk. While waiting for it, Kistle cooed and crooned to the girl, trying to get her to swallow some of her mother's milk, but the darling thing thrashed and shook its head, shaking its fist in the air.

After a few minutes, Kistle gave up on trying to feed the baby, and struck up a conversation with the Queen, trying to turn her attention from the problem at hand.

"Have you thought of a name for her?" she asked, running a finger through the dark hair that dusted the baby's head.

"We were thinking of Luna, since she was born once the sun had set," Chiara said, looking up to see her husband nod in agreement.

"The boy will bear my name, of course. He will be Dominique the Hundredth and One," Dom said with much pride, though he would never admit to his wife that there was a tender spot already growing inside him for his young daughter.

"Milk, sire!" the servant called as he rushed in, carrying a small bowl in hand. Kistle hastily grabbed it from him and headed towards the Queen and her baby. She washed her hands in a basin beside the bed before dipping her index finger into the milk and dribbling the residue into the girl's mouth.

The King, Queen and servants waited in silent anticipation as the babe stuck its tongue out and licked at the milk. Minutes passed and Kistle used a spoon to dribble more milk into the babe.

All parties broke into a smile when, an hour later, the milk didn't return to the surface as foam. Slowly, little Luna curled into her mother's swollen breasts and fell into a milk-induced sleep. Kistle smiled slightly and handed the half-empty bowl back to the servant. She had just turned from the bed when the first rays of dawn tinged the sky. Inwardly, Kistle let out a blasphemous curse. Drats! She had missed her opportunity. But she would leave tonight. She could not delay it any further.

But what of the twins? And Remy? Are you going to leave them as well? a little voice in her head asked her.

I have no choice! she growled at it before turning back to the bed, watching the Royal family cuddling together on the bed. Ignoring the faint pang in her heart, she started for the doorway, only to be stopped by the Queen's tear-filled proclamation of gratitude.

To that, she merely curtsied before exiting the room.

*

Kistle felt unsettled. There was a dreadful churning in her stomach and a slight buzz flitted through her head. She took deep, calming breaths as she walked along the corridor that encased the Royal dining hall, trying to settle her stomach. But it was of no use.

Smells of crisp toast and tea emanated from the hall, making her stomach cramp horribly. A hand on her stomach, and another clutching her skirts, Kistle made for the doors to the garden. Once there, she leaned over a bush, afraid that she would empty her bowels. However, nothing exited her mouth but dry heaves of air. Her head spun, making the world seem awash with multiple colors, and she sunk to the grass, head bent, knees raised.

She didn't know how long she remained in that position, clutching her knees as though it were her lifeline. She had never felt as nauseated before in her short life! Her skin had prickled and her flesh had become cold. Her stomach had turned over in its seat and her head had felt as though it was cushioned in a fist that was squeezing it of its juices!

A moan escaped her at the memory of the discomfort, and she rocked herself gently, finding that the soothing motions helped alleviate some of the remaining remnants of dizziness. She swayed on the grass for what seemed like hours before she felt gentle, caring hands on her shoulder. She looked up blearily to find a very concerned Remy staring down at her.

"Is something wrong? Should I get the physician?" the pixie-like woman asked, brows furrowing.

Kistle stared blearily at the other woman before her head dropped back into the dark cave that she'd made for herself. The sunlight that beamed down on both of them seemed to aggravate her headache and she felt the bitter bile rising in her throat yet again.

"Nay," she moaned into the cloth of her skirts. "Don't get the physician. I'm fine."

"You're obviously not fine, Kistle. I'll be but a moment," Remy insisted, pulling her hands away from Kistle's shoulders, only for Kistle to reach for them again.

"No, please don't. Stay with me," she asked through clenched teeth. Her stomach had started its rolling again, and Kistle shut her eyes tightly, praying for the Goddess to dull her pain at least a little.

She felt slight arms around her shoulders, and soon, Remy was rocking her, cooing to her as though she were a child. Kistle rested her weight on her, sighing as the turmoil in her body passed on, slowly.