[Previously: Lavinia and Jacques have been tending to Cedric, who is recovering from a gunshot wound sustained during a failed ambush. It's now been one full day since he was wounded. Still no sign of Lucius, although L. & J. are both worried that he might return before C. can get out of bed.]
*
Cedric had not believed it was possible to feel this tired ... or this dull-witted. His mind felt as though it was wrapped in cotton wool, and his body seemed unaccountably heavy and unresponsive. His memory, too, wasn't functioning well. He remembered pain, though, in a variety of forms: sharp, searing pain; throbbing fiery pain; and deep aching pain, but .... That wasn't all! There had also been fear, and exhaustion, and despair, interspersed with ... with periods of darkness and ... and nothing. The fear had been the worst, because it had been caused not only by those chasing him and seeking to kill him, but also from the thought that he might never see his dear Lavinia again.
But then, somehow, he had seen her!
They were dancing together ... he remembered that now. She'd been wearing that lovely blue dress again, her smile and her laughter were intoxicating, and the feeling of holding her in his arms had made him dizzy. His grandfather had been there, too, smiling upon them both and talking to Lavinia's father. Everyone was speaking in French--he didn't think he'd ever tire of listening to his Lavinia's sweet voice--and it was wonderful to finally be able to speak the language of his mother with her. Then, inexplicably, everything had begun to change.
Lucius was there.
Everyone else had disappeared, and Lucius was pointing a gun at him. "Checkmate to you, Masked Avenger!" he had said with an urbane and malicious smile.
Lucius knew! His uncle knew he was the Masked Avenger! It was a trap!
"Checkmate to you--!"
Everywhere Cedric had turned he'd seen his uncle: as the man in the coach, or riding on a horse and gaining on Cedric as he tried to flee, his side burning with pain, or as a figure looming up out of the darkness. And, in the sound of the rain, Cedric could hear his uncle's voice, "Checkmate ... Checkmate ... Checkmate ...."
Somehow, though, Lavinia had found him. She'd found him, and held him, and helped him escape from his uncle's grasp. Cedric thought he remembered hearing her cry, which had nearly broken his heart. He'd never wanted to make her cry! Before he could soothe her, however, he'd been spiralling down into nothingness once more where, if he could no longer feel Lavinia's touch, at least he was also granted a respite from the pain.
Now he was climbing slowly out of the dark, enveloping nothing to where there was light and sound and pain once again. But this pain was endurable--dully throbbing instead of breathtakingly sharp--while the light and sounds reassured him as they chased away any lingering phantoms; phantoms being notorious for their distaste of the light. If only his body didn't feel so sluggish and heavy!
That dance with Lavinia! Oh, how he wanted to do that again! But he wouldn't be able to if he couldn't even lift his head! Maybe if he rested a little longer ...?
"Le Galliard," he murmured. "Je veux danser avec Lavinia ce soir. La robe bleue ... We'll dance together ... Le Galliard."
If only she were here! "Le Galliard ...."
He felt someone touch his forehead, and he turned his head slightly. Opening his eyes seemed to take an unaccountable effort, but he succeeded and was rewarded by a vision of his Lavinia! She was smiling at him, just like in his dream, and she was responding to him in French, exactly as in his dream. Love for her washed through him with a fierceness and rapidity he wouldn't have thought possible and he knew he was crying, but he was powerless to stop it.
"Je t’aime. Je t'adore," he whispered to her around the lump in his throat. "I love you."
There were tears in her eyes, too, and he lifted a hand to wipe them away, a hand that only a moment before he would have sworn was too heavy to move, let alone lift. She held his hand in both of hers and told him she loved him, whispering softly to him in French. It was so wonderful, so natural and yet so devastatingly perfect that he was afraid he was going to discover it to be a dream after all.
Half expecting to see his uncle leap out of the shadows, Cedric held a little tighter to Lavinia's hand and tried to warn her, but she didn't seem to share his concerns and he found himself too weak to persist. With a sigh of contentment he closed his eyes again. It was such bliss to lie here and feel her fingers softly caressing his brow, to smell that delicious scent she always wore, and to listen to her lovely voice as she told him over and over how much she loved him.
It was almost worth getting shot for, he thought, in the bemused and foggy way of the half-asleep. He'd known she loved him, but--
Wait ...! Shot! Lavinia knew he'd been shot! She'd been speaking French, and he'd ... he'd been--! She knew? She must know ... that he was the Masked Avenger!
This frightening realization raced through his mind in less than a second and his eyes flew open in surprise, guilt, and terror. Involuntarily, he tightened his grip on her hand, as if to keep her from running away, even though it should have been obvious that she had no such intention.
For a moment or two she looked taken aback by the sudden nature of his reawakening but, as he watched her closely, desperately searching for something to say, understanding lightened her features and she smiled mischievously.
It was as if she'd lifted an enormous weight from his chest, that's how light-hearted he now felt. She knew! But more importantly, she didn't mind! She still loved him even though he'd lied to her. Oh, mon Dieu! Was there a better woman in the whole of creation?
He closed his eyes briefly, in relief, and reopened them to find her still there, still smiling. At least that much had not been a dream.
"I'm so very ... sorry, chérie," he whispered faintly, his voice a little rough from disuse, as he struggled against his invalid state. "I never ... wanted to lie to you, I--"
"Shhh, mon coeur. You have not lied to me."
His eyes widened in surprise. "Mais--!"
"I do not recall that I ever asked you if you were the Masked Avenger, oui?"
He had to smile at her logic, especially at her obvious pride in it, but he also felt obligated to try and bring her to a true sense of his ill-usage of her affection and trust. "Mais, chérie, I ... shouldn't have deceived you ... about the headaches. I--"
This time she put the tips of her fingers against his lips to silence him. "My dearest love, everything is quite comme il faux. My heart knew you even before my eyes could see or my head understand what was right before me. You could not hide from me, don't you see? We are two halves of the same soul, you and I, and are meant to be together."
In his physically weakened state, he had no strength with which to control the emotions surging through him. He couldn't speak past the tightness in his throat, but she must have seen all that he wanted to say writ plainly on his face, for she smiled tenderly and leaned forward to kiss him--a lingering kiss, full of promise--before she told him, "I love you, too, my darling Cedric."
Wanting to hold her he turned towards her, but was stopped by a sharp pain in his left side which made him gasp. She responded instantly, scolding him and apologising to him all in one breath. Once she'd determined that his wound was fine, however, she began to assess his condition in a business-like way that impressed him. She was always surprising him and, he thought with wry amusement, she most likely always would.
"There is no more heat in the wound," she said, "and your fever is gone, so we have stopped the infection. All you have to do now is rest until your body can restore the blood that was lost."
"I-I did not know that you ... were also a nurse. Thank you, Lavinia, for ... all you've done." He wished he could say just one sentence without feeling so disgustingly weak and useless!
She didn't comment on his evident weakness, however, but merely replied to him, "It was no trouble, Cedric. I love you," she added simply, as if that explained everything. Which, he had to admit, it probably did.
"You should rest now." She gently pulled her hand from his grasp, and rose from her chair. "I have some medicine for you to drink. It will help you to sleep."
Cedric watched her as she moved to the fireplace and began to pour a dark, amber liquid into a glass, and he noticed for the first time that they were alone in the room. "Où est Jacques?"
"He is in the tunnel, taking care of the horses." She returned to his bedside and helped him to drink from the glass. Whatever it was it tasted faintly of citrus and cinnamon, among other things, and he was relieved. In his vast experience with medicines, he'd never before known of one that didn't taste even nastier than it looked. Once again she'd astounded him.
When he'd drunk it all, she put the glass down and began to straighten the bed to make him as comfortable as possible. The drug was already starting to take effect, but Cedric struggled to marshal his thoughts. There was one more thing he felt he must say to her.
"Lavinia, I love you, but ... I can't marry you, yet. Not ... until ... until I--"
"Sleep now," she urged him, taking his hand once more. "Je comprende parfaitment. The Masked Avenger ... Lucius ... they are the reasons you spoke of before, oui, the reasons why we cannot yet be married?"
"Oui," he sighed. Very sleepy now and barely able to keep his eyes opened, he was grateful for her quick understanding.
He felt her kiss his hand and then hold it against her cheek. "Don't worry, mon amour. Just rest. When the Masked Avenger has defeated Lucius, the evil Earl of Kentham," she murmured to him in a kind of sing-song tone that was very soothing, "then the Honourable Cedric Laneworth, handsome young steward, will be free to marry the brave and beautiful Lavinia Marie Celestine Le Mersurer, and the two of them will live happily ever after, n'est-ce pas?"
The drug had nearly succeeded in its purpose, but Cedric could still summon a small smile for her fairytale ending. "Oui," he replied, from the threshold of sleep. "Je promets ... I promise."
Cedric's eyes were now closed, his body relaxed, his heart at peace. Dimly, at the edge of his senses, he knew that she'd tucked his hand back under the coverlet, and that she'd kissed his forehead. He heard Jacques return, felt his sturdy tread over the floor boards and his large, but gentle hand on his brow, but Cedric couldn't acknowledge his friend's presence. He could hear Jacques and Lavinia talking but their voices were like interlocking and overlapping echoes, too insubstantial to understand, so he gave up trying and let sleep take him completely into her embrace.
*
Jacques returned from the tunnel stables just in time to see Lavinia, with fresh tears on her lashes, smoothing the coverlet over Cedric, up to his chin, and he jumped to the wrong conclusion.
"Oh, sacré nom de Dieu! Is he--?"
She looked confused for an instant and then hastened to reassure him. "Non, non! Cedric c'est bien portant. Just sleeping."
Jacques trod quickly to the bedside, without making any attempt to soften his footfalls, and placed a hand on Cedric's brow. Relieved beyond words that his young master was still alive and apparently healing well, he sent a silent prayer heavenwards, and pretended not to notice as Lavinia circumspectly dried her eyes. Now that he was no longer frightened, he could take note of the becoming flush on her cheeks. And, was it his imagination, or was there a hint of a smile on Cedric's face as he slept?
Jacques wondered, just what exactly had he missed while he was in the tunnel?
