Dropping to her knees, she grabbed Tristan’s knife from where it lay on the ground. She rose to a crouch with the weapon in front of her. She had no clue how to fight with a dagger, but she did know that the pointy end went forward and that even the inexperienced could do damage with a sharp enough edge. That’s what she was counting on. She desperately wanted to see how Tristan was faring, but she had to keep her eyes on Morangis.
He stopped and laughed. “I don’t think you’re going to use that.”
Maybe a few months ago, she wouldn’t have. Back then, she probably wouldn’t have been brave enough to pick it up. But everything had changed. She had changed. He just didn’t know it, which was good for her. She didn’t rise to his taunt, but stayed where she was with the knife out ahead of her. She tried to control her breathing before she hyperventilated and passed out.
When she didn’t move, he advanced on her more quickly. His intent to overwhelm her with force and size was clear, but he was bulky and obvious. She jumped to the side and let him go past. Turning quickly, she saw him also turning and charging again. He had yet to pull his sword, which was undoubtedly just arrogance on his part but it was at least lucky for her, because she didn’t know if she could avoid that in the same way she was again able to rush out of the way of his second attack.
“Girl, you’re trying my patience.” His tone sounded like he was talking to an errant child and to him, that was probably all that she was.
She reminded herself of what he had done to her, and of what she had been reduced to. It helped her remain standing when fear wanted to make her knees buckle and reality wanted to drive her down to the ground.
Morangis came for her again. A short-lived image of him grabbing her when she was fifteen and pushing her onto the ground flashed before her eyes. Instead of falling apart beneath its heaviness, she raised the blade. If he had expected her to move away again, he was wrong because she didn’t. She held her ground, even though most of her muscles were telling her that it would be better to run away.
His own momentum drove him onto her knife. They crashed to the ground together and as they did, she knew that she hadn’t hit him anywhere that might kill him but it was enough to stop him. He groaned and staggered back to his feet, but already he showed his weakness as he clutched the dagger protruding from his side.
“You stupid bitch,” he grunted. He took a step forward, like he was going to attack her again, but he couldn’t make it that far.
Still lying on the ground, she watched in shock as he moved. She couldn’t believe what she had done, but she could hardly feel guilty for it. Instead, she was just paralyzed. She had just stabbed him. There was a knife sticking out of Morangis’ body and Constance had been the one to put there. She had dreamed and fantasized about doing just that for years, but now that she had, she couldn’t believe it.
The sound of a high pitched yelp brought her attention back to the moment. She scrambled to her feet and turned to see Tristan still grappling with the Beast. It meant, at least, he was still alive. With Morangis unable to stand, Constance had a chance to help Tristan, but she didn’t know how.
She looked at the stranger who seemed to be commanding the Beast with his whistles, but he was intent to not actually become part of the fight on his own. Maybe she could do something about him, she thought, but the Beast would have no one controlling it. Would that make it better or worse?
The choice was taken from her when a gun shot shattered her indecision. She whirled to see another man come into the clearing. He was older, but she realized quickly that he looked a lot like the man controlling the Beast. The older man had a musket and was already reloading it. He was fast. The younger turned, startled. Tristan and the Beast fought on. The older man raised his musket again and fired. This time, it hit the Beast and the creature collapsed on Tristan’s chest.
Constance rushed to Tristan’s side and helped him push the massive thing off. Its wiry hair pricked her palms, but she got Tristan out from under it and up to his feet. She ran her hands over his body, checking him for injuries while she could.
The older man didn’t seem to pose any trouble. While she touched Tristan, reassured herself that he was okay, she could hear the two men arguing. The younger never managed to get out anything more than “but father” before the older man was shouting, nearly incoherently, at him.
Tristan, panting, put his hands over hers to make her stop for a moment. His shoulders rose and fell dramatically.
“Run.” It was the old man behind them. Constance turned to look at him. “They will be coming soon and I need to make up a story to tell him.” She realized that Morangis was gone. How had he gotten away, injured like that? She couldn’t think about that too deeply now. “Run away before they get here, and I won’t tell them I saw you.” He picked up Morangis’ discarded sword and held it hilt out to them.
Constance met Tristan’s eyes with the silent question: Can we trust him?
The answer was also silent: Do we have a choice?
“Thank you,” Tristan rasped, taking the sword. His other hand locked around Constance’s and he pulled her into the forest, rushing into the deeper woods before anyone else found them.
Epilogue
16 November 1767
Winter had come late this year.
Constance knew that she and Tristan should have left Mont Mouchet long before, but for some reason, the forest seemed to have welcomed them. Against all odds, they had survived, but now the weather was growing cold and she was getting worried. Things had changed since that first day they had hidden in the caves.
There had been no more grand hunts, so they only had the occasional single hunter to hide from and it was surprisingly easy. Tristan’s knowledge of surviving outdoors and a few less than reputable occasions of minor thievery had kept them alive this long, but they were going to have to leave soon and try to find a way to make a life like people again. She thought it would be wise to leave before the first heavy snow, but if not that, then in the coming months at the very latest. Tristan agreed, but they had done so well on their own so far that it was hard to know where to start.
“You should sit down,” Tristan told her as she came into their ‘home’ with an armful of firewood, which he took from her and set in the corner with the other firewood.
“I’m fine,” she told him, even though that was a slight lie. Her back and feet hurt a great deal and the cold seeped through the holes in her boots. “We need more wood before night comes.”
He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and drew her to sit beside the fire. “I will help you after you sit for a minute. The wood will not be going anywhere.” He sat down beside her with a possessive arm still wrapped around her while his other hand spread over her stomach, which was no longer flat but beginning to show the child growing inside. “How are you two doing today?”
She laughed tiredly. “I’m okay, but you’d have to ask him directly and he’s not talking much.” Constance leaned into his arms with a heavy sigh. It did feel good to sit down. She had gotten used to sitting on the ground a long time ago, although she did still miss her bed, especially now.
“I was looking at the sky today,” he said as he nuzzled her ear. “It looks like snow will be coming soon. If we’re going to leave Mont Mouchet, we should do it in the next day or so, but not tonight.”
“All right,” she agreed, nodding. It wasn’t something she was looking forward to, such a long journey, but it was necessary. They knew they couldn’t go back to Saint Alban. It wouldn’t be safe. Who knew what lies Morangis had been spreading in their absence, about their absence, presuming he had survived. Constance was sure he must have. People like that didn’t die. She didn’t know where they would end up, but there had to be somewhere where they could start again.
He kissed her temple. “We’ll be fine. I don’t know how it will end up, but I know that it will be fine. If we’ve made it this long, then I think anything is possible.”
She tilt
ed her head to look at him and smiled. “It is,” she agreed. That didn’t mean she wasn’t still worried, but she believed in him.
Before the moment could get too warm, there was the snapping of a branch near the entrance to their haven. Tristan’s entire body tensed and his head snapped towards it. He rested a hand on her shoulder in a silent command to stay put while he grabbed the sword and stalked forward. He had the weapon and every muscle in his body at the ready.
Before he stepped outside, a head appeared through the strange angled rocks that had hidden them all these months. Tristan’s blade arm jerked but stopped once they saw who it was.
“Jeanne!” Constance exclaimed, pushing herself onto her aching legs and rushing forward. The two women embraced. Constance couldn’t believe that Jeanne was here. How had she found them?
“Oh, Constance, it’s so good to see you,” Jeanne gushed as she pulled back and then looked down. Her hand glanced over Constance’s stomach and she looked back up with her mouth in an O of surprised realization. “Are you...?” She didn’t finish the words.
Even with Jeanne, Constance suddenly felt defensive, and stiffened. “Yes,” she said guardedly.
She must have realized how her reaction had seemed because her former maid smiled apologetically and embraced Constance again. “A blessing,” she said quietly. “But are you okay? I mean, you’ve been out here all this time?”
Constance nodded. “We have, but we’re fine.” She smiled weakly and tried to lead Jeanne to the fire, but the maid stayed where she was. “How did you find us?”
“It wasn’t easy,” she admitted. “I’ve been looking for months. I hoped you were still in the area, although I hoped that you had found a new life somewhere else too.” She smiled ruefully and looked at Tristan. “Your name has been cleared of any attachment to the Beast, but not when it comes to Constance. Comte Morangis survived and has been telling people that you corrupted and abducted her. He is claiming that he got his injury in a fight with you.”
“I stabbed him.” Constance was indignant when she really shouldn’t have been surprised.
Jeanne patted her shoulder. “I know that he does not tell the truth, but some people believe him.” She met the questioning look in Constance’s eyes. “Your aunt and uncle are not among them however.” Turning, she looked back at the cave entrance and they all watched as the Comte and Comtesse Moncan timidly ducked inside this most foreign environment.
Constance’s jaw dropped. She didn’t think she had ever seen her aunt in the wilderness, or heard that she ever had been. She became abruptly aware of the state of her clothing. She still wore her father’s breeches and shirt. They were dirty and filled with holes that she’d had nothing with which to mend. She couldn’t imagine what they must be thinking, looking at her and the two of them. Her gaze swung to Tristan. He didn’t move from where he stood, but his expression was dubious and his stance was taut. She couldn’t imagine that her uncle and aunt would do anything he’d need to defend her from, but after the past few months, it was second nature.
And what would they think of Tristan, standing here without his mask? Their eyes did swing to him once and then again with surprise, but their attention was quickly taken up by their niece as they moved towards her.
“Constance,” her aunt began tearfully. Constance was shocked to see tears. Her aunt had always been too reserved for such displays of emotion. “I’m so sorry.”
“What for?” Even as the words were out of her mouth, Constance knew that it was a stupid sounding question, standing there as they all were, and yet there were any number of things she could be referring to.
Jeanne found her hand and squeezed it. “I told them,” she explained. “After you disappeared on the day of the hunt and Morangis began spreading his lies, I knew that I could not remain silent any longer. I’m so sorry, but I had to.”
It took a little while for what she said to sink in and make sense to Constance and then she realized what Jeanne had told her family. Her first reactions were shame and anger, but the latter fled quickly because she knew that Jeanne would never have broken her faith unless she really did feel it was necessary. And given the circumstances, Constance supposed that she couldn’t blame her.
With her face on fire, she turned to look at her uncle and aunt. Her aunt was crying freely now as she stepped forward and took her niece’s hands in hers. “I wish you had told us,” she said softly. “We do love you and never would have pushed you into the marriage if we had known that it was more than just... rebellion.”
“I wanted to tell you,” Constance admitted breathlessly, “but I was afraid.”
Before she could say anything more, Béatrice had folded her into a tight embrace that nearly choked the girl, but she didn’t complain and instead wrapped her arms around her aunt and pressed her face into the delicate fabric of her dress.
Her uncle seemed more at a loss for what to do, but he stepped forward and put his hand on Constance’s arm. “After Jeanne told us everything, we believed her and it all made a lot more sense. We’re sorry we didn’t see it before.” He turned to Tristan and inhaled uncertainly. “I am sorry for what I believed you capable of.”
“Morangis convinced a lot of people of things that weren’t true,” Tristan said, still cautious. “I love Constance and I wanted, want, to marry her. It was my telling Morangis of this that prompted everything that happened the day of the hunt. I thought he would step aside gracefully, but he didn’t.”
The comte nodded slowly. “I think I understand,” he said. “It’s not easy for me to see my brother’s daughter living like this.” He looked around at the cave, illuminated by the firelight and the dim sun sneaking through the rocky entrance. Darkness was coming. “I want her to be happy and healthy. I want to make up for what we almost did.”
Sniffling, Constance stepped back from her aunt. She heard the words and liked them, but wondered what he was getting at. “What do you mean?” she asked uncertainly.
“You shouldn’t be living like animals,” he said but with a weak smile that eased his words. “Come home. Eat a good meal, clean up and get into good clothes.” He paused thoughtfully and looked at his wife before going on. “As soon as it can be arranged, we will get you married, quietly, and send you to live anywhere you want.”
“I need to sit down,” Constance said, feeling the world start to spin. Four people all jumped to help her down, but Béatrice and Jeanne were the closest and helped her to a seat on the ground.
Even her aunt sat with her, in her fine dress. She patted Constance’s stomach, apparently also having noticed. “We will also send for someone to attend you,” she said softly. Her expression was a little pained, because who had ever meant for it all to happen like this? “We thought we lost you once and it was all our fault. We won’t make that mistake again.”
“What about Morangis?” she said softly. “If he knows that I am back, he won’t rest until he destroys us.”
The comtesse brushed lanky hair back from her niece’s forehead with an almost motherly smile. “We will make sure that he doesn’t find out then,” she said. “Besides, he is rarely in the province any more. Some suspicion did fall on him after the Beast was killed and now he spends most of his time in Paris, perhaps trying to find someone to help with his debts.”
Jeanne commented quietly, “I pity the woman he finds.”
No one replied, but the moment of silence was tacit agreement enough.
“You should not settle near Saint Alban,” her uncle suggested pragmatically. “I do not know your situation with your family.” This he said to Tristan. “But you should choose somewhere new. We will make sure that you can afford to start your new life.”
Tristan smiled darkly. “My family does not like scandal,” he said. “I’m sure they do not wish me to return, but will be happy to offer us some monetary support simply to keep me from bringing trouble home.” He shrugged. “They will be happy I’m alive and happier to keep me gone. It’s what
they did with my brother.”
Comte Moncan nodded. “Then this is what we’ll do,” he said decisively. “For now, let’s leave the woods before it gets dark.”
Constance found herself eager to leave, but also reluctant. The woods had been a haven for her and she was frightened to leave it. Her aunt and maid got to their feet and took her hands as she did as well. She still didn’t feel too steady, overwhelmed by everything that was happening in such a short time.
On Tristan’s arm, she walked out of the forest with her family. Like she had done so many times, it wasn’t hard to make it from the woods to the house without anyone seeing them. They even passed through ‘their’ clearing, where the lovers had to stop and share a glance that no one else saw or would understand.
Once inside the house, Jeanne was the epitome of the mother hen. The other servants were all shocked by the appearance of their young mistress and her friend, but the comte and comtesse made sure they kept their business to themselves and Jeanne offered the sharp side of her tongue to any that might give them trouble.
Hot baths were filled and while Constance soaked away five months of forest living, Jeanne sat nearby to talk and to help, letting out the bodice seams of one of Constance’s simpler gowns so that it would sit comfortably.
“I can’t tell you how much I’ve missed you,” Jeanne was saying. “I was so worried that something bad had happened to you and I realize that it had, in a way, but at least you are well and with Tristan. That’s a happy thing.”
“Yes, it is,” Constance agreed. Her body felt like it was just melting into the steaming water. She had forgotten how nice it was to be warm and to feel clean.
“Wherever you go,” Jeanne began again, after a long pause, “would you consider taking me with you? I will help you set up your household. I just want to be with you.”
Surprised and yet not, Constance twisted in the high-backed tub to face Jeanne with a warm smile. “Of course,” she said. “You’ve been so good to me these past years. I’m not sure that it would feel like much of a home without you.” In truth, for years it had felt like her maid was more like family to her than her actual family. Had that been of her own making? In a way, but she couldn’t change it now. All she had were the feelings that were and the life that would be, and the idea of having Jeanne be a part of the latter as much as she had been the former brought Constance a lot of comfort.
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