by Chloé Duval
“Perfectly well. People fleeing the castle . . .”
“Secret trysts . . .”
“Clandestine food supplying . . .”
“A lover spirited away . . .”
“Espionage, treason . . .”
Our gazes met and we burst out laughing. We were hopeless. Give us two minutes and we’d rewrite the castle’s entire history!
Rom dropped a kiss on my lips. “Want to stay a while longer or go back up?”
“Can we visit the rest of the castle?”
“Your wish is my command, m’lady.”
Once we were back in the castle, Romaric took me through each room. It didn’t take very long, since the castle was completely empty and, all things considered, rather small.
I sat on the bottom step of the stone stairs leading up to the second floor when we were done, unwilling to leave so soon. Gazing up at the ceiling of what must have been the castle’s great hall, I turned to Romaric.
“Tell me the story of this place.”
He smiled. “You’re going to love it. Very little is known about this castle. Nobody knows when it was built or who exactly lived in it. Historians haven’t found a lot of documents mentioning it, even in what remains of the archives of the time, maps or literature. It’s a true mystery castle. You’re free to imagine whatever happened here.”
He fell silent and I waited, certain there had to be something else.
“Of course,” he continued, “there are dozens of legends about the castle, its origins and its inhabitants, and everyone has their favorite. But they’re just legends, nothing more.”
“What kind of legends?”
“Some say that the castle was built by a battle-weary knight back from the Crusades. He never wanted to hear of war again, so he decided to live away from the rest of the world. Other stories have it that this was where great lords of Brittany kept their mistresses.”
“But you don’t believe that.”
He shook his head. “There’s something about the atmosphere here that makes me want to believe in another legend.”
“What’s your favorite?”
He sat next to me, leaning against the wall, and pulled me toward him. I went willingly, laying my head on his shoulder and preparing to be lulled by his voice.
“Once upon a time,” he began, lazily running a finger down my arm, “there was a young stable boy named Youenn. He was a simple person, kind and caring. He was devoted to the lord he served and would have gladly laid down his life for him. This lord had a daughter, Alwenn, of unsurpassed beauty. One day, she was abducted by a rival lord and locked away for weeks. Her father was beside himself with worry. Ever since his wife had died, his daughter was all that he had left in this world, and he spared no expense to rip her from his enemy’s claws. He sent entire armies of knights, but they all trudged back empty-handed.
“But Youenn had an idea. He had loved Alwenn long and true, and one night, he crept out of the castle, disguised as one of the enemy’s servants. After a few weeks of dedicated effort, he was assigned the honor of bringing Alwenn her meals. She recognized him instantly despite the disguise, and understood that he was there to save her. Her courage revived, she prepared for her rescue. It was difficult for Youenn to find the right moment, but at last, several nights later, he found a way to get her out and brought her back to the castle as fast as his stolen horse could get them, and very humbly returned her to her father’s arms.
“The lord saw how Youenn looked at her, and knew his love to be true. He raised him to a knight, telling the king that Youenn had shown more wit and courage than many a knight he knew. Secretly, with the help of the fairies and their magic, he had this castle built. When it was finished, he asked his daughter whether she loved Youenn. Alwenn blushed and admitted that she dearly loved Youenn and wished nothing more than to marry him. Now certain of his daughter’s feelings, the lord told Alwenn that he would be happy to welcome Youenn into his family. On their wedding day, he gave them this castle so they might live in safety to the end of their days . . .”
I sighed deeply. “What a beautiful story . . . It’s my favorite too.”
“You haven’t heard the others yet.”
“It doesn’t matter. You’ve told it so well no other can compare.”
Rom dropped a kiss on my hair and tightened his grip on me.
I turned toward him. “How do you know all this? All these legends, all these stories . . . you know more than I do, yet I was the one studying history.”
“That’s not quite true. I took some cultural inheritance classes at the same time as my econ ones. I wanted to be able to tell my customers about the places to see around here, and for that, I needed to know everything about the region. I read all I could find about local curiosities, folktales, and places of interest in the history books and the tourist guides. Anything within fifty kilometers of our place.”
He would never cease to surprise me. “Wow.”
“Are you impressed?”
He said it teasingly, mock-proud, but I was honestly impressed. I told him so, and his face lit up.
“Do I get brownie points?”
“A few. Maybe even a lot.”
“I see.” He thought about it for a few seconds. “If I told you the tragic and fascinating story of the woman who lived in the bed-and-breakfast during World War One, do you think I could convince you to—”
He cut himself off.
“To?” I insisted.
He whispered into my ear.
“Really.” I arched a teasing eyebrow. “That’s a tall order, Mr. Kermarrec. Do you really think I would go along with such a thing?”
“There’s only one way to find out, Miss Richalet. So,” he asked, gently rubbing his nose against mine and dropping one kiss, then a second and a third on my lips, “how about it, Professor? Will you accept my request?”
“Your story had better be a good one if you want me to consider the challenge met and your request granted,” I whispered as I kissed him back. “You’re going to have to impress me even more. I’m grading on a steep curve.”
“Believe me, Miss Richalet, I’ll impress you . . . Really impress you . . .”
“Show-off.”
Chapter 17
“All right, dear family.” Gwenn was out of her chair almost before she’d swallowed her last mouthful. “Sorry for the dine-and-dash routine, but I have plans for tonight.”
Rom’s face immediately assumed is protective-big-brother expression. “Where are you going?”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but I’m off to see Dan. We’re going to the fair.”
“His name is Dan?”
Gwenn arched an eyebrow. Her resemblance to Romaric had never been as pronounced as it was in that instant.
“Yes, his name is Dan.” She sighed, exasperated. “He’s my age, he does karate, so I should be perfectly safe with him. Any other questions?”
“Um . . . No. Just be careful, all right?”
“Don’t worry, brother mine.” Gwenn softened and kissed her brother’s cheek. “I’ll be careful. No need to fret.”
“I know, but . . . Yeah. Have fun.”
“You too!”
Gwenn kissed Erwan, then me, before she left the house.
Erwan considered his nephew for a few moments. “One day you’ll have to accept that she’s a big girl and she doesn’t need you to look after her.”
Rom sighed. “I know. I just can’t help worrying.”
“Leave her alone. She’s big enough to know what she’s doing. And she deserves to meet someone nice who’ll take care of her.”
“How do you know he’s nice and will take care of her?”
“I have my sources.”
“See? You talk about how overprotective I am, but you’re really no better!”
“Except I’m more discreet.”
I held back a smile. The apple never fell far from the tree, and Erwan and Romaric were even more similar than I had th
ought at first. Both were considerate and thoughtful, kind and loving, and very protective. They both watched very closely over the ones they loved. And just like Amélie back in the day, I was unable to resist such a nearly perfect man.
“We’ll be taking our leave too, Erwan. Flavie owes me a walk on the beach.”
That wasn’t quite what I owed him, but obviously, Rom couldn’t tell his uncle the exact nature of what I had promised to do if his story was as good as he’d sworn it was.
And believe me, it had been—better, in fact. It had been so beautiful, so touching and tender, so dramatic and filled with passion, so heartbreaking that one day I would probably write that woman’s story.
But in the meantime, I had a deal to make good on. A promise made is a promise owed.
“Go ahead. Have fun!”
“Good night, Erwan. See you tomorrow,” I said as I kissed his cheek. I had almost come to think of him as my own uncle.
Then I followed Romaric.
* * *
Smiling softly, Erwan brewed himself a pot of coffee and after pouring some into a mug, he sipped it, sitting on the terrace.
This evening was a happy one. Both his nephew and niece, the people he loved most in the world, had met their special someone. It might be a little early to tell if Gwenn’s boyfriend was the one, but he hadn’t seen her so happy in a long time.
Romaric was another story.
He was falling fast and hard for Flavie, Erwan could tell. He had never seen his nephew as happy as he was since Flavie had come into their lives.
She was perfect for him. She was kind and gentle and obviously head over heels for him too, which was a serious point in her favor. You’d have to be blind to miss it—every time she looked at Romaric, her eyes lit up with a very specific flame.
The very same he saw in his nephew’s eyes.
They hadn’t spoken about it, but Erwan knew his nephew well and it was impossible to misunderstand the subtle signals Romaric was giving off. He was falling in love with the woman who had changed his uncle’s life.
Erwan set his mug down and reached for the letter he had been carrying in his pocket ever since he’d gotten it back. He gazed at it for a long while, making no move to unfold it.
Flavie had changed his life when she’d returned this letter. She had given him new purpose, and she had given him hope. Hope that there still might be a chance for Amélie and him.
Her words rang out in his mind. Everything can be changed. Only death is forever. And even that is negotiable. Just look at Orpheus.
It had made him think, and he was considering more and more seriously the idea of finding Amélie again, if only to talk to her, so they could explain to each other what had happened back then. To find out whether all hope was lost or if she might one day forgive him for not doing enough to find her.
Yes. With each passing day, his way seemed clearer and clearer.
He had to know, to decide.
Was this worth risking all hope?
* * *
“Well, Miss Richalet, I think it’s time for you to fulfill your end of the deal.”
“Here?” I asked, casting an eye around.
We had entered a lovely little cove, calm and peaceful, bathed in soft moonlight. The only drawback—which was also its main asset that evening—was that it was difficult to reach. We’d had to climb a long stretch of rock that circled around the beach and hid the cove from passersby, creating a small private space for anyone who knew it was there. It was almost midnight, and we were alone, the silence around us broken only by the slow rush of the waves and the ocean breeze, the only light coming from the moon and the flashlight we had used to climb the rocks. I could almost believe we were the only people in the world.
“This is the perfect place!” Romaric declared as he dug a large blanket out of his rucksack and spread it over the ground. “Nobody is going to walk in on us here!”
I hesitated.
“Having second thoughts, Professor?” He raised a provoking eyebrow.
“Absolutely not,” I retorted. “I’m . . . I’m thinking.”
“About what?”
“What I’m going to take off first.”
“Mmm, this is getting interesting . . .”
I took a deep breath and started taking my clothes off. Shawl, right sandal, left sandal, watch, earrings, T-shirt, skirt, they all came off slowly, as sensually as I could manage. I saw his gaze heat up, and when I stepped out of my skirt, I could have sworn he was about to pull me into his arms.
But the challenge wasn’t over yet. I slowly backed away until the waves lapped at my heels, never breaking eye contact. The cold made me shiver, but I kept moving until the water was waist-deep. I dove below the surface and took off my underwear and bra. Shaking the water out of my eyes, I threw them onto the beach.
They fell at Romaric’s feet, which had not been my intention—I had been aiming for the blanket, but my throwing arm had never been that great. Romaric looked down upon them wordlessly for a few moments.
“Who’s having second thoughts now?”
“Certainly not me!” he hastened to reply as he took off his own clothes.
Including his underwear.
Gulp.
It was the first time I’d seen him in all his naked glory from afar. Of course, I knew his body. I’d explored every centimeter avidly last night, but he was so beautiful, so handsome, that watching him was like looking at a painting from some great artist, a never-ending joy, an addictive performance you simply could not get enough of. As he walked toward me, I took pleasure in admiring every muscle, every curve, every line of his body. Despite the darkness, he must have noticed my lustful gaze, because a naughty smile appeared on his lips and he slowed his pace markedly, letting me feast my eyes on him.
When he did reach me, I immediately went to him and curled up in his arms. Partly because I hoped it would hide the fact that I wasn’t completely at ease being stark naked in the open—even if nobody was there—but mostly because right then, I wanted, no, needed, to feel him against me. I had just spent the entire day with him, a day which would stay with me forever: wonderful, extraordinary, unforgettable. . . but the fateful moment when I’d have to say goodbye had also drawn one day closer. And God knows I wasn’t ready for that.
Instinctively, I closed my arms around him, holding him tight as though to mark my skin with his forever.
“Hey,” he said, looking worried, cradling my face in his hands. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m okay. Fine.” I tried to muster a convincing smile. “Not completely at ease, that’s all.”
Smiling, he tugged me farther in, until the water reached my shoulders.
“Better?”
“A little, yes.”
He lifted me up and guided my legs around his waist, holding me close. I could feel his fever-hot skin against mine, my breasts against his chest, his lower belly pressing against mine.
“How about now?” he asked, his face an inch from mine, our noses bumping. “Feel better?”
My blood began to pump faster as I started to forget where I was. “A little.”
“Just a little?” he insisted, dropping a kiss onto my lips and rolling his hips ever so slightly.
Just enough for me to feel it, and for heat to start rising up inside me. “Mmm . . .”
“Is there anything I can do to put you more at ease?”
His lips had found my ear, my neck, my shoulder, and his hips kept rolling slowly, a barely perceptible rocking, just enough to drive me crazy. Instinctively, my back arched.
“Maybe,” I breathed.
“Tell me.”
My lips brushed against his ear. “Love me,” I whispered.
And he did.
His eyes on mine, shining with an intense fire that never failed to set me ablaze, he pulled me back to the beach and, kissing me all the while, he laid me down on the blanket and reached for a condom.
Then he loved me. Tenderly and re
verently, gently and passionately, whispering sweet words into my ear, repeating my name against my lips, stifling my cries with his kisses, giving me exactly what I had asked for—the feeling that, just for a few moments, tomorrow no longer existed.
Later, when our bodies had been sated, when our heartbeats had started winding back to normal and our breath had slowed, Romaric’s gaze met mine. He kissed me slowly and sweetly and, laying his forehead against mine, spoke the words I had both hoped for and feared.
“Stay. Don’t leave yet.”
I closed my eyes and sighed. “I can’t,” I whispered.
“Oh,” he said, drawing away slightly.
I couldn’t stand the disappointment in his voice, echoing what I felt inside. I took his face in my hands, forcing him to meet my eyes. I wanted to explain. I wanted him to understand.
“I want to stay, Rom. That’s not the problem. But my father’s wedding anniversary is coming up as well as his birthday and . . . ever since my mother left, it’s always been a difficult time of the year for him.” I paused. “It’s important that I be there for him that day, see? I can’t not be. Leaving you is the last thing I want to do, and it gets more difficult by the minute, but . . .”
“Don’t worry,” he replied. “I understand. I understand,” he repeated more softly.
His arms grew tighter around me.
“We’ll figure something out,” he whispered, kissing me softly and sweetly, in that special way of his that always made me shiver. “I promise we’ll figure something out.”
Chapter 18
Two days later
“Knock knock.”
I looked up from my packing to see Romaric leaning against the open door to my room.
“Hey,” I said with a sad little smile.
“Hey, yourself.”
We stared at each other in silence for a few moments, then Romaric spoke up.
“Flavie . . .” He stopped and suddenly strode across the room, reaching out to cradle my face between his hands and kiss me. I closed my eyes, as much to savor the feeling of his lips on mine as to hold back my tears.
The kiss was both gentle and desperate, and it spoke volumes about how much he was going to miss me.