Chapter 7: Léonie - Crushing His Mountain Flower

I lived in the void, in the space between earth and sky, in the blurry zone of constant, throbbing numbness and pain.

Étienne did not believe me, would not believe me.

He had taunted me by asking if I’d always love him, then flung my love back in my face.

Why had he married me, if he felt this way about me?

It must have been something he got in the marriage settlement with my Da. I did not even know what had been in it.

But I knew Étienne did not love me.

The only moments that broke through my unending pain were the kicks and ripples across my belly from my boy.

Étienne had wanted the name Bérenger, which meant boy in French, while I loved the name Ciel, which meant sky, from the heavens.

Étienne. Étienne, my love.

I ate and drank, but I hardly knew how or when.

Hugo fed me, Hugo made sure I had something to eat and drink.

Time passed, and it hurt.

Living hurt. I wanted to sink into the forest floor and go somewhere I didn’t feel this, I wished I was a bird of prey, a hawk.

I wished I was something that could sink its teeth into Étienne.

The shame of his rejection filled me and I had to look back at every day since the first time we had met.

It had been enough to love him more. It had always been enough just to be able to love him. I didn’t care that it was more.

It was the way of things. He was strong and I was not.

It was normal that I loved him more. But now he wanted none of it.

No man could have been kinder than Hugo, putting aside his own bitterness at his imprisonment to try and coax me out of my fugue state.

But nothing worked. I knew I had to live for my son, but it was like I couldn’t make myself go through the motions.

My days were filled with a dull, constant fear that Mano would be allowed to come and take me away.

But if only I had known. . .

Hugo took me on walks outside to try and cheer me up, and today the sun was beating down on my head, but as usual I barely felt. The grounds outside were perhaps two acres of pretty, soft-smelling wildflowers and tall grasses with the occasional apple tree.

The rest was high iron bars and a fingerprint scanner to get in and out.

One end of the gates abutted a bit of the dense forest, another end was facing the road winding up and up to where Étienne still lived in the house we had shared.

Was Faustine there with him? Had he already asked another woman to marry him?

I didn’t know, and I wouldn’t know unless he came to visit again.

And he had no indication of doing that.

This is a prison, I thought with dull resignation. I’m walking the prison yard.

“Look at these,” Hugo said, “Dutchman’s Breeches. Aren’t they so funny looking?”

He was pointing at a group of flowers in the hollow of a tree, but I couldn’t make myself focus on them, my vision blurred and shadowy.

I knew he was trying to help me and that I was being ungrateful and horrible, but I still couldn’t make myself even speak in response.

And then.

I heard the first shot.

My brain moved through a dense fog of depression, and I was slow to realize what had happened. Too slow.

It wasn’t until Hugo lunged toward me that I realized what was happening.

With a cry, I dropped to my knees and scurried behind the tree, Hugo dragging me up against the bark as I cradled my belly protectively.

I heard another shot, and this one hit a branch behind us.

Suddenly, it was like the world was crystal-clear again, colors and sounds intruding with painful sharpness on my brain.

I wanted to live

“Security!” Hugo called. “Two intruders to the northwest!”

Another shot hit, closer this time, so close I felt bark shrapnel all down my arm.

My breath caught in my throat. It was a complete bluff, a total lie. There was no one at the lodge today but us and the two older servants.

“Get them!” Hugo barked, his voice sharper now, an order. “They’re hiding in those bushes right at the edge! Aim right there!”

There was a rustle of leaves and as soon as we heard that Hugo had me moving, down on the ground on my hands and knees among the high meadow grasses.

“Go!”

I crawled as fast as I could, my heart pounding through my chest, my breath rasping from the exertion.

I heard another shot, and Hugo’s low grunt of pain.

Twisting back, I saw a bloom of blood on his arm and, deep in the forest, I saw what looked like two flashes of red.

Red hair, narrowed eyes.

I thought I recognized those faces, the look of them, the set of their lips, but at this distance I couldn’t be sure.

Pinoteaux faces. But why the hell would my cousins be here?

Why would they want to kill me?

“Hurry,” I hissed back at Hugo.

His face looked gray, skin sagging.

Trying to get as flat as I could, I slithered backwards and draped one of his arms across my shoulder.

“Just go, Léonie!”

“And let me baby’s uncle die out here? Gods, no!”

Stumbling and sweating, we managed to reach the front steps.

Then we waited for several long moments. There wasn’t a breath of sound in the woods or fields around us. But were they still out there?

Hugo tapped my arm.

“I hear birds. Let’s go.”

Supporting each other, we made our way up the stairs and then into the house, but I didn’t let my breath out until the door was safely slammed behind us.

My feet pattered on the wood floors as I raced into the kitchen to grab a kitchen towel to press on Hugo’s wound, but to my relief his injury was not deep.

“It took a chunk out of you, but thank the ancestors it didn’t hit a vein.”

I looked down at my bloody hands. Who was I?

“What the fucking hell?” Hugo exploded. “Who wants to kill us?”

But who had been the target. Hugo? Or me? Who wanted to kill me?

I knew one person who might want to get me out of the way.

Who might want to get rid of his current wife to clear the path for a new one.

Who believed in mountain justice.

Étienne

Would the man I knew do that? But then again, how much did I really know him. . .

Now I had two choices.

I could either lay down and live in fear or stand up and fight this, and as I carefully bandaged Hugo up, I knew what my choice was going to be.

My relationship with Étienne might be dead, but no matter what he thought about me, I wasn’t going to have my baby grow up not having a daddy. Not being acknowledged by his daddy. When I knew damn well who his daddy was.

Étienne was going to be forced to acknowledge his child.

But how to do that?

The first step was figuring out why my husband had believed the lies about me, why he was so quick to distrust me and throw the allegations in my family’s face. And that meant I’d have to dig into the little hints I’d gotten about the feuding between our families.

“Where did the feud begin?” I asked Tilly the next day  as we sat in the kitchen together.

I’d begun to gravitate more toward the kitchen—at first glance, Tilly seemed to be a stoic woman with a plain face and severe bun—but there was something comfortable about her, and being in the room with her as she baked bread or helping her skin a chicken was the closest I could get to contentment at the lodge.

Tilly frowned, concentrating.

“I know it involved ya’ll grandaddies,” she said. “And as far as I know, they both died, so according to mountain law that should have been the end of it.”

“Then why is Placidie still obsessed with this feud if it was supposed to be over? Why would she try to stop Étienne’s wedding over it?”

She shrugged.

“All I know is the Bastides hate the Pinoteaux, and the Pinoteaux hate the Bastides. And the Bastides don’t forget. Ever. When they say they do, they’re lying. Placidie has always thought Étienne hung the moon. She made no bones about the fact that he was her favorite. He was the one chosen to lead the Bastides when Étienne’s Da was sick.  And for her favorite to choose a Pinoteaux—that didn’t sit right with her.”

Well, the Bastides might be stubborn, but I could be stubborn, too. In fact, I could be a lot of things I’d never dreamed of.

“I want to get out of here,” I told Hugo later, pacing up and down in his study.

Now that I was back in a strong mind, I was full of restless energy.

“How many times have you tried to escape?” I asked. “Let’s figure out what went wrong.”

One thing I loved about my brother-in-law is Hugo didn’t waste time with bullshit about how it couldn’t be done. He just looked at things logically and thoughtfully, pulling out some paper to give me rough sketches of how he’d tried to escape before.

“I’ve tried several different times. But I was always caught in the forest.”

“Well, we will have to be sure not to get caught in the forest.”

“The main problem is not having a vehicle or weapon, because we will have to go a long way to get out of his territory.”

“What about Tilly and Armand?” I asked. “Do they have a vehicle? Any weapons?”

Hugo looked surprised.

“I’m not sure,” he said slowly. “Their quarters are separate and locked. I presume they do have a vehicle. But they’re employed by the Bastides.”

“Employed by the Bastides,” I said. “But I wonder if perhaps they are more loyal to you. After all, they’ve lived with you for years.”

“Perhaps,” he said. “But they might also be too afraid of Étienne to do anything.”

“I am sick of hearing about Étienne!” I cried passionately. “I want to wring his throat!”

A smile played about Hugo’s lips.

“Well, we will try to escape without needing their help. At night perhaps, after they’ve gone back to their own quarters.”

“I don’t care about Étienne,” I lied. “But I want someone to pay. I want to prove I was right, and he was wrong. That I am carrying his baby.”

“If we escape,” Hugo said, “if we can find someplace else to go—somewhere else you can raise the baby. . .”

“I will still want him to acknowledge his child,” I said. “Even if it is just to send money our child is owed. How can I force him to accept our baby?”

“Well, what are you willing to do? How far are you willing to go?”

I hesitated, then crossed my fingers over my belly. I was almost 39 weeks now. Although my doctor had said first pregnancies often were overdue, in theory I could go into labor at any time.

And I wanted to be gone by then.

“What do you mean?”

“We need to get someone to admit they set you up. Then record it. Étienne would have to admit he was lied to.”

“How are we going to make them admit it?”

“I’ll ask you again, Léonie. How far are you willing to go?”

His eyes gleamed at me, and I felt anger growing, something deep and ancestral, something pulling up from the ground of my grandmother’s people.

Something feral that was pissed that my husband had done me wrong. Something that snapped and bit at the idea of my ring on another woman’s finger.

Mountain women were supposed to be sweet. Docile.

But there had been stories about my Gran. . .the things she’d done. . .

I never knew what had happened to her. One day she simply—wasn’t there and Da told me not to ask about it. Was she in the Pinoteaux version of the Bastide prison? Or dead? What else didn’t I know about our families?

“If I get one of them into a room. . . and we didn’t let them leave. . .do you think you could get information out of them?”

“Yes,” Hugo said, smiling. “I may be a scholar at heart, but Léonie, you may be sure of that.”

I felt prepared to do anything but I didn’t know yet what I’d have to do. . .

For a few days, there was no news from the outside world. Tilly and Armand and Hugo and I cooked and ate and played mancala and read books. I let Hugo feel the baby kick, and he laughed, the sound transforming his whole face.

We didn’t talk about who had shot at us.

Because what if it had been my husband behind it?

Tilly gave me a tiny onesie she had knitted for Ciel. Because that was going to be his name. If Étienne denied he was the father, Ciel must have come from heaven. Because I was damn sure I hadn’t had any other cock but my husband’s between my legs.

Then one day, Mano pulled up, his dark truck rocking over the gravel and coming to a stop right in front of the door.

Shit. It was still early in the day. Tilly and Armand were still in the kitchen. And if we didn’t 100% trust in their loyalty, should we be doing this in the living room?

Hugo was already moving, leaning heavily on his cane.

“Can you get him in the basement?”

My heart was in my throat.

“Yes, yes. I can do that.”

Could I do that? Where was the sweet, frightened Léonie Bastide who needed her husband beside her to get through a mountain storm?

She was godsdamn dead, that’s what. Whoever had risen from the ashes wasn’t Léonie Bastide.

Hugo disappeared and I walked to the front porch to greet my other brother-in-law.

“Léonie,” he said. “You decided not to be a hellion this time?”

I felt heat rising, pulsing from him.

“Maybe,” I parried.

“You look good,” Mano said, his eyes eating me up, his gaze lewd and lustful. “Tits getting bigger. Getting more curves all over you. Wonder if your milk will come in soon.”

“Why did my brother say he should have let you marry me?”

“Because I wanted you. And we always had a connection. It’s just that of course Étienne could offer more.”

Watching me to see what I’d do, he put his thumb on my lip and dragged it down, exposing my teeth like I was a horse at the fair.

Inwardly raging, I forced myself not to make a move, not to spit at him like I wanted to do.

“And what would you have done to get me?” I asked softly. “Hid in my room? Pretended we were lovers?”

His thumb covered in my saliva, he dragged it down my throat, his fingers leaving a sticky trail along my cleavage.

“I would have done more than that. My big brother doesn’t know how far I would have gone.”

“You lied to him, didn’t you?”

“You still in love with Étienne?” he returned tauntingly. “I've seen him around with Faustine. She’s all over him like a boar in rut season.”

“No,” I said as my heart seemed to shrivel inside me. “I’m not in love with him anymore.”

He smirked.

“Good girl. You’re not too good for me now, are you princess? Now that you’re damaged goods.”

“If you tell him the truth⁠—"

“You don’t get him. At this point, there’s no going back. He can’t be seen with a slut. A whore. Any woman with even a suspicion of threatening his status. So you might as well give in, sweetheart. Play nice with me and I’ll make sure you get some good treats in here.”

Was he right that it didn’t matter anyway? That he had been the only one to set me up? That Étienne would never forget⁠—

“So you set me up just to get me to yourself? No one else knew about it?”

“Do you really think you’re in a position to make demands?” he laughed arrogantly. “All you need to know now is your fate is in my hands now.”

Mano thought he held all the cards, but even if what he said was true—I refused to just meekly submit to being passed from brother to brother.

In fact, I was done weakly submitting at all. I was done with not knowing what was happening.

“I think there’s something wrong with the water heater in the basement,” I said. “Could you please look at it?”

Would he really fall for something so ridiculous?

I had every reason to hate him, and he should know that.

But he took a long, lingering look down my body, his eyes lingering on the swell of my breasts, the way my swollen nipples were bursting out of my too-small bra, the way the maternity shirt he had bought me stretched across my belly.

“Yeah,” Mano said. “Yeah, I’ll take a look at it. Give me a kiss first.”

I had never kissed anyone except my husband. But didn’t I have a husband only in name now?

My skin crawling, I took a step closer.

“This is your brother’s baby,” I said.

“I don’t care.”

Almost shivering, I put my hands on his chest, felt the hammering of his heart under my fingers, his shirt slick with sweat in the mountain heat.

Then I closed my eyes and kissed him, knowing it was my only chance of finding out the truth.

I would know the truth.

Mano replied eagerly, his thick bulge pressed hard on my belly and when I pulled back his eyes were gleaming.

“Damn, I can’t wait to take you properly,” he groaned, and I forced my mouth to stay in my false smile, the fake brightness I didn’t feel.

“Let’s go. I’m really afraid we’ll lose our hot water.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you have everything you could ever want down here—I’ll bring you pretty clothes and jewelry. And anything you need for the baby.”

All I want is to be free, I thought.

He followed me closely down each steep stair, his smoky breath hot on my throat.

I had never been in the basement, and the cold, stale darkness seemed to rise up around me.

“Turn on the light, Léonie. You might trip.”

“I won’t trip.”

Where was Hugo? Had he made it down to the basement? Or had I just walked down a set of stairs with a dangerous man who didn’t give a fuck that I was married to his brother?

The concrete floor was cold under my bare feet, and I took trusting steps into the darkness. One, then two, Mano following behind me with each one. I could hear his heavy breathing, practically feel his erection pressing at my back.

Hugo, please be ready

“There’s nothing wrong with the water heater, is there?” Mano chuckled. “You just wanted to get me down here, you little slut. Well, I have no objection to that. Why don’t you bend over that washing machine and drop your panties to the floor.”

I reached up and pulled the light. In for a penny. . .

“You’re right,” I said. “There isn’t anything wrong with the water heater.”

Mano blinked in the suddenly bright light, and Hugo hit him in the back of the knees with a shovel, a hard, sharp blow that sent him crashing to the ground.

Then Hugo whipped a rope around his brother’s throat and began to tighten it as Mano made a choked whistle.

Hugo’s arms were strong, powerful, and I stepped closer to where Mano was struggling with the rope, trying but failing to loosen Hugo’s hold. Time for the answers I was desperate to get.

“Idiot. I have no intention of being the whore you cast me as. I know you didn’t plan this yourself. I want you to tell me exactly what happened the day you entered my bedroom. And Mano? That connection you thought we had? It was imaginary. I don’t even remember you.”

Just as his eyes opened in shock⁠—

I heard the front door slam open, and a rough, dominating voice I knew very well called out my name.

“Léonie? Merde! Where the hell are you?”