Chapter 14: Léonie - Crushing His Mountain Flower

A few days later I could barely believe my change of fortune and my pulse still hadn’t gone back to normal.

We had been greeted by a wizened old man who looked skeptical at our bloody appearance until Hugo mentioned the magic name of Armand.

And then we were brought in to visit Jeanne and Odilia Savatier.

They were in their mid-70s, tall and elegant, with gentle faces and old-fashioned, well-made clothes.

The Savatiers had clearly been hidden peacefully away for a while, their beautiful green-gabled home facing the lake, bound on one side by a steep cliff and the other side the docks.

But they still loved beautiful things. They still loved comfort. And Hugo was very persuasive.

They began to think about the beautiful things they could get with the eldest son of the Bastides who had been running the logistics for their entire operation. . .

Jeanne and Odilia were lazy, indolent, and kind, and at night they told us stories of when their families had been aristocrats.

They had never had children, but still had a network of nephews and great-nephews and cousins and nieces, all living around them.

All ready for any plans Hugo had. . .

I sat in my pretty room with the spring-green wallpaper and rested. Took baths in the massive clawfoot tub.

Took deep, free breaths of air and didn’t think about my husband.

Only late at night, as the days crawled closer to my due date and I had to get up and pee once and twice and three times.

And then I wondered.

If he ever thought of me.

If he had moved Faustine into our old house. Was she sleeping in our old bed? Did it feel the same when he came in late at night and slipped a hand between her wet thighs. . .

Mostly I didn’t think about him at all. I’d be giving birth with a new doctor who didn’t know how I had been humiliated by my husband.

Now I could choose a new name. Not Léonie Bastide. And not Léonie Pinoteaux.

Someone in my family had ordered the hit on me. And it could only have been my own Da or my brother. The betrayal burned, but here with my feet up and a cup of iced spicewood mountain tea with extra honey, it was only a lingering throb.

On these lands I could be whoever I wanted. Not a dutiful daughter, dutiful wife, dutiful little pawn between families. Not a follower, not a lover, not the girl who would believe anything.

Who was I without that?

One thing my husband had forbidden me to do was learn to ride a boat. And so that was the first thing I wanted to learn.

Accordingly, Hugo and I were out on the water a few days later, him teaching me to drive a pretty little Savatier vessel.

The lake was fed by powerful rivers, and was a deep, crystal blue. Out here I could almost forget the bloody reality of the other mountain families, the breeze cutting through the stifling heat and whirling my long curls around my face.

“Be sure to tell me if you feel any contractions,” Hugo said as he guided my hands over the wheel.

“None at all,” I laughed. “I think Ciel isn’t in any hurry to exit.”

I rubbed my belly affectionately.

Despite everything that had happened, he was safe inside me. And that was all I cared about.

Today I was filled with a strange, wild joy as the little boat practically sung over the waves. All my life I had been a part of the background, raised to let others do the big things, the bold things.

Now I was a girl who drove a boat. It was a start.

“Did they never think of marrying you off?” I asked. Even though we tried not to talk about the past, something about the way the sun sparkled over the waves, the way the trees clustered around the edge of the lake, made me want to draw just a little of our pain out so maybe it wouldn’t hurt as much.

I didn’t feel so oppressed here, without Étienne’s mountains pressing down on me from every angle. Here I could see new land in every direction. Land that didn’t have his stamp on it.

Hugo stroked his beard and settled back in his seat. Even the pain in his leg was better out here at the lake.

“Mme did at one point,” he said, looking out into the distance. “I refused. There was someone else I wanted to marry.”

I waited. We had all the time in the world out here now that we weren’t trapped in Bastide jail.

“She—the woman I loved—was—is—a very remarkable person. I’ve never met anyone like her. But Mme was firmly opposed. I think Da would have consented. In many ways he was a much gentler person than Mme, you see. But, she—my mother—had means of getting her own way.”

“What means?”

“Threats. Mme threatened me. There were—things I had to do, to the woman I loved, things to make sure she broke up with me and didn’t come back asking questions.”

“I see,” I said.

The pain stretched heavy and thick between us, the kind of pain that didn’t ever entirely go away.

“Well, now you’re free,” I said quietly. “You could go look for her.”

“No, oh no,” Hugo said quickly. “She got married, I believe. To a very nice man. Best thing that could have happened to her, of course. There’s only trouble and ruin to be found with the Bastides.”

I knew that was damn true.

“And how does Ciel like being on the water?” he asked, changing the topic.

I laughed, one hand on the wheel and the other on my belly, where I could feel my baby in there kicking and wriggling around.

“He loves it.”

I took a long drink of water and shook my hair out in the breeze. “Want to have some more of these apple hand pies? They’re delicious.”

But there was a frown line between Hugo’s brows.

“Looks like there’s another boat on the lake. This place is so out of the way, I wonder if they’ve gotten turned around. And it looks like we’re in their direct path, so let’s go to the east a bit, let them pass us by so they can turn around.”

I obeyed him, but I glanced up to see the boat still headed toward us. Even as we cut to the east, so did they.

“Shit,” Hugo said, squinting. “They’re coming in hot. Let’s get back to the dock.”

And I think I felt it on the back of my neck first. Cold goosebumps rising on my skin, terror crawling down my spine.

I didn’t even let myself look closer at the other boat, skimming straight over the waves. Right at us.

The other boat driver was going too fast, too reckless.

“Let’s go, Léonie. Hurry.”

I jammed the throttle down and headed back for the dock.

But the other boat was catching up quickly.

“Fuck,” Hugo hissed under his breath. And I knew he had seen what I had instinctively known with every crawling cell of my body.

Someone was chasing, hunting us down, with mathematical precision.

I pulled power to our engines, but the other boat did too.

I pulled to the east, veered away.

They veered too.

And they were going faster, creeping up on us second by second until—the boat drew even with us, and he must be pushing that engine way past what was safe as he shot in front. . .

He was right in my line of vision now, right between me and safety, so I couldn’t avoid seeing him.

My husband.

Étienne was wearing a white shirt, rolled up over powerful forearms, the buttons undone down to his chest, the white stark against his tanned skin, his strong hands twisting the steering wheel—and our eyes met.

“Slow down, Léonie!” he called out, the spray splashing over him, soaking the shirt to his chest.

But he wasn’t that man anymore.

That man I’d do anything for, follow anywhere.

Instead, I pulled the boat even further east, but Étienne didn’t let me escape, swinging his boat in front of ours, cutting off the route back.

“Léonie!” he shouted again. “I need to talk to you! Stop that boat!”

“No!” I called back, and I saw his dark eyes harden at my disobedience, his brows draw together in angry confusion.

“Get out of here!” Hugo shouted. “This isn’t your territory, Étienne!”

But Étienne only jerked his head at Mano to take the wheel and then sprung to the prow.

“Every place my wife’s foot lands is my territory.”

I jerked the wheel to the left, trying to get around him, but with a sudden, risky leap he jumped into our boat.

It was a mountain lion’s leap, with a lion’s cool, arrogant confidence in his own power.

My heart pounded as he towered over me, pulsing with heat, and I grabbed a boat hook and pointed it straight at him.

“What are you doing here?”

If I pointed this hook right at his chest, it was like I could keep that pulsing, restless energy away too, keep it from infecting me again with foolishness and delusions.

“Léonie! Ma chérie! I’ve been hunting you for weeks!”

“Léonie who? Léonie is dead. Didn’t you find my body?”

His jaw dropped and he reached out for me as I knocked his arm away with the hook.

“What the hell were you playing at? It almost goddamn killed me when I thought that body was yours!”

His fists were clenching and unclenching, a muscle pulsing low and tempting in his throat.

“I am dead. To you.”

“No! I need to talk to you. I need to explain everything to you.”

“Don’t bother,” I spat out. “Mano already explained enough. You know, you could have just married Faustine in the first place. And saved me having to go through this.”

He winced.

“I have never, ever wanted Faustine. Never, ever wanted anyone but you.”

“Why was my ring on her finger then? Why were your hands all over her?”

“That was to fool your family and force them to return the bride-price! Just let me explain!”

I scoffed. “You are a liar, Étienne. And I know that now. You aren’t the man I thought you were.”

His face looked lined, dark purple shadows under his eyes.

“Put that hook down and listen to me.”

He took a step closer, but I raised the boat hook to his throat.

“No! I don’t just do what you say anymore. You lied to me and manipulated me. I don’t need to hear any of your explanations. You go your way and I’ll go mine. Everything is over between us.”

Étienne struck his own chest with his fist, then made as if to jab the boat hook through his throat, the sharp edge cutting through his fingers and making blood drip down his arms.

His eyes looked wild, almost feral as his bones curled around the hook.

“It’ll never be over between us. Léonie Bastide, I’ll love you past my dying breath. I’ll love you through the underworld and back. I fucked up, sweetheart. Fucked up like Hell. I should never, ever have used you like that. I lied on you and lied on your name. It was fucked up and wrong. Please forgive me.”

I only shrugged, and looked my lying husband right in the face.

“You were right, though. You aren’t the father of this baby. Your brother Mano is.”