Chapter 4: Léonie - Crushing His Mountain Flower

This man in front of me looked almost exactly like my husband, tall, pitch-black hair, strong brows, that unmistakably hard and sensual Bastide mouth. Only this man had a dark beard. And his eyes were kind.

“W-who are you?”

“For my sins, I’m Hugo Bastide.”

Still I stared. Now that I looked closer, he was several years older than Étienne, perhaps in his early 30s, but surely this couldn’t be a cousin—not with how similar they looked!

He helped me up, his hands strong and capable, and my shock must have been written all over my face.

“I’m Étienne’s older brother. And from the fact that he came himself to leave you here—you must be his wife Léonie. I’m sorry we’re meeting like this.”

“But—he doesn’t have an older brother!”

Hugo’s mouth twisted up in a bitter smile.

“Yes, he does. I live here.”

“You live here? But why? I’ve never seen you. . .”

“This is where he puts the people he’s ashamed of.”

“Why is he ashamed of you?” I asked, and Hugo reached beside him for a cane.

Oh.

“I’m—sorry,” I said. “I s-still don’t understand⁠—”

“All my brother cares about is the honor of our family name. And he’ll do anything to preserve it. Those who don’t have the strength to preserve our family name, or who project an image of weakness, are cast out.”

I was still, still so naive and ignorant of the world around me that I could only stare.

“That doesn’t seem fair. That doesn’t seem like something Étienne would do.”

Hugo looked at me for a moment, his eyes flicking past the léger written on my forehead. But instead of instantly correcting me, he only gave my hand a brief squeeze.

“Come inside,” he said. “Tell me what happened that you have been left here.”

I was nervous looking up at the dark lodge, but relieved to see Hugo turn on lights as we entered.

At least I wouldn’t be wholly alone.

Inside was a little less scary than I had feared—the walls were faded green wood, and everything was a bit worn, but things were good quality, a solid wood table, big fireplace, and a window that looked out over the meadows.

I had never been down this low in the valleys, not overnight, and it was so strange and unsettling to have the mountains looming tall over me. Étienne loved living on the peak. Said it made him remember the mountains were wild, but he was the master of them.

“I’ll let you have my room on the first floor,” Hugo said. “You don't need to be going up and down the stairs in your condition.”

In my condition, I thought numbly. Yes, my condition of my husband hating me now.

My condition of loving a man who believed everyone but me. A man who should have trusted me instead of his family.

What was he doing right now?

Did he miss me? Or was he going to sleep convinced I was a whore, a slut, an unfaithful wife?

Was Faustine comforting him. . .

I opened my mouth to protest Hugo’s kindness, but only a croak came out as the enormity of my situation was crashing in on me.

“Thank you,” was all I could manage.

It seemed there were two servants here, a couple in their 40s named Tilly and Armand, who had already gone to their separate quarters in the back, so Hugo warmed up some of the supper Tilly had made earlier.

“What happened?” Hugo asked gently. “Congratulations on your pregnancy, by the way. You look beautiful, and I hope your baby is doing well.”

There was a massive lump in my throat, and I could only be miserably grateful that he hadn’t commented on the shame marked in dark, angry lines across my forehead.

“My baby is doing well. He—Étienne—doesn’t think it’s his.”

Hugo’s brows drew together.

“Why?”

I bowed my head, expecting this kind man’s demeanor to change entirely once I confessed the truth.

“I—it’s so embarrassing, but he caught me in the bedroom with—your other brother Mano! At our baby shower, too! So of course then he wondered who actually was the father of my baby.”

I flushed, aware of how shameful this must look to him.

“But I swear I had no idea Mano was there, or even why he was there. Or why he would put me in such a compromising position! Then Étienne--he had me take a paternity test and the baby isn’t his! But that’s impossible, and I have been wracking my brains trying to figure out how something like this happened. I know it’s impossible because I’ve only ever slept with him!”

There was a pause for a moment.

“Who else was there at the baby shower?” Hugo asked.

“Oh—my husband, your—mother, Mano, and—Faustine. My family, all except for my father, who has been away. Several of the other prominent families.”

“Ah,” Hugo said.

There was another pause.

“Eat now,” he said, but there was still kindness in his voice, so I forced myself to choke down some of the ham, the fondant potatoes, even though I wasn’t hungry at all.

“L’enfant needs the nourishment,” Hugo said gently when I paused. “I’ll have Tilly make some leek soup tomorrow. Something a little lighter and easier to get down.”

Tomorrow. How many tomorrows would I be here?

“Thank you,” I said.

My belly brushed against the table, and I felt a solid, sturdy kick, a ripple across my belly.

How excited I’d been to feel the first twinges of nausea. After that long engagement, to get pregnant practically on our first month together was such a blessing. I felt so favored. So lucky.

When we first got married I’d asked my husband, very awkwardly and shyly, if I should be on birth control, and he’d only run strong fingers down my body, making goosebumps break out and shivers run up and down my spine.

“Not for you, Léonie. I want a baby.”

And I’d gotten pregnant. Been so proud, that he was happy, that I’d pleased him, that here was something only I could give him.

And now—he didn’t even want me or the baby.

Hugo led me down the hallway to his bedroom. His room was cozy, with its own fireplace, and filled with bookshelves.

“I can’t take your room,” I protested, but he shook his head.

“They’ll keep me locked up here, but never fail to consult me about things like logistics for the business. What you see here are my bribes for good behavior.”

He smiled again, finding a bitter amusement in the Bastides.

It did not seem fair to me, and I didn’t know how Placidie could accept this state of affairs. If it was my son, I would move heaven and hell to get him out of imprisonment.

“If I behave, I get books. The reward for not trying to escape.”

The truth hung between us. That he had tried to escape. That he had failed.

“Are the guards always here?” I asked.

My brother-in-law bowed his head.

“Almost always. Or if they aren’t, the gates are always locked and barred. But sleep now. I’ll show you around in the morning. It will help you not to be so frightened. I promise the guards won’t bother you.”

“Why do you believe me?” I asked impulsively, my eyes feeling red and raw with crying. “You are the only one who has.”

Hugo turned around, one hand on the doorknob, the other on his cane.

“Because I know the Bastides. I know what they’re capable of.”

In horror, I had to realize that I, on the other hand, knew very little about the family I had married into. . .