Moreover, her past haunted her with inexpressible sadness, never more than in the still and quiet within the French countryside. Reluctantly, she bent down and lit a fire. Sitting back, she watched the sparks aflame. Heat emulated through her, but not the cold void in her soul. She scooted back and sat cross-legged. Grabbing the only bottle of wine left in the cottage, she opened it and swigged down its contents, her eyes mesmerized by the blaze.
Visions emerged within the flickering light, visions of her past. The smoke-filled glaze dissipated, leaving her standing in front of a magnificent chateau of grand blanche brick. A white gravel path led her through an impeccable landscape garden, trimmed shrubs, fragrant roses and, centered in the middle, a marble cherub spewing water into a pond filled with large goldfish. She walked in a trance-like state up the stone steps. With each stride, she cried to herself to halt. She must not go within…but even as the imposing, grand empire carved door swung open, she realized she had no control.
She walked within the formidable entrance. The footmen seemed as statues, not acknowledging her but gave her no resistance , allowing her admittance into the vast hall. All around her, the interior of the chateau illuminated wealth and power—crystal chandeliers, gold framed landscape paintings, marble flooring, circular winding staircase. Her heart sank. Eloise knew well the whole of the house and had no desire to be within…the Chateau de Chlodio, the home of the Marquis de Mortiere. Frantically, she searched for a way to escape, but the doors slammed shut.
Oh, non …non…non. Trepidation swelled within her.
“You have nowhere to run, mon cher . The time has come. Vengeance is mine.”
Frozen, Eloise couldn’t move. The voice! Her skin tingled with awareness. Poised in the shadows , a figure appeared before her…the ghastly Marquis de Mortiere, clothes ripped from him, blood covering him, dripping from him, his hands…his feet. He laughed, a horrible eerie laugh that echoed within her bones. His head began to wobble until it fell upon the floor and rolled to her feet. His eyes looked up at her and said, “He’s coming. Henri is coming for you.”
Eloise screamed, falling back against the wall. Panic, with almost paralyzing fear, gripped her. Then before her emerged an apparition. At first too hazy to make out, the form took shape. Dressed as the last time she had seen him, the last time she held him...clutched his lifeless body to her...in sailor clothing, a loose white shirt, torn and ripped, hung over his tan pant, Luc looked at her with a soft smile. His once handsome…so handsome face was battered and bruised; his body broken. He extended his hand to hers. Slowly, she reached out to him and took it within hers, but she could not grasp it. It was as air.
“Don’t leave me, Luc. Please,” she pleaded. “Take me with you…”
“ Non, non , mon amour . It is not to be…not now.” His words whispered in her ear.
In her next breath, she was outside the chateau. Luc lay motionless before her. She fell to the ground and slung herself on his lifeless body. Hands clasped around her, pulling her back. She cried and begged to stay with Luc. She couldn’t leave him. Then it was as if she watched herself being forcibly removed by Marc Pierre. She could hear Andre in the distance saying to hurry.
“Remember, mon amour .”
Startled, Eloise’s heart almost leaped out of her throat. Luc stood before as he once did— his yellow hair shimmered in a golden glow; his eyes gleamed upon her. He stood tall; that she could see, but little else in the filtered light within the haze surrounding him.
“Remember, mon amour ,” he repeated, his voice calm and steady. “Have you forgotten my dying words? Find her. Find Rosabel. Find our daughter…have you, Eloise? Have you found her?”
“ Rosabel…” Eloise whispered. “Is she not with you, Luc? Luc, is she not with
Visions emerged within the flickering light, visions of her past. The smoke-filled glaze dissipated, leaving her standing in front of a magnificent chateau of grand blanche brick. A white gravel path led her through an impeccable landscape garden, trimmed shrubs, fragrant roses and, centered in the middle, a marble cherub spewing water into a pond filled with large goldfish. She walked in a trance-like state up the stone steps. With each stride, she cried to herself to halt. She must not go within…but even as the imposing, grand empire carved door swung open, she realized she had no control.
She walked within the formidable entrance. The footmen seemed as statues, not acknowledging her but gave her no resistance , allowing her admittance into the vast hall. All around her, the interior of the chateau illuminated wealth and power—crystal chandeliers, gold framed landscape paintings, marble flooring, circular winding staircase. Her heart sank. Eloise knew well the whole of the house and had no desire to be within…the Chateau de Chlodio, the home of the Marquis de Mortiere. Frantically, she searched for a way to escape, but the doors slammed shut.
Oh, non …non…non. Trepidation swelled within her.
“You have nowhere to run, mon cher . The time has come. Vengeance is mine.”
Frozen, Eloise couldn’t move. The voice! Her skin tingled with awareness. Poised in the shadows , a figure appeared before her…the ghastly Marquis de Mortiere, clothes ripped from him, blood covering him, dripping from him, his hands…his feet. He laughed, a horrible eerie laugh that echoed within her bones. His head began to wobble until it fell upon the floor and rolled to her feet. His eyes looked up at her and said, “He’s coming. Henri is coming for you.”
Eloise screamed, falling back against the wall. Panic, with almost paralyzing fear, gripped her. Then before her emerged an apparition. At first too hazy to make out, the form took shape. Dressed as the last time she had seen him, the last time she held him...clutched his lifeless body to her...in sailor clothing, a loose white shirt, torn and ripped, hung over his tan pant, Luc looked at her with a soft smile. His once handsome…so handsome face was battered and bruised; his body broken. He extended his hand to hers. Slowly, she reached out to him and took it within hers, but she could not grasp it. It was as air.
“Don’t leave me, Luc. Please,” she pleaded. “Take me with you…”
“ Non, non , mon amour . It is not to be…not now.” His words whispered in her ear.
In her next breath, she was outside the chateau. Luc lay motionless before her. She fell to the ground and slung herself on his lifeless body. Hands clasped around her, pulling her back. She cried and begged to stay with Luc. She couldn’t leave him. Then it was as if she watched herself being forcibly removed by Marc Pierre. She could hear Andre in the distance saying to hurry.
“Remember, mon amour .”
Startled, Eloise’s heart almost leaped out of her throat. Luc stood before as he once did— his yellow hair shimmered in a golden glow; his eyes gleamed upon her. He stood tall; that she could see, but little else in the filtered light within the haze surrounding him.
“Remember, mon amour ,” he repeated, his voice calm and steady. “Have you forgotten my dying words? Find her. Find Rosabel. Find our daughter…have you, Eloise? Have you found her?”
“ Rosabel…” Eloise whispered. “Is she not with you, Luc? Luc, is she not with
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