Page 120 of The Darkest Oath

“I choose you, Élise.”

And for the first time in centuries, he did not hold love at arm’s length. He held it close.

CHAPTER44

The Solace of Night

CHARONNE, PARIS, APRIL 1795

Winter’sicy fingers lingered into the early months of spring. The village of Charonne had been blanketed in silence as though the cold had seeped into its very soul, leaving everything still and untouched. The homes on Rollant’s land remained vacant, save for the occasional cry of a bird or the rustle of wind through bare trees. The pale light of the early morning sun barely pierced the fog, casting a soft glow over the frost-dusted rooftops of the empty homes.

Élise liked the silence—it was comforting in a way. It was the kind of quiet that came with knowing nothing would change—nothing but the chores that needed to be done and the thought of Rollant coming home to her at the end of the week.

It meant more work for her, but she didn’t mind it. There was peace in tending a garden and the sheep, knowing Rollant was hers and she was his. With him, she felt whole. At the thought, her lips turned into a smile. If she had chosen Hugo, she would have spent her entire life in a hollow paradise, wondering what could have been. There was no regret with Rollant, even if their life together had thus far been challenging, sometimes frustrating. But the challenge of his curse had only deepened their bond. She had never felt more alive. Even if their life together was unconventional, it reignited the spark and sense of purpose she had been missing with Hugo. Her years of pining had not been in vain, and Rollant’s acceptance of her as his bride affirmed the desires of her heart. She had chosen the right man, and she was proud to be Élise de Montvieux.

She walked to the fence of Hugo’s family home and gazed at the city walls. Rollant stayed six days at the Temple and one with her. It was over an hour’s walk to the Temple, and he worked long days, earning only two livres a day, barely enough to live on, but she made it work, only venturing into Popincourt for items she could not make herself. She missed him. It was as if he was still accustomed to being alone, but she wanted more of him, more of his mind that he would not share, more of his body he could not share, and more of his presence that he did not share.

She pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders and adjusted her coat. Rollant was coming home for the night, and she looked forward to it. Dinner was cooking on the hearth, and all the chores had been done.

She retreated to the house to read the book Rollant had given her as a wedding present. She had almost finished it, a book of fables. Her reading was not good, but the stories helped her skill.

The rich, hearty aroma of stew filled the air, mingling with the earthy scent of the crackling fire, wrapping the room in warmth and contentment.

She was deep with her nose in the book past nightfall when a knock came at the door.

“Rollant?”

“It is me, Élise,” he said.

She jumped to her feet, her heart racing, and unbarred the door in a rush, barely keeping her balance as she flung herself into his chest. The cool spring air left her shoulders, replaced by the comforting heat of his body. He smelled faintly of the earth and the road—sweat and leather mingled with the sharp scent of old wood and candle smoke.

His rough hands were warm against her arms, and she sank into him with a soft, relieved sigh. She rolled to her toes and kissed him, draping her arms around his neck. At least without neighbors, she could kiss him however she wanted outside their home.

He stroked her arms before grasping her belt and pulling her so their bellies touched. His chest was firm and solid against her, as if grounding her after the long days spent alone.

The roughness of his coat under her fingers, the heat of his breath against her skin, and the softness of his lips sent a rush through her, making the world outside vanish.

Even after the months they had lived as husband and wife in Charonne, the fire still sparked with every kiss and every touch. But one of them had to ensure the fire did not flame. They had already failed twice before, and each time, it ended with Élise on the floor near death.

“May I come in, Dame Montvieux?” he asked with lips hovering over hers.

She gave him one more kiss before allowing him into their home.

“I just swept the floors,” she said, pointing to his boots, and retreated to the main room to plate the meal.

“Yes, Madame.” Rollant removed his muddy boots by the door and slowly removed his coat with a groan.

She paused at his groan, hoping he had not been hurt on the way home. She hadn’t smelled or felt blood on him.

“You did not have to wait to eat with me,” he said upon entering the main room.

“Oh,” she said as she sliced the bread and cheese. “I didn’t want you to eat by yourself. You do that all week long, and besides, I made your favorite stew,” she said, glancing back at him. Her tone betrayed her hidden concern. The hearth light showcased his weary face and the dark circles under his eyes as he washed his hands and face in the basin. The soft splash of water from the basin was the only sound, punctuated by the low groan Rollant gave as he wiped his face, the weariness of his week evident in each movement.

“Thank you,” he whispered with a soft smile beneath dull eyes. He pulled her chair out for her, and they sat down to eat.

“This is delicious. You have quite outdone yourself,” Rollant said.

Élise beamed.

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