Page 91 of The Darkest Oath

CHAPTER33

Cry of the Heart

CHARONNE, PARIS, MAY 1791

The blood hadlong since faded from her hands, but its stain lingered on her soul. Sixteen months and Élise still couldn’t forget the men she had stabbed—the one she’d killed and the one she had cast away. The ache was intolerable, a constant knot in her chest. Her hand still shook at night, remembering Gabin forcing her to drive the blade into Rollant’s belly—Rollant, the only person who’d ever truly cared about her.

She was a wretch.

Sixteen months. It had been sixteen months since she’d screamed for Rollant to leave. Since he’d walked into the cold night and disappeared from her life. Sixteen months, and he had not returned.

She tried to bury him in the past, but he lingered in her dreams, her thoughts during monotonous tasks, or the quiet moments before slumber. Though he lied to her and betrayed her, she understood why. His lies, his departures—they were all to protect her from Amée’s fate, from the curse that haunted him. And yet, she had thrown him away, screamed at him to leave, and called him a monster. He never would have shown himself after she thought him dead if he hadn’t loved her and trusted her with his secrets. And she threw him away like a fool.

If only to apologize and beg his forgiveness, she wished he would return at least once more in her lifetime. Rollant was only an hour’s walk away, but fear kept her rooted in Charonne. She had killed a man, and all the murderous rioters knew she’d done it. If they found her, they’d kill her without hesitation. She didn’t want to die, not for that. She hated Gabin, but she didn’t want to become him.

Paris had scarred her soul.

Life in Charonne was peaceful, even if it was small. The four families who lived on Rollant’s land were kind. They helped her, helped themselves to her garden, and she took from their shops and farms in return. It was a quiet community, one without debts or obligations.

The long grasses tickled her ankles as she lay in them, looking up at the sky. Hugo lay beside her. Élise’s hands were behind her head, not allowing Hugo to hold her hand. Though Hugo was a good friend, kind and devoted, she did not feel for him what he felt for her. His infatuation weighed on her like a growing shadow, impossible to ignore but equally impossible to embrace. But as the months went on without Rollant, she wondered if it would be fair to Hugo to marry him as he had hinted or to let him go.

Giselle’s shout echoed across the hill. “Hugo, Élise! Mother says dinner will be ready soon.”

Hugo chuckled. “That means we have a while,” he said, rolling up. He waved to his sister and gazed at the city walls in the distance. “Do you ever want to go back there?” he asked.

“No,” Élise said, rolling up beside him. “Never.”

Hugo focused on her profile. “Does that mean you wish to stay in Charonne?”

Her chin dipped. “Yes, Hugo.”

“You’re beautiful, Élise,” he whispered and smoothed her hair off her cheek. “I am getting older now,” he started. He glanced back over his shoulder to ensure there were no prying eyes. “I’ve been trying for two years to win at least a slice of your heart.”

He smiled, but Élise thinned her lips. She had tried to fall in love with him. It would have been easy, but her heart betrayed her, always pulling her back to the memory of Rollant, alive like the first spark of a flame.

She turned to face him. “You have. You and your sisters are my closest friends.”

He leaned back but turned his shoulders to her. “See, Élise. That’s what I mean. Friends. I want my wife to be my friend, but if that is all she ever sees me as, then maybe it’s not meant to be.”

She met his gaze, not wanting to reveal the truth, afraid it might damage the relationship with his family.

His cerulean eyes softened, pleading. “May I at least try to kiss you, Élise? Just once—to see if there is anything between us?” His voice was low, careful, as though he feared her answer.

She pulled her knees to her chest. It was an improper question, one she should refuse. But Rollant’s kiss lingered in her memory, its spark unmatched. She glanced at Hugo’s lips, soft and full, and forced herself to consider it. She felt she owed him that much, to at least try. At least, as his friend.

“That seems to be acceptable,” she said.

“Really?” he asked with lifted eyebrows and surprise etched into his wide smile.

She nodded.

“Alright,” he said, shifting in the grass closer to her. “Well,” he said with a boyish grin.

He took her hand and cradled her cheek with the other.

He leaned forward, but before he placed his kiss, he whispered, “I love you, Élise. You are the most beautiful, vivacious, protective, and loyal woman I’ve ever met.”

His lips pressed against hers. She forced herself to give him a chance, so she returned his kiss. She closed her eyes, hoping, willing the spark to come. Rollant’s kiss had been fire—sweeping, consuming. But Hugo’s? There was only tenderness, a flicker compared to the inferno she remembered. It wasn’t enough. It wasn’t Rollant. Her heart ached as she pulled away, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. Rollant had ruined her for any other man.

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