Page 62 of The Rebellious Countess
Her eyes shot to the Abbey.Please let them leave. Please let them leave.She could no longer hear the wind over the sound of her heart in her ears and her labored breathing. She shivered,her entire body shaking despite the warm breeze, as she watched one guard disappear inside a door.
Move damn you! The guard ignored her silent scream as he slowly ambled toward the end of the rampart. She didn’t think it was possible for a grown man to walk so slowly, and when he finally turned the corner, she looked pleadingly at her husband.
Elias was at her side instantaneously, forgetting all about the guards. “Easy,ma chérie.”
“Get me out.” She sounded like a child to her own ears, but she was buried to her knees.
“Take my hand,” he instructed as he reached out for her. Máira had his hand before he finished the sentence.
Father Charles began giving instructions on how to escape the clutches of her silt grave. “Hang onto your husband.”
As if she would let go.
“Now rock one foot back and forth in a slow steady fashion.”
Slow and steady did not win the race. She yanked furiously at her foot.
“You must listen,” the priest insisted.
“Listen to him,ma chérie. He knows this land.”
“This is not land,” she argued, but did as she was told. Elias pulled on her arm as her first foot loosened the tiniest bit with a slurping of the mud. Every bit of space she created, the mud attempted to fill.
“This is why you insisted we go barefoot.” The realization slipped from her lips with a sob.
“Yes,” the priest admitted. She wanted to hit him. He should have warned her how bad the crossing would be, but then she would have never insisted on coming. She would have sat in the mill and waited, never knowing if or when Elias was coming back, just like her father. She was damned if she went with him and damned if she didn’t.
“You’re doing wonderful,ma chérie.” Elias was down on his knees now, his trousers absorbing all the brine and mud that seemed to cover her from toe to head. He leaned forward and kissed her, a quick and intimate gesture that made her want to climb out of the mud and jump on top of him.
“When you get one foot free, kneel on it.” The priest instructed. “Then rock your other leg.”
She did as she was told and felt the earth begin to release its hold just the slightest bit. A sob of joy escaped her lips and Elias smiled down on her as he began reciting a French poem in a soft, gentle rasp that soothed her from the inside out.
“La vie est une fleur,
l’amour en est le miel.
C’est la colombe unie
à l’aigle dans le ciel,
C’est la grâce tremblante
à la force appuyée,
C’est ta main dans ma main
doucement oubliée.”
With one leg free, and her second one well on its way, she asked, “Can you translate it into English?” She was afraid she was missing some of its meaning. She prayed she’d understood every word.
“Life is a flower
Love is its honey.
It is the dove united
with the eagle in the sky,
