Page 58 of Love Beneath the Guillotine
“I’ll be all right. You two take the horse.”
“We’ll take turns,” she replied, as though there was any way he’d let her walk, but he smiled like he might have and nodded.
Henry brought his big arms around Émile, and Catherine grasped Souveraine’s hands. “Can I write to you? I want to see you again.”
Léon barely noticed Souveraine's soft rebuff, her insistence that it wouldn’t be smart for them to stay in contact, or Catherine’s reassurance that she could disguise herself, and some joke names she threw out, followed by Souveraine’s laugh.
Henry was speaking very seriously to Émile, and Léon was desperate to know what he was saying. But Henry’s drawing a final nod from Émile, then another hug, sealed their communication. Émile came to Léon’s side with a dutiful, unusually grown-up air about him, quietly holding back his tears as best he could. Léon took his hand and made for the door.
They all moved out into the night. All except Henry, who was settling the bill with the landlady, arranging for their belongings to be forwarded on somewhere, Léon guessed. He must have done it so many times.
Whatever had happened between Souveraine and Catherine upstairs, the latter paid Léon very little heed now, insisting on a great many hand holds and promises from the former, while Léon held the saddle steady for Souveraine to mount their horse.
His legs ached, his arms ached, his very being ached to the core, and he was going to lead them home all the long night. He dreaded it. Still, he lifted Émile into place as soon as Souveraine was seated. The boy announced his many valid complaints and protests, but he did comply, leaning into Souveraine, wiping his tears on her dress, searching the doorway for Henry.
Then Léon remembered his axe. His most expensive and precious possession, left by the back door of the inn.
“I have to run back inside,” he said to Souveraine, who gave a worried but acquiescent nod, trying her best to soothe Émile when the comment prompted an even more pronounced bout of whining. “I won’t be long,” he assured them.
He quickly turned to leave the three waiting outside, praying, in some unobserved part of his heart, that Henry wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye.
Henry was just walking back into the bar when Léon entered. He’d been and retrieved the axe, and he paused at the other side of the great room when he saw Léon come in. It was late. All the lamps had been extinguished, the chairs stacked, and the landlady had disappeared, leaving them alone with nothing but the light of the dying fire.
Henry struck Léon as guarded, more so than usual. It didn’t occur to him that just a little earlier, Henry had put his heart on the line, and Léon had summarily crushed it. Léon was too mired in the layers of defensiveness he’d built all around himself for years. No men. No lovers. Nothing but blood, and death, and his minuscule, unspent pay packet.
He started forward to take the axe, and Henry approached to meet him halfway, their two sets of boots scuffing on the floor,the distance of half a beheading axe between them. Henry held it out, Léon took it, and their eyes met for a fraction of a second before Léon turned away.
“I was just wondering,” Henry said, halting Léon, his wary gaze finding him over his shoulder from behind a curtain of gold, “when this is all over, maybe even in a few years, or who knows… If I ever came back this way, one day, if we could— Do you think it would be possible— Is it something we could do to… drink?”
Léon stared at him blankly, his protective armour growing spikes all over. “Will we be able to drink?”
“No, I don’t mean…” Henry let out a nervous laugh, colouring deeply. Léon only watched him, pushing him away or trying to pull him closer, he didn’t know which. “No, I know we could still drink. Physically. What I mean is, do you think we could—or, oryouwould, or you and Icoulddo it, in-in-the same place?”
Léon narrowed his eyes. “Do you mean like in the same town, or the same building or?—”
“No. I mean, yes. Same building. Same… You know, same table, even?”
Léon looked to the exit, and Henry couldn’t tell if he was searching for an escape or if he was factoring the rest of their party into the gathering at the theoretical table.
“Alone,” Henry clarified, voice deep with bravery and trepidation. “Um. Just you and me.”
A sharp breath swelled Léon’s chest, the widening of the already large eyes and the searching wonder of his gaze trying Henry.
Henry raised a hand to his temple and laughed anxiously. “What I’m saying is, would you have a drink with me? Sometime. Would you ever consider that?”
“No,” Léon said, the disbelieving expression barely changing, only now accompanied by a small shake of his head.
“No?” Henry repeated. “Just like that?”
“No,” Léon declared. “Why would I sit down and drink with you?”
“Um… Okay. I don’t suppose you would. It’s just that…” He passed his tongue over his lips. He noted the way Léon tracked the movement, and that Léon hadn’t yet walked out. Maybe he hadn’t been clear? Henry decided, again, to put himself on the line, because this was it. This was the end, and if Léon said no, it would just become another sad and embarrassing memory, and he already had a whole catalogue of those, so what was one more?
He dropped the slightly jovial tone his voice had held, explaining, “Listen, I thought there might have been a moment. Back there. Uh… In-in the stables. Or the other night. When you touched my hand?—”
“You touched my hand,” Léon corrected.
He was not going to make it easy. “Whenwetouched hands,” Henry pushed on, “I felt… I thought maybe you felt…” Why was he so nervous? Léon was just a good-looking guy. He’d met plenty before. But Henry was a mess. A dreadful, blathering mess. He shut his eyes tight, took a deep breath, and forged ahead, asking point blank, “Do you like me?”
