His Captive Mate

Chapter 4 – Celine

Celine’s father and uncle share a look, and then both look at Celine. Her father sighs and looks at Richard,

“I think we have a lot to discuss as a family. You may stay in the guest house nearest the château for the duration of your stay with us. Michel, would you kindly show him there and then return here? Once you are back, we will discuss this together.” Michel nods, stands and holds a hand towards the door to show Richard out the kitchen door, Richard stands and bows,

“Anton, Michel and Celine, thank you for hearing me out. I do hope you will make the right call. And I hope Eloise isn’t too upset by my visit.” Then he turns and leaves with her uncle, walking towards the house on the opposite side of the vineyard. As soon as he was out of sight, Eloise returns to the kitchen. Her face is ashen, almost grey, streaked with the still-falling tears.

She had brought with her a large bottle of whiskey that was conspicuously open and had a few good swigs missing from the bottle. She goes to the cupboard, gathers three glasses, and pours three generous glasses of the amber liquid. Celine’s father downs his and motions for the bottle, which Eloise slides across the table to him, he pours himself another and sits staring into its depths. Celine puts a hand on his arm,

“Father?” Celine slips easily back into French now that Richard has left. Eloise sighs and looks at her sadly,

“Please, Celine. Please wait for your uncle to return then we will tell you everything we know.” Celine nods, and takes her now empty bowl to the sink and finishes the washing up that her aunt had started. She lets them sit in silence. Celine could feel that the energy in the room had changed, it was tense, nervous, angry and sad. She wondered how she knew that but was unwilling to break the silence to ask anyone about it.

In the quiet she tries to listen to her wolf, to see if she had any thoughts to share. Her wolf is present, she’s certain of that now, but she’s either unable or unwilling to talk. Or to shed any light on what was happening to her, feeling the emotions of others, and some thoughts maybe? She frowns to herself and sits back down at the table, none the wiser.

Half an hour later, Michel returns, taking the glass of whiskey Eloise offers him and downing it. Pouring himself another, as he takes his seat beside her and groans,

“Well, s**t!” This earns him a stern look of disapproval from her aunt and a smirk from her father who chuckles,

“Pretty much.” Celine stares between them, willing them to explain. Hoping that someone would be able to make any of this make sense. Eloise tenses and sighs, seemingly unwilling to be the one to start this particular conversation. Tears continue to roll down her face, but the sobs had stopped. She holds herself stiffly in the chair.

Celine sighs, gets up from the table again and goes to sit out on the patio, hoping that the sunshine and fresh air would help to ease her already troubled thoughts. She hears the adults still in the kitchen start a whispered conversation which quickly becomes louder and she can hear more of what they’re saying. Her father makes a frustrated noise,

“She doesn’t have to go for two years, so why is he here now? Why is he here at all?” Then his voice breaks into a sob, “Why her? Why my little girl?” Celine closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, then re-enters the kitchen. He looks at her and she goes to him taking his hand in hers as she sits next to him,

“Father, I need to understand this. Please, explain it to me?” she holds his gaze as his eyes begin to fill with tears. He nods, takes a large sip of his whiskey and sighs,

“Yes, you deserve all the information we have.” He takes a deep shuddering breath. “Your Mother’s mother’s mother, your Great Grandmother, she was a prophetess. I don’t know exactly how it worked, but she wrote out her visions in a journal and that journal has been passed down to the next generation and the women each had some gift or other. Your grandmother was able to heal by touch, your mother…” he pauses, seeming to search for the right words.

Celine feels her skin itch, this was possibly the most her father had ever spoken to her about her mother and her family, but waited quietly for him to continue. Unwilling to break his stream of thought, she wanted to know them better; she’d never met them. He smiles softly and looks at her,

“She could produce illusions, she would put on firework shows at the end of the harvest when we would celebrate with everyone who had come to help us.” Celine had never seen these displays in person, her mother having died giving birth to her, but had seen photographs of her in the Château from the years before. Her father seemed lost in memory for a moment. She tilts her head and looks up at him,

“So, I’m likely to get a gift at some point? Is there a way to know what the gift would be, or when it would show up?” Her aunt speaks slowly, not wanting to break her father’s reverie,

“Celine, your mother left notes in the journal she left for you. It seems your gift will start to show itself when your wolf comes to you.” Eloise sighs again and drains the last of her glass before pouring another. Michel gave her a reproving look; she stares her husband down and he lowers his eyes back to his own nearly empty glass. “I have the journal; I’ll go and get it.” She stands, swaying gently. Her uncle stands quickly, holding out an arm to steady her.

She waves him off once she’s steady and walks back to the lounge. He remains standing for a moment but eventually slumps back into the chair, running his hands through his hair, looking older suddenly. Celine glances back at her father. His eyes had glazed over a little, and she knew he would need time to bring himself back to the room. Reminiscing on her mother often had that effect on him, and it was best to wait it out.

Eloise returns a minute or so later with a wooden box, it was a foot wide, six inches deep and about ten inches tall, it was bound with iron strips and decorated with a snarling wolf-head lock, with the keyhole in its mouth. Eloise reaches for her necklace, takes it off and holds out the key to Celine. She slides the box across the kitchen table towards Celine, who is confused but uses the key, and the lock clicks. She takes the sides of the lid and lifts it.

Inside are a few old pictures, some of her extended family: her aunt and uncle dancing on the patio outside the kitchen, and other family members in various candid moments. But most of them were of her mother, laughing with her father, working in the vineyard, stomping the grapes with her legs stained purple from the grape juices, and dancing in front of the Château.

Then there are more of her as she grows steadily more and more pregnant. Celine struggles to keep the tears from her eyes, not wanting to miss any of the details that she’d missed with her not being around to know. She slowly put the photos aside and looked at the rest of the contents of the small chest.

An old leather journal, the dark tan leather cracked in multiple places but still visible were the floral patterns that had been tooled into the leather when it was new. It had been inexpertly repaired multiple times, with some patches of different coloured leather glued on, and more recently someone had tried to repair it with silver duct tape. She runs her fingers over the book.

She marvels at its broken beauty, wondering if it was not now more beautiful for the hard work gone into keeping it functioning. She sets it to one side to look at the last thing in the box: a letter, the name across the front in a flowing script she hadn’t seen before.

‘À ma très chère Celine…’

To my dearest Celine. The tears fought to get out, and Celine knew she was fighting a losing battle. A sob escapes her lips before she could stop it.