The Possessive Kiss: Victoria's Story: Book Two of The Kiss Series

by Michelle Hillstrom

  The kiss they shared then was more than any kiss before. This was not a chaste stolen kiss as they hid from their chaperones, nor was this the public kiss that they shared at their engagement. It wasn’t even like the teasing kisses he used to rile her up such as at the masquerade. His hands cupped her face as he gently nibbled at her lips begging them to open for him. When her lips conceded, his tongue gently greeted her own. This was a kiss between a man and woman who were in love, a kiss between husband and wife, if not legally, at least in heart. Wesley kissed away all Victoria’s fearful thoughts and their temperatures rose significantly -- and it was not due to the fire that they stood beside.

  The slaves’ applause and joking jeers brought the couple back to reality like a cold shower; reminding the passionate pair that they were not alone. Wesley and Victoria walked around the barn greeting each slave and accepting their best wishes. Some had prepared small tokens of goodwill. After making the rounds, Wesley and Victoria excused themselves to head back to the big house. The sun would be rising soon and they would be expected to rise and go to mass in a few hours.

  The pair giggled to each other as they frolicked back to the big house. In these wee morning hours, all was right in their world; a bubble of happiness surrounded them. When the sun arose, real life would begin again, and Wesley would return to the front in a few days. However, as they stole kisses and caresses, that elicited hushed moans of pleasure, outside of the kitchen door, nothing could infiltrate their veil of bliss.

  Chapter Eleven

  Wesley had been back at the front for less than a week. It was a miserable week. He would never have thought that it was possible to miss Victoria more than he did when he left her that first time in order to go to training, but he did. He missed her desperately. It was a physical sensation that left a hollow ache in his gut. It was as though someone had punched him and knocked the air out of him. Since he had returned, things had been unstable. The instability and the heightened alert state of his fellow soldiers added an uneasy edge to Wesley’s already depressed demeanor. The company was constantly on the move, constantly on the lookout for Union soldiers. No one was getting restful sleep. Morale was running low. The unit that he was patrolling with finally stumbled upon a Union encampment just as the sun was setting on the seventh day of Wesley’s return from leave.

  The gunpowder filled the air and it was as thick as London pea-soup fog. Cannons boomed and the men screamed war cries before they cried for their lives. Soldiers ducked and wove through the trees to dodge screaming bullets and shrapnel. Wesley charged after a Union officer who took off to message for reinforcements. Wesley urged his steed to go faster and faster, dodging and weaving through the thick woods. He pulled out his training from the back of his mind. The training took over and his body acted on pure instinct. He pushed aside all of his worries and his longing for Victoria. He had a duty to his country and to his brothers at arms. The Union officer disappeared from his sight and the woods were too thick to stealthily ride the horse. Wesley dismounted and he began to tread as carefully as an Indian scout; one foot stepping silently over the other as he tried to listen for footsteps or snapping twigs over the gunfire.

  “Brennan!” voice called from behind him. The voice startled him at first, causing Wesley to turn to face the interloper with his pistol at the ready.

  But it was only Worthington, so Wesley lowered his weapon to the ground once more. “Worthington, did you see where the messenger took off to?”

  “No, but hopefully he is long gone. I wouldn’t want him spying on our conversation. It would be very dangerous for anyone to hear what I am about to tell you,” Worthington began to slowly walk through the fall foliage in a predatory circle around Wesley.

  “Did you know that I received a letter a few weeks ago? Lydia died during childbirth and the baby too.”

  “Oh no, Christopher! That’s terrible. I wasn’t aware. I grieve for your loss.” Wesley tried to reach out to comfort his friend, but Worthington pulled away. Worthington was also apparently feeling the same turmoil that Wesley had been feeling. His face was anguished and his eyes were crazy. Dark circles raccooned about those eyes. He looked as though he had lost a good deal of weight, since before Wesley had left over Christmas leave, as well.

  “Really? Because I don’t. I never loved Lydia and you know that. I felt relief. I finally felt free to be with the one that I really love, but it seems that there is one more thing that now stands in my way of being with her. I was told that you asked for Victoria’s hand while we were home on Christmas leave,” Christopher’s words were cold. His face portrayed no emotions.

  “Yes I did,” Wesley stated cautiously. A prickle in the back of his neck told him that he needed to proceed with caution. “I would have done so sooner and wed her already, but I don’t want to leave her a war widow if things do not go well in my favor. She is too young to be burdened with a widow’s life.”

  “Wise you were to do so, Brennan. Things are about to go very badly for you.” Worthington pulled out his pistol and fired.

  Wesley awoke with a gurgling breath as he was jostled about by the medical wagon. His eyes were wide with panic and pain. A sweaty and weary looking doctor sat beside him and was leaning over, holding bloody bandages. “It doesn’t look good son,” Wesley heard the man say.

  Wesley felt light-headed as the smell of rot and the metallic iron scent of blood over took him. He looked to his right and saw another body. The body was pale and lifeless. Bile rose in his throat, he began to choke. He tried to roll over on his side but he was too weak. The doctor took notice and assisted him to a more upright position. Spewing the blood and bile from his system exhausted the last of Wesley’s energy. The world blackened and sleep overtook him once more.

  A camp sound awoke Wesley and he took in the makeshift hospital scene that surrounded him. He lay upon a cot with the tent’s fabric blocking the sky from his view. The only light was that of the campfires and lanterns that sporadically lined the encampment. It must have been very late because very few voices could be heard as the sentries stood fire watch. Every breath Wesley took was a painful struggle. He wanted to cry out for help, but the words got caught in his throat as a bloody gurgle escaped his lips. With a shaky hand, he reached into his breast pocket and drew out the portrait of Victoria. Wesley tried to brush a smudge off the glass, but only succeeded in smearing blood across Victoria’s angelic face. With all the strength he had left in him, Wesley brought the portrait to his bloody lips and placed a final kiss upon his love. “Only a little while, Mavourneen.”

  A cat was nearby, which Wesley found strange. Strange enough that the distinct pitiful shrieking howl of a cat echoing outside the tent reached into his foggy, blood-loss effected mind. The sound of the cat was cut off and replaced by the sound of footsteps. Someone approached crunching leaves with each rhythmic step. Wesley panicked in fear that it was Worthington coming to finish him off. He calmed as he heard the familiar but out of place sound of rustling skirts. The blood loss played tricks on his mind sending erratic thoughts through his brain. Had Victoria come to him? Had she felt his pain? Felt him call out to her? The hallucination stopped at his bed and placed a cold hand upon his forehead. This couldn’t be real. Unless perhaps she was an angel. No, he was just crazy with sickness. Crazy with the infection that men sometimes got after they had been struck down in battle.

  “Hush, mon ange.” The beautiful red haired woman stood over him, still brushing her cool hand on his head, soothing away his pain, calming his mind. Her cat-like green eyes bore into his; hypnotically easing his pain. “My name is Élisabet Babineaux. All will be well soon.”

  Wesley stared into the green eyes in an enthralled trance and he was unable to look away. Those eyes, they almost glowed with the flickering firelight reflecting in them. The angelic hallucination leaned over him. Her icy hand comforted him and it was good to be in the presence of a woman again. Wesley felt her cool breath in a puff against his neck as she whispered int
o his ear the last words that he would ever hear in his life, “Others may call me The Bleeding Death, but you can call me Lover, for I am going to love you forever.” And then, she possessed him with her kiss of eternity.

  Chapter Twelve

  Victoria sat with her mending, creating her trousseau, at the fireplace in the winter parlor of Mossy Oak Manor. The hunting hounds sat curled at her feet dreaming of chasing coons up trees while she daydreamed of what the future would hold for her and Wesley. She pictured young brown-eyed male children clinging to Wesley’s boots as he laughed and traipsed about Caherbrennan dragging them along and blonde haired little girls who would be the apple of their father’s eye twirling about in frilly dresses. She thought of the hours of time that she and Wesley would spend in their marriage bed creating these beautiful children. She daydreamed about the bridal tour that they would take to visit Ireland so that Wesley could show her where he had come from, as he had told her he wished to do during their first Christmas together.

  There had been no news of Wesley or anything about the war since he had left after his Christmas leave a month ago. Victoria wanted to believe that no news was good news, so she held on to the promise that Wesley had made to her -- the promise to return to her no matter what. Unexpectedly, the hounds sat up and began to bay, interrupting Victoria’s daydreaming. There had been little effects of the war here, but they had heard of the terror and havoc that was being wreaked in other areas by both armies, even single stragglers were dangerous. Therefore, anytime a rider approached, it made the household nervous. Victoria heard soft male chatter and the stomping of heavy boots. There was a knock at the parlor door and Butler Jonah led a soldier in. Victoria stood and walked towards them.

  “Christopher!” She gasped dropping her mending and then rushed to surround him in a hug of relief. This was the first time that she had seen him since, well, the last time that she could recall having seen him was at the Masquerade ball that her mother had thrown years ago just before he had married Lydia.

  “Come sit with me by the fire! It is so good to see that you are well. Though, I must give you my condolences. We were all heart broken when we heard of Lydia’s passing. I know how you longed for a child, and for them to have both been taken from you is such a tragedy. My heart grieves for you.”

  “Thank you,” Christopher sat in the chair beside her and took her hand in his. “It was a very difficult time for me, but that is not why I have come today Victoria. There is something that I must tell you.” His voice was grave as he ducked his head and looked at his boots.

  Victoria felt her heart sink to her stomach. She felt sick. “What is it, Chris?” her voice cracked.

  Christopher’s words came out in rush. “We came upon a Union encampment. Both sides were surprised. The fighting got hairy, and a Union messenger took off to seek reinforcements. Brennan took off after him. I tried to follow to give him back up, but I was too far behind. Wesley was shot at point blank range.”

  “No!” Victoria threw Worthington’s hand off of her own in a bout of anger and stood. Tears poured down her cheeks. “Why are you saying these things? Why are you lying to me? It can’t be true! It can’t be true! He isn’t gone.” Victoria almost fell to the floor in a heap, but Christopher caught her and held her to him like a limp rag doll, while he soothingly stroked her back. Sobs racked her body, as her words became nothing but keening wails.

  Victoria wasn’t sure how much time had passed as she sat there weeping in her ex-beau’s arms. When things began to clear in her head she realized that she now laid on a chaise with Christopher and Samantha kneeling on the floor beside her. Samantha used a cool, wet rag to gently wipe Victoria’s tear-streaked face. “There she is. Here Tory, drink some of this.”

  Still a bit dazed, Victoria sat up and took the teacup from her sister’s hand. “Ugh,” Victoria sputtered. Samantha had obviously laced the tea with something strong.

  “Go on, drink up,” Samantha urged. “It will help.”

  Samantha excused herself to go find Mr. and Mrs. De’Muerre. They needed to hear everything in more detail than the little bit that Samantha had explained to them as she rushed about trying to procure items to help calm her sister. Things would also need to be prepared for Christopher’s stay that night. Samantha stopped a few steps away and turned back to her sister. She handed a piece of paper to Victoria. Her face was full of pity.

  Victoria looked down to see what it was that Samantha had just handed her. It was the official letter from Wesley’s captain stating that Wesley had been killed in battle. There was no escaping it now. It was true. He was gone. The strange part was, as the letter told her, his body had gone missing before it was able to be shipped back. Theft was common, of course, people often robbed from the dead, but the captain had never heard of someone stealing a whole body before.

  Christopher sat down beside Victoria on the chaise. He took her hand in his. Victoria hardly noticed. “Victoria, look at me please.” Dazedly she turned her head. Hollow and emotionless eyes peered at him. It was as if Victoria’s soul had run away from her body leaving nothing but a husk to manage the pain.

  “Victoria, there is something else that we must discuss. Something that Wesley asked of me before he passed in my arms.” The sound of Wesley’s name seemed to bring Victoria back from the brink slightly. She looked at him at least with a flicker of emotion now. “He asked that I take you as my wife; to protect you.”

  Victoria gasped and drew her hand away from Chris. Short quick gasps emanated from the dark place of sorrow that dwelled within her. She couldn’t believe what she had just heard. No, not this now, too. I can’t handle this right now too, not with everything else. At one time, this was all that I wanted. This must be some kind of cruel joke. Her thoughts buzzed about inside of her head. She almost didn’t hear Christopher as he continued.

  “He wanted to know that you would be with someone who loved you and would treat you well. I know that you do not feel the way for me that you felt for Wesley; and I know that I had my chance to marry you before but threw it away because of a duty that I believed that I had to honor for my father, but I want to go back to the start. I want to try and earn your trust again, like the trust that we shared before I carelessly threw everything in your face. I want to go back to where we started when we were young and shared that innocent first kiss. I now know that I was wrong to through our relationship away. No matter what the situation was before, I never should have let you go and Wesley has given me that chance to make things right.

  “I am honor bound by your fiancé to take you as my wife, if you will have me. I believe that if we're lucky enough to have found each other in the first place, when we were so young, and to be here together now after all that has happened in our world and with the blessing of your deceased fiancé, then we are worth betting on for life. Will you take that gamble with me?”

  Victoria heard herself agreeing to his proposal and it was as if someone else were saying the words for her and she could not stop them. Everything happened around her at a lightning speed as she continued to sit on the chaise. People came and went from the room. She heard people speaking to her and she thought that she answered them, but she wasn’t sure. There was some talk of Thomas, and his well-being. He was far from the fight that took place on the day that Wesley was killed, so he was safe, as far as anyone knew.

  That night Victoria sat up in her bed, long after everyone else had extinguished their lights. She had begun to come back around; she was more coherent now after Polly gave her a tonic in her evening coffee. Victoria’s diary lay open upon her lap. She sat there staring at it for a long while before she finally began to write.

  My dearest Wesley,

  You're gone… at least that is what they tell me. The news has caused my heart to break into thousands of pieces. Each piece of my heart misses you. I miss your laugh, your smile, your fragrance, the way your arms feel when they are wrapped around me; and your face, the face that I've grown to know
and love. The face that represents home for me. The face that is my safe place. The face that ignites a passion within me, which I have been forbidden to share with you, the passion that has been building as we awaited our wedding night.

  I'm at war with the world around me. It is trying to pull me into the dark. I struggle to keep my faith. How could God allow this to happen? Did we do something to anger him? Were we too happy which somehow ignited his vengeance? Is it because of our participation in voodoo? By dabbling in that, have we damned our souls to hell? Even as I sit here, I feel as if I am slipping from your arms. I have kept the memory of each embrace deep within my heart. Now that the pieces have been shattered, I feel the memories slipping away as if being blown away in the wind. I can’t lose you. I can’t forget you. Though I am entering into matrimony to another, apparently at your request, you are the one who will hold my heart. You possess me body, heart, and soul, always and forever.

  We will be reunited one day. Because of our bond I know this. Wait for me, love, I will only be a little while.

  Faithfully Yours,