Behind the Raven Mask

by Cherime MacFarlane

  The dark wings folded about his face if he bent over. In the back was an opening which laced closed once the mask was on. Now he would again try for the woman. It did not matter to him that she carried the One-Eyed One’s child. Now he would try again!

  ***

  Frost covered everything in the early light of dawn. Camille was grateful for the surrey. Stanislaus waited for her outside, ready to take her to the school.

  A cold snap had the temperature near zero, but with a warming pan, thick fur lap robes and lowered side curtains, she knew the surrey was comfortable. After pulling on her gloves, Camille buttoned her coat.

  Dmitri's arms fastened around her in the narrow space between her swelling stomach and her breasts. His breath tickled her neck as he spoke.

  "Were you planning to run off without even a kiss?" He ran one hand down over her stomach. "How is our baby this morning?"

  "Quite well." Camille leaned against him. "I thought I would let you rest. We were up late last night."

  “Yes,” he turned her around and smiled down at her. "I remember last night very well."

  Camille laid her gloved hands upon his upper arms as she smiled up at him. "Did you expect to find me prostrate on the bed this morning, Dmitri?"

  "I wondered. I was afraid we might have been too rough on the little one." He kissed her temple, then ran the fingers of his right hand down her throat. Camille snuggled close to his lean body.

  "Not to worry, cher’. The little one and I are well. He had his exercise last evening."

  Dmitri's lips closed over hers. It was a gentle kiss, yet Camille sensed the leashed passion within her husband. With a flush of pleasure, she recalled their lovemaking the night before.

  Her man was a demanding lover. She would not change his volatile personality even if she could. A little breathlessly, Camille stepped backward away from Dmitri's embrace.

  "I must go, cher'. The teacher must always be the first at school. I may be late already." She opened the door.

  Dmitri called to her. "Camille, wait. You need a muffler." He took one from the rack and wound it around her neck. "Now you may go, dearest." Dmitri brushed her pink lips before he opened the door.

  "Good day, Madame." Stanislaus helped Camille into the waiting surrey.

  "How are you this morning, Stanislaus?"

  "Well." The young man slid onto the driver's bench.

  Anya waited behind the surrey on her pony, bundled in her thick fur coat. The boy flicked the reins, and the horse started down the trail at a trot, with Anya not far behind.

  Camille stared out of the isinglass windows at the snowy landscape. The tall trees looked as if someone had piled layers of cotton on their branches. Large banks of snow lined the trail, where the horse drawn snowplow had cleared the way.

  It was a delightful morning. The sky was a bright blue above, and the breeze was a warm one from the south. Camille knew spring would soon make an appearance. She realized she was looking forward to seeing the land change again. The seasonal weather was something she had seen little of.

  They rounded a curve, and the horse halted abruptly. With a shake of its head, it danced backward. There was a grating noise, and the animal reared. Stanislaus jumped from the surrey, jerked the horse down and backed the horse and surrey up around the turn. With a crash, a large tree smashed down upon the trail where the horse had first stopped. There was a flicker of movement on the hillside above them. Camille glanced upward.

  A man stood near the base of the downed spruce. As she stifled a gasp, Camille gazed in horror. Where the man's head should have been, was a miss-shaped raven. Then whatever she had seen, disappeared into the forest.

  Camille leaned back in her seat. She felt as if she were choking. Again someone had tried to kill her! Who could it be? It was not Dmitri. She was sure of it. If she told anyone of what she had seen, would they believe her?

  How impossible the story sounded. If she had not seen it for herself... Camille closed her eyes, as she tried to still her pounding heart. Hysterics would change nothing. She must look at the situation logically and from all angles.

  Camille was oblivious to the fact that Stanislaus had turned the surrey and was leading the frightened horse home. Anya rode alongside him. Camille realized they were home when Dmitri lifted her into his arms and carried her into the house.

  "Dearest. Camille, moy dorogoy! Are you injured?" His voice was thick with anxiety.

  "No, Dmitri. I am unhurt." As he carried her upstairs, Camille wrapped her arms around his neck. She clung to him as she trembled. He hesitated at the door to her room.

  Camille shook her head. "I do not want to be alone now."

  Without a word, Dmitri carried Camille into his room, where he placed her on the bed. Camille watched his hand shake as he poured her a small tipple of brandy. He appeared steady enough as he held the glass to Camille's lips.

  "Drink this!"

  There was a note of command in his tone. She obeyed, drained the glass, and then leaned back against the pillows.

  He sat on the edge of the bed then took her hands in his. Dmitri stared down at his wife. Her face looked bloodless.

  "You are to stay here the balance of the day. The school is canceled until further notice."

  He helped her remove her coat and the muffler. Dmitri tossed her hat and gloves to the floor and cupped Camille's pale cheek in one hand.

  Camille wondered if her face was as pale as his. Jaw set, his one gray eye glittered like ice. With his head in both her hands, Camille pulled Dmitri down to kiss him. His lips parted beneath the urging of hers. With a fierce passion, they clung together for a moment.

  "Dear God!" He lowered Camille back upon the pillows and placed his head on her breast. "I almost lost you."

  Camille stroked his gold hair. Dmitri had no part in this. But, how could she tell him of her fears? A sudden chill caused her to shiver.

  He felt it; Dmitri's arms tightened around her. "It is over my precious. You are safe, Camille."

  Safe? Camille thought. No, my love, far from it. And how am I to tell you once I thought you might wish to see me dead?

  Her thoughts went round and round as Camille's fingers toyed with Dmitri's hair.

  The month of January drew to a close. Camille awoke, then glanced at the clock. It was early yet. She lay beneath the covers with Dmitri's left arm tucked beneath her breasts. Camille refused to sleep alone for any reason. She felt safe as long as her husband was near.

  When Dmitri went to the mill, Camille stayed in their room. She rarely left the security of the house. Who ever wanted her dead would have to come and get her. Camille refused to play target again.

  Dmitri lay awake, watching her. His face half hidden by his arm, Dmitri could observe Camille without her knowledge. Her small oval face was grave in the pale light. On the coverlet, her fingers clasped and unclasped in nervous spasms, as she lay there.

  Ever since the day of the tree incident, she refused to leave the house. She glanced over at him, and as Dmitri watched, the frown disappeared, and her hazel eyes seemed to widen and turn from brown to a vibrant green.

  When she smiled, the pout left her full lips, and they curved upward into a sensual smile. Camille's smile always disarmed Dmitri. Without a doubt, Camille was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

  Her eyes widened as something took her attention, and a small exclamation escaped her. Face flushed with excitement she shook his arm. "Dmitri! Dmitri, wake up!"

  He moved his arm away from his face and smiled at her. "What is it, dear?"

  She took his hand and placed it on her stomach. "Here! A moment. Can you feel him? Our son is moving, cher'."

  "Son? Are you sure of that my dear?" He smiled at her notion that the child was a boy.

  "Yes, I am sure. Do not try to discourage me.”

  With a laugh, Dmitri shook his head. "You will keep the baby if it is difficult enough to be a girl?"

  "Do not say such things! I want a son yes, mo
re, a healthy child is all I ask. Do not tease me about the baby. Please?"

  Her expression was so serious, Dmitri understood if he allowed her to see how amused he was, she would be out of sorts with him for the balance of the day. To change the subject, Dmitri kissed her. Camille returned his kiss. A moment later, they lay silent in each other's arms. Both of them, a little in awe of the depths of the love they now shared.

  Dmitri acknowledged he had dismissed a great deal about his previous marriage. Had he and Anya ever reached this degree of affection? He rejected the thought. It was foolish to compare this marriage with his first. There was no basis for comparison. Anya and Camille were worlds apart.

  But he was happier with this woman than he ever thought possible. Camille's inability to confide in him was the only irritant in his world at present. They had reached a place in their relationship where the tirades and quarrels had subsided. There was a reluctance on either of their parts to renew hostilities. They both skirted things that might disturb the status quo. So for now, he would not probe further.

  He stroked the pale skin of her stomach where his child rested. The faint odor of jasmine clung to the warm, soft flesh. Dmitri tightened his embrace in response as Camille snuggled closer to him. She had some measure of confidence in him. It was a pleasant thought and one he cherished.

  Anya had never trusted him, yet never had he given her cause for the suspicions she harbored. Jealousy ran unbridled through their marriage. Life played such tricks on one. Camille had cause, but was not of a jealous disposition. Anya had no cause but believed she might have.

  How had he forgot the anguish Anya's suspicions had produced? Every business trip began with an argument. Every homecoming was more tumultuous when the questions began. Time had a way of distorting memories. Perhaps it was God's way of healing hearts.

  He and Anya had been far from content with each other, even as they had loved each other with the passion of the young. Why had he remembered only the good times? Had he thought to escape his feelings of guilt about her death, by denying everything of an unhappy nature?

  "What are you thinking about?" Camille's fingers massaged the frown lines on his forehead.

  "I was thinking about the past."

  "Oh." Camille sat up and then pushed up the pillows, so she might lean back against them. Dark lashes fluttered for a moment against her creamy skin. The enormous hazel eyes looked almost brown until she turned her head. The sun broke through the clouds and in the sunlight, her eyes were almost golden.

  Dmitri stared up into her face. He had missed something crucial. Her gentle demeanor had nothing to do with her age or lack of experience. For the last few years, he had judged all other women by Anya. If not for fate, he would still be alone. After their child was born, he would tell Camille the truth of the circumstances of their marriage. All lies and deception must be eliminated. He wanted no lies to come between them.

  Dmitri placed his hands behind his head and watched her face as he spoke. "Anya made life hell for the both of us with fits of jealousy. I never gave her cause to believe I was unfaithful."

  Her fingertips trailed down his arm and across one muscular shoulder. "You do not have to tell me this. It is unnecessary."

  "I want to tell you about her."

  Camille's eyes followed her fingers, as they brushed Dmitri's chest, then rested on his mouth. The pads of her two fingers caressed his bottom lip. He suppressed the urge to cease speaking and kiss her. A thrill of pleasure darted through him at her touch. Camille moved her hand, and it came to rest on his chest. When she pushed her fingers through the hair she found, hunger for her was hard to deny. But he wanted her to know about Anya.

  ***

  While he explained about his first wife's anger and jealousy, Camille combed her fingers through the crisp blond curls. His words caused a chill to overtake her.

  Her outward facade remained calm, inside Camille trembled as she recalled the night of the Pirov's dinner party. She had come so close to telling Dmitri she knew about his infidelity. That might have destroyed any chance they had for a happy marriage. With a prayer of thankfulness, Camille made a silent vow to light a candle at Saint Michaels Cathedral in Sitka in acknowledgment of another prayer answered.

  "I never realized this before, but I harbored guilt about Anya's death."

  "Why was that, love?" She waited for his response.

  His chest heaved with a sigh. "I am a very physical man. Anya was the same; I always understood that. But she was small, and when Anya died giving me a child, it occurred to me, I may have asked too much of her."

  "No!" Camille shook her head, and her hair fell forward.

  "Whatever occurs in the future, I want you always to remember, I alone asked the Blessed Virgin to give me this child. I wanted your baby, and I did not ask for your consent."

  Camille leaned over to lay her head against his chest. If the individual who wished her dead succeeded, she did not want Dmitri to carry the guilt around for the rest of his life. There must be something she could do to protect herself. His muscles were firm against her cheek. If only she could tell Dmitri the facts of the incidents, he would protect her.

  The urge to confide in her husband died. How to explain at one point she had questioned his sanity? And she would need to explain her knowledge of the woman in Juneau and that she once suspected he wished her dead. Camille fought back her tears. She had no time for self-pity.

  This pit was of her own making. There was only time for love. Camille put a hand on his neck, then pulled Dmitri's head down. Her lips clung to his as Camille caressed his back. He drew away from her to kiss her on the forehead unsure of what she wanted.

  Camille was insistent. "Love me now!" Camille turned her head and nipped his shoulder. One hand stroked his cheek with a light touch.

  "Now," She repeated. Camille drew him to her, then ran the tip of her tongue across his lower lip. Desire was a hot, sweet current she surrendered to without reservation. She molded her body to his as she ran her fingertips across his skin. The muscles contracted at her touch.

  Dmitri sighed. His breath drifted in a warm cloud across her face. They slipped downward on the bed. She leaned against him and let her hair fall forward. Camille lifted her head, so the dark strands slid across his chest in a sensuous wave.

  Then he took her face in one hand as he reached for her mouth with his. The kiss ended, and he sucked on her lower lip before teasing it with his teeth. Camille smiled, as he traced the upward tilt of her lips with his tongue. Dmitri lay back and lifted one curl, which he placed between her breasts.

  "There." With a smile, he leaned forward and moved his head to her breasts, Dmitri placed tiny kisses on the soft hair and pale skin. "Before when you were speaking that curl fell between your breasts, and I wanted to do this then."

  Camille's hands encouraged him to greater efforts, as she slid one leg across his. The roughness of his fingertips on her skin was exciting. Camille stroked her leg back and forth across his.

  When Dmitri would have moved, Camille pushed him back down. His body was compelling territory. Camille explored it inch by inch. When she put her other leg across him and knelt above him, Dmitri was staring at her in a manner which left no doubt in her mind that he was hers. She wondered if that would be a permanent condition.

  Later in the day, Camille sat before the fire in the bedroom. She was finishing a baby quilt. There was a knock on the door.

  "Come in." Camille called out, then glanced up from her work. Anya peeked around the door.

  "Are you busy?"

  "No. Is the snow keeping you in, dear?"

  What had begun as a slight flurry of flakes before breakfast was now a thick curtain of snow; fat, wet snow, which made travel outside difficult. Anya grimaced, as she looked toward the window and then turned her head away.

  "I suppose I should be used to it by now. But Ooskada took me sledding yesterday, so spending time inside today shouldn't be too boring."

  "Do
you like sledding? I have never tried it. It almost never snowed in either New Orleans or San Francisco."

  With an affirmative nod, Anya sat down cross-legged on the bearskin rug. "It was fun... until Uncle decided we should talk."

  The girl tossed her single thick braid back over one shoulder. Camille glimpsed the indecision on Anya's face. She turned her attention back to her needlework while waiting for Anya to speak. The child would not be rushed.

  After completing the stitch, Camille clipped the yarn, then tied the two loose ends in a knot. With the thimble she pushed the needle back through the material in the center of another block, Camille turned it and brought the yarn back to the front side of the quilt.

  "I want to see the world" The child picked at the fur she sat on. "I want to get away from here for a while. Is there something wrong with me? Does it make me a traitor?"

  Camille pushed the quilting frame to one side. The needle and shears went in the basket beside her chair. Camille folded her hands in her lap and gazed at Anya. "Who called you a traitor?"

  "Ooskada did."

  Anya looked away from Camille as if ashamed of having spoken ill of her uncle to her stepmother. "He would be angry at me for telling you about it."

  "Perhaps he would Anya, but you have a right to question any advice given you. Just because an older person who loves you said something is for your good, it does not mean they are correct. You must learn to decide what is and is not good for you."

  "I am Russian, and Tlingit. Perhaps, after I have seen what the white man's world has to offer, I will be content to live here as Father and Uncle are."

  Camille smiled down at Anya. "You should see as much of life and the outside world as is possible, before settling down. You will be a wife and mother someday. It is best to experience these things before then. Otherwise, you may find you are asking yourself what you missed."

  Anya's slanted gray eyes looked up at Camille.

  "Ah, cher. Before the war, every Creole girl whose family had the means made the grand tour."