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Chapter 2: Startling Announcement
Summery: The fearsome Black Knight arrives at Baron de Coleville's home to claim his bride; Christine has no idea what she's gotten herself into... (A really, really bad fanfic.)
Tapestry of Deceit
Startling Announcement In which we meet our villain and learn that "Sir Erik the Huge" is not an exaggeration
Christine groaned as she leaned against the castle wall just outside Carlotta's bedchamber. Inside, she could hear the sounds of the young woman giggling happily (as opposed to giggling sadly) that her plan was about to be set in motion. Christine shut her eyes, hoping somehow that she could block out the girl's horrible laugh, but it was no use. She had fallen into Carlotta's deceitful trap tapestry and there was no getting out.
"I can't believe I'm doing this," she muttered to herself, hefting the beautiful silver and blue gown under her arm. She knew, despite Carlotta's cunning, that this plan was going to backfire. (See? Even Christine knows how ridiculous this premise is!) Even if Sir Erik renounced the engagement contract as Carlotta was hoping, Christine would still be the one left to suffer. No doubt Pierre would want an explanation, and once Sir Erik explained to him the situation, Pierre would quickly learn that it was not Carlotta who Sir Erik had observed, but herself!
She would be lashed for certain, but that was not what troubled Christine; she would be thrown out onto the street for her insubordination, and left to starve. (And the angst levels in the castle would plummet significantly.) And where would Carlotta be then? Nowhere, of course. (Carlotta: *vanishes into thin air*) She didn't care what happened to Christine, so long as she didn't have to marry a man she believed was ugly.
"I should have said 'no'," Christine muttered. "I shouldn't have even listened to her! I should have simply turned on my heel and walked–"
Christine gasped as she came slamming into something hard and menacing. (She could tell it was menacing without looking at it. That's how menacing it was.) She hadn't been paying attention, she was too busy chastising herself to have realized someone else was coming around the corner at the same time she was. She lifted her eyes, an apology already on her lips…but it quickly died as her eyes continued to look up at the man who stood before her, his menacing presence causing a chill to run down her spine.
"Why…hello Christine," Philippe de Coleville grinned ("Grinned" is not a dialogue tag!), his own dark demon-like eyes sparkling with wickedness at the sight of the servant girl.
Christine stared in horror at the man before her. It was as if Carlotta's threat had come true in that instant. Philippe was considered to be a handsome man by many, but Christine saw nothing handsome about him, not when she knew how lecherous and cruel he could be. He was the giant of the family, a man who towered over his own father, reminding Christine of a Viking barbarian. He had long, unkempt, silver-blonde hair, just like his sister, as well as the same dark brown demonic eyes. He was not overly muscular, perhaps thinner than most men his age or older, but he made up for his lack of physical strength with cunning and malice. And while he was not the sort of man that could perhaps best another with brute strength…he was still strong enough to leave bruises and welts on any poor female that got in his way. (To quote Cookies, "So we can mock him for his lack of testosterone, but still hate him cause he slaps the ladies around. This is so deep my ankles are getting wet.")
"I must say," Philippe continued, his eyes raking over Christine, causing the young woman to shrink with revulsion. "You seem to have actually become…pretty, since last I saw you."
Christine's cheeks flushed from the insult. She knew she was plain, she did not need to be reminded by both Carlotta and her brother. (Silly Christine! Don't you know that your appearance doesn't matter, because you are JUST THAT PURE and VIRTUOUS and GOOD? OMG!)
"Or perhaps you simply look pretty because it has been so long since I've seen you…and have been with a woman…" he grinned wickedly, his fingers rising to tangle in Christine's brown curls. "Men, on the other hand--that's a different story..."
Christine trembled as she felt Philippe's hand, and bit her lip to keep from screaming. She recalled how last time she cried out for him to stop, he backhanded her so hard, that she lost a tooth.
"Aren't you going to say anything?" he teased, his fingers now gliding down the skin of her neck, his eyes falling over her breasts, watching them rise with every breath. "Aren't you going to greet your lord and master?"
Christine bit her lip even harder, and looked up at Philippe with disgust. He loved making her squirm like this, loved seeing the discomfort and fear she was feeling. He especially loved forcing her to call him "master". (Ooh, kinky.)
"Well?" he murmured, his hand sliding down her arm in a lecherous caress that made Christine want to vomit. "Aren't you at least going to apologize for running into me?" he was missing a capital letter backed her against the wall, his hot revolting breath (I bet her breath smells worse.) all over her skin, causing Christine to turn her head with a want to gag. (VERY kinky!)
"Philippe?"
Philippe muttered a curse under his breath and turned his head towards the voice that had spoken his name, a pleasant smile now plastered on his face. "Hello mother." (Without a comma.)
"Philippe! It IS you!" Lady Maria cried, rushing down the hall towards her son, and wrapping her arms around him. She didn't even notice Christine standing there.
Christine took this opportunity to escape, slowly slinking away while Philippe's mother embraced him. However, before she turned away, she caught Philippe's eye; it was dark (You know, I think Philippe might have dark eyes.) and filled with menacing promise that this was not finished yet.
"Oh Philippe," Lady Maria sighed, smiling up at her handsome son. "I did not know you would be coming here! Is everything all right? Will you be staying for long?"
"Sadly, no," Philippe lied. Yes, he wouldn't be staying for long, that was true, but the lie was that he felt any remorse for leaving. "I can only stay for a fortnight." That was more than enough time to bed Christine and get more money from his father. (As opposed to, say, invoking Egyptian gods for fun and profit. Or breaking out of prison with only an armchair and a priest. Or joining the military despite not meeting the weight requirements and attaining the rank of brigadier general. Or creating an entire stock character. Or biting off sheep's testicles. *sighs deeply*
...Just so you know, I did not make any of that up.)
"Oh that is wonderful news!" Lady Maria exclaimed. "You will be able to stay for your sister's wedding!"
Philippe's face fell at his mother's words. "Wedding?" In the last letter he had received from Carlotta there were no commas had been no mention of a wedding, let alone a betrothal. If Carlotta married, that meant Christine would be taken from the castle, since she had more or less become Carlotta's personal servant.
"Yes, to a knight by the name of Sir Erik von Desslar." (It's DESTLER. I haven't even SEEN the 1989 movie and I know the name is spelled Destler! Sheesh.)
Philippe frowned at the name. He did not know of the man, but something about the name caused him great discomfort. (Probably because it was misspelled.)
"He is very rich, from what I am told," Lady Maria grinned. "Twice as rich as your father."
"More likely to be ten times as rich as father," Philippe muttered under his breath. Unlike his mother and sister, Philippe was very much aware of his family's financial burdens. He just didn't care, so long as he had enough money to spend as he pleased. Having a rich brother-in-law may be worth losing Christine…and of course, with Carlotta's help, he was sure he could still get his hands on Christine even after his sister married. (*cups hand around ear* Did I just hear a collective eye-roll from the afterlife? Why, yes, I believe I did!)
"What is this Sir Erik like?" Philippe asked, pretending he was truly interested, when in truth, he was hatching his own scheme.
"Your father did not say," Lady Maria sighed. "All I know is that he is a man of six and thirty, and it is rumored that he is horribly disfigured has a wicked case of syphilis."
Philippe cocked an eyebrow at his mother's words. "Disfigured?"
"Yes," Lady Maria replied. "Although that could mean anything. Your father didn't explain how or where his scars are, only that it should be expected that a fierce soldier, such as he, would have battle scars." She tucked her arm with that of her son's, and began to lead him to the great hall. "I do hope it is an exaggeration, I can not (One word!) bear the thought of my sweet Carlotta being married to a monster." (OMG, so unfair! The homicidal maniac who lives in a basement and stalks opera singers is totally not a monster, you guys!)
Bernard dug his heels into his horse, urging the beast to gallop even faster than it was, in a vain attempt to keep up with his master.
For three days, they had been riding hard, stopping only now and then to give the horses rest. As for the men, they too wished their master would be as kind to them as he was being to the horses; they had little chance to sit and rest their weary muscles. (What was he making them do while the horses rested?)
"My lord!" Bernard roared over the thunderous sound of the horses' hooves. "My lord! I think the men need rest!"
Suddenly, much to Bernard's shock, as well as the other men, Sir Erik tugged on the reins of his giant black steed, bringing the horse to an abrupt stop. Bernard swallowed the lump in his throat as he watched his master's large shoulders heave up and down with labored breathing, as if he himself had been the one galloping. Slowly, painfully slowly, the large dark figure turned towards Bernard, and the steward felt a cold sense of warning wash over him.
Bernard had been Sir Erik's steward ever since the king had knighted the man almost ten years ago. Sir Erik was known as a hero on the battlefield, and a terror to anyone deemed his enemy. He had won many battles for king and country, and was highly favored amongst the royal court, although he avoided the court life as much as possible. (To quote Cookies, "Okay. Let’s all turn a page in Leroux and take a look at Erik. This character is fundamentally the antithesis of the word “citizen.” He embodies disenfranchisement. He is NOT a mother-panthering William Wallace. Get out of his kilt.") In all the years he served with him, Bernard knew Erik to be a trustworthy man, even if he was menacing to behold. (I thought "menacing" was Philippe's adjective in this fic. *is confused*)
Erik was a giant amongst men. Tall, broad shouldered, muscular, with long shaggy black hair (He's a dog.), and piercing amber gold eyes. (I take it back. He's a cat.) He wore nothing but black–his tunic, his armor, everything…all black. This was one of the reasons for why he was called "The Black Knight"; the other reason had to do with his storm-like temper and dark mood. Bernard could not recall one moment in his life when he saw Sir Erik smile…and a part of him feared what such an expression would look like. He could not imagine his master as anything but menacing in appearance. Even now, as Erik's golden gaze caught Bernard's, the steward found himself shrinking atop his horse, wanting to crawl away from the intensity of his master's eyes.
Erik wore a black cloak over his armor, with a high fur collar pulled all the way up to his eyes. (Cloaks don't have collars. Coats have collars. Cloaks are not coats.) The cloak also contained a hood, which Erik had pulled over his head. Only his eyes were visible…and one eye was surrounded by something white, a sharp contrast amidst the ocean of black he wore.
"We stop…when I say we stop," Erik growled, deep and low, his voice imitating thunder.
Bernard swallowed the lump in his throat, even though he'd already swallowed it a few paragraphs ago, and nodded his head dumbly, before Erik turned his back to him once more, and dug his heels into his horse, crying out a mighty "YAW!" (*bursts out laughing*) before speeding down the road that led them to Pierre de Coleville's castle.
Bernard turned his head and nodded at Erik's men, before urging his own horse to keep up with his master. He still could not believe what his master had told him three days ago. Sir Erik von Desslar, the king's menacing (I'm getting really sick of the word "menacing." Thesaurus.com is your friend, Lady Rosesong.) Black Knight, the terror of war, the man who named his sword "the ghost maker"…was getting married.
And to the sixteen-year-old daughter of a baron no less!
Bernard didn't understand why his master was getting married; he thought marriage was the last thing his master would be interested in. Had the king given the order that he marry? (The king must be really bored if his only source of amusement is ordering random guys to get married.) Or was Sir Erik truly enamored with the lady in question? Bernard knew nothing about the girl, other than her name: Carlotta de Coleville. His master did not show any emotion when he mentioned the lady's name; in fact, he mentioned his marriage as if it were another task he had to conquer for his country. (That's not what "conquer" means.) Whoever this woman was, he only prayed that her home was close and that the food was plenty.
"I would have dug my foot into his balls."
Christine gasped at Meg's forward remark (as opposed to her backward remark) and whirled around to face her friend who was busy fixing a hearty pudding for dinner.
"Oh yes, that would have gone over extremely well," Christine muttered with great sarcasm.
"He deserves it," Meg grumbled. She despised Philippe de Coleville and was always worried when he was around, knowing how he seemed to lust after Christine. "That would have taught him a lesson," she hissed. "Teach him to keep his lecherous (I'm getting sick of the word "lecherous," too.) hands to himself."
Christine sighed, wishing she had Meg's fearlessness. "Yes, and it would also have me out on the street without home, food, or work."
Meg sighed and stopped her work, her eyes lifting to those of her friend. "I just don't want to see you get hurt, Christine. And…perhaps…perhaps Mama is right. Perhaps you should marry quickly."
Christine sighed, understanding and appreciating Meg's concern, but hating the thought of marrying someone simply for her own means, rather than an equal share of affection. "Do you really think Philippe will stop his tormenting if I have a husband?" (No.)
Meg shrugged her shoulders. "His desire may lessen. Perhaps the reason he is attracted to you is because you are still a maiden despite the odds."
"Yes, I'm sure that's the only reason," Christine whispered so Meg couldn't hear. She knew she shouldn't be feeling sorry for herself, especially when it came to Philippe de Coleville, but so many times today she had heard horrible things about her lack of beauty and distinct plainness, that it was becoming almost too much to bear. (My feelings exactly. ENOUGH WITH THE ANGST ALREADY.)
"How is Carlotta taking the news of her future marriage?" Meg asked, deciding to change the subject.
"Quite well," Christine muttered sarcastically as she stirred the boiling pot of stew before her. "She knows very little of him, but tells me he is quite old and most ugly."
Meg cocked a brow at these words. "Well, I know nothing about the man's age, but I have heard from others that he is not handsome." (That's how you know he's secretly a good guy, no matter how scary he looks. Average-looking or ugly = good and beautiful = villainous in all of Lady Rosesong's fics.)
Christine stopped her stirring and glanced over at Meg. She hadn't told her friend about the scheme that Carlotta had gotten her caught up in. "Really?" she could not help but be curious about this mysterious Sir Erik. Was the man truly ugly? Or was Carlotta simply exaggerating?
"Robert heard from the master's steward that Sir Erik has hideous scars all over his body from fighting in so many wars," Meg explained. "And, he apparently wears some kind of shield, to hide the ones that are on his face."
Christine's brow furrowed at this news. "A shield? Do you mean…like…some sort of mask?" (Look! A scrap of canon! *clings to it desperately*)
Meg shrugged her shoulders. "Robert didn't say, but it sounds that way, doesn't it? Oh what a sight that would be…Carlotta in all her spoiled splendor, forced to marry a man who has to wear a mask to hide his scars. The little brat deserves it."
Christine tried to chuckle with her friend, but found her heart swelling with pity for the man in question. She knew nothing about Sir Erik, and yet she felt guilty for the trick that both she and Carlotta would be playing on him later. (Are they going to have a threesome? Because that would marginally improve this fic.)
"I wish Mama were here," Meg sighed, pushing back a sweaty copper-gold strand of hair away from her face. "She always knew how to whip up a feast in such little time."
Christine glanced out the single window in the kitchen and noticed the sun beginning its descent. Sir Erik and his men would be arriving shortly, just as Carlotta had said: before dusk. (There's something strange about that sentence, but I can't figure out what it is.)
"I just remembered," Christine murmured, keeping her eyes away from Meg's for fear of giving everything away. "Carlotta wanted me to help her dress before Sir Erik arrives. I best go and do that before she begins screaming." "I'm a naive opera singer involved in a love triangle with a half-mad musician and an impulsive nobleman."
Meg groaned and rolled her eyes. "The sooner that harpy is we get out of this place fic, the better."
Christine gave her friend a sympathetic smile, before turning on her heel (She was spinning around on her heel? Ouch!) and quickly heading to her chambers to change into the gown Carlotta had given her. Earlier that afternoon, after making extra sure that Philippe was occupied by his parents, Christine left one of her own dresses in Carlotta's room. She only had three, and all of them were drab and tattered, but Christine was sure to give Carlotta the worst one; if she was going through with this crazy scheme, she'd at least get satisfaction at seeing Carlotta wearing rags.
Quickly, Christine undressed and pulled the thin shift over her body, before throwing the gown over her head, and working the laces so that it would properly stay. She blushed as she looked down at the neckline; it was extremely low and displayed her cleavage in a most shocking manner. Sadly, the dress was designed for someone with a much larger bosom, and Christine felt utterly pathetic as her small breasts attempted to fill the fabric. She had a feeling Carlotta had picked this gown on purpose for that very reason. (To quote Cookies, "Good to know that in lieu of clever plotting, compelling characterization and maybe one stitch of historical research, we have… a lot of details about… shifts and boobs. I’m so damn sick of shifts. I think these women ought to just go naked instead of all this emphasis on shifts, as if the author wishes to tantalize with the erotic half-nekkidness of thin material and just shove the word “shift” in the paragraph for “accuracy” and “verisimilitude.” All this playing at dress up is just a cover for the thin story. BAH.")
Suddenly, the sound of trumpets could be overheard, and Christine let out a gasp as she heard a herald cry out Sir Erik's name.
He was here!
The time had come for this silly charade to begin.
Taking a deep breath, Christine peeked out the door and surveyed the hall, making sure no one was in sight. Satisfied that it was indeed safe, she quickly rushed down the hall and out one of the castle's back entrances that led directly to the gardens, the very place where Carlotta had told her to wait.
"There you are!" Carlotta hissed, lifting her head from the place where she had been kneeling, trying to look like a servant hard at work, which truly was a joke, since her delicate creamy skin and flaxen blonde ("Flaxen" and "blonde" are synonyms. Don't use both of them in the same sentence.) hair held not one smudge of dirt for someone who had been gardening.
Christine bit her lip to keep from laughing as she took in the sight of Carlotta wearing the rags she had given her. "He will never believe you are a servant if your hands don't get dirty." (I thought this stupid plan hinged on Christine passing herself off as Carlotta, not the other way around.)
"Shut up," Carlotta grumbled, a look of disgust etched across her face as the coarse fabric of Christine's dress scratched her delicate skin. "Go and sit over there," she pointed towards a secluded spot near a rose bush. "Be sure you have your back to the castle. I told Papa exactly how I would be sitting, and that I wanted him to send Sir Erik out into the garden alone."
Christine was trembling. "This won't work…someone will see, someone will know, he'll figure it out–"
"He's an old ugly fool!" Carlotta argued. "And it will work so long as you keep your legs open and your mouth shut!"
Christine paled at the sudden realization that washed over her. "What if Sir Erik asks me a question? (Answer it.) Surely I can not simply sit there and say nothing, that will be even more suspicious!"
"Don't be stupid," Carlotta groaned. "Sir Erik will not be interested in talking to you, he'll just look at you, see that you are not a beauty, and that will be the end of it!"
Christine wanted to punch Carlotta so hard and break her precious little nose…or at least pick up a glob of mud and smear it all over the girl's beautiful hair. (You know, I'm starting to get the feeling that Christine might be insecure about her appearance.)
"Don't just stand there, you idiot!" Carlotta hissed, pushing Christine in the direction of the roses. "Go and sit and wait!"
Christine glared at her young mistress before turning and doing as she was told. This was a bad idea, she knew it was, but she was in too deep now. She had to go through with it. (Much like me and sporking this chapter.)
As she settled down near the roses with her back to the castle, Christine realized that the only thing left for her to do was wait…wait, and pray that Raoul would show up and rescue her from this fic.
Pierre gasped when he heard the herald shout Sir Erik's name. (How come everyone gasps in this fic? Do they all have respiratory problems?) He had been having a most peaceful slumber in his chair in the great hall, when the thunderous sounds of horses could be heard in the distance, followed by the sound of trumpets announcing the knight's arrival.
At last, the time had come.
Lady Maria appeared, dressed quite elegantly, with every piece of jewelry imaginable hanging around her wrists and neck. (How is she able to move?!) Philippe had heard the herald as well, but chose to remain upstairs and observe his sister's betrothed from the balcony that overlooked the great hall.
"I believe Carlotta is already in the garden," Lady Maria informed her husband, smoothing the few wrinkles of our gown (WHOSE gown?! Did she borrow it from me and the omniscient narrator? I don't even OWN a gown!) and running her hands through her own flaxen hair, trying to look as young as possible, although the wrinkles around her eyes could not lie.
"Good," Pierre sighed, happy that his daughter seemed to be finally accepting her fate. He took his wife's arm and led her to the entrance of the castle, smiling as the parade of horses came towards their home, strewing confetti everywhere.
It wasn't hard to guess which one of the fearsome looking men was Sir Erik. He towered over all of them, and both Pierre and his wife felt a tremor of unease desire as his large black stallion approached. (Are we sure that's not a euphemism for anything?) "W-w-welcome Sir Erik!" Pierre stammered, trying to hide his anxiety, although it was proving difficult.
Erik eyed the couple for a long moment, before dismounting from his steed, the hood remaining over his head, and the collar still drawn up to cover his face. Bernard, who had already dismounted, quickly came forward to take the reigns reins of Erik's horse. "My master thanks you for your kind greetings and brings you this…" he motioned behind him, where several of Erik's men-at-arms, pulled two heavy trunks and an unnecessary comma. "As gifts for your warm hospitality."
Lady Maria wasted no time; she all but launched herself at the trunks (Are we sure that's not a euphemism for anything?), squealing happily like a fanbrat as one of Erik's men-at-arms opened them, revealing a bounty of gold, silver, pearls, and other precious gemstones. Pierre was quite dazzled himself by the gift, although somewhat embarrassed by his wife's behavior. "I thank you, Sir Erik! 'Tis far too generous–"
Lady Maria practically elbowed her husband. "You are too kind, and we thank you for this wonderful present. Our daughter is an extremely fortunate lady to have such a caring husband."
Erik said nothing; he simply continued to eye the couple with scrutiny. Pierre's smile felt quite strained under Sir Erik's dark gaze. (Pierre's smile: *holds up Sir Erik's dark gaze like Atlas holding up the sky*) "W-w-won't you come in? You must be famished, my lord, after such a long journey. Please, we have a feast awaiting you and your men." (Some stew and a pudding. That's hardly a feast by any stretch of the imagination.)
Erik looked at his men, whose mouths were watering at the thought of a good hot meal after three days of eating very little from their travels. He caught Bernard's gaze and nodded his head.
"My master thanks you for your kindness and knows that he and his men will greatly appreciate the meal…but he would very much like to meet the lady first," the steward explained.
Pierre smiled at the man's words, although Lady Maria had a vexing look that was spreading across her lovely features like a rash. "Can not your master speak for himself?" she asked.
Erik, who was about to be led inside, paused and turned on his heel, very slowly, to face the woman. Pierre himself felt his face pale at his wife's words, his dark eyes growing wide with fear. He knew very little about this knight, but one look at him and Pierre knew he was not a man to be taunted.
Lady Maria began to regret her question, as slowly, Sir Erik pushed back the black hood of his cloak, revealing his long shaggy black mane (He's a horse.), and lowered the black fur collar, finally revealing the stark white mask that covered half of his face.
The woman grasped her husband's arm to keep from fainting. (Plain white masks are SO SCARY!)
"I can…" Erik growled, deep and low, his golden eyes locked on Lady Maria's face. "And in five languages," he added, before turning on his heel, and marching inside the castle, all of his men following, leaving a dumbfounded Pierre and Maria standing at the entrance. (Way to be rude to your hosts and potential future in-laws, Sir Erik.)
Above, Philippe watched with scrutiny, the dark giant that had entered his father's great hall. So this was the infamous Sir Erik von Desslar. He did not know the man, but one look at him and the mask he wore, and Philippe knew he was the man known as the Black Knight. (And I know that the fanfiction author known as Lady Rosesong knows how to pad things out to a ridiculous degree.)
"My daughter is in the garden," Pierre informed Sir Erik. "She is sitting by the roses, and requested that…that you go alone." He whispered the last part, afraid that perhaps his daughter had been too bold in her request.
However, Sir Erik seemed quite satisfied with this news. "Bernard is my steward," Erik explained. "He will take care of the business you have (What business? If it has to do with the marriage, shouldn't Sir Erik take care of it himself?) and see that the men are fed and given a place to sleep." Pierre nodded and motioned towards a door that led out into the gardens. It was all in Carlotta's hands now…and he only prayed that the girl would have better manners than her mother.
Even though she couldn't see him, Christine knew the moment he had entered the garden. (She's psychic.) She bit her lip and tried to calm her breathing as she imagined him coming towards her. She was so nervous she could not stop shaking, and found herself pulling up various weeds that surrounded the roses in hopes of easing her fears in some sort of task.
And then, her breathing stopped (She died? Yay!), as suddenly, the falling sun was blotted out by a great dark shadow that stood just behind her.
She couldn't see him, but one look at his giant shadowy silhouette, and Christine knew that he was not an old man near death, as Carlotta had believed. (She IS psychic!)
"You are Pierre's daughter?"
The question sounded more like a bark than anything else. (Woof!) It caused Christine to jump at the deep thunderous tone. What should she say? Yes? No? Maybe so? Did she dare continue this charade? Or should she confess the truth and hope he would take pity on her? She was no longer afraid of what would happen should Carlotta's family discover her; she feared this dark knight who sounded like a raging storm!
"Let me see you."
It was not a request, but an order.
Christine took a deep breath, and slowly, turned her body until she was facing the man to whom Carlotta was engaged. Her eyes locked with his black leather boots, and slowly, they moved up, higher and higher. His legs were encased in black metal mesh, and a black tunic came down from on high, covering his powerful muscular thighs, which looked to be the size of her body. (YIKES! Run for your life, Christine! Before he splits you in half on your wedding night!) Christine swallowed the lump in her throat as she continued to lift her eyes higher, seeing the black armor that covered his chest, making his already extremely broad chest and shoulders look even broader. His arms hung down from his sides, also encased in black armor, and looking even more muscular than his legs. (What did I say, Christine? He's going to crush every bone in your body!) He had two very powerful hands, with long calloused fingers, darkened by the hot sun. And then…there was his face.
Christine was speechless, and Erik said nothing as he watched her eyes grow wide as she gazed at him.
The angles of his face were hard (*adds "hard" to list of words I'm sick of*) and fierce. Nothing about him looked weak or soft, but extremely hard and menacing. (I don't think you should use the same description for your hero and your villain, Lady Rosesong.) His jaw, his chin, even his cheekbones…all of them were hard, rough angles that looked to be set in stone, not flesh. (He's a statue.) His eyes were unlike any she had ever seen: a dark amber color that seemed to flash gold. His ebony hair was long and shaggy, and hung limply on his shoulders. But the part of him that she could not take her eyes off was the one piece of him that wasn't dark: the mask that only covered the right side of his face.
He was the most terrible…and fascinating man…Christine had ever laid eyes on. (That second ellipse is in the wrong place.)
Erik also examined the woman in front of him, his eyes narrowing slightly as he assessed her. She was small, but then most people were when compared to his size, if you know what I mean. Her features were not ravishing, not the way that Pierre had bragged in his letter at least. Her skin was slightly tan, her hair was brown and somewhat unruly, and while she had curves, at least from what he could tell of her sitting down, the gown she wore was obviously meant for a woman with a larger chest.
Perhaps the thing that startled him the most were her eyes. Dark blue eyes, unlike any shade he had ever seen.
"Stand up," he commanded, deeply, but softly.
Christine woke from her trance by the thunderous sound of his voice. She did not know what to make of it; it was frightening, and yet…something about his voice felt…safe, and trustworthy. (Because of course it did. *bangs head against wall a la Leroux!Christine*)
Erik eyed her when she did not respond as quickly as he had ordered, and without any warning, he reached down, grasped one of her wrists in his giant hands, and pulled her up to her feet as if she weighed next to nothing.
Christine was still getting over the shock when Erik ordered her to turn around. Not wanting him to grasp her by the shoulders and force her to turn around, she did was she was told, feeling like a fool as he examined her. She was a human being, not some prized cow to be bought at a country fair. (So ACT LIKE IT already.) No doubt this was the part Carlotta had prepared her for; after examining her and realizing she was not the beauty he had expected, he would go and renounce the engagement, which would then send Pierre and his wife into a rage after discovering that Christine had deceived Sir Erik.
"Look at me."
Christine had her back to Sir Erik and softly uttered a curse, before slowly turning back to face the tall, menacing knight, biting her lip to keep from crying. She wished he would finish this, she was tired of being put on display and having her faults measured up. (Here we go again. I'm starting to suspect this is projection on the author's part.)
She trembled as she felt his large, rough, fingers touch her chin, forcing her to lift her face and gaze into his eyes. Christine was lost in the dark gold (Not amber gold?) depths of Sir Erik's mysterious eyes. She held her breath as he gazed back at her, his eyes burning with such an intensity that she thought she would surely faint.
Sir Erik released her chin and took a step back, making one last final evaluation, his eyes falling to her small tiny hands which were covered in dirt and clasped tightly together. (Too...many...synonyms... *is getting dizzy*) "Yes," he murmured, more to himself than to her. "Yes…this will do."
Christine's eyes narrowed with confusion, but before she could speak, Sir Erik had grasped one of her small hands in one of his larger ones, and was practically pulling her behind him towards the castle. She literally had to run to keep up with his mighty strides. (Good grief! Looks like he really is Sir Erik the Huge!)
Christine glanced over to where Carlotta said she would be watching. The flaxen haired beauty's mouth had fallen open in stunned surprise (as opposed to expectant surprise) as she got a good look at the man her father had wanted her to marry, and watched with even more shock as the giant knight dragged her own servant into the castle.
This was not part of the plan! (Probably because YOU DIDN'T THINK AHEAD.)
Christine wanted to beg for Carlotta to come to her rescue, to tell Sir Erik that she was Pierre de Coleville's daughter, the woman he had come to marry, that the girl who's whose arm he held was just a servant, a servant who regretted getting out of bed that morning.
That feeling grew to a breaking point, when suddenly, she found herself standing in Pierre's great hall, standing beside the giant Black Knight, who's WHOSE large powerful hands were grasping her shoulders, and holding her in front of him. (Is she next to him or in front of him? *is confused*)
All of Erik's men-at-arms stopped their eating, and Bernard slowly rose from his seat, his eyes flying from his master's face, to that of the woman who stood in front of him. Pierre and Lady Maria also rose to their feet, the mirth that had been in their eyes slowly disappearing at the sight of Christine standing before Sir Erik, wearing one of Carlotta's gowns. Philippe was also watching, although he remained up on the balcony. His eyes grew wider at the sight of Christine, and his jaw hardened at the way Sir Erik held her. (I'm sure there are ways to properly handle the third-person omniscient point of view, but this is not one of them.)
Christine wanted to flee. Erik's men looked confused, and she had never seen both her master and mistress look more venomous than right now. (They're snakes.) She was done for.
Pierre opened his mouth to speak, his dark eyes blazing with fury at the servant girl. However, his voice was cut off by the thunderous sound of Sir Erik's. "I have made my choice, sir…but I do not wish to wait until tomorrow." His eyes held Christine's for a long moment (How can he look her in the eye if he's standing behind her?) and she waited with bated breath, along with everyone else, to see what fate she was being sentenced to. (Imprisonment in a badfic.) "No…I will not wait till tomorrow," Erik confirmed. "Find me a priest. I will marry the lady tonight." (DUN DUN DUN!)
