This being the second tale of Sebastien and Cosette. The first was The Collaring, posted in an earlier entry. They are best read in order. ~~~
It was dark in the carriage as it jarred and creaked its way down the mountain from Chateau de La Roque. Within, behind the drawn, rich velvet curtains, Cosette fingered the patterns of intricate lace at her wrists. She wondered where she was going. She wondered why he had given her the dress...
Her new dress, all cream-white satin and delicate filigree, was breathtakingly beautiful and shamefully immodest. The corsetry, while at times uncomfortable, embraced her in a way that made her more aware of her femininity. The spider-work lace trimming the bodice did little to veil the rose-pink of her nipples riding the soft swell of her breasts. Her master had paid the tailor extra for that.
Her master...
Marquis Sébastien La Roque sat across from her, his gloved hands crossed over the pommel of his cane. Though it was too dark for her to see him, she could feel his presence. She could feel it in the weight of the steel collar, his collar, around her neck. It served as a constant reminder that she was his slave, and Cosette reveled in that knowledge.
The carriage rattled on for an hour or more before Cosette marked the sound of the horses' hooves changing from dull thudding on the packed dirt highway to ringing hollowly on paving stones. They had arrived. But where?
They sat silently in darkness, waiting for the driver to attend them. Cosette nervously toyed with a long, sable lock of her hair. As the door opened to the moonless night, the Marquis leaned in close to her, "You are to speak to no one here," he whispered.
"As you wish, Master," she replied, her curiosity piqued all the more at this. Following him out of the carriage, she stepped down into the paved courtyard, which appeared to be flanked all around by small, single room hovels built against a stone wall. It wasn't until she turned that she saw, on the far side of the carriage, the high tower and steeple of Clairvaux Abbey.
"Come," her master said, setting off toward the chapel. Cosette fell in behind him, her thoughts awash in confusion. She was acutely aware of the salacious irreverence of her dress. It was improper attire in secular company; but here... here it was blasphemous! Still, she dared not try to conceal herself. It was his wish that she wear it, and his wish that she come with him to this place.
From the shadows of the chapel, they were met by a monk in grey robes and a dark cloak, the hood drawn far forward, completely obscuring his face. No words were exchanged between the two men, but the Marquis placed a note in the abbot's hand and was given a scroll in return.
Cosette flushed scarlet as she felt the priest's eyes on her.
Pausing to bow to the Marquis, the abbot then led them both to the chapel door. The heavy wooden door opened to a long, spacious sanctuary. The vaulted ceiling, supported by great stone arches, rose thirty feet or more overhead. The light from the candles at the altar became lost in the shadows of its upper reaches. Along either side of the sanctuary, polished wooden benches served as pews. At the front of these, six to a side, stood other monks, each in the same robe and cloak as the abbot.
Cosette could hear them chanting, their voices deep and sonorous. She found the sound somewhat sinister at first, but as she followed the abbot and her master down the aisle, the tone began to feel somehow... soothing.
When, at last, they had reached the far end, her master indicated that she should kneel on the small cushion on the floor before the altar. Crouching behind her, the Marquis reached to her hands, placing them together before her, in the position for prayer. Thankful that in this, she could at last hide the shameful display of her breasts, Cosette silently blessed her master for his mercy.
The Marquis pressed a kiss to the top of her head and stepped away from her. She could hear his footsteps echoing down the aisle. Her heart raced as the door boomed closed. She shifted uncomfortably on the cushion as the abbot's voice joined the chorus of his brothers.
Cosette tried to recall the prayers she was taught as a girl, stumbling through what bits she could remember, but the monks' chanted litany wove its way into her mind, stealing her thoughts from consciousness. It seemed closer to her now, and echoing to her from all around. Her prayers were lost in its baritone melody. She became drunk with it.
Within the haze of this intoxication, she felt hands placed gently on her shoulders, helping her to her feet. The abbot turned her around to face him, though the hood still hid his face from view. The other monks pressed in around her, their chant continuing unchecked, drawing her deeper under its spell. She felt dizzy. The abbot offered his hands to support her. She accepted, stepping into his embrace.
