The sun had already begun to set by the time Dieudonnae, Bucta, and Hector returned to the Hughes' Estate. The vanishing sun was casting long shadows across the cobbled stone streets, and the clouds in the sky bore a distinct hue of light purple and orange. Arriving at the archway that leads up to her Manor, Dieudonnae halted the company behind her. She ordered Hector to return to overseeing the Mercenary Outpost in Andrath that she had assigned him to. Then, walking to the door of the estate, she held it open for Bucta, whose head hung at his shoulders.
Ushering Bucta into the Servant's Quarters, she bade Gamlan's newest assistant, Ms. Lowbanks or some such name, to put on a kettle for tea. She heard a solid thud, and looked in Bucta's direction as he dropped his shield to the floor, too exhausted and uncaring to bother with it. "When I left, I was only trying to help him...", He spoke softly, thinking on his son, Quincell's, disappearance. Dieudonnae placed one of her hands on his shoulder, "And you did help him. Had you tried to remain, Greta would have taken him from you and then, had such a thing like this happened, he would not have you to search for him."
Bucta's dark cowl concealed his face in shadows as he protested, "Nay, I could have persuaded her to let me stay. I could have protected him!" Filled with pity for the anguished man, Dieudonnae stood in front of him, and pushed back his cowl ere she spoke. "You and I both know that she would have had none of it, and she would have set off with him. At least this way, we think we know who took him, where he is, and can save him..." Embracing him, she added, "...This way, we will save him..."
Her hand tilted his head upwards, this gesture meant to comfort, and he looked down into her good eye. A strange feeling enveloped them both, and suddenly, he cupped his hands to her cheeks, and leaned forward. She shrank into his muscular body, her own hands gripping the sides of his face, and her thumbs tracing the two scars about his brows that he so hated. Then, their trembling lips met, and they kissed.
They held the kiss for many moments, one of his arms slipping around her back, holding her close to him. Then, they broke away slowly, their foreheads leaning against one another. At last, Dieudonnae stood back from him, her face trapped between an expression of bliss, and one of uncertainty. Bucta noted this look, he himself smiling like a fool.
"Am I to apologise for that, or...?", he asked when she stated that she had not done such a thing since Aornn's death. He winced at the mention of her late husband, whose death he felt somewhat responsible for. Her hand shot forward to grasp one of his, "No! I do not regret this, Bucta...it simply struck me in an odd manner." She wrapped her arms around his neck, feigning a smile at him. Yet, inside her head, she was still trying to reason with, and justify this sudden display of affection, so far from her usual cold demeanor and icy indifference.
Ms. Lowbanks returned with a kettle of tea, but Dieudonnae merely waved her away, suddenly realizing how truly weary she was. Throughout the day she had kept on, pushing herself onwards, trying to be stronger for Bucta whilst they searched in Beggar's Alley for any sign of his son. She bid him now a good night, and headed up the stairs to her bed chambers. He, instead, skipped to the Guest Room that she was lending to him, his thoughts now ones of hope, for his son...and for himself.
((Related Posts: The Search for Quincell))
