"Speak, monsieur. The faster, the better."
"How much do you need to know?"
"All of it."
"All right, then...I suppose I should start from the beginning.
"It all started when I visited Munich with a business partner. Not a business trip itself, but it never hurts to be close to those you're dealing with.
"Anyhow, it ended up being a pleasurable enough experience, especially after I met a beautiful woman at a party. I know what you're thinking, but it wasn't that. She was refined and cultured and I was completely captivated. I hadn't felt that way since my first wife died. And besides, this woman wasn't the sort you had a brief affair with. She respected herself too much for that."
Remy snorted, but Darkholme ignored him and continued.
"I extended the trip; I stayed in Germany after my associate decided to return to the States.
"I became infatuated with the woman, courted her daily and bought her whatever came to mind: jewelry, clothing, everything and anything. I felt like a nervous schoolboy around her. Perhaps because she was so young...
"My affection was not one-sided, I assure you. Though she was a bit timid at first, she slowly began warming to the idea of us being more than casual acquaintances."
Remy looked bored. "I thought you were going to tell me about Lensherr."
"I'm getting to that. After several weeks of what I can only describe as a whirlwind romance, I proposed marriage to my young lady. She was hesitant, understandably; as I said, we'd only known each other some weeks. But, after some tender cajoling, she ceded. We sailed home and became man and wife."
"That doesn't explain Lensherr."
"That's because Lensherr meant nothing to me then. I'd only met him briefly at a dinner party, where he'd been introduced as a successful businessman. What sort of business, I never enquired."
Remy looked about ready to interrupt, but Darkholme stopped him with a raised hand. "This is where my marriage enters into it, sir.
"My son, my pride was abducted some time after I was married. Of course, I assumed it was for money; I had no enemies to speak of. I am a wealthy man, but everything I have was earned fairly."
Remy said nothing, and both men were silent for a long while. They could hear the wind howling outside the small cabin.
"This time is difficult for me to remember. So much seemed to be happening. I was sent a ransom note. The amount asked for was exorbitant. An amount few people would be able to gather; I was not one of them. During this time, I tried to keep a calm demeanor. I had my daughter and wife to think of, after all. But inside, I was grief stricken." Darkholme took a deep breath before continuing. "This was before I knew my son was dead."
"Lensherr?"
"Yes. I came to know that upon receipt of a second note, one that came directly from my son. Or so I thought. In reality, Eric Lensherr had forged his writing, sending me a note from a son long dead. Robert was only sixteen."
"I don't understand."
"He wanted me to know who he was. And he wanted me to know he had killed my only son."
"Why?"
"My wife."
"Your wife?"
"He knew my wife would know exactly what it was about, and that she would tell me."
"And?"
"She did. When I read the note to her, and Lensherr's name was spoken, she went ashen. In all the time I knew her, she'd never looked so frightened. We'd been married two years then and I thought I knew everything about her. In reality, I knew very little. When I asked why she had reacted so badly, she would not answer. All she repeated was the name of the man who has become my torturer. I begged - I forced her to tell me what she knew. In the end, she did.
"What she told me left me cold. She admitted that the man who had kidnapped my son -for I did not yet know he was Robert's murderer - had been her lover. That, in fact, my very relationship with her was the cause of his ire. She had left him under bad circumstances, stolen from him, and married me in order to escape. Robert was Lensherr's revenge.
"And now, he intends to kill me, perhaps in hopes of keeping Raven for himself. I don't know. Why do you look at me that way? You wonder why I stayed with her, after everything? I'm only a man, Monsieur LeBeau. I love my wife beyond what is reasonable. I desire her more than I should."
"I'm not here to judge," replied Remy, lighting another cigarette.
"But are you here to help?"
"Fifty thousand?"
Darkholme nodded, expectant.
"All right. Give me some time. Remy will think of something."
Marie Darkholme reached into her coat's pockets, trying to warm her hands from the ever-increasing force of the wind. In one pocket, she could feel the cold metal of the gun Logan had given her, in the other her father's watch.
She reached inside and opened it. They had been trudging through the snow for more than an hour. It was getting colder and colder; her teeth were beginning to chatter. "How much longer?" she asked.
Logan was walking slightly ahead of her, gauging their direction with a compass he periodically produced from his pocket. "Not much actually, but only because we're going to have to stop. It'll be dark soon, and I don't want to be caught in the middle of a storm."
Marie frowned, aware that there was no place within the vicinity in which they could lodge. "Stop where?"
Logan turned and pointed south. "We're going to backtrack. I saw a small cave where we can at least stay dry. I have a couple of blankets in that bag, too."
"Cave?"
"Well, more of a hole in a big rock, really, but it'll do." He started walking again. "Let's go."
After about fifteen minutes, they reached the "cave". Logan was right. It was more an outcrop of a small rock formation. It would provide shelter from the snow and the wind, but not the cold. Logan went to work on building a small fire, and Marie sat back and watched him work. After a while, he was finished and sat beside her.
"Here," he said, handing her a blanket. "It's not much..."
"But it'll do," she interrupted, nodding. "You think of everything."
He nodded and smirked. "I try."
"Logan?"
The sky was darkening and clouds threatened to cover whatever moonlight emerged.
"Yeah?"
"If we find my father..."
"When."
"When. When we find him, what will we do? Lensherr's bound to have men all around him. We're only two people."
"I'll think about it when we get there."
Marie stared at the small flames before her. She watched as they swayed and threatened to be extinguished altogether. She glanced back at Logan. "Aren't you going to cover yourself?"
"It seems I only packed one blanket." He smiled at her. "I'll be fine."
"All right."
Leaning back against the rock, she closed her eyes. She could feel him, sitting next to her, awake and tense.
"We could share..."
She opened her eyes to see Logan staring at her quizzically. "I thought you didn't like being touched?"
"I...don't. But I don't want you freezing because of me."
"I won't. Don't worry."
Marie didn't say anything more. She sat back and closed her eyes, realizing for the first time how very tired she was. If Logan didn't want to share her blanket, she couldn't force him. Within minutes, she had drifted into a dreamless sleep.
Some time later, she awoke with a start, surrounded by complete darkness. Logan was still sitting upright beside her. He was smoking a cigar.
"Are you cold?" she whispered.
He turned to look at her and she thought she caught surprise on his darkened features. "I thought you were asleep."
"I was." She scooted up next to him and held one side of her blanket to him. "Come on, I won't rest easy knowing you're cold."
For a brief moment, he looked at her without moving. Then, he wordlessly shifted his body, discarding his cigar and wrapping himself within her blanket, pulling closely to her comparative warmth.
She felt him place a tentative arm around her. "Can I?" she heard him ask.
"Yes," she said softly, already feeling the effects of him next to her, their bodies creating heat. "You must be very tired."
"It's not so bad."
There was a long period of silence during which she could almost feel his heart beating. Her being hummed with exhaustion - and something else. "I never explained why I don't like being touched."
"You don't have to," he murmured.
"It's nothing, really. And, it's not that I don't like being touched as much as it makes me feel uncomfortable."
"Sorry." Logan began pulling away.
"No! No, not you. It's all right. Just," she paused, "David, the boy from Mississippi..."
"The idiot?"
She smiled. "He used to touch me a lot, you know? Holding my hand, hugging, a caress, a kiss... it was how he showed his affection. When I realized how false that was, his affection, I just didn't care for touch. It's like people have power over you if they can touch you. It's the best way I know to explain it."
"I'm sorry he hurt you that way," she felt him whisper against her hair.
"Logan?"
"Hmm?"
"You don't remember loving anyone?"
"No."
"How about hurting someone?"
"I would never hurt someone that wasn't after hurting me."
"Have you killed anyone?"
"Not that I remember, but I was a soldier - and lived to tell about it - so I imagine I did my share."
"That must be terrible," Marie offered through a yawn.
"I expect so."
Her eyelids drooping, Marie felt herself leaning into Logan's shoulder. "I wonder," she mused, "what it would have been like to meet under different circumstances."
"We probably wouldn't have."
"Why not?"
"I'm not the sort of guy you usually socialize with, rogue."
"If I'm a rogue," she countered sleepily, "then I would definitely socialize with you."
"How would we have met? At a ritzy dinner party?"
"In a Canadian bar."
"Now you've gone daft."
She continued, unfazed by his comment. "And we would have looked at each other and just known."
"Known what?" His voice vibrated through her.
"That we were meant to meet."
"Marie?"
"Yes, Logan?"
She felt him move so that his face was before hers and before she knew it, he had pressed his lips to hers. The moment was brief, but after it was over she swore she could still feel his beard prickling her cheek. He leaned back to his previous position and said, "Get some sleep, rogue. I will, too. We'll need it."
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