ForevaXena's FanFic . . .

Angel's Flight

by Ellianora

Disclaimer: The characters in this story belong to me and as such are my property Please, Please, don't use them without permission

Sex: There is some in this tale between two consenting women and some of the details may be a little graphic. If this offends you don't read it.

Violence: Part of this story deals with war and its savagery so be wary, the violence is graphic and horrorific, but then so is war.

Special Disclaimer: Please keep in mind I've taken great pains to try and depict the status of women during this period and most common women's sense of self. While some may find this offensive it does show far how far we have come

Feedback: I always love to hear feedback and always respond back as soon as possible.

Thanks again to my beta readers Trish and Lesley who always try to keep me in line. Also a special thanks to the bard to Hunter Ash whose tale 'Rogue inspired me to begin this tale.

Chapter One

Angelique Dupre stared dreamily at the rolling hills of the French countryside out the small opening that served as a window in her diminutive, but clean cottage.

Her mind drifted back to a much more enjoyable period in her life, when she ran and played with her brothers on those very hills. Even then, she had been a slender feisty child.

“I am going to be a soldier,” she had declared boldly to her siblings, brandishing the piece of wood serving as a makeshift sword.

“Girls can’t be soldiers,” her eldest brother reprimanded her.”

“Why not?” She had demanded with childish naivety.

“Because they can’t,” he shot back. “Girls get married and take care of their husbands. That’s why.”

She closed her eyes at the memory of those all too loud prophetic words. It wasn’t long after she was forced to spend more time at home to learn ‘womanly’ ways. Gone were her carefree days of running through the fields. Instead her days were spent learning to cook and sew and how to perform other duties expected of one of her gender. Her parents had hoped to marry her off to some successful trader.

Much to their chagrin, she remained slender and narrow hipped with small breasts. Hardly fit for bearing or rearing children. While her face was not unattractive it did have a strong androgynous quality about it. The only positive trait was her voice. She had a lovely high melodious voice and would often be urged to sing at festivals even now. While this was nice it was hardly a trait one would find desirable in a potential wife.

At last one man, Guy Dupre had offered to take her off their hands. He was an ugly man, with rotund gut from spending many nights at the local tavern. Despite this, he managed to become a successful merchant. A woman like Angelique could hardly be too choosy. Though lately his business had been suffering as he spent more time in the tavern and less at his craft.

Angelique’s thoughts were violently interrupted by the aroma of something burning. Her eyes shot open in abject fear. Glancing back at the cooking fire she prayed her first instinct was wrong only to have it confirmed. The roast had burned while she sat the window daydreaming. How could she be so foolish?

“Mon dieu,” she exclaimed rushing over to examine the meat, praying that it might be salvaged in someway. Angelique found to her horror, it was beyond repair.

The long shadows being cast by the trees outside told her that the sun would be setting soon. Guy had made it known he would be home on time, eager to enjoy the fine cut of beef one of his wealthier clients had given him. “And you best not mess this up, you scrawny cow,” he had warned,” or there will be hell to pay.” Angelique absently felt her side; still aching from the last time she had angered him.

For once, she prayed Guy would forget his words and stop off at the local tavern, only to be dropped off by few of his drunken friends late in the evening. At least, that might buy her some time to think of way to avoid the beating that was sure to come.

“Wife!” She heard, a raspy voice cry out outside the door to the cottage. Her heart leaped to her throat. The savior was not going to be kind to her. “You best have that meat ready woman.” Guy flung open the door causing Angelique to jump as he strolled into the house. His face scrunched up as the charred smell assaulted his veined bulbous nose. “What is that smell woman!?”

“I-I am sorry,” she said as tears streaked down her face. She edged towards a corner near the mantle. From his bloodshot eyes she could tell he had spent a good part of the day at the tavern already.

Guy examined the burned remains of what had once been a roast still sitting on the fire, sizzling away. “Can’t you do anything right?!” He roared. “I swear you are the most useless woman I’ve ever seen. What were you doing? Staring out the window looking at the clouds again?”

“I-I Fell asleep,” she sobbed covering her head in a vain attempt to shield herself from the blow that would surely come.

Guy waddled towards her, striking her hard across the face sending her crashing down upon the floor. “You can’t stay awake long enough to even take care of such a simple chore,” he accused.

“Please, she begged as she staggered to her feet, “don’t strike me in the face. The festival will be in a few days and they have asked me to sing.”

Guy responded with an animal-like growl as he wrapped his pudgy fingers around her throat. “That’s all you care about,” he snarled tightening his grip. “A chance to sing like some whore in a tavern.”

Angelqiue’s eyes went wide as she realized her fate. He was going to strangle her. He was going to kill her in a drunken rage. She felt her larynx collapsing from the pressure. She wanted to scream only to find her voice had been cut-off.

Her flailing hands felt the wooden butt the flintlock pistol her husband kept on the mantle. Guy had told people it was given to him by a commander during a campaign, in truth he won it gambling. He always kept the weapon loaded. Her eyes were beginning to roll up into her head as she pointed the pistol and fired point-blank into his face. His ugly face exploded, covering her in scarlet.

Guy’s grip on her throat loosened, as he collapsed on top of the slender woman. They both went crashing to the hard wooden floor. She lay there with the weight of her now deceased husband crushing down upon her as she struggled to catch a ragged breath through her damaged throat.

“Sweet mother of God,” she thought fearfully. “What have I done?” She shoved the heavy body off her and stood up on trembling legs. Ripping off the apron she had been wearing Angelique wiped off the bloody remains from her face.  Her simple gray clothing was now splattered with blood, resembling some macabre pattern, like one might find in a more expensive frock. She tried to scream but was only able to utter a low harsh raspy sound, like that of metal blade being dragged across a sharpening stone. She winced in pain from the effort.

She had murdered her husband. Never mind it was in self-defense, according to the kings law she was in all respects his property and thus his to do with as he deemed fit. She vainly attempted to construct some story that would sound plausible. She had to think of something, if not they would hang her for the murder, possibly in time for the festival.

“At least her execution would be the highlight of the affair,” she thought grimly. Even if she did manage to hide the truth, they may kill her anyway just for entertainment purposes. After all, she was only a woman; one who was childless, and most likely would remain so.

Her eyes fell upon the cooking fire. She picked up the pistol and stuffed it into her simple smock, gathering up the bag of shot and powder.  Next, she took the shovel and began tossing fire embers about the cottage. A smile graced her lips as she tossed a few upon the small straw bed in the corner, where she had laid helpless so often as the grotesque brute grunted on top of her praying that he would finish soon. The wool blankets ignited violently and soon fire engulfed the bed.

With a determined look in her brown eyes, she dashed out of the shack. Upon seeing the blaze, soon the townspeople would arrive. It was a good thing they had lived on the outskirts of the village. If she were lucky, they would assume both of them perished in the blaze. She permitted herself a short respite as she turned to witness the consuming the residence as tears streamed down her suet-streaked face. Her hands stroked her sore throat as a satisfied smile faintly crossed her lips.  In the distance she hear the alarm as the fire became visible in the village. Angelique turned her back and began walking off into the protective darkness of the night.

She traveled for what seemed like hours in an attempt to get as much distance between her and the village as possible. At last, exhaustion caught up with her, as she felt herself becoming tired. Still, she had to keep moving forward. Where she had no idea. What could she possibly do? She had often dreamed often of running away to Paris and joining a singing troupe.

She had also dreamed of being a brave soldier, boldly leading her men into combat against a superior foe with cannons firing on either side of her, a foolish dream for a woman Men were the soldiers. According to Father Cormier, it was a woman’s place to care and obey their husband. That was God’s plan. The men were the rulers and it was a woman’s duty to support her mate. She had always thought of herself as a good catholic, following the edicts as directed by their local clergy. She gasped as the realization of what she had done overwhelmed her. Not only had she had disobeyed her husband, she had slain him, then ran off like a thief in the night. She wanted to be absolved, but whom could she tell? If she confessed, they would most likely execute her. Despite everything, Angelique did not want to die.  Either way, she may have very well doomed her soul to eternal torment.

Suddenly, the realization of her more immediate circumstances engulfed her. She knew she couldn’t go back now and she had no real skills. She might even become one of those pathetic toothless beggars she had seen in Paris once when she visited there, or worse, one of the women who serviced the taverns in vicarious pleasures, spreading their legs for a sous or a loaf of bread. Fatigue and despair overcame her as she collapsed under a large oak tree just off the road she had been following.

“Off your horse,” she heard a gruff voice order as she was jolted awake. Angelique cautiously peeked around the oak in the direction of the voice. She spotted two rough looking men aiming a pistol at a young man in rather nice clothing as he slowly dismounted from his horse.

The lad’s hand moved slowly towards the rapier strapped to his side. One of the men pointed the barrel in the direction of his hand upon noticing the slight movement. “Pull your hand away,” he warned,” or you will be missing a few fingers.

“What do you want?” The lad asked, giving them a baleful stare.

“Your horse and gold for now,” one of them snickered. “And maybe those fine clothes too.”

“Have care man,” The lad shot back. Angelique had to give him credit. He was a very brave person, standing his ground at such an obvious disadvantage.

Angelique leaned back against the trunk of the oak. By God’s providence the robbers had not seen her. If she stayed quiet they might just finish the robbing the man and ride off, without even knowing she was there. If the lad didn’t cause too much of a fuss they might even let him live. She glanced around at the determined stare on the man’s face. That was unlikely. Also neither robber had bothered to wear mask so it was unlikely they had no intention of letting their victim live.

“It’s not my concern,” she thought fretfully. “I have problems of my own.”  Heaving a heavy sigh she removed the pistol she had tucked into her dress. She couldn’t stand idly by and let him perish.  Opening the bag, she tried to remember how her father and Guy had loaded their guns. First, she took out the wad of paper filled with primer, stuffing it into the barrel. Next she removed the shot placing it in the barrel and removed the rod to pack it all in. Satisfied, she completed the task properly, she pulled back the hammer and released the fresen and poured what she hoped was the proper amount of powder into the pain. The pistol was ready to fire. At least she hoped so.

Taking a deep breath she jumped out from behind the tree leveling her barrel at the highwaymen. “Let him go,” she croaked in a harsh voice. The men were so startled by the grating sound they spun around momentarily forgetting the boy. They stared in awe at the woman pointing the pistol at them, her dress still covered in blood.

The highway stood in awe unsure of how to react. A woman was pointing a weapon at them, obviously one who was addled, but still a woman. “Put that thing away,” one of them sneered as he approached her.

“Stay back!”

He eyed the shaking woman before him. With a lustful leer he stalked towards her. Angelique wrapped both of her hands around the pistol her brown eyes now were filled with terror. The robber continued on. Angelique fired the pistol.

The highwayman stared down at the whole in his chest in disbelief. He dropped to his knees as his hands felt the wound, covering his hands in blood. Then dropped to her feet onto the dirt road. Angelique stood trembling half in fright and half with an odd exhilaration.

“You filthy whore!” The other cursed as he aimed his pistol at Angelique, still standing in the road. Before he could fire, the man who they planned to rob grabbed for the pistol. Suddenly a shot rang out as the two separated. The robber ran off as the lad crumpled to the ground and the horse galloped away.

Regaining her senses, Angelique rushed over to where the lad lay and cradled his head in her lap.

“Thank you my lady,” he gasped, opening his deep blues. “You have allowed me to die with honor. At those words, he closed his eyes as the last vestige of life left his form. It was the third dead body she had seen in less then a day. She wept for the brave lad who had attempted to save her.

Slowly she began to search through his possessions. He had small purse of coins, there was little there, but more then she had currently. She also discovered a letter with an official seal on it. Angelique was one of the few people in her village that knew how to read. It was one of the skills she was most proud of.

The letter was that of introduction for a Jean Beaudreau, whom she assumed was the lad to a commander on the Belgium front. The boy was a soldier, or was going to be one.

She studied the body. The lad was nearly her size. Suddenly, an insane idea flashed into her mind. Grabbing the hands of the body she started to drag it off the road into a nearby patch of shrubs. Once she was safely out of site she removed her dress and undergarments. Taking the dagger she had found among his possession she began to cut her dress into a long strip then wound it around her to bind her small breasts. After removing all the man’s garments she slowly began to don them. They were loose fitting upon her form, but the fit served her purpose even better, masking the slightest hint of her real gender.

Using a shaving mirror, she started to cut off her bangs to give herself a more masculine cut. She would live her dream. She would become a soldier.  What better place for her to hide from her pursuers.

After strapping on the sword belt she began to dig a shallow grave for her unwitting rescuer. Angelique attempted to say the proper blessings over the grave though the words stuck in her throat. She had committed so many sins in past few hours she was certain she had earned herself a place next to Lucifer himself.

To Be Continued . . .

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