Antoine's Revenge by Till Noever

Author:Till Noever
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Till Noever
Published: 2022-10-14T00:00:00+00:00

~~~

When Sophie entered the salle it was still in semi-darkness, with candles in holders on the walls casting a flickering light of many shadows.

Antoine approached from the other end of the salle .

“On time today. Much better. Shall we begin?”

But then he peered closer at her as she stepped forward and more light revealed her current attire.

She held up the bundle of clothes. “I am to see Maître Lenier immediately after this lesson.”

Antoine grinned. “I know what is required of me.”

He headed for the door—passing by her so close that she caught a whiff of a scent that she thought was uniquely Antoine. It lingered in her nostrils even when the door had closed behind him.

What was the strange feeling in her belly?

Sophie changed hurriedly, draped the respectable garments for Maître Lenier’s lesson over a table, went to the door and opened it.

“Much better,” Antoine said, looking at her approvingly as he entered; and Sophie told herself that there really had been no need either to open the door, or to remain standing where she was, thus forcing him to pass close enough so that she again be touched by his scent.

What was it?

Not parfum , but just…Antoine Hilbert. And, yes, he definitely had bathed. What time did he rise to be here this early?

“I'm ready,” she said.

“Excellent. Let us start with twenty laps around the salle. Remember to start leisurely, then do the next ten as fast as you can.”

When she was done, he had her do ten push-ups, and immediately after that asked her to pull herself up several times as high as she could on a bar that he had cunningly affixed with two ropes to the salle ’s supporting arches.

When she was done with that her lungs were on fire, and her legs and arms appeared to be bereft of strength.

“Lie flat on your back,” he said. “Fold your hands across your chest.”

She did, and it was heaven.

“I have to touch you now,” he said, kneeling beside her. “I believe this is forbidden to the likes of me.”

“You may touch me,” she muttered, closing her eyes. “I trust that your touches will be done with the requisite propriety.”

“I will do my best,” he said.

She kept her eyes closed as he bent over her. She knew that’s what he did, because she felt the warmth of his body; then of his hands, as he grasped one of her wrists and lifted the arm. Fingers touched her here and there, somehow relieving the pain in her muscles and restoring her strength.

He put the arm down again.

“Is that better?”

She opened her eyes. “Much better.”

“Good.”

He rose, knelt at her other side, and gave that arm the same treatment. This time she kept her eyes open and watched him as he worked his magic on her arm.

“Where did you learn this?”

“It is Moorish lore, much of which can be found around the Iberian kingdoms.”

He rose. “Next exercise. This one will teach you how to—”

“What about my legs?” she asked.

“What about them?”

“My calves are burning, and my knees feel oddly dislocated.

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