Fic: Mining for Gold (4/5) "R" Willow/Buffy

["Blitzgal" <xencall@xxxxxxxxx>]

Author: Blitzgal
Title: Mining for Gold
Rating: R
Pairings: Willow/Buffy
Contact: xencall@xxxxxxxxx
Website: http://undaunted.deadtime.net

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, 
nor the universe in which they reside. I do, however, own this 
particular story, as well as Meg and Giselle.

Distribution: Feel free as long as you keep my contact information 
intact. Other websites may post this fiction if they let me know 
where and how to find it.

Summary: This is the story of Giselle Arceneaux, a French slayer of 
the late nineteenth century who heads for the Alaskan territories 
during the height of the gold rush in 1897.

Only one more part to go! Please read and feed; let me know what you 
think.

* * *

Part Four

Over the next several days, Giselle remained true to her word. While 
Meg often spotted her in the dining room or visiting with other 
guests in the spacious drawing room, they were never alone together.  
Although this was exactly what Meg had requested, she knew that it 
wasn't what she wanted. The distance only made her feelings toward 
Giselle more apparent. Even forgetting Paul for the moment, as long 
as the blonde Frenchwoman was tied to her duties as a Slayer, there 
wasn't much hope for the two of them.

When the first week came and went, Giselle's presence at the boarding 
house was painfully clear to the other regulars. As Meg served Mr. 
Week's daily cup of tea one afternoon, she overheard him questioning 
Miss Arceneaux as to her plans for the future.

"The weather is remarkably severe, even for this time of year," 
Giselle was saying.

As Meg passed, their eyes met briefly. She felt a strange fluttering 
in her belly, and quickly glanced down at the floor to avoid 
embarrassing herself in front of the other guests.

"My fiancé thinks it best if I remain here until further travel is 
advisable. The accommodations are so much better than anything 
between here and Birming," Giselle added.

"Meg will be glad to hear that," Mr. Weeks commented. "She won't 
admit it, but I think she lacks for proper female companionship among 
so many rough and rugged men."

At his words, Meg lost her grip on the cup and saucer she offered 
him. The scalding hot liquid spilled across his legs as the china 
clattered to the floor. Mr. Weeks jumped out of his seat in surprise 
and pain.

"Oh my dear, I'm so sorry," Meg cried, humiliated. "Please let me 
help you."

Mr. Weeks waved her away as she attempted to dab the mess with a 
handkerchief. "It was an accident, Meg," he assured her. "But I 
think I should hurry along upstairs."

When Libby hurried out from the kitchen, Meg asked her, "Please take 
some salve up to Mr. Weeks's room. I think he may have been burned."

Indeed, the man was limping as he made his way to the stairs.  
Flushed with embarrassment, Meg watched him go. She sighed as she 
glanced toward Giselle, who watched her alertly. Shaking her head, 
she moved toward the hallway to head back toward the kitchen. Libby 
was already marching up the stairs, salve in hand. Just as she 
pushed through the kitchen door, Meg was stopped by a strong hand on 
her arm. She turned to see that Giselle had followed her out of the 
drawing room.

Meg quickly surveyed their surroundings and saw that they were 
alone. "I told you..." she started.

"And I don't think that's going to work very well, is it?" Giselle 
asked. She sighed. "I can't tell you how upsetting it is, knowing 
that you are perfectly comfortable avoiding me when you're married to 
the most revolting man in this hemisphere."

Meg frowned. "What did Paul do?" she asked.

Giselle shook her head. "A little proposition," she explained. "I 
expected no less from him. There was no harm," she assured Meg when 
the other woman's expression reflected her shock. "I can take care 
of myself."

"It isn't a matter of choosing Paul over you," Meg said.  

When she realized their voices were echoing up the back stairwell, 
she quickly stepped into the kitchen and motioned Giselle to follow.  
For the moment they were alone as Libby delivered the medicine to Mr. 
Weeks upstairs.  

"Paul seems to be the only option I have."

"You would stay here with him?" Giselle asked.

"You would allow me to accompany you on your travels?" Meg questioned 
pointedly. When Giselle's smile slipped from her face, Meg 
nodded. "I cannot be with you when you are 'wed with Destiny.'  
There would be no place for me in your world. That is why I've 
attempted to sever our relationship before it is too late."

Giselle closed her eyes and leaned against the kitchen table. Meg 
thought she'd finally accepted the barrier between them until she 
realized that the Frenchwoman's face had grown markedly pale. As 
Giselle lowered herself into a chair, breathing shallowly, Meg 
frowned in worry.

"Is something wrong?" she asked.

Giselle shook her head. "I've been feeling poorly these past two 
days," she said. "It's nothing."

"That's why you haven't gone out hunting?" Meg wondered.

Opening her eyes, Giselle offered her a wan smile. "You've been 
watching me," she accused gently.

Meg returned the grin. "I can't help myself," she admitted. She put 
a hand to her mouth in amazement.

"Fire between us," Giselle murmured, closing her eyes again. "It is 
not easily extinguished. I think it best if I retire to my room for 
the remainder of the afternoon."

"Yes, of course," Meg said.  

Libby re-entered the kitchen just then. Her wide eyes wandered to 
the Frenchwoman seated at the table before darting curiously toward 
Meg. "Libby, could you assist Miss Arceneaux to her room? She is 
ill."

Libby nodded. "Of course, Mrs. Glass."

After they left, Meg dropped into the seat Giselle had just vacated.  
It was still warm to the touch, and she blushed slightly as she 
recalled the heat of the blonde woman's lips on her own. It was 
perfectly immoral, the thoughts she was having about another woman.  
But no matter what her spiritual teachings told her, they were not 
strong enough to invalidate her emotions, or the way her heart 
stirred at the very sight of her love.

Meg gasped in surprise. She did love Giselle. How was that 
possible, when they'd only met the week before? She'd read about 
such romance in her mother's newspapers, but those were always 
between a man and a woman. Her own father claimed to have fallen for 
the auburn haired beauty the moment he laid eyes on her. Love at 
first sight was a topic that was widely written about in both story 
and song. Until she'd met Giselle, Meg hadn't believed it was real.

"Mrs. Glass, are you well?" a clipped voice asked behind her.

Twisting in her seat, Meg saw Miss Reginald standing in the kitchen 
doorway. "Oh," she said, rising and smoothing her dress with nervous 
hands. Martha always looked at her as though she were terribly 
unclean. "My apologies, Miss Reginald. I didn't hear you come in."

"Miss Arceneaux is feeling a bit melancholy," Martha explained. "I 
thought perhaps a spot of tea might put color back into her cheeks."

"Of course," Meg said. "I've just boiled a kettle of water. I'll 
prepare a cup right away."

"Thank you," Martha replied. Her flinty gaze never left Meg's face, 
nor did she move from the kitchen doorway.

Pouring hot water over a pinch of tea leaves, Meg allowed them to 
steep a minute as she placed sugar and linen on a small tray. "We 
were able to get a few lemons out of California," she said 
conversationally. "The train was here just yesterday. Would Gis--
would Miss Arceneaux like some?"

Miss Reginald raised her brows at the gaffe, but said nothing of 
it. "A lemon would be marvelous," she commented instead.

"Here you are," Meg said as she passed the tray to the 
Englishwoman. "Please let me know if Miss Arceneaux will be 
requiring anything else."

"I will," Martha replied.  

She made sure to close the kitchen door as she left, which struck Meg 
as odd. Of course, there wasn't much about Martha that was entirely 
normal, as far as she'd seen. Giselle was the mystical creature, but 
it was Martha who worried Meg the most. On a hunch, she crept toward 
the closed door and opened it just a crack.

Martha stood in the hallway, gazing toward the front of the house.  
The tray rested on the side table before her. As Meg watched, Martha 
reached into the folds of her dress and pulled out a glass vial 
filled with a clear liquid. Removing the stopper, Martha carefully 
poured several drops of the mysterious liquid into Giselle's tea. As 
she finished, she twisted around to glance toward the kitchen door.  
Meg darted away from the narrow opening and hoped the woman hadn't 
seen her shadow. The Watcher continued on to the back staircase, 
tray in hand.

Meg stood near the kitchen door, breathing heavily. Why would Martha 
poison her own ward? That couldn't be what she'd just seen. But 
Giselle was sick...perhaps it had something to do with her powers, 
and only Martha knew the correct medicines to heal her. Meg shook 
her head. There was something very suspicious about that woman; 
she'd sensed it from the beginning. Meg knew she had to get to the 
bottom of this.

* * *

After Paul fell into unconsciousness, Meg eased out of their bed and 
grabbed her robe. The guests had all retired to their rooms hours 
before. It was only a few hours before what should have been dawn, 
if the sun was to rise. She knew it to be the quietest time of 
night, with the least risk for discovery.

Sneaking down to the second floor, Meg tiptoed down the hallway to 
the door of Giselle's room. She wasn't sure the woman would even 
hear her timid knock. After several long moments of silence, Meg 
heard the sounds of padding footsteps inside the room. The door 
opened, and Giselle peered sleepily out into the hallway.

"I'm sorry," Meg whispered. "I shouldn't have awakened you."

Giselle's eyes opened wide the moment she recognized her. Grabbing 
Meg's arm, she hauled her into the room before she even finished 
speaking. Meg frowned. Giselle's grip felt different now-weaker 
somehow. Perhaps it was a side effect of her illness.

"I was wondering how you're feeling," Meg explained.  

She realized they both wore their dressing gowns and flushed 
uncomfortably. Unhindered by pins or braids, Giselle's blonde hair 
fell past her shoulders, nearly reaching her waist. Meg would have 
guessed it to be curly, but it was impossibly straight. In the dim 
light of the corner lantern, it gleamed like spun gold.

"You waited until this hour to come visit me?" Giselle teased her.

"Well..." Meg sputtered. She was unable to come up with a believable 
excuse. "You're right," she said. "I should have waited until 
morning."

"Nonsense," Giselle told her. Taking her by the arm once more, she 
led her toward two chairs near the shuttered window. "I haven't been 
able to sleep, either. I'm glad for the company."

"You're still unwell?" Meg asked.

Sitting down, Giselle shook her head. "It isn't so much that I feel 
ill," she explained. "Merely different. Like I've been drained of 
my strength."

Meg frowned, recalling the strange liquid that Martha had placed in 
her tea. She wondered if she should mention it to Giselle, to warn 
her perhaps. For the moment she kept her silence. Giselle might not 
want to believe that her Watcher sought to harm her in some way.

"Do you know that just two days ago I was nearly overtaken by a young 
vampire?" the Frenchwoman marveled. "A fledgling that was not even a 
month old! I don't understand it."

"What does Miss Reginald say?" Meg asked. She made sure to keep her 
tone casual.

Giselle waved her hand. "That I'm simply ill, and it's affecting my 
abilities. I suppose she is right...but I've been sick in the past.  
I've never felt this weak. Not since being called."

"Tomorrow you shall have to breakfast with us," Meg decided. "I'll 
make you a wonderful meal-you've never tasted food so good. And then 
you can give Martha a rest."

"She has been doting on me these past few days," Giselle 
agreed. "Truth be told, I'd relish some time apart. She's been so 
terribly strict with my training and education. Sometimes a girl 
just wants to be on her own."

"You're the only girl I've ever met who wants to be alone," Meg told 
her.

Smiling, Giselle leaned forward in her chair. "Not alone," she 
amended. She reached across the distance between them to slide her 
hand over Meg's knee.

At Meg's sharp intake of breath, Giselle captured her hand and pulled 
her to her feet. "I-I think you must be exhausted," Meg began.

"I think you must be nervous," Giselle replied as she stood.  

She stepped close to Meg, who realized for the first time that they 
were very nearly the same height. The Frenchwoman's body was firm 
but yielding as it pressed against hers. Giselle raised one hand to 
caress her cheek, and Meg instantly tilted her head to lean into the 
gentle touch.

"I would not risk frightening you," Giselle promised. "We will not 
take this too far tonight."

Amazingly, Meg felt disappointment at her words. Catching her 
breath, she darted forward to press her lips against Giselle's. The 
Frenchwoman's surprised chuckle was quickly muffled when Meg opened 
her mouth to intensify the kiss. Wrapping her arms around Giselle's 
small waist, Meg pulled her body even closer. Her soft curves were 
clearly evident through the thin fabric of her nightdress. Unable to 
restrain herself, Meg lowered her hands to cup Giselle's taut 
buttocks.

Moaning deep in her throat, Giselle slowly ground her hips against 
Meg's body. Then suddenly, as quickly as the delicious friction had 
increased, it was diminished as Giselle pulled away from her.  
Opening her eyes, Meg stared at her in confusion.

Giselle breathed heavily, and Meg's eyes were immediately drawn to 
the outline of her breasts beneath the white nightdress. "That was 
much faster than I'd intended," she panted. She held up her hand 
when Meg took a step toward her. "As much as I want you, I don't 
think you should rush into this so lightly."

Meg shook her head. "Not lightly," she breathed. "I don't feel at 
all light right now."

In fact, she fell oddly heavy, as though she was full to bursting 
with energy that desperately needed to be released. With a start, 
she realized she was feeling the effects of desire for the first time.

"I want you," Meg whispered.

Giselle grinned at her. She murmured something in her own language, 
then said, "Now you are behaving as a man. Do not force your way 
through this...we are building something formidable, you and I."

She held out her hand. "Please, may we just be together on this 
night?"

Recalling that Giselle was sick, Meg felt a pang of guilt. "Of 
course," she stammered. "For a moment I forgot your condition."

"For a moment, I forgot as well," Giselle admitted.

Meg took her hand, and Giselle lead her toward the bed. As they 
climbed into it, nestling deep beneath the covers, Giselle curled her 
body into Meg's embrace.

"A man considers just one possibility when it comes to making love," 
Giselle explained. Then she laughed. "A Frenchman may begin to 
understand this infinite realm, but even he is limited by his 
anatomy. A woman knows that there are many ways to be intimate with 
her lover."

"We are lovers?" Meg asked.

"Oui," Giselle responded, clearly growing sleepy.  

She continued her conversation in her own language, speaking for 
several more minutes before she finally fell asleep. Meg realized 
she'd have to learn French. Nuzzling against her lover's neck, Meg 
breathed in Giselle's dusky scent. Pressing a kiss against her soft 
skin, Meg allowed herself to fade off into slumber.

* * *

The next morning, Meg waited until Miss Reginald left the boarding 
house before she started cleaning the rooms. She sent Libby ahead to 
work on the other end of the hallway before letting herself into the 
Englishwoman's quarters. Unsurprisingly, Miss Reginald kept her room 
in impeccable order. It made Meg's work that much more difficult.  
She had to surreptitiously look for the concoction Martha was 
dropping into Giselle's food but not stir things so dramatically that 
the woman knew what she'd been up to.

A quick search through the bureau drawers revealed nothing out of 
order. Miss Reginald's underthings were as bland and impossibly 
starched as the woman herself. Though the room was the largest 
available to their guests, it took Meg only a few minutes to go 
through every nook and cranny. She knew the house more intimately 
than Paul himself, who'd helped to build it. He didn't spend every 
single morning cleaning from floorboard to ceiling.

Meg finally stamped her foot in irritation when she was forced to 
admit that she wouldn't find what she was looking for. Perhaps she'd 
have to go to Giselle after all. But she doubted the Frenchwoman 
would believe that her Watcher was lying to her. No, she needed 
proof.

Her eyes fell on the tidy pile of books on the bedside table. Along 
with her journals, Miss Reginald had apparently carried a veritable 
library across the world. Meg hurried toward the woman's trunk.  
Crouching to the floor, she quickly paged through several books.  
Besides a few disturbing illustrations of creatures Meg knew she 
never wanted to see with her own eyes, there was nothing out of 
order. Sighing, Meg sat back in despair.

When she noticed a copy of the Bible poking out of the pile, Meg 
leaned forward again. Although both women wore crosses, neither had 
seemed particularly religious. And while most families kept a well-
used edition in order to keep track of family lines, births, and 
deaths, this Bible was so crisp and new it barely appeared to have 
been read.

Meg fished the book out of the trunk and flipped it open. The pages 
were carefully glued together. At the center of the Bible a slender 
hole had been cut out, just the right size to cradle a small glass 
vial. When she saw the object lying inside, Meg caught her breath.

"I found it," she whispered.

Meg quickly removed the vial from the book and pulled out the 
stopper. A dry cleaning rag easily absorbed the liquid inside. Her 
hands shaking, Meg hurried across the room to the washbasin. After 
thoroughly rinsing the vial, she filled it with water, replaced the 
stopper, and set it neatly back into the Bible. She somehow managed 
to put the book in the exact position she'd found it. Martha would 
never suspect anyone had even been into the trunk.

As she prepared the leave the room, she saw Miss Reginald's journal 
once again. Meg wondered if the Watcher had written anything about 
her plot against Giselle. Would she dare admit to her treachery in 
writing only to leave it behind where someone else might discover 
it? She wasn't sure how much time she had left, but Meg's curiosity 
got the better of her. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she grabbed 
the journal and began reading the latest entries.

Not ten minutes had passed before the tick of footsteps sounded on 
the other side of the door. Meg glanced up from her reading just in 
time to see the Englishwoman walk into the room. Martha stared at 
her first in shock, and then anger. Not able to hide her activities, 
Meg remained as she was, the journal propped open across her knees.

"How dare you?" Martha snapped.

Frowning, Meg slowly rose to her feet. Closing the book, she waved 
it at the Englishwoman and demanded, "So what is this test?"

To be continued...