Disclaimer: I do not own the Scarlet Pimpernel in any of its book or movie forms. But sink me, if it isn't a monstrous romantic adventure story!

Rating: M for mature/marital themes

The Pimpernel and His Lady

He had scooped her up in one movement, never minding the protest his arms surely must have made after that sound beating by Chauvelin's men. She would have protested on their behalf, but his arms never wavered as he carried her over the rocky terrain; never once did she feel any indication that she was heavier than a feather to his muscled arms and sure hands. Even through the fog of weariness and pain, she experienced a thrill hum through her every time his grip tightened on her, one arm steady behind her back, the other beneath the bend of her knees. Her head came to rest upon his shoulder, and it felt so good, so natural, so very much like the curve of his neck had been made to fit the curve of her head, that she wondered how she had gone more than a year without touching him, except for when their hands clasped during the occasional gavotte. She was slowly lulled into a dull sense of warm comfort, although the spray coming off the ocean was chill. In the circle of his arms, knowing he was safe, there was warmth enough for a lifetime.

After some moments, he began to speak, and she felt the strong hum of his voice against her ear. To think, that voice which she had been used to describe as inane was the same voice whose commands had saved the lives of countless innocents!

"Odd's fish, but I cannot think why the devil Ffoulkes did not stay in England as I ordered him to. What was the man about? He will have to be much more mindful if he is ever to make Mlle. Suzanne a proper husband, eh?"

She could not see his face as he said this, but to her mind's eye, his piercing blue ones with their lazy lids were looking sideways at her, as if to truly say Why the devil are you here Margot?

She gave a small sigh before she answered, and she could have sworn she felt an answering breath shudder within him as the small movement whispered over the skin of his neck.

"Do not be too hard on him Percy. I implored him to take me to you — I cannot recall my exact words now, but I rather believe I commanded him to. He could not have refused me any more than I could have stopped him from going, once he knew you were in danger."

She felt him chuckle, but his words had a serious undercurrent that she could not quite place.

"It is a foolish, headstrong man indeed who can refuse you anything, my little Margot."

She felt her voice catch—now that she was here, in his arms, she had to know. She had to ask him, had to admit to him, the one so dear, what she had only recently admitted to herself.

"Oh Percy, it is I who have been the fool; a selfish, unfeeling fool. Can you forgive me? Can you forgive me my ignorance and my pride, whose twin influences kept me so long from saying what I must have said to you every day of our lives together? That I love you Percy."

He stopped walking. She drew her head up from his shoulder to look into his eyes, so he might see for himself the earnestness of her words. His handsome face was turned towards her, those blue eyes that took on the mask of indolence were fixed upon her with a stare so unwavering, so profound, that she almost looked away from their intensity. The soft moonlight encircled them both and for a moment, they were separated from the rest of the world, nothing speaking but their eyes, no sound but for his gentle, quickened breath upon her cheek.

At last he spoke in a voice of infinite tenderness, and her heart beat fast to the cadence.

"My dearest, if I can willfully ignore the desire of the woman who has placed herself in mortal danger to save my life, if I cannot forgive the woman for whom I live and breathe, then I must be the most demmnable fool in all the world."

She let out a breath she had not known she held, and her heart became, if possible, even lighter than the knowledge of his safety had made it.

He was still gazing at her with those clear, lucid, strong, passionate eyes. If she moved forward ever so slightly, she would be able to capture his full lips with her own….

"Sir!" Andrew Ffoulkes's voice jolted them both out of their heated cocoon. "Why have you stopped? Chauvelin's men could still be amongst these rocks!"

"Zounds, you're right Ffoulkes!" He gave a start and, tightening his grip on his precious parcel, he began to clamber over the rocky terrain once more. "I dem near forgot where I was." He added, in an undertone to Marguerite, "A beautiful woman will do that to a man, eh wife?"

She laughed clearly and lightly. She laughed at his jocular manner and the ease with which he had outwitted Chauvelin. She laughed that they were all safe and that his mission had been successful. She laughed at herself for ever having called him a fool. She laughed that he had forgiven her, and that his love for her burned just as brightly as hers for him. She laughed because she was utterly, purely, incandescently happy at last.

Sir Percy's long stride and sure steps enabled them to spot the Day Dream much sooner than she had guessed. Never had its white sails and sturdy planks looked more inviting.

"Quickly Ffoulkes, let's shove off from this demmnable place and plant our feet on English soil once more."

He strode quickly up the small gangway that had been left for him, Sir Andrew following at the rear. Marguerite had begun to look earnestly about her for one face in particular and could have wept with joy when she finally saw her brother approaching them, a confused but happy smile upon his face.

"Armand!" she cried out. Percy stooped to lower her poor feet to the deck, saying as he straightened, "Your brother Madame, delivered to you safe and sound as a babe in arms, just as I promised."

"Oh Armand!" Marguerite ran to him as best as her feet would allow, which really only enabled her to manage a hobble. But Armand took her in his arms, and she was steady once more.

"Dearest sister, whatever are you doing here? What on earth has happened?"

Marguerite, in her exhaustion, could not bring herself to repeat the whole story just now. But her husband's voice drifted from behind her, in between giving orders to set sail.

"Zooks, St. Just, it is a worthy tale, but one that must wait until we are all sailing for home. Suffice it to say that your dear sister took it into her head to assure herself of your safety, and in the process aided the Pimpernel just as well as any of you men, eh?"

They all laughed in a merry shout and bustled to get the Day Dream out into the channel. Sir Percy approached Armand and said in a softer voice, "I must set our course. Would you be so kind as to show Lady Blakeney to the captain's quarters where she may rest her feet? I do believe those demmned rocks have done them injury."

"Of course, Sir Percy." He began to usher Marguerite inside the ship, when her hand reached out to light upon her husband's arm.

"Percy, I don't want to leave you." He smiled warmly at her, and her stomach jolted pleasantly as she realized she had forgotten what a sincere smile from him looked like. He took her hand in his and brushed it with his lips. She felt her skin burn at his kiss.

"I shall join you soon sweetheart. And very disappointed will I be if your little feet have fallen off before then. How on earth will you dance the minuet the next time we are at Grenville's?" His eyes danced mischievously, and she smiled.

"Very well, I shall go."

He released her hand slowly, and then he had turned, giving instructions and receiving claps on the back from his men. As Armand led her through the doors into the galley, she heard him exclaim, "By Gad men, do not clap so hard, those blasted Frenchies trussed me up like a chicken and demmned if I can move mine own shoulders!"

Marguerite's feet were by this time paining her something terrible, but it was as nothing compared to her concern for Percy. Turning to Armand she asked, "Will he be alright? Is there someone on board who could tend to him?"

Armand laughed lightly. "Oh, he will be fine sister, mark me. What are a few scrapes to the Scarlet Pimpernel?"

Still she was not convinced. "But Armand, they beat him awfully, they kicked him, and he withstood their blows, not able to give as good as he got!"

Hearing the tears in her voice, Armand paused, looking at her. "Trust me Margot, he would have borne the same, more even, for any one of us, but most especially for you."

Her tears flowed freely down her cheeks now. "I know. I know it all now. I have been such a vile creature. When I think of how I used to speak to him —"

"Shh," Armand brought his fingers up to wipe her tears. "Do not think on that. It was a different time. Now you know the truth of things, and there will be no more secrets between us either Margot, I promise." She nodded.

"Oh, I am so glad to see you safe, dear brother."

"And I you," he smiled. "Come, we are almost to Sir Percy's room. He will be most unhappy with me if your feet do fall off."

She laughed and leaned upon his arm as they made their way down the tight hallway. He opened the door, and she walked in.

The room was small but efficiently used — a simply dressed bed of white English linen and red curtains against the far wall, a chair next to a wash stand and basin formed its principle comforts. There was a small table with maps sprawled across it, and a trunk near that which held some of the fashionable clothing that Sir Percy was known for.

Armand deposited her in the chair and her eyes closed.

"Can I get you anything sister?"

Her eyes slowly opened once more to look up at him. "No, I thank you. I will be quite content here."

He nodded. "Very well. Then I will leave you to get some rest." And he walked forward, kissed her brow, and took his leave.

She supposed that she should remove her stockings and look at the state of her feet, but she did not have the energy to move a single muscle, now that she could sit and close her eyes. She knew not for how long she sat there, if she were awake or dreaming. As she dozed, her mind recounted some of the more extraordinary events of this most extraordinary day. Not least among them was Percy's forgiveness, and she felt warm and happy when she imagined those kind blue eyes gazing at her with love. So strong was the feeling this vision inspired in her, that she almost thought that she saw him before her.

Her eyes opened more fully, and she saw that indeed her husband's gaze was fixed upon her face. He was kneeling at her feet, dressed in fresh breeches and a clean linen shirt. She couldn't remember when she had fallen asleep, nor could she recollect hearing him come in.

"Percy?" she said groggily, her voice and mind still suffused with sleep.

"I am here dearest," he said softly. "Will you allow your husband to mend your feet?" She nodded, and he rose to take the pitcher and its basin off the stand, kneeling once more to set them on the floor. He looked up at her, and her eyes locked with his.

Slowly, he brought his hands to her right foot, gently taking the heel in his palm while his other hand slowly traveled the length of her stocking to find its summit, just above her knee. She shuddered at the feel of his strong fingers upon her leg, and her mind instantly cleared of its sleepy haze, her breath coming more quickly. His eyes never left hers as he deftly untied the knot of her garter with one hand, letting it fall to the floor, and then his fingertips were touching her bare flesh as he slid the delicate stocking off her calf. Her breath was coming very fast now, her chest rising up and down. He had not touched her like this since their wedding night, and she found that her ache for him had never been stronger than in this moment, not even on those nights during the past year where she would wake with a start, imagining that he was beside her.

His hand caressed the curve of her calf, coming down around her ankle, finally slipping the silk over her foot. Setting it down gently, he took up the other. She saw now that his breathing quickened too, and her stomach thrilled at the thought that he wanted her, had longed for this, had dreamed of it as she had, in that time when they could not have been further distant.

He undid the second garter and followed the lines of her leg down, down, down to her foot once more. She would have closed her eyes in pleasure if she had not wanted to break his gaze. She sat there, bare-footed, as he poured water from the pitcher into the shallow basin, and then took up her right foot once more, placing it delicately in the water, his gaze cast downward. The cuts stung, and she could not help as a small hiss escaped her upon the contact. He drew his head up sharply at the sound, but she nodded her assent for him to continue.

Taking out his own lace handkerchief, he dipped it into the water and began to wipe the blood from her white flesh, turning the water rose pink. Once the blood and dirt had been removed, he caught her other foot and guided it into the bowl, repeating his ministrations with infinite tenderness. They had not spoken a word for a long while, as if some sort of spell held them in thrall to one another.

Then, he took up her foot again and, looking at her once more, began to press upon it, kneading the flesh. The first press of his hand brought with it such a surge of delicate pain and exquisite pleasure that she let a cry escape her lips. She did not want him to stop for fear of causing her pain, but it seemed that he yet remembered what that cry from her meant. He pressed more forcefully, kneading expertly back and forth, and her head tilted back in the chair as another soft moan escaped her. He pushed in the right places, relented on others, and as he continued, she felt a year's worth of tension, sadness, and rigidity melt from her. A heat suffused her limbs as if he were imbibing her with warmth from the very tips of his fingers, passing from his flesh to her own and filling her up.

He softly released her foot and took up the other, pressing into the flesh with pinpricks of pain, its sweet release following as her chest heaved up and down, her hands grasping the arms of the chair. Eventually, she felt his hands slow their progress as they drew lazy circles upon the top of her feet, and she brought her head around to gaze at him from under heavy lids.

Slowly, he rose upon his knees before her, his strong hands that had so coaxed such sounds from her lips coming to rest gently on top of her own. His eyes met hers, and she felt that she could sit here forever, taking in the handsome, noble face that she might once more call her own. The man whom she had fallen in love with and the man who had captured her imagination, they were one. He played the fool to all, endured their scorn, welcomed it even, because it enabled him to save the lives of others. The dashing, reckless, brilliant, strong, honorable man who now sat before her had claimed her heart forever. She felt as light as a feather.

"I am reborn, Percy," she whispered.

"My beautiful Margot," he whispered just as quietly. "Will you allow me to be reborn beside you? Will you forgive me my coldness, my mistrust? Allow me to be your servant once more, and I will show you that not a day has passed when my love for you did not burn as ardently as it did when I first beheld you. You are my own heart's blood Margot. Please tell me I have not lost it."

Tears swam in her eyes at the thought of his asking her for forgiveness. "Never, you will never lose me Percy. I am yours, as you are mine. There is nothing I need forgive in you."

And suddenly, he had drawn his face close to hers, and had captured her lips in a sweet, fiery kiss. At last, at last, she felt that strong mouth pressed to hers. His hands came up from hers to grasp her face, her hands coming to rest upon his arms, gripping the white linen of his shirt in her little fists. How well her mouth remembered his, even after a year's estrangement. Her lips moved eagerly with his own, and when his began to part hers and deepen the kiss, she felt fire lick inside her stomach. His left arm snaked around her waist and drew her out of the chair, bringing her to stand before him. When she finally had to part her lips from his own to pull in a deep breath, his mouth moved behind her ear, and she moaned in pleasure, causing his grip to tighten on her more closely still.

Through the fog he was quickly enveloping her within, she could still discern one concerning thought. "But Percy," she gasped out in between the ministrations of his lips upon her neck. "What about your shoulders? Do they not pain you?"

He drew back from her slightly to gaze into her eyes, his lids heavy with desire.

"For you my love, I would carry the weight of the world upon them and not utter a sound."

For one moment she stood frozen, insensible except to the words of the man before her, who had uttered them without pause and with such sincerity, that she knew they rang truer than any spoken by other men.

And then, her concern at ease, she grabbed his shirtfront and pulled his mouth back to hers, where it would stay for a long, long time.

She did not know, and cared even less, for how long she stood enveloped in Percy's arms, his hands running up and down her body, tangling in her hair, hers stroking his face and encircling his broad frame. She suddenly felt a wall at her back and wondered when they had moved next to the door. But it did not matter. She could scarcely believe that this was no dream. If it was, well, it was the sweetest she had ever had. Their bodies moved in rhythm together, and it seemed as if he could not get close enough to her. After a year of cold, empty nights alone in her own bed with nothing but the faded memories of their wedding night to comfort her, here they were, no walls between them anymore, every secret shared, every bar to happiness removed. He loomed so large before her that she hardly knew where she was. All that mattered was that he never cease his hold upon her, that they stand entwined here together for the rest of their days.

His mouth was traveling down, down, down her neck and across her clavicle. She gasped when it went farther still. He hesitated, seeming to restrain himself, to give her a moment, to slow their pace just a little. His head rose to look into her eyes, his lips still parted and panting, as hers must be. A slight question remained in his eyes. Perhaps he thought after such a long time apart, this might be asking too much. But to her mind, he was a powerful rain falling in a desert that had not known water for far too long, and she fully intended to drown in it.

"Don't stop Percy, please."

His eyes burned as he whispered, "Your servant, Madame." Her heart leapt at the voice that uttered it. This was no perfunctory response such as he had given her that evening on the terrace steps of their home. His was the voice of an impassioned lover, and her hands buried in his hair as his mouth returned to its task below her clavicle. She sighed deeply.

And then gasped as a knock rapped upon the door.

Percy froze, and Marguerite's hands stilled in his hair as Sir Andrew's soft voice issued from beyond.

"Sir, are you there? Are you sleeping?"

Sir Percy straightened, and Marguerite almost laughed aloud at the picture he made, hair completely disheveled, the dark blond strands coming out of their fine queue, his lips swollen, cheeks red, looking adorably put out. With a great effort he seemed to compose himself enough to say, in a very irritated manner, "No Ffoulkes, I am not sleeping."

At this Marguerite could no longer contain herself, and a giggle burst forth from her mouth. Percy looked around at her and quickly covered her mouth with his own hand. "Lud man, what the devil is happening? I thought I told you not to disturb me until we reached England? Insubordination sir!"

His continued annoyance was too much, and she laughed even harder against his hand, her whole body shaking with mirth, as he did his level best to prevent the sounds of her amusement from reaching into the hall, trying and failing to look sternly at her. In an undertone he whispered, "Gad zooks woman, has some impish sprite stolen over you?"

Her eyes shone mischievously. Wordlessly, she opened her mouth and drew one of his fingers into it. He watched her, frozen for a moment, and then wrenched his hand away, bringing his lips crashing down upon hers once more. She felt that she was well and truly melting into the wall behind her.

"But Sir Percy, we have reached her! The men are unloading the Day Dream as we speak. The weather was unseasonably in our favor this night, we made quick time of the crossing."

Percy drew back from her and sighed. Steadying his voice once more into an unperturbed, good-humored drawl, he called out, "Very well Ffoulkes, I shall join you momentarily." They heard the swift retreat of his footsteps down the hall.

Percy turned his gaze to her. "Ah, you wicked woman," he said in a low voice which made her breath catch in her throat. "You will pay for that dearly. As will that intolerable Ffoulkes," he said, proceeding to wrap her within his arms again. "He shall have forty lashes for this. No, one hundred!" He proceeded to pepper her neck with kisses, speaking in between each one. "Of all the times—to have—good weather—by all rights—Nature herself should have given us—something beastly—of all the demmnable—storms in England—one could not have found—its way here?"

She laughed gaily and breathlessly as his diatribe continued. "Percy, you are quite ridiculous!" Only weeks ago would she have uttered the same phrase with contempt in her voice. But now all such feeling was banished for good. Despite her words, she too wished with all her heart that they had not reached Dover quite so soon.

"La! If I am ridiculous for wanting to hold my own wife," said he, drawing back to look at her, "then every man in England is ridiculous."

"And who says they are not?" she countered.

"Ho, insults now, is it little woman? You are so determined to be punished?"

She looked up at him demurely from under heavy lids. "Shall I get a hundred lashes too, along with poor Sir Andrew?"

His eyes darkened. "You, dear wife, shall pay your debt in other ways." He drew close to her once more, and placed a gentle, but firm, kiss upon her lips. "Are you ready to go home dearest?"

"Oh yes Percy, let us go home."

There had been the small matter of finding Marguerite some proper footwear. Her shoes had long disappeared in the French countryside, and her stockings now lay torn and forgotten by the wash basin in Sir Percy's cabin. He had, however, after Ffoulkes's interruption, realized that his wife could not be seen by those other than himself en déshabillé, and had opened his own trunk to see what might do. Even his smallest pair of stockings were too large for her, but by tying them up with her garter ribbons, they would pass. He was able, however, to produce an exquisite pair of shoes just perfect for her dainty feet.

"Odd's fish m'dear, but I knew they would come in handy," he had exclaimed as she tried them on. They were a creamy satin with a luxurious silver buckle, atop which nested a deep crimson ribbon. "A gift from His Highness the Prince of Wales, so naturally I could never part with them. Probably costed a king's ransom, which incidentally, was what I had been trying to circumvent before I visited him. Couldn't throw them out, you know, such a pretty pair, but Lud! if the Prince thought I'd fit into these he must be monstrous blind. Your pretty little feet, m'dear, are their best occupants."

"Oh Percy, they're beautiful!" she exclaimed as she rose and found that they would quite suit. He meanwhile had been donning a jacket over his undershirt and was tying his hair back in a proper queue.

"Lud woman, see what you've done to me. I look a real fright! Hair stickin' up in all manner of unholy ways. Who knew those little hands of yours were so nimble, eh?"

He turned to level a sarcastic grin at her, and she raised an eyebrow imperiously.

"I imagine my handiwork is as nothing compared to yours husband." And sure enough, when she had stood next to him in front of the small looking-glass, she saw that her mass of curls, which were ordinarily naturally boisterous, now had a look of total abandon.

"Sink me Madame, if you were to appear in society with such a hairstyle, then methink I would see its like upon the heads of every young lady in town the very next day."

"Only upon the heads of the ones with devilish husbands, I think," she said archly, as she took a comb from upon the small table and began to tame her curls.

He chuckled, and she delighted in making him laugh. "Lud m'dear, you are too quick for me." He then began to tie his cravat. "Zounds, but I wish these things were not so monstrous difficult to tie properly."

Wordlessly she walked over to him and took the cloth from his hands. He studied her from under those heavy lids, the blue eyes soft, but with an undercurrent of emotion she remembered well. She had once never thought to see such a look from him again. She felt a slight color rise in her cheeks as she finished her work with the cravat and smoothed down its folds. As she moved her hands away, he took them in both of his and bestowed a soft, gentlemanly kiss upon each.

Then proffering his arm to her, he said, "Shall we, dearest?"

She took it, and they walked out of the cabin together. They alighted on the deck to see the city of Dover sprawled before them. They were home at last.