Finding Gabriel (15 page)

The words had been spoken with venom and malice – and yet the pain in Gabriel’s eyes had contradicted each one.

What sin had he committed that was so heinous and worthy of sentencing himself to a personal hell? Ariah ached for Gabriel to open up – to share that secret part of himself. And, in many ways, she yearned to unburden herself as well …

You should not trust me.

The statement had cut straight through her heart. And yet it was as if he’d known she had trouble trusting others – and he was using her fear as a way to forge a barrier between them. Despite his great effort, his blasphemy and harsh words couldn’t destroy the compassion she’d developed for him. Nor could it dismantle the feelings that bloomed within his presence.

Such a thing betrayed all logic. She was drawn to Gabriel by a force far superior to herself.

Ariah shook away her thoughts and glanced downward. Oliver lay at her heels, obliviously content and peaceful, his oversized paws twitching within dreams. He wheezed in his sleep as the thin expanse of his body inflated and deflated with labored breaths. Ariah sighed and passed her palm over his ragged coat. Jarred awake, he gave a pained groan and struggled to lift his massive head. “Aw, I didn’t mean to wake you. Just rest.” Cooing words of comfort, she rubbed behind each ear until sleep claimed him again.

She exhaled an uneven sigh and turned her gaze to Emmaline. Her eyes were drawn shut, and a wild mass of curls surrounded the rosy curves of her cheeks. A weight lifted from Ariah’s breast. Indeed, Emmaline appeared healthier than she’d been in months – and Ariah had a strange feeling Gabriel was the reason.

The following morning dawned in a burst of sunshine. The air was crisp and cool, seasoned with an enticing blend of melted ice and pollen. Overhead, damp clothes hung from the lines and reveled in the sun’s rays.

Ariah arched her back and relieved the dull ache in her muscles. Miriam and Emmaline stood beside her as they took in the day’s resounding beauty. Indeed, they all needed fresh air and a chance to stretch their legs.

Ariah smiled to herself, recalling her conversation with Miriam from minutes before.

“Are you quite sure we ought to leave h-him alone in the h-house again?” Miriam had asked, her eyes wide and guarded. “What if he robs us b-blind? Goodness. I hadn’t even th-thought of it before n-now!”

Ariah had responded with a bark of laughter. Then, with a wry smile, she’d said, “After his latest ordeal, if he can summon enough strength to do so, I say all the power to him …”

Metallic flashes caught in Emmaline’s curls as she turned her face to the sun and absorbed its rays. Nearby, Oliver prattled about, his clownish nose plastered to the cracked pavement. A pair of chickens strutted down the walkway and aimlessly pecked at the cobblestones. Then they harmoniously balked, flapped their pale wings, and fluttered away from the prowling beast. After a moment of apparent contemplation, Oliver lifted his good hind leg and marked the neighbor’s front door. Ariah smiled in spite of herself – while Emmaline burst into giggles, and Miriam nearly collapsed into a dead faint. The gesture was well targeted and even better deserved. Madame Lupont had always been a nasty old wretch with a strong dislike for Ariah and her family.

Ariah shot a sly glance at Oliver. “Showing what we think of her, are you now?” Oliver limped over with a hollow bark. She laughed, leaned forward, and scratched behind each ear.

“What a b-brute! How c-can you e-encourage such rebellion?”

Giggling, Emmaline raced over to Oliver. She threw both arms about his neck and held on tight.

“Careful now, Emma! Don’t strangle the poor thing.” Ariah laughed once more and shot Miriam with a pointed look. “And you – don’t pretend you don’t wish you could have done the same,” she said, gesturing to the neighbor’s front door. Miriam’s palm sprang to her mouth as she smothered a snicker.

The Luponts’ door flew open without warning, exposing the woman’s scowling face. As expected, her hair was fastened back in a matronly bun and strangled by a viselike grip. A few erratic strands had somehow managed to escape the confines. They framed the unforgiving lines of her face and clashed against her sunburned skin. An ever-present scowl was plastered across her mouth, and her thinning brows wrinkled in acute distaste.

Muttering beneath a stiff breath, she eased the door closed to examine it. Sharper than daggers, her harsh, narrowed eyes ran over the stained panels. Liquid flowed down the wooden planks in a spectacular, yellow waterfall. Hands propped on either side of her hip, Madame Lupont speared Ariah and Oliver with her infamous death stare. “Thought I heard a ruckus. What did I tell you ’bout that daft mutt, eh?”

Ariah straightened her posture and smiled broadly. “I’m afraid it escapes me at the moment. See, you tell me a great deal of things, madame.”

“You ought to wipe that smug look off your face, child.”

Ariah balled her hands into two tight fists. She was not a child. Over her twenty-two years of life, she’d endured more hardships than this woman could begin to imagine. Regardless, she held back her fury and allowed her smile to expand. Madame Lupont huffed in indignation, behaving as though Ariah had spat at her feet. “Forgive me if I’ve offended you. It certainly wasn’t my intention.” Ariah turned away and patted her skirts. “Come now, Oliver. Miriam, Emmaline – I think it’s time we head back.”

“If you care a whiff for that brat of yours,” boomed Madame Lupont’s gruff voice, “you should learn to conceal your indiscretions better.”

“Mind y-your w-w-wretched tongue!”

Ariah stopped in her tracks, dumbfounded and deeply affected by her sister’s sudden audacity. Madame Lupont’s eyes sharpened, taking the form of twin daggers. She reciprocated Miriam’s quip with a cruel, mocking tone. “Those are mighty big words for a waif such as y-y-y-y-yourself!” Her buckteeth came into view as she slapped her knee and barked with laughter.

Fuming and shaking with rage, Ariah spun on her heels and met Madame Lupont’s victorious expression. “How dare you! You are as ignorant as you are classless. And what indiscretions are you prattling on about?”

“Eh, don’t play coy. I know you’ve been stashin’ a
strange man
behind closed doors.”

Ariah hiked up her skirts and took a menacing step toward Madame Lupont. Itching to scratch the woman’s eyes out, she inwardly counted to five and retracted her proverbial claws.

“Come n-now, Emmaline. Let’s not w-waste this lovely d-day with such distasteful c-company.” Miriam splayed a hand across Emmaline’s shoulder and returned home.

“I don’t know what you are implying,” Ariah finally managed between gritted teeth, “but he was wounded when I found him. I was only acting on behalf of good Christian charity. Something you seem to have little care for. Anyone with a functioning heart would have done likewise.”

“Christian charity, eh?” Madame Lupont clucked like a mother hen and shook her head. “Is that what you call it? Come, come. It’s been nearly two weeks since you and that half-wit sister of yours dragged him across your threshold.” She knotted both arms across her thick chest and challenged Ariah with her glare. “I wonder what that husband of yours would think?”

Ariah felt the color drain from her cheeks. Fidgeting with her wedding ring, she inclined her chin and responded with a tentative whisper. “He would admire my compassion.”

The sounds of clinking hooves and creaking wheels caught her attention. More than a bit grateful for the interruption, Ariah jerked toward the familiar sound. A small hackney coach rounded the nearby alleyway, jostling from side to side as it was tossed about by the chipped, untended cobblestones. Ariah shaded her gaze as it approached, observing its journey down the path. Clasping onto her skirts, she disregarded Madame Lupont and sprinted toward the coach.

It lurched to a halt several meters away.

Eyeing Oliver, one of the mares whinnied and pawed at the pavement. The behavior transferred to the other mare, who swung her massive head and pulled at the metal bit. Oliver sniffed the air and gave a low warning growl. The driver, who was perched in the box seat, adjusted his hat and urgently tugged on the reins. “Whoa, easy, ladies, easy now.” The second mare immediately calmed, while the feistier of the two gave a mutinous snort before surrendering to her master’s will.

Ariah took a moment to observe the driver. He was a rather handsome gentleman, possibly in his early thirties. A dark top hat crowned his head, the sleek material cushioned by a bountiful swarm of red curls. He wore a colorful livery jacket, which reflected the brightness of his gaze. Sparkling green eyes bore into her own as he tipped the hat in greeting. A dashing smile stretched his lips, which boasted rows of pearly white teeth. The front two were chipped – though such a flaw was rather endearing. Taking an immediate liking to the stranger, Ariah returned the smile and respectfully lowered her chin.

“
Bonjour
, madame. A pleasure to finally make your acquaintance.”

“Likewise.” Oliver barked once more. Shaking her head, Ariah grasped onto the scruff of the mutt’s neck and pulled him back. “Forgive me, monsieur. He’s normally quite the gentleman,” she remarked, admiring the white mares. “Those are mighty beautiful creatures.”

“Willow and Bella,” he replied with a playful wink. Then he leaned forward and patted a gloved hand along one of the mare’s necks. “This one’s my lady. Her sister isn’t so easily charmed, I’m afraid.” Glancing from side to side, he leaned forward and cupped his mouth in a conspiratorial whisper. “Between you and me – Bella’s also a mighty bad influence.”

Indeed, everything seemed to unnerve Bella – from Oliver’s looming presence to the clatter of her own hooves. “Ah, I can see that.” Ariah couldn’t suppress her laughter. A breeze stirred, and the mares’ white tails waved like gallant streamers. “Sisters, huh?”

“Identical twins, actually. Though their personalities are about as similar as day and night.”

A moment later, the coach door creaked open, exposing Doctor Mongeau’s wrinkled features. He nodded in greeting, then lowered a booted foot onto the platform. Oliver immediately straggled forward, greeting the familiar face with an enthusiastic bark. Snorting in indignation, Bella tossed her head back and whinnied at the offensive sound.

“Ah. A good day to you, too, Monsieur Oliver. Madame Larochelle, meet Marius Claremont – my new driver. He’s been lugging me about this past fortnight.”

Marius began his descent from the box seat – but Ariah stopped him with a raised palm. “Please – allow me.” A cane was clutched between Doctor Mongeau’s thin fingers. The other hand grasped onto the worn medical bag like a lifeline. As if easing some unseen ache, he spared a moment to massage the center of his chest. Ariah’s heart knotted in concern. She leapt forward, whisked the bag away, and offered her arm. He accepted with an almost boyish smile. Trembling fingers curled around her forearm as he swayed on his feet. Ariah wrapped his torso with her other arm and held him close. His features were unusually ashen, his eyes rid of their customary glint. He seemed to have aged a good twenty years.

“Would have been here much sooner,” he said through a breathy voice. “But the ol’ leg’s been acting up again, I fear.” Then he shot Oliver a sideways glance and shoved the spectacles up the bridge of his nose. He took a moment to examine the mutt’s dragging hind leg with a medical eye. “Looks like we are one and the same,
mon ami
.”

“Of course. I understand the delay completely,” Ariah said, fighting to keep the worry from her voice. “Coming all this way – I hope you’re not exerting yourself overly much.”

He shrugged his frail shoulders, displaying that devil-may-care attitude she’d grown to adore. “Nonsense, madame. Nothing could keep me away from little Emmaline. I just miss the walk more than anything else – especially on such a fine day.” He turned back to the coach and signaled the driver with his cane. “Shan’t be more than a half hour, I’d reckon, Marius boy.” The driver flashed a pristine smile, nodded, and sank against the platform. He tugged the top hat’s brim over his eyes and shut out the world.

“Look at that! Only days ago, snow was falling. Now it’s melted away like a bad dream,” Doctor Mongeau exclaimed with a burst of energy. He waved the cane from side to side, handling it like some magical wand. “The sun is shining through the trees, the birds are singing their merry songs … and he chooses to conceal himself inside a damnable hat. Ha! What idiocy!”

Ariah chuckled. She gave an affectionate squeeze to his forearm and leaned in close. Behind the spectacles, his charcoal-gray eyes expanded at the promise of a secret. “Well, I’m afraid not everyone experiences the world with such a bright perspective,” she said. “It seems that some prefer darkness.”

•

Gabriel adjusted his facial bandaging, taking care not to further irritate the scabbed flesh. Linens, the pungent tin of salve, and adhesive were arranged across the countertop, scattered among Ariah’s miniatures. Wrapped in a linen cocoon, his hands were clumsy, irritated, and impossibly sore. Indeed, he’d inflicted a sufficient amount of injury to himself; cavernous lacerations embedded his palm – and both hands would bear permanent scars.

Gabriel felt the burn of Jacques’s eyes as he labored. He paused his handiwork and collected the portrait from the counter. Hesitantly he elevated it, allowing a shaft of light to illuminate the cracked glass. Guilt twisted inside Gabriel’s chest as he traced a fingertip over Jacques’s smiling face …

Subdued talking resonated beyond the bedchamber. One of the voices he recognized as Ariah’s; the other was distinctly male. A moment later, the door rattled and swung wide open.

Ariah stood beneath the archway with an amiable smile, though her posture appeared unusually stiff. “Gabriel. How are your hands this morning?”

Gabriel set down the miniature, leaned against the vanity, and examined her from head to toe. As usual, she stole his breath away. The coarse, pale material of her walking dress complemented her complexion beautifully. Her curls were loose and wild and they descended just past her waist in lush ringlets. He ached to thread his hands through those thick locks … to feel their weight slathered across his chest as they lay spent from hours of lovemaking. Shaking away the wicked thoughts, Gabriel inclined his chin and observed his own attire; remarkably, she’d rid the greatcoat of nearly all the bloodstains. And wearing his own garments brought a monumental relief.

Gabriel finally shrugged his shoulders and addressed her inquiry. “Well enough, I suppose.” A brief silence took command. “Is someone here? I thought I heard a man’s voice.” The words tasted bitter on his tongue, though he didn’t dare contemplate why.

She nodded, smoothed down her skirts, and stepped aside. Behind her stood a frail gentleman well into his seventies. He would have been quite tall if not for the ungainly slouch of his shoulders. His complexion was ashen, those gray eyes packed with boundless wisdom and dark secrets. A wooden cane helped retain his balance – and beneath his arm was a tattered medical bag.

Gabriel felt a strange kindred spirit with the man. Indeed, that unspoken camaraderie, which was unique to the heart of a solider, circulated between them.

“This is Doctor Chester Mongeau. Doctor Mongeau, meet Colonel Gabriel de Laurent.”

Doctor Mongeau steadied his cane and extended a wrinkled hand. With a subtle nod, Gabriel reached forward and united their grips. The doctor’s flesh resembled a parchment-thin canvas stretched across a web of brittle bones. As they shook, Gabriel took care not to shatter his hand. The man eyed the broken mirror before observing Gabriel’s bandages. Then he gave a small, knowing smile, which detracted decades from his features.