Finding Gabriel (7 page)

A distant commotion enters my consciousness: the gendarmes’ hollered commands. Both the inner and outer shadows grow heavier, more obscure, until the world transforms into a foreign entity.

But one truth remains: I am a survivor.

•

“Wake up, Maman! You are scarin’ me. Maman, please!” Ariah jolted awake with a cry. She sat up as she fought to catch her breath. Sweat rolled down her temples and drenched the bed sheets.

Mon Dieu.
The dream had been so very real. Over seven years had passed, and yet she often woke with a sob in her throat. She and Emmaline rarely slept in the same bed – her daughter hadn’t known of the nightmares until now.

A harsh gust of wind rattled the fogged pane. The faded, burgundy drapes stirred to life and danced across the floorboards. Ariah slammed the window shut and rubbed her skin, urging heat back into her bones. Oliver limped to side of the bed, spooked by the sound of the window shutting. With each step, his nails screeched against the worn planks, adding to the eerie ambiance. A low whine filled the room as he gazed up at her with those large, sorrowful eyes. Drool hung from his mouth in a long stream and drummed onto the planks. Ariah leaned forward and ruffled his floppy ears. She took comfort in his presence – and could not bring herself to meet her daughter’s inquisitive stare.

“Maman?”

Ariah pushed Oliver away and warily turned to her daughter. Surely Emmaline would see everything: the secrets in her eyes, the horrible truth of her past. In a moment of weakness, everything she’d worked so hard to disguise would be unveiled.

Pale strips of moonlight shone through the window, lightening her daughter’s ashen features. Emmaline stared at her from the opposite side of the bed, her skin pale and eyes wide with alarm. Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears. Behind her, wavering shadows danced across the wall and heightened the disparity of the moment.

A sharp pang of guilt stabbed Ariah’s chest. She scooted nearer to Emmaline and forced a weak smile. “I … I’m so sorry,
ma petite
. I didn’t mean to frighten you. It was a silly nightmare. Nothing more. Don’t be scared. Oh – come here, darling …” Ariah outstretched her arms. Embracing her daughter, she kissed her brow as Emmaline settled against her breast. Ariah held her with all the love she felt, tracking her fingertips down Emmaline’s spine in slow, soothing strokes. The mattress was smaller than Ariah’s customary bed, making it a struggle to find a suitable position for the two of them.

“It’s all right. I’m not scared no more,” Emmaline muttered in a tired drawl. Silence extended between them. Only the shuddering windowpane breached the quiet. “Why were you crying, Maman?”

“Like I said … it was a silly nightmare and nothing more.” Ariah ran her fingers through Emmaline’s curls as her dream resurfaced. For years, Geoffrey had been buried within her subconscious and hidden away like a dark, shameful secret. Only within nightmares did her childhood sweetheart return. Indeed, within the realm of sleep, Geoffrey Lucier would resurrect – and she’d find herself orphaned, hungry, and frightened once more.

“Maman?”

“Yes? What is it, darling?”

“Who is Geoffrey?”

Ariah’s hand froze in midair. She was silent for several moments as she struggled to form a proper answer. “No one. No one of importance.”

Emmaline peered up at her, reading through the lie with ease. Ariah sighed and continued running her fingers through her daughter’s erratic locks. Then she drew her daughter close and secured both arms around her tiny body. “He was an old friend. An old friend from many years ago.”

•

Dawn broke an hour later. Gabriel strained his body, hooked his fingers around the windowsill, and peered at the outside world. Beyond the window, street lamps cast rings of light that were lost to the sun rays. Morning’s mist wove between the stonework in milky ribbons. The clatter of hooves and carriage wheels sounded as men, women, and children chased the long day ahead. On the horizon, streams of light spilled through Paris’s ancient buildings and monuments, awarding the city with an ethereal quality. The storm had come and gone, leaving the world refreshed and revived in its wake.

But Gabriel felt worse than death. The progression of time seemed to be measured in laudanum-induced intervals – and within the two hours between each dosage, time stood still completely. He’d lost a sufficient amount of weight, too. The greatcoat hung from his body like loose skin. Ariah brought dried crusts of bread during her routine visits – but he’d had no luck keeping the food down.

The door creaked open. Reverting his attention back to the small room, he released the windowsill and sunk against the mattress with a groan. Ariah eased inside, a smile at her lips and a large basin against her breasts. The leather satchel was draped over her shoulder. She shrugged it off, allowing it to land on the floor with a muffled thud. Sudden curiosity grabbed hold of Gabriel. He inclined his chin and examined the woman in her entirety.

His vision was much clearer than it had been the previous day – a fact that allowed him to fully realize his hostess’s beauty. Though an inner weariness was still present, the black circles and sallow whiteness had faded from her features.

She was much younger than he’d first imagined. Rather young to have borne a child. She was certainly not a day over twenty-two. She was much younger and worlds lovelier, he reluctantly acknowledged. The stiff material of her dress did little to retract from her beauty nor disguise the luscious curves that lay beneath her clothes. She was not a conventional beauty by any means. No, her hair wasn’t fastened into a meticulous coiffure as the norm so often demanded. Instead, those locks were loose, wild, and reckless – a vast mane of gold freed about her shoulders. The voluptuous shape of her lips held far more innate sensuality than propriety allowed. And her sapphire gaze was not carved from purity and innocence. It was far too perceptive. Far too haunted and omniscient.

Something about this woman made him incredibly nervous and aware of himself. He’d spent countless years mastering the art of detachment. And now Gabriel wanted her gone from his life.

“Ah,
bonjour
, monsieur,” she greeted, far too cheerful for his liking. “Were you able to sleep?”

“No.”

“Oh. I see.” She hesitated for a moment, then moved farther into the room. “Well. I am sorry to hear that.”

“Are you now?” Gabriel tensed as she set the basin down on the edge of the mattress. Then she removed the laudanum and wooden spoon from her dress pocket and laid them on the end table. Empowered by a surge of energy, Gabriel latched onto the bottle, filled the spoon to its limit, and downed the medication in a deft swallow. Giddy anticipation flooded his mind and body while he waited for the blessed, sleepy relief to come.

Ariah brushed a hand across her brow and glanced out the lone window. Sunrays illuminated every curve of her body like a spotlight. Yawning, she stretched her limbs with a feline’s elegance. She was petite and quite fragile, he noticed, though something warned him she was not easily broken. Beneath that delicate shell laid a fierce spirit; he could feel its heat. Indeed, this woman reminded him of a mother lioness.

Wincing at his thoughts, Gabriel cleared his throat and threw a nonchalant wave in the basin’s vicinity. “What’s the purpose of all this junk?”

Her gaze snapped from the window and settled on his eyes. An exotic blend of determination and intelligence radiated from their hyacinth depths. Openly returning his challenge, she propped a hand on either side of her hips before speaking. “The purpose of all this
junk
, monsieur, is to ensure you don’t develop a fatal infection. Now is that quite all right with you?” Each word wafted across him like a lover’s caress.

She thought he cared whether he developed a fatal infection? The very idea was laughable.

“Ah.” Gabriel surrendered to a sardonic chuckle. “I applaud your noble efforts.” He tossed both hands in the air in an elaborate show of surrender. “Do as you must, then. Ensure that I don’t fucking die.”

She refused the bait. Offering no retort, she edged closer several centimeters. The mattress exhaled a soft groan, manipulated by the delicate pressure of her body. The sweet scents of rosewater and nectar wafted from her intimate nearness, elevating Gabriel’s senses. He breathed in the aroma in spite of himself and leaned closer. His gaze, still fogged by a hazy film, swept over her curves, missing nothing.

Delicate, slender hands retrieved fresh linens and a round tin from inside the basin. Each of her movements were executed with grace and care. She placed the items atop the mattress as her eyes sharpened in concentration. Two fine brows, gently curved and exquisitely formed, drew together while she labored.

“You know,” she said, simultaneously unfolding the linen, “you have a rather sharp tongue for a man who so recently cheated death.” In spite of the jab, her voice fell upon Gabriel’s ears like a lush stroke of velvet. Her lips, naturally a decadent red, were parted in concentration while she worked. Never meeting his eyes, she proceeded to unscrew the small tin.

“And don’t curse,” she whispered rather sweetly, “not with my child only a room away.”

He scoffed at the woman’s audacity, unused to receiving commands. Who in God’s teeth did she think she was?

Far too frustrated to speak, he snatched the tin with a narrowed glare. One of his hands closed over both of hers, enveloping them completely. Her porcelain flesh engulfed by his tanned fingers made a rather enticing contrast. She sucked in a strained breath, suddenly at a loss for words. Her movements came to an abrupt halt as her eyes rose to his. Fear was etched in her gaze. Fear and something else. Her pulse sprang to life beneath his touch; the juncture of her wrist undulated in time with her labored breaths. She was a brave little thing indeed – in spite of her obvious apprehension – she met his eyes as an equal. Her chin was raised, that sapphire gaze steely with determination.

But what frightened her so? She was an enigma – and one he wasn’t in the mood to solve.

“I am quite capable of tending to myself,” he snapped, his voice cutting through the silence. “After all – Napoleon didn’t promote me to colonel because I was an invalid.”

She swallowed and stared down at their united grip. She drew her hands away almost in slow motion, surrendering to the demand with a subtle nod. Then she scooted away, creating the illusion of safety. “Very well. Best of luck to you, monsieur.”

Gabriel set down the tin. He blindly ran his fingers over the bandaging and searched for its opening. After a full minute, he wrestled with the linen and unwound it from his head in jerky movements.

Arms crossed over her chest, Ariah watched his every motion with unmasked irritation. Gabriel threw the linen onto the floor. He eased forward the slightest bit and reached for the fresh bandaging, which lay centimeters from her hand. Without warning, her slender fingers shot from the mattress and latched onto his wrist, stopping him midair.

Chords of awareness sang through Gabriel’s body. In spite of himself – in spite of being bedridden and overcome with a ridiculous amount of pain – his heartbeat increased its tempo. Such a reaction was entirely beyond his control. Her fingers were achingly soft and warm against him – a startling contrast to his callused hands. They enveloped his wrist in a snug cocoon and held him firmly in place.

Gabriel realized that she, too, was not immune to the contact. Her hand trembled, and she refused to meet his eyes. Her brows were several shades darker than her hair and generously arched … like two Cupid bows. She was a flesh-and-blood contradiction. Her delicate features, fiery spirit, and poorly masked fears reminded Gabriel of a determined child.

“The rag – it … it is still on your wound.”

“What? What rag?”

Regaining her composure, Ariah met his gaze and brushed a fallen curl aside. It swirled against the slope of her cheek. Clearly battling some inner fear, she adjusted her posture and folded both hands across her lap. “The purpose of the rag is to pressurize the bleeding.”

Offering no reply, Gabriel lifted his hand to the wound and felt for the rag. Indeed, a rolled ball of linen was positioned over the wound and soaked through with blood. He removed it in a quick motion. God’s teeth. He grimaced and bit back a lewd curse as his finger brushed against the tender flesh. Then he tossed the rag aside with mounting anger, letting it join the ever-growing pile on the floor. None too happy, Ariah tracked his careless disposal with pursed lips and narrowed eyes.

“Are you so stubborn that you’d willingly risk infection for the sake of proving a point? I dare say you are far worse than my daughter – and she’s not even seven years yet. Forgive my brashness, but you are acting extremely childish.”

Needing an outlet for his frustration, he gripped the bed sheet and twisted it between his fingertips. He tried to form an intelligent,
mature
response to her criticism – but alas, he failed miserably. “I could do all this and more if I had a hand mirror.”

“Well, I am sorry to say, monsieur, but I don’t have the luxury of a hand mirror … as you might have gathered.” She shrugged her slender shoulders, gesturing to the room’s rather outdated state. No shame dwelt in her eyes, only a blunt frankness, which Gabriel couldn’t help but find endearing.

“My apologies,” he retorted – though his voice sounded anything but apologetic.

“Keep them. I don’t seek your apologies. Merely your cooperation.”

Gabriel curbed his reply and took a moment to study the room. For the first time, he noticed a mirror hung in one of the corners. It was moderately sized and centered above a peeling vanity. Positioned at an awkward angle, he was unable to make out his damned reflection.

He turned back to the items. What next? The salve? Or the alcohol?

“The iodine,” she said, as if reading his thoughts. He collected the small bottle from the mattress, uncorked its lid, and wet a piece of linen. Steeling himself for what was to come, he inhaled a rigid breath and pressed the material against the wound.
Mon Dieu.
It stung like the devil’s arse. Excruciating, mind-bending pain shot through his limbs and coiled around his spine. His entire body convulsed from the sheer agony. Ariah swept the iodine from his clutch in a tender movement. Then, through a sweet whisper that helped alleviate his anguish, she said, “Now the salve.”