Chasing Shadows (17 page)

As he should be.
The wry thought slipped out before she could stop it, and she grimaced, as though he might hear her wandering thoughts.

Blinking hard several times, Sarah focused her attention on her fingers as they reached for a strip of cloth and then disappeared into the pitcher, avoiding his gaze. “I have to clean the wound first.” She tried to sound confident, though her hands shook as they wrung out the excess liquid from the cloth. Gently, she dabbed at the bubbled and gashed skin. It looked pink and distorted where the hot iron had been, and dried blood still clung to his skin.

Damien inhaled sharply, the air hissing through his clenched teeth. Sarah winced at the sound and the way every muscle in his body stiffened at her touch.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, forcing her apologetic gaze to meet his brown eyes. “I wish I had something to dull the pain.”

“You’re doing fine,” he assured her, but his voice sounded strained.

Forcing lightness into her voice, she lifted a brow and asked, “How come you’re always trying to comfort me when I’m the one torturing
you
?”

Damien gave a strained chuckle. “Because it seems to cause you more pain than it does me.”

She knew that wasn’t true, but she didn’t bother to correct him and went back to work. It may have been some macho show, but there was something in the way he said it that told her the words were for her benefit alone. The gesture was thoughtful; he seemed to be full of kindness towards her. The only problem was that it made her like him more.  

It was silent for a long moment as Sarah dabbed at the wound, carefully avoiding eye contact with him. But his muscles were so strained and tense that she knew she had to say something to get his mind off his discomfort, if only a little. “You mentioned your family before. Why don’t you tell me about them?”

Damien was quiet for so long that she wondered if he had heard her. When she looked up at him in question, she saw that he was gazing across the room intently. “There really isn’t much to tell,” he said slowly. Sarah focused her eyes back on her task. She wasn’t going to push him if he didn’t want to talk.

“My mother was a wonderfully kind woman.” His voice was soft and thoughtful, and Sarah was surprised that he had spoken at all in the lengthening silence. When she glanced at him, she could tell his mind was far away, and his lips had softened into a smile. “She doted constantly, always causing me to smile and laugh. She was a bright, shining star amidst the shadows.”

He lapsed into silence again, grimacing when Sarah dragged the cloth carefully over the length of the wound to wipe away the caked-on blood. She was working as fast as she could without tearing the newly sealed flesh, so she tried to keep him talking. His voice was also steering her mind away from what she was doing. “What about your dad? Wasn’t he around?” 

Damien cocked his head to watch her hands while she worked. She was going to tell him to look away, but he didn’t appear upset watching her clean the wound, so she let it be. His face had paled, and it seemed good for him to have something to focus on. “On occasion. My father was a wealthy tradesman, you see, and it kept him occupied out of town most days.”

Sarah shot him a look that conveyed how sorry she was to hear that. “That must have been hard to grow up with your dad gone so much.”

He shook his head, but still his eyes remained glued to her hands as she washed them in the pitcher, as though they held the memories he was calling upon. “His absences were a reprieve for us all, my mother especially.”

Sarah paused in drying her hands on a fresh cloth. “Your parents weren’t happy together?”

Dark hair rustled as he shook his head again. “My mother loved my father, but life was trying for her. Father was—how do you say . . .?”

“Sick?” she volunteered.

Damien shook his head. “No. Well, yes—that, too, I suppose. But I believe the term is
abusive
.” The word seemed difficult to say, and Sarah didn’t think it was just his accent that caused his hesitation. His voice soft and tinged with something mirroring confusion, Damien added solemnly, “He beat my mother to death one night.”

Sarah gripped the forgotten cloth in her hands and stared at him. “Oh, Damien, I’m so sorry.”

His lips curved into a sardonic smile, though the haunted look never left his eyes, and he appeared embarrassed that he had revealed so much. “It was a drunken accident. Still, I never forgave him for what he stole from us.”

“Us?”

“Yes, my sister Isabella and I.” Some of the darkness ebbed from his gaze at the mention of his sister. “We came from a rich estate back in España, a beautiful world that was all our own. When Father was absent,” he added drolly. “We did everything together, and even in our father’s cruelty, we knew that we had each other. She was the only thing that kept me grounded there all those years. But when Mother died . . . Well, that was the final motivation that was needed, and we left shortly thereafter.”

“Did your mom, umm, pass away recently?” Sarah couldn’t help asking. Talking seemed to be the only thing keeping his mind off his raw wound.

Damien stared at the ceiling, looking like he was counting back in time. “I was twelve,” he said slowly, “so it has been nearly fourteen years since her death. We left a few months later.”

Sarah snapped her mouth closed but couldn’t keep her brows from rising in shock. It seemed impossible to image herself and Lilly out on their own five or six years ago; she wasn’t sure they would have made it in the world alone. Their parents weren’t perfect, but suddenly Sarah ached for them and Lilly, to be home away from the responsibility and expectations resting on her shoulders.

It felt strange to long after two completely different worlds—one where her family waited, along with the sameness that had driven her away, and this other world that didn’t exist but gave her all the excitement and adventure that she had craved back in her small town. She felt like she was playing house, living her life at home and then coming here to
experience
life.

She suddenly remembered what the professor had told her in his lab about there being repercussions to traveling through time, and Sarah knew that someday she would have to decide. Her heart could never belong to two different worlds.

It dawned on her that Damien had done what she had yet to do: Choose.

Dropping the damp towel in her lap, she asked quietly, “Weren’t you scared when you ran away? I mean, how did you ever decide that you couldn’t stay in one place any longer?”

Damien’s face suddenly became drawn. “Yes, we were both terrified to leave the only home we had ever known at so young an age—Isabella was only eight at the time—but I knew it would have been a worse fate for us to remain with that man.”

His chest swelled as he inhaled a large breath, holding it for a moment before exhaling, and Sarah realized that she had been holding her own breath. He shrugged, trying to appear cavalier about the whole affair, though his eyes were far away. “We moved around quite a bit, going wherever we could find work. I performed whatever jobs I could obtain, and Isabella apprenticed seamstresses in every town; she showed great promise, too. It was difficult, but we had each other, and that was all we needed. Eventually, we saved enough to barter passage out of Españ
a
to Ridlan.” 

“What happened after that?” Sarah asked softly, completely engrossed in the story. It couldn’t end there, because that would mean his sister would be here in the castle, and no one had mentioned that Damien had any relations staying there.

He pressed his lips together, and a muscle in his jaw shuddered. “Isabella died.”

Sarah’s shoulders sank, saddened that their story had not ended happily. “You had a rough life,” she observed quietly.  

The sigh that came from him was one of resignation, and she could tell that he had given up any unfeeling pretense. His eyes found hers, and the saddest smile she had ever seen touched his lips. “Sometimes it seems that I cannot see the sun’s light for the shadows that chase me.” Expression becoming suddenly earnest, Damien leaned toward her. She was so caught up in his intense espresso gaze that she didn’t pull back when he moved into her personal space. “But I know the light is there, waiting for me to lay hold of it. Does that make sense?”

Sarah saw within him an aching vulnerability that she wasn’t sure he’d meant to reveal. Several heartbeats passed before she cleared her throat and broke eye contact with him to reach for the pouch. For a moment, she’d imagined that the air between them had crackled with electricity, but she quickly shook off the ridiculous notion and focused her attention on his words.

Dipping two fingers into the small leather satchel, she gingerly smeared the thick paste onto his skin, her brow drawn thoughtfully. “Whenever my sister, Lilly, and I are down, my dad has this saying that always perks us up.” She took a deep breath, calling upon the memory of her father’s voice and smiling when she heard it crystal-clear. “’When you’re facing the sunshine, you can’t see the shadows.’ It’s just a reminder to focus on the bright things in our lives and not the dark bits.”

She glanced up at him through the veil of her hair. Damien had been watching her, and he smiled warmly when she met his gaze. “Your father sounds very wise.” 

“He is.” She went back to massaging the poultice into the wound, and his body relaxed a little under her gentle touch. Closing his eyes, he groaned softly as the cool substance soothed his scorched flesh.

“Your friend was a little heavy-handed with her tools, I’m afraid.”

Sarah shot him a saccharine smile, and her voice turned teasing. “I guess it’s a good thing she didn’t find her sewing needle, then.” He chuckled, and his grin stayed in place while she carefully wrapped his bicep with the gauze.

They lapsed into silence again, and Sarah worried her lower lip as she questioned how thoroughly she needed to wrap the wound. She was busy counting the number of times she had gone around his arm when he spoke up, startling her.

“I should have thought to give you a flagon for that.”

Her head shot up. “A what?”

“An urn or jug of water to preserve it.” She followed Damien’s gaze to the blood red rose on her mattress.

“Oh,” she said, suddenly feeling awkward. “Don’t worry about it.” She did
not
add that she had contemplated drying the flower between some paper and saving it—a memento to take home with her. No one had ever given her flowers before, and she couldn’t help but feel flattered. It was silly, she knew, but her first rose was special.                        

Sarah held the loose ends of the bandage in indecision for a long moment, trying to decide how to tie it off. She hoped that Damien hadn’t noticed her hesitation and said quickly to distract him, “Do you pamper all of your guests like that?”

“Oh, no.” He actually looked self-conscious as he rubbed the palm of his good hand against his thigh. “Forgive me if it was rather untoward, but I meant no disrespect. The rose is a sign of beauty and purity, and in the village that I came from, it was often used in marriage ceremonies to represent such qualities.”

Sarah cocked her head in the direction of her bed, still clutching the useless bandage ends. “Was that a proposal, then?” she asked with a teasing brow. He laughed, causing her to grin. Her smile faded when she remembered that she had said something similar to Will just a few weeks ago. The pendant seemed to cool as her skin heated in shame. Why did she feel guilty innocently talking and joking with Damien when Will had done far more after she’d left?

In that moment, Sarah made the decision that regardless if Will returned her feelings or not—and it was looking more like the latter from where she sat—she would not stop living her life. She would
not
be the girl who waited around for the wrong guy forever. Though at the core of her being, she knew that there would always be a little piece of Will that followed her around like a piece of deadly shrapnel lodged in her heart, causing it to bleed a little every time it beat.   

Swallowing the lump in her throat, Sarah ducked her head and gingerly tucked the loose pieces of gauze under the wrapped bandages. “That should stay.” She tried to sound certain.

Damien lifted his bandaged arm to survey the damage, putting in just a little too much effort into scrutinizing her work. Sarah eyed it herself, frowning in displeasure at the bulging dressings and the rivulet of medicine oozing from beneath a loose patch.

“It seems I have the best attendant in the country!” he exclaimed suddenly, his jovial manner returning in full force—to compensate for her lack of good work, she was sure. Sarah laughed anyway, and his own face relaxed into that sly grin of his, a dimple in his right cheek revealing itself.

“I’ll do better next time,” she assured him. It was a welcome reprieve to be around someone that she could be herself with, or as much of herself as this century would allow. It felt good to laugh again, too, without worrying about shadows lurking around the corner. Both literally and figuratively.

Sarah stood as he replaced his shirt, for which she was immensely glad. She didn’t want to stoke the rumors by having him leave her room half-clothed. Being careful of her shoddy work, though he didn’t seem to mind that she wasn’t a pro, Damien eased the garment over his head. The upper portion of the shirt was loosely laced, dipping low enough that it was difficult for Sarah not to appreciate his smooth, tan chest.