Finding Gabriel (6 page)

“Uhh, I suppose so. What’s your name, monsieur?”

Gabriel offered no reply. Her freckled nose scrunched in intense thought as she released her curl. It bounced back into place, where it reunited with a mass of golden strands. All curiosity and innocence, she leaned forward and reached for the linen bandage. Gabriel froze, unable to believe the girl’s startling audacity. Had she been taught no discipline? No boundaries?

“What is that? Why is that on your face, monsieur? Are you hurtin’?”

Defensively scooting away, Gabriel recoiled from her hand as if she bore claws. The back of his head collided with the board and he felt a sudden rush of pain. He gritted his teeth and bit back a vulgar curse. “Don’t. Just – do not touch me.”

The girl drooped at the harshly spat command while the blue of her eyes dimmed. She sniffled, huffed, and swiped at her nose. Seduced by the back of her hand, a strain of snot detached from her nostril. “I’m sorry, monsieur! Really I am!”

In spite of himself, ancient memories surfaced, and Gabriel felt himself soften at the wretched display.

“Oh, Emma! Heavens!”

It was a voice from a faraway dream. The words were followed by the melodious ring of footfall. Gabriel’s heart skipped several beats while the little one’s mother rushed into eyesight.

Mon Dieu,
but the creature was beyond lovely … a true breath of fresh air. Even the haze of pain couldn’t dim her beauty. Flowing curls descended just past the small of her waist in a wild flurry. The woman’s eyes were a thoughtful and mesmerizing blue, tilted slightly at the corners. Her woolen dress was as plain as the bed he lay in; yet instinct warned Gabriel that the woman herself was far from plain or simple. After all, she’d dragged him from the Seine’s oily waters and nursed him back to health.

And she was his angel.

Clearly flustered, the lady seized her daughter’s wrist and directed her toward the archway. “Emmaline! You should not be in here.”

“Who is he? What’s he doin’ here?” The little one asked while she stole a final look at him, her feet dragging mutinously across the floorboards. The monstrous dog followed after mother and child with an insistent bark. Bent at an awkward angle, his hind leg dragged across the floorboards while he struggled to keep up pace.

“He is our guest. Now return to the drawing room with Oliver. I shall be there shortly.”

With an uneven breath, the woman eased the door shut and turned on her heels. For several moments, she stood with her back against the wooden panels. Slim, finely sculpted hands smoothed down the material of her skirts in repetitive motions. “You … you really must forgive her. She’s not accustomed to meeting strangers and has more bravado than a grown man.”

Gabriel mutely stared at her, transfixed.

The woman’s nerves were visibly rattled. She ran a delicate hand through her curls and brushed the loose strands from her luminous gaze. Her expression boasted an enticing blend of the curious and wary, as if encountering some poorly restrained beast. A plain silver cross hung from her neck and rested across the lush rise of her breasts. Gabriel eyed the emblem with distaste. Surely her kindness and hospitality were nothing more than Christian duty. And Gabriel was no stranger to being dutiful; throughout the war, he’d been dutiful to the emperor – and Gabriel’s men had been dutiful across the killing fields.

“How are you feeling, monsieur? Ah, that’s a daft question, I suppose. Never mind.”

“Who are you?”

“Oh – of course! I am Ariah. Ariah Larochelle.” She pushed away from the door and eased toward him. The rhythmic sound of her heels resonated, filling the small space from wall to wall. Gabriel adjusted his posture as she edged closer. Her hands nervously wrung her skirts in an unconscious, telling gesture. Then, with equal distress, she inclined her lovely chin and fiddled with a ring.

An engagement ring? A wedding ring? If the child was of any indication, it was more than likely the latter.

Why did he even care? How could such a trivial thing concern him at a time like this?

“And who, pray tell, are
you
?”

“Gabriel.”

Echoing his name, the woman eased onto the bed. The mattress gave an inward dip as it accommodated her petite body. Her eyes descended to his chest – and for the first time Gabriel realized his greatcoat was unbuttoned. He returned her stare with narrowed eyes. She shifted in place and fidgeted with her ugly skirts.

“Can you recall what happened to you?”

Silence swelled in the room while she examined him. There was an all-seeing look in her eyes, as if she already knew the truth. But how could she? To the outside observer, he was nothing more than another victim in a dark alleyway … another tragic secret. And he was confident the truth lay far beyond her pure little Christian heart. Indeed, her soul would surely freeze over at the prospect of what he was. She thoughtfully gazed out the nearby window and awaited his reply. Sunlight speared through the glass and illuminated her delicate features.

“No.” The beat of Gabriel’s heart quickened to an uneven tempo. “I remember nothing.” He fisted a handful of the coverlet in hot, clammy palms.

Lashes lowering, she glanced away from the outside world and inclined her chin. A swarm of gold tumbled halfway down her back in a fetching waterfall. With each subtle movement, the scents of nectar and rosewater overwhelmed his senses. Suddenly he felt violated. He wanted her to disappear. He wasn’t in need of a savior – and he certainly had no desire to engage in mindless chatter nor answer to this chit’s scrutiny.

Reality set in at full force. This was no angel. She was a burden, a barrier, a naive child. She was an unwanted interference in his life – an intruder who’d stolen his chance for peace.

And he ought to have known better. Angels were mystical creatures, much like fairies and nymphs – nothing more than figments that lurked in the pages of Bibles and storybooks. By habit, he grasped onto his signet ring. A small measure of comfort emerged from the cool metal.

“Is the pain still very unbearable?”

Gabriel scoffed. He drew his fingers away from the signet ring. “What do you think? Nearly half my face was blown away, and I have a hole where my left cheek should be.”

Her brows hooked into fine arches as she spoke. “You know, you were nearly dead when I found you.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt it.”

A brief silence pressed between them. Did she expect a tongue-tied thank you? Was she really so vain? Or perhaps she was just plain foolish? Either way, a mounting resentment quickly gathered inside Gabriel. He fought to hold it back and maintain a semblance of composure.

A low groan shook his body as he leaned forward and reached for the laudanum. In a swift movement, Ariah snagged the bottle from the end table and dropped it inside her apron. “I understand you’re in terrible pain – but you are not due for another hour.”

Gabriel wanted nothing more than to wring her pale neck. He flexed his hands, once, twice, three times – vainly battling not to break down and weep. “In case you haven’t noticed, madame, I am a grown man – not some child to be ordered about,” he grated, attempting to remain calm and collected.

She swallowed before speaking. Her quavering voice betrayed her outward composure. “Forty-five minutes. And not a moment sooner.”

Gabriel itched to wrench the bottle from her dress – but he was far too weak to move, let alone lash out. So he merely sank against the mattress with a defeated groan. “Christ. How long have I been here?”

She sighed and glanced out the lone window again. Shifting rays of light flitted across her solemn expression as the sun emerged from behind a cloud. “Tonight shall make four days, monsieur.”

Four days.
Mon Dieu.

Another silence lingered. Out-of-doors, sleet and rain began to fall in hard slashes, obstructing the sunshine. The drops banged against the roof with the audacity of defiant fists. “My satchel – ”

“Your things are in the drawing room. I’ll bring them to you a bit later. As you may have guessed, the satchel was soaked through. I set it by the fire to dry.”

Gabriel released a hollow breath. Relief filled him as he thought of the precious keepsakes encased within. “Very well.”

She hesitated and fiddled with her ring once more. “I’ve been wondering – ” As she spoke, a loose ringlet swirled against the curve of her cheek. The pale hue complemented her fair skin to perfection. In spite of himself, Gabriel was drawn to the sight. “What of your family? Won’t they expect you home? Won’t they worry for you? Once the storm clears, I could send for them if you – ”

“My family is dead.”

The words sliced the air like a knife. Ariah’s eyes grew heavy with sudden remorse. Damn it to hell – Gabriel wanted none of her pity. He clenched his fingers as a black storm cloud rose inside his chest. Foolish, meddlesome woman. She had stolen his chance for rest.

He was supposed to be dead.

He was supposed to be with his wife and child.

The intense crush of memories threatened to overwhelm him. Gabriel slumped against the pillows and struggled to anchor himself. His pulse reached breakneck speed, and his heart rapped a dangerous rhythm against his rib cage. It pounded against flesh and bone, threatening to burst free.

“Forgive me. I … I am so sorry.” A pale hand clasped her chest while she shook her downcast face. “I just couldn’t imagine losing Emmaline.”

“The girl – where is her father? Or is she some knave’s by-blow?” The cruel inquiry fled his lips before he could stop it. Massaging his weathered features, Gabriel scrubbed a hand over the left side of his face. The bandage was damp to the touch. Ariah looked away to mutely glance out the window again.

Gabriel seized the opportunity to study her. And for the first time he
really
saw her.

There was something whimsical and undeniably tragic embedded within every line of her face. A distinct sadness – a mirage of painful memories – dimmed the charming blue of her gaze. Crescent moons shadowed her eyes, eclipsing their beauty. Her stare appeared blank and empty, as though seeing nothing. And if eyes were windows to the soul, her soul was very haunted indeed.

Within the lingering silence, a strange connection transpired between them. The sheer power of it sent tremors down Gabriel’s spine. There was no denying it; he and this woman shared a kindred spirit. And she felt it as strongly as himself.

Despite a lifetime of cool indifference, something unwanted stirred inside his chest.

Perhaps she could see far more than he’d first imagined. Perhaps there was a darkness behind her pure façade that equaled his own. Only her scars were internal rather than flesh wounds.

That thought was oddly intriguing.

“Emmaline’s father is gone,” she finally replied. “Gone fulfilling his duty in the war.” Her voice was strangely monotonous and void of emotion. She was guarding a very dark secret. That much was clear. The rest remained a mystery.

Ariah laid her ringed hand on top of the coverlet and absently meddled with the fabric. Her fingers were long, slender, and delicate. The ring bore no stone, only a simple golden band. Calligraphy spanned its length. He strained his eyes and fought to make out the writing – but his vision was blurry from the pain, leaving the letters as mysterious as the rest of her.

“Well.” Lips raising into a strained smile, she cleared her throat and met his leveled stare. A dimple embedded her cheek when she spoke. “I best go check on Emmaline. I’m confident you’ll manage for the time being.”

And as quickly as she’d first appeared, the enigmatic woman vanished from the room.

Gabriel de Laurent was far from a superstitious or spiritual man. And yet the feeling he had was unshakable.

Ariah Larochelle had found him for a reason.

The hearth was alive and flaming – a corner of warmth within a cold nightmare. Beside it lurked Gabriel’s satchel. The firelight danced across the weather-beaten surface, beckoning Ariah’s curiosity – and she desired nothing more than to ruffle through its mysterious contents. In the end, however, she’d restrained herself, deciding Gabriel’s secrets were his own.

Miriam sat in the rocking chair, a pair of needles and yarn in her lap. Her hands were busy at work as they wove the coarse material into what appeared to be a sock. It was her own way of distracting herself, Ariah knew.

“I tried to answer Emmaline’s q-questions as b-best I could,” Miriam said while Ariah paced the drawing room. “How is he f-faring?”

Ariah smoothed down her curls in a nervous gesture. “Well, he is fully awake. That much is certain.”

Miriam lowered the needles and shot her a look. “You don’t s-sound so pleased.”

“Needless to say, he was less than agreeable.” Ariah shook her head as she recalled the man’s immobilizing stare … the decadent, husky rumble of his voice. “His pain is palpable, though pride prevents him from showing any weakness.”

“What is pride?” Emmaline asked from her spot by the fire.

Forcing a smile, Ariah glanced at her daughter and Oliver. They appeared quite relaxed and content; she envied their peace of mind greatly. Lying on her stomach, Emmaline was thumbing through a colorful storybook. Oliver snored in his sleep, oblivious to the surrounding tension. And indeed, Ariah had never known more tension than in the presence of that man. “Well, quite simply, pride is an affliction that gentlemen too often suffer from.”

Miriam laughed aloud at the comment. It was a rich, lively sound, and Ariah immediately wished her sister would laugh more.

“Oh. What is affliction, Maman?”

Ariah eased over to the fire and rekindled the flames as she spoke. “Well … an affliction is something that causes a person to have great distress or pain.”

Emmaline fell silent as the words sank in. Then she puckered her lips and smoothed her palm over Oliver’s rugged coat. “Do I have affliction, too?”

The innocent remark was a knife to Ariah’s heart. All humor evaporated from the room. She exchanged glances with Miriam and fought to bring herself to answer. “Why … why, no. Not at all,
ma petite
.” Ariah lowered onto her knees. Firelight danced across the floorboards, long and graceful in its movements. Those wavering flames drew her in and warmed her spirit. Grasping the blanket, Emmaline sat up and hauled both legs against her thin torso.

Touching the middle of her daughter’s chest, Ariah said, “But I will tell you what you do have. A kind heart and bravery.” Then she touched her forehead. “And a keen mind, and the cutest little nose I have ever laid eyes on.” Ariah ended her ministrations by reaching out and squeezing the tip of said nose.

Emmaline giggled, her frail shoulders trembling with cheer. Then a fit of coughs replaced the laughter and overcame her tiny body. Swept with emotion, Ariah secured her daughter against her chest and pressed a lingering kiss to her temple.

“Maman,” Emmaline began after the coughs subsided, “why is that man here? Is he gonna live with us now?”

Ariah briefly met eyes with her sister. “Well,
ma petite
, he’s been hurt, and we are going to help him get better. Isn’t that the nice thing to do?”

Curls bounced about Emmaline’s shoulders as she enthusiastically nodded.

“That’s my good girl.” Ariah smiled, pushed a lock from her daughter’s brow, and awarded her with a kiss. “Oh, dear me,” she whispered against Emmaline’s skin. “I believe you may be warming up again. Go get into bed.”

Chewing on her bottom lip, Emmaline rose from the floor, brushed off her nightdress, and yawned wide.

Latching onto Emmaline’s forearm, Ariah said, “Listen to me carefully, darling. I don’t want you going in there again. Not for any reason. Do you understand?”

“Mmhmm.” Emmaline paused for a moment and appeared to grow thoughtful. “How long shall he be here?”

“As long as he needs to be. Now no more questions about him.”

Emmaline’s mouth lifted into a small, contemplative smile. “I think I like him. He reminds me of Papa.”

Ariah doubted that Emmaline remembered anything of Jacques; he’d been absent for more than three years, and all that remained was his military portrait. Regardless, Ariah felt the color drain from her skin. Harnessing back her emotions, she shook her head and gently patted Emmaline’s hand. “His uniform,” she corrected, “you mean his
uniform
reminds you of Papa.” Twisting the material of her skirts, she glanced helplessly at her sister. “See, darling – they are both soldiers. Nothing more. You understand?”

Emmaline shrugged her shoulders. “I guess so.”

•

Gabriel didn’t sleep that evening. Instead, he lay awake in deep contemplation, staring at the cracked ceiling that loomed overhead. Pale strands of moonlight seeped through the window and hurled wavering shadows along the walls. The oil lamp had burned out hours ago, sentencing the chamber to darkness.

Thoughts of Ariah and his past invaded his mind, refusing to grant him rest. He wanted to hate her –
non
, he wanted to despise her – for thwarting his plan. He’d finally mustered the courage to do what should have been done long, long ago … then she’d appeared.

Indeed, she’d appeared within the darkness, like a lighthouse among the jagged sea cliffs, steering him away from destruction.

Except he was already destroyed.

A dreamy haze settled over his mind and body as the laudanum trickled through his veins. It was a familiar feeling – one that took him back nearly a decade. Before departing for the war, Gabriel had often found refuge at the bottom of bottles. The war, however, had sobered his drinking in a matter of months. The withdrawals had been damn difficult to endure – but the efforts had paid off tenfold, transforming him into one of Napoleon’s esteemed regiment commanders.

Now what have I become?

A violent gust of wind rattled the small window, disrupting Gabriel from his thoughts. The wooden pane thudded against its sill and penetrated the silence with an eerie
thump, thump, thump
. Chilly winter air seeped through the poorly insulated walls and wrapped around his throat like fingers. He shivered, groaned, and adjusted his reclined body. Refusing to allow him comfort, the mattress’s coils screeched in objection.

The woman lived in a state of poverty – yet her voice showcased refinement, her mannerisms a sense of inbred propriety. She hadn’t always known these circumstances. Of that he was certain. What had driven her to this lifestyle? What sort of man was the child’s father? And was her daughter a bastard … or the beloved child of another broken war hero?

Without warning, Gabriel’s thoughts swung full circle –

Tears cascading down pale cheeks. The thrust of a blade as it descends. Flames melting flesh from bone.

And those images simmered inside his mind until he perceived nothing else.

•

Blacker than pitch, the darkness enveloped Ariah inside a cold, windowless prison. She was fifteen years old again – helpless, frightened, and orphaned …

We race through the dark, winding alleyways, hand in hand, one with the night. A low-hanging fog curtains the world around us, obscuring everything. Above our heads, towering, colossal buildings, appearing older than time itself, scrape against the night sky. Resembling the smoke of a fairy-tale dragon, white clouds ascend from chimneys in voluptuous puffs, relieving Parisians of the cold. I admire the lush smoke rings and remember home. I think of my loving father and those visits with my half sister. How much simpler those happy times had been. Now my knapsack holds all of my worldly belongings: a rusted wind chime, a few sous, and a silver cross.

Out-of-doors it’s cold and unforgiving. No stars dare shine overhead. The moon is cloaked behind heavy shadow and hidden from view. And yet I feel safe with him by my side. We are survivors – forgotten, orphaned, but never lost or alone.

Nausea swells in my gut. I can’t hide my misery any longer. I slow my steps, lower my knapsack, and urge him to do likewise. “I
…
I’m so very hungry. It has been three nights, Geoffrey.”

Geoffrey nods, sharing in my agony. “This way,” he gently whispers, tugging on my sleeve. Our breaths mist the air, appearing white against the black.

I follow after him, guided by blind faith.

Geoffrey stops and turns to me. A grin spreads across his handsome face. He appears older yet not wiser than his seventeen years. Light from an oil lamp flickers, casting thick shadows all around us. Footsteps echo from behind
…
now to the side. Someone is here.

I tremble from the unknown darkness and clutch Geoffrey’s thin forearm. He steps nearer to me, a breath away – a kiss away – and his smile transforms into a full-blown grin. “Why, you’re scared, little one.” Two fingertips prop my jaw and urge my chin upright. My gaze merges with his, and for a moment, I forget to breathe. “I’m with you. There ain’t nothin’ to be afraid of, Ari. Us against the world. Remember?”

Ari – his affectionate nickname for me. My insides warm, and I bask beneath his reassuring grin.

But the footsteps grow louder, closer. Ten meters away, a silhouette materializes from the shadows.

It’s a man. Non, it’s a gentleman. A rather elderly gentleman. His long cloak brushes against the cobblestones as he wanders through the dank alleyway. A velvet top hat crowns his head, bold and proud. Mist curls about his ankles, creating the illusion that he’s floating through time and space.

His pace is quick, as if he already senses he’s being followed. But he nearly trips over himself and has trouble maintaining balance – and the bottle in his gloved hand is most certainly the reason why.

“
He’ll never know what hit him.” Geoffrey bows his face ever so slightly. Auburn curls drape across his collar as he murmurs, “Stay in the shadows, Ari.”

“
Geoffrey, wait!” I frantically reach for him, but it’s too late.

Geoffrey seizes the gentleman’s shoulder.

“
What – what is the meaning of this?” The words are looped together in a slurred legato.

A grim smile is Geoffrey’s one response. He withdraws a dagger with panther-like deftness and angles the blade to the gentleman’s neck. The gentleman stutters, tripping over his own tongue, while Geoffrey shoves him against the wall. A muffled bang resounds, amplified by the alleyway’s stonework. The bottle drops from his hand and dismembers against the cobblestones in a million unidentifiable pieces. I gaze down at the shattered bottle, and it’s like the thing had never existed.

“
Here,” the gentleman says, gesturing to his cloak with trembling hands, “take it – take it all, damn you! I shan’t breathe a word – only let me go.” His words are less slurred now – as if the reality of his fate has sobered his senses.

“
Good. See that you don’t.”

I bite back an objection as Geoffrey digs through the gentleman’s coat. He increases the pressure of his blade until blood forms around the metal. The gentleman winces from the pain, struggling to keep silent.

“
Geoffrey, please! Is that truly necessary? He is in great pain!”

But Geoffrey doesn’t seem to hear my voice. Something else snares his attention – the clatter of approaching hooves.

Indeed, a small band of gendarmes are closing in on our hiding spot. Geoffrey utters a curse, loosens the blade on the gentleman’s neck, and tosses a handful of francs in my direction. I descend to my knees as they clink against the pavement, quickly stashing them into my sullied apron. Just as I think Geoffrey has completed his mission, he fishes one last item from the gentleman’s waistcoat: a shiny pair of skeleton keys.

Aligning the blade to the man’s neck once more, Geoffrey demands, “Where do you live?” The gentleman doesn’t answer – his attention is on the approaching gendarmes. “Where, damn you? And you best not lie, you foolish drunkard.”

He mumbles his address and Geoffrey pushes away from the wall, burying the keys inside his ratty coat. “Very good. I shall follow you home. And if I discover you’ve lied to me
…
well, I’ll damn well finish what I’ve started. And next time I won’t be so merciful.”

The gentleman nods and then draws silent. Just as Geoffrey latches onto my forearm and begins to lead me into the shadows, a piercing cry rings out. “Guards! Guards, this way, s’il vous plaît!”

I fight to restrain Geoffrey – but once again, it’s too late. “Daft, drunk fool!” He spins toward the cries with the force of a caged bull, guided by a primitive survival instinct. His blade gleams beneath the brittle lantern as he thrusts it into the gentleman’s gut, silencing the incredulous screams. The hooves come to a standstill, momentarily disoriented. Alas, the night is vast and deep
…
Geoffrey bought us a few precious moments of escape.

But at what price?

I resist his urging with every fiber of my being. “Come, Ari – we must go from here! Now!”

“
Non!” Bile rises in my throat as the gentleman sags against the damp stone wall. Even as the gendarmes are meters off, I race to his side. An ever-growing patch of blood expands just beneath his heart. Indeed, he could live. Geoffrey hadn’t aimed to kill.

“
The guards shall see to him.”

Yes – should they find him in time. But no audible words emerge from my throat. I feel faint, betrayed, disgusted
.
I yearn to be caught by the gendarmes.

It’s the fate we deserve. And yet I’m too weak to fight off Geoffrey’s grasp as he lifts me from the cold ground and into his arms. Limper than a rag doll, I watch as the gentleman’s body disappears from view. Unable to meet Geoffrey’s eyes – knowing I can only return his stare with resentment – my gaze remains averted.