Broken Wing (5 page)

He was given a well-appointed room next to Jamie’s, and introduced as “Monsieur St Croix, a friend of the family from France.” Jamie came to the rescue again as they toured the house, acting as a much needed buffer, pulling Gabriel along by the hand, chattering excitedly about his room and asking questions of all three of them. It was a warm and comfortable house. The main floor had an airy open design consisting of a long gallery with interconnecting rooms. With the doors open, one could move freely from music room to library to salon. The furnishings were sturdy and inviting, made for relaxation and set in conversational groupings to provide a quiet refuge and placed to enjoy
the view. The overall effect was open, eclectic, and unusual, not unlike its inhabitants.

Sarah found herself watching Gabriel curiously, trying to gauge his reactions, indeed she had made somewhat of a game of it. He had blinked several times during Ross’s lecture on plumbing and indoor heating, signaling she thought, a keen interest. He seemed to have little interest in the music room, looking polite and bored as she showed them the various instruments, but when she bent to help Jamie return a violin to its case, she saw him from the corner of her eye, his fingers poised over the keyboard with what might have been a wistful look.

Caught up in her study of their enigmatic new friend, Sarah was finally rewarded in the library. Gabriel walked slowly along the shelves of books, his index finger tracing covers and spines as he searched the titles, interest sparking, then flaring in his eyes. She watched as his face relaxed into a slight smile, and ventured to address him. “It’s an impressive collection is it not?”

He turned to her with an excited smile that made her heart flutter. “It is indeed mademoiselle. I am permitted to make use of it?”

“But of course! This is your home now. You are welcome to use the library whenever you wish. Perhaps you’d like to take some books to keep in your room.”

His smile widened into a grin that pierced her to the quick. “Thank you, mademoiselle, I should be delighted.”

She decided not to correct him. If he wished to smile at her, he could call her madam, or mademoiselle, or whatever he damned well pleased.

Sarah’s hopes that their conversation in the library signaled a more comfortable relation between them were quickly dashed. Jamie grew in size and confidence as spring changed decisively to summer. He was a delightful child, quick of wit and curious, and the combination of good clean air, plentiful food, exercise, and safety, helped him adapt quickly to his new surroundings. He showed little visible effect from the years he’d been away, his recuperative powers astonishing, but Gabriel struggled to adjust.

He had no complaint about his treatment. Sarah seemed to harbor no animosity in regard to his rudeness aboard ship. Her smile was friendly, and she continued to make efforts to include him in conversation. He found himself watching her when she didn’t know he was looking, noting with some degree of surprise that she often wore men’s clothing, and sometimes went barefoot. No one seemed to remark upon it, not even her brother.

He remained a solitary character, avoiding company, though Jamie often sought his. He was generous with his time with the boy. They went exploring together, learning to fish, climbing cliffs, and exploring the many caves that dotted the shoreline, but he ate alone in his room unless Ross insisted he join them. His manners were impeccable, but he remained withdrawn
and ventured nothing in conversation. When asked a direct question, his responses were cold and clipped, and though he had a clever wit, he used it to distance rather than endear himself.

The truth was that, at Madame’s, he rarely spoke unless spoken to. He hadn’t been paid to give his opinion, and except for the boy, he’d kept his thoughts to himself. His social interactions had revolved around the rites of seduction and the negotiation of payment. They had not prepared him for dinner hour with the Huntingtons and he was finding it difficult to relate to the relaxed banter and lighthearted discussion they indulged in at meals. The more he was surrounded by this unaccustomed wholesomeness, the more lost and angry he became, until he was barely civil to anyone but Jamie. There were moments he felt despair equal to his worst nights at Madame’s as he realized that he didn’t belong anywhere, anymore.

Over the next several weeks the rhythm of the house became familiar to him. He knew the minute the lights would come on, and when the fire would be lit. Huntington and his sister settled in the library most evenings to talk and compare their days and some nights, bored and lonely, unable to sleep, he would sit on the wide veranda, watching the sky and hugging himself against the cool night air as he listened to the buzz and hum of distant conversation. They’d invited him to join them, of course, several times; they were nothing if not polite, but he had no desire to perch,
awkward and sullen, an ugly cuckoo soiling their nest, spoiling the intimacy of their evening. He much preferred sitting in the dark, listening to the soft murmur of voices and laughter. It warmed him somehow, like sitting by a fire on a cold night. Long after they left, long after the last embers had died in the fire, he remained, rocking silently back and forth in the darkness, cold as stone.

Ross and Sarah sat in the library, enjoying an aged brandy and talking companionably over the chessboard. “Jamie is doing remarkably well, don’t you think, my dear?”

“Oh, yes, Ross! I swear he’s grown three inches since he’s been home. He’s a delightful boy, curious, eager, and full of energy and good humor. I wish Mother and Father could see him.”

Ross flinched, uncomfortable with the topic. “Who knows, Sarah? Perhaps they can. I hope, at least, they may rest easy, knowing he’s returned home.”

Sarah smiled. “Having him back is a blessing and a miracle. Seeing him whole and happy is … Oh, Ross, we owe Gabriel so much!”

Ross grunted at that, but didn’t deny it. “He is not behaving as I expected. Indeed, I suppose I had no idea what to expect.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, for one thing, it appears he’s not tumbling
the maids … or the stable boys.”

“Good God, Ross! That was cruel and uncalled for! You might be speaking of Jamie, if not for him!”

“I’m sorry, my dear,” Ross said, somewhat chagrined. “He’s so surly with me I act like an ass at times. Still one didn’t expect him to become a monk, or a recluse. It’s been over three months, Sarah. He doesn’t seem happy here. One cannot say he’s adjusting. What do you make of him?”

“Gabriel? I think he’s magnificent, achingly beautiful, and so very lost. I don’t know how to reach him. It breaks my heart.”

Ross patted her hand, somewhat alarmed. Despite her brief marriage, Sarah’s experience with men was rather limited, and she was sometimes too tenderhearted for her own good. Regardless of what the man had done for James, there’d been something calculating and cold in his gaze when they’d first met that reminded Ross of the eyes of a mercenary. “I know you’re grateful, my girl, as am I. He
has
been Jamie’s guardian angel. You must be careful, though, not to romanticize him. He is, I’m afraid, a very hard, and a very dangerous, young man.”

Later that night, Sarah tossed and turned, restless
in the oppressive heat. The day had been sultry and the night offered little relief. Despite open doors and windows, there was no hint of a breeze and the water lay still as glass. Flinging off her covers, she rose and stepped out onto the balcony. The night was bejeweled, the stars glittering and sparkling overhead, reflected by the flat-mirrored surface of the ocean below. She gasped in delight and imagined herself in a magnificent, celestial ballroom. Lost in fancy, she began to sway to a haunting otherworldly melody that hung in the air, enticing, entrancing, and magical. Fairy music, Davey would call it. Her reverie was broken, with a start as she realized the music, faint and delicate, was real.

Hastily donning a nightgown and a wrapper, she started down the stairs. Ethereal whispers of sound took on substance and immediacy as she descended. It was coming from the music room, where she could see a spill of light from under the door. She wondered who could be playing. Ross was skilled with guitar and lute, but he’d never taken to the keyboard, and Davey was not expected back for another month. Realizing he must have returned early, a smile of welcome lit her face as she pushed open the door. She stopped in astonishment; her mouth rounded into an
O
of surprise. Gabriel was bent over the keyboard, eyes closed in concentration, his beautiful fingers stroking the keys with delicate artistry as he swayed to the music.

He was disheveled and barefoot, his shirt and coat open. Long strands of hair clung to his shoulders in the
sticky heat. A bottle of brandy perched precariously on the piano’s edge. He seemed unaware of her, and she watched the play of muscle along his collarbone and shoulders with fascination, as his clever fingers created magic, weaving it into the still night air. He tossed his head suddenly, and looked straight at her. His face was unguarded, his eyes yearning, and distant, as if he were half there and half in some faraway place, listening to a melody from beyond this world. She was mesmerized, moved in a way she could not have described. Her arrested eyes watched his for several moments before she tore them away.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt. I heard the music and thought … Gabriel, you play beautifully!”

Ignoring her, he turned his attention back to the keyboard, taking a sip of brandy with one hand as the other continued to caress the ivories, coaxing a haunting melody.

“Where … how did you learn to play so exquisitely?”

Continuing to play, he regarded her through hooded eyes. Angry with her for the intrusion, wanting to shock her, to drive her away, he decided to tell her the truth.

“When I was about fourteen, mignonne, I was sold to a very rich patron, a nobleman, Monsieur Le Comte de Sevigny. I was sent to amuse him, and tend to his needs.” He gifted her with a slight, sardonic smile. “Do you understand my meaning, mademoiselle?” His
voice was smooth and even, and his fingers continued weaving their magic as he spoke.
“Non?
Let me explain. He taught me how to please him. There are many ways a boy can pleasure a man, with hands and with … well … suffice to say, I learned them all. I wanted to. It was better there than at Madame Etienne’s, and there was only him to please. He presented me as his page, and had me educated as he imagined a page should be. It amused him to see I was given a fine livery, taught proper manners, to read and write, to dance, even to ride. I was given a music master. I had a small modicum of talent, as it happens. I was taught the violin, the keyboard, and the guitar, so that I might divert my master … through all his senses. Surprisingly, I still find myself almost grateful for that.” His fingers moved across the keyboard in an elegant flourish.

Sarah gulped, shocked, not sure what to say, but hypnotized as she watched him play. “You weren’t there long though, were you? Not long enough to acquire such skill.”

“No,” he said with a soft laugh. “Two years. Long enough to learn the fundamentals, sexual, musical, literary, things that Madame had neglected, though it increased my value to her, no doubt.” This was followed by a flourish of notes, and a feral grin. “As I grew older, it seems I lost some of my charm,” he looked at her with a dead smile, “and I did something that annoyed him terribly.”

“What?” she asked, breathless.

“I ran away,” he said, his voice as cold and distant as his smile. “It was terribly rude and unappreciative of me. He punished me, of course. He caned my hands until they were so swollen I thought I would never play again. He knew how much it meant to me. I think he wanted to break my fingers,” he added lightly, “but he was too afraid of what Madame would charge him for that. She had use for my hands, even if he no longer did.” He picked up the tempo, a sprightly melody now. “He beat me, of course, whipped my ass until it was bleeding and raw, and then he passed me to his friends before sending me … home … where Madame taught me to please ladies as well as gentlemen.”

His voice, throughout the recitation, remained deceptively soft and cool, dripping with practiced seduction, but his eyes were bleak. It chilled her. She gasped, horrified, trying not to imagine that lonely, desperate youth, and trying not to imagine the fate that had been stalking Jamie, if not for this man. The notes continued, plaintive, heartrending, and then trickled to a stop. She had no words for him. Sorry she’d asked. Sorry she’d opened old wounds.

He glanced up at her as he took a swallow of brandy. “Do I make you uncomfortable, mignonne?” he whispered into the silence.

“Yes! Very!”

“Ah, you are shocked, yes? You must learn to be careful what you ask for,
chère.”
He returned to playing, a gentle, pensive tune.

“You never stopped playing, though,” she observed. He shrugged. “There were instruments to play at Madame’s. It afforded some small amusement.”

“What of …?”

“I am very tired, Lady Munroe.”