Chasing Shadows (27 page)

“Don’t go,” he rasped, breathless from his episode. Sarah was about to argue that he needed help she couldn’t provide, but the convulsions had lessened with his vice-like grip on her arm. He was only shivering now, though Sarah feared it might start again at any moment. It seemed to help to have something to hold onto, though, and Damien’s eyes were lucid as he stared up at her, his look beseeching. Torn, she bit her lip and knelt before him again and squeezed his hand with hers. 

“I’m not going anywhere.” Though she was sure she would have no feeling in that hand tomorrow if he continued to hold on like she was his lifeline.

Damien’s body visibly relaxed with her words, and his eyes drifted closed. He looked so vulnerable and tired, and she reached out to brush wet strands of hair from his brow. Her thumb idly stroked the creases on his forehead to smooth them out. It wasn’t until the tension on his brow lessened and his body sank heavily into the cushions that she realized what she was doing.

Sarah swallowed and pulled her hand back. His grip on her other hand tightened possessively as his eyes opened to meet hers. In the semi-darkness, the color of his eyes was nearly impossible to make out, but the vulnerability in them was perfectly clear. The firelight caused the gold flecks to stand out against the darkness of his gaze, reminding Sarah of fireflies in a hollow cavern. A girl could get lost in those haunting eyes, Sarah thought, and she already felt the invitation to lose herself in their fathomless depths.

“Don’t stop,” he whispered hoarsely. He sounded exhausted. How long had he been here, alone and terrified and fighting against his own body? She instinctively squeezed his hand and felt a quick pulse in return. Damien’s eyes closed with the reassurance that she would be nearby, and his body sank gratefully into the couch again.

Sarah’s thumb rubbed back and forth across his knuckles to lull him to sleep, silently praying that he wouldn’t have another episode. As she watched his weary face, she wondered if they truly were seizures. Edith had said that Cadius was capable of great evil. Was poisoning a part of his game? Had he done this? Sarah felt a renewed hatred for the faceless man swell within her chest, which was quickly overshadowed by the fear that someone had tried to kill Damien.

Her grip on his hand tightened, and he opened one eye. Her voice dropped with urgency as she leaned in. “Damien, did you say anything about what I told you during our ride? Anything at all? It’s important.”

Both eyes were open now and clouded with confusion. He shook his head. “Of course not. You’ll recall that
I
am the one who told
you
to remain quiet.”

“I didn’t say anything, either. But think back—did you mention it to anyone?”

He appeared clueless and struggled to prop himself up. Sarah placed her free hand on his chest to keep him down, and he was too spent to put up a fight. “What are you talking about?”

She glanced back at the open door and jumped up before he could protest. Closing it, she hurried back to him and retrieved his hand once more. Her voice dropped to a low whisper, even though the door was closed. “I think you may have been poisoned.”

Now he really looked confused. “Wha—”

“Is there any way that Cadius could have figured out what we talked about? Could we have been followed?”

Damien was already shaking his head, albeit weakly. This time she didn’t fight him when he propped himself up on a wobbly elbow. “Sarah, no. He did not do this.”

“Then how do you explain what just happened to you?“

“A drunken father,” he answered quietly.

Sarah glanced up at him sharply. “What?”

Damien’s lips parted to expel a heavy breath. He lowered himself again, his eyes suddenly taking great interest in the tapestry on the wall above him. “Shortly after Mother’s death . . .” His voice faded, and he swallowed before he could continue. “I knew he was in a rage when he returned from the tavern that night, and I hid Isabella in the stable until he could sober-up. But without my mother or sister at hand, I was all the remained for the dispensation of my father’s pent-up wrath.”

He paused. His voice was softer when he spoke. “It was the final straw, and I decided in that instant to take Isabella away from him. But then my father—he slipped and fell down the staircase, making the decision for us when he broke his neck. Isabella and I left when I was well enough to travel.” His story finished, Damien met her eyes, and she saw that the past clouded his gaze.

For a man to murder his wife in a rage was bad enough, but to beat his own son and inflict this level of damage was unthinkable.

Sarah’s throat felt unnaturally tight with compassion for the wounded man before her and disgust for the father who had raised him. She was horrified at the brief satisfaction she felt over his being dead and swallowed ashamedly. “And that’s when this started? The seizures?”

His expression was heavy and burdened. “Yes. I lapsed into an episode before he had finished. Perhaps it saved my life.” He chuckled mirthlessly at the irony. His gaze lowered to the smaller hand clenched in his own, and he placed their entwined hands on his chest. Sarah watched his movements and when she looked up, his gaze was trained on the ceiling, thoughtful.

“For years I questioned if this was God’s doing—my just punishment for being the horrible, unwanted child my father told me I was.” His throat worked in a convulsive swallow. “But now I realize that the world simply deals the hands that it does, and we cannot protest. Some days cause me to question if there truly is an Almighty, as Mother believed.”

Damien’s eyes widened when they met her teary gaze, and he struggled to rise. “Oh, Sarah, forgive me. I did not wish to upset you.”

She shook her head, wanting to tell him to sit back down before he had another seizure, but her throat was clogged with unshed tears. She sniffed. “It’s not that—” She stopped, unable to finish. Overcome with the imagery of a young, damaged boy lovingly caring for his sister, Sarah suddenly wanted very much to fix him and wipe away the past. She was supposed to be guarding her heart, but Damien and his aching loneliness had subdued her defenses. No matter what she wanted to believe, he was already in her heart.

She stared at the back of the hand that had yet to release her own. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered. The words didn’t seem to be enough, but they were all she had.

He lifted her chin with a gentle finger and kept it there even after she met his eyes. They were soft and warm. “Thank you for listening. You are the only person in my new life that I’ve told of this.” Sarah started, surprised. Propping himself up against the back of the couch, Damien grinned weakly, but it was genuine. He pulled her up to sit beside him. She shifted to face him, and he brought her hand to his lips. The carefully manicured scruff on his chin brushed her hand, and Sarah felt something shoot down to her toes. “And thank you for caring.” Damien’s breath brushed her knuckles.

“Of course,” she rasped past a suddenly dry throat.

Damien leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes, clearly spent. But he still clutched her hand to his chest like she might disappear while he slept. His lips parted as he began to fade, and Sarah allowed herself a moment to study him in the soft light.

A thin line of dark scruff ran along his jawline and then reached up to touch his full lower lip. A matching set of dense lashes fanned out over usually olive-toned skin on either side of the narrow, perfectly sculpted nose that spoke of his high breeding. The boyish dent in his right cheek, where a dimple had permanently left its mark, and the smile lines on either side of his mouth contrasted with the ever-present crease on his forehead and the squint-marks at the corner of his eyes.

His strong features were definitely refined and handsome, she couldn’t deny it. But while these things had certainly drawn her in when they’d first met and only grown on her since, it was becoming increasingly apparent to her, as she watched him rest in childlike trust that she would watch over him, that it had been the vulnerability and pain she had seen behind the self-confident swagger that had intrigued her.

Sarah was caught up in her thoughts and didn’t realize that her patient had one eye trained on her, a cheeky glimmer in his gaze. “Something you find interesting?”

And then there were moments when her compassion ended with a roll of her eyes when his self-assuredness leaked through. How could the man elicit so many different emotions from her in one sitting?

Sure her face showed her internal struggle, Sarah tried to recover without inflating his ego further. “Actually, I was just thinking that you looked a little sickly and tired.” His grin only broadened, and she knew she hadn’t convinced him. Softening her tone, she urged, “You need to rest.”

Damien tugged her a little closer and draped one arm heavily about her shoulders, forcing her to lean against him as the weight of it pulled her down. He grinned defiantly down at her. “Actually, I’m quite comfortable where I am. You look lovely tonight, by the way.”

Sarah pushed against him so he could see her reprimanding look. “Be serious. You looked ready to drop a minute ago, and I don’t think I can carry you to your bed if you fall asleep.”

Weariness entered his gaze when he looked at the few feet between the bed and the small couch. “I think this spot is perfect. Besides, the worst is over.”

Sarah suddenly understood why his arm felt so heavy across her shoulders; he clearly did not have the strength to brave the minute distance.

Gnawing on her lower lip as she stared at the bed in thoughtful silence, she finally rose on cramped legs, grimacing at the needles that that shot through her numb feet as the blood returned to them. She snagged a pillow and the ornate quilt from the mattress and lugged them back to him, half carrying-half dragging the monstrosity behind her.

“You could sleep here, if you want to,” she said delicately, conscious of his manly pride and the fact that her urging him into bed like a fretting mother might insult said manhood. Especially if he couldn’t make the journey in the first place. “It’s probably better not to move around so much, anyway.”

Damien looked relieved that she had taken the decision away from him and nodded eagerly. “Yes, the nurse is always right.” She grinned indulgently and pretended she didn’t catch his tight-lipped grimace as he lowered himself to his side. Sarah slipped the pillow beneath his head and watched it sink heavily into the downy-soft feathers. She started to heft the blanket over him, but his hand snaked out and caught her wrist.

“You have done enough, Sarah,” he said. “It must be getting late.”

She wasn’t quite ready to leave him alone, and she would have more peace of mind watching him here than she would fretting over his condition from her own room. “I don’t mind staying a little longer—just until you get settled.”

Damien frowned, and she could tell he was about to argue with her. Though she couldn’t help wondering if a part of him wanted her to stay. “You should not—”

“How long were you like this tonight?” she asked abruptly.

He stared up at her, hesitating. “Not too long.” His answer was careful—to spare her feelings, she knew.

Sarah bit her lip, troubled. She should have known that something was wrong when he didn’t come for her and then gone to find him. Maybe she could have done more if she had discovered him earlier, or at the very least been there for him. She gently slipped her arm from his grasp and arranged the blanket over him.

“I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner,” she murmured. When she slanted him a glance through her hair, she caught his lips curving in a contented smile.

He said with a low voice, “It has been quite some time since I was taken care of so well.” Damien’s eyes were alight with warmth even as his lids drooped to half-mast. He took her hand again before she could pull away, tired eyes searching her face. “You could have done nothing more if you had been here sooner. Believe me.”

“But I could have at least
been
here,” she countered.

He smiled, a little bit of the old, playful Damien returning. “I admit that I feel far more at peace with you near. But I suppose if you feel that way, then by all means, my lady, stay with me until the sun sets fire to the darkness.”

Sarah bit her lip to keep from grinning, his teasing manner automatically dismissing any underlying implications. “I’ll stay until you fall asleep.” She sat down on the floor and folded her legs Indian-style.

His smile remained on his face a moment longer before it ebbed. He propped himself up on his elbows, brow furrowed in concern. “I didn’t think this through properly, and I cannot request that you to stay.”

“What?”

“A man should never ask a lady to take the ground, and it wouldn’t be proper to have you remain unchaperoned. I would hate to tarnish your reputation.”

He looked so genuinely torn up about it that Sarah couldn’t suppress her grin. “That’s sweet of you to think of that, but I’m not that worried. Besides, I’m pretty sneaky, so no one will see me leave.”

“But—”

“
Sleep
, Damien,” she urged. He watched her another second before lowering himself once more, his eyes closing in fatigue.

“I am a weak example for my entire sex,” he muttered, half asleep already.

Sarah chuckled softly. His lips tipped almost imperceptibly in a grin before it faded as he succumbed to his exhaustion.