Finding Gabriel (8 page)

He gathered the tin, unscrewed the lid, and dipped his finger into the milky liquid. It was surprisingly tepid. And pungent. With mounting unease, he rested his fingertip against the gun hole and smeared it across the inflamed flesh. Another wave of pain speared through his body in tight coils. Bile rose into his throat, filling his mouth with hot acid. Swallowing back his nausea, he winced, hesitated for a moment, and finally muttered a blasphemous curse.
“Fils de pute.”

If Ariah took offense to the obscenity, she refused to show it. Instead, her blue eyes kindled with humor. “It is all over your face, monsieur,” she said, her voice surprisingly calm and patient, “and hardly on the wound.”

Gabriel’s hand fell from his skin and sagged against the mattress. Exhausted from the vain efforts, he squeezed both eyes shut and laid back on the pillow. He felt embarrassed. Weak and defeated.
Mon Dieu,
what had become of him, one of France’s most powerful military commanders? The resentment he’d felt days ago returned at full force. Icy fingers crawled up and down his spine as despair consumed his soul. In many ways, he
had
indeed died in the Seine that night. “Just leave me,” he spat, waving her off. “Get out. I don’t need you. I shall find a way to manage.”

“Oh, come now, monsieur.” A new warmth laced her voice. “You mustn’t give up on yourself so quickly and with so little fight.” Gabriel’s eyes sprang open. Ariah had scooted closer, causing the heat of her body to radiate toward him. She reached out and caressed his badge with a fingertip. His breath caught in his throat. He stiffened against the pillow and met her unwavering gaze. Tracing the insignia, she whispered, “You are a soldier. A fighter. And now you must fight. Not for the emperor, not for France … but for yourself.”

Gabriel swallowed, momentarily at a loss for words. Her face was mere centimeters from his own, their mouths sharing the same intakes of air. Golden curls slid across her shoulders in a fierce flurry, mirroring her inner spirit. Her hand fell from the badge, returning to the safety of her lap again. “Now may I proceed, monsieur?”

Time stood still. And in that suspended moment, Gabriel knew he could deny her nothing.

He surrendered with a brisk nod. She whisked the tin from his limp fingers, not missing a beat. Then she plunged a slender index finger into the salve, hesitated for a second, and brought the liquid against his flesh. He tensed at the subtle contact, preparing for a great flash of pain. But her movements were poised and delicate, and she went out of her way to ensure he remained moderately comfortable.

Yet her efforts were in vain. Indeed, Gabriel felt far from comfortable. He felt violated, humiliated, and was still pulsating with anger and frustration.

“What are you anyway, a nurse of some sort?”

She stiffened at his severe tone but never stilled her hands. Instead, she grew more dedicated and absorbed with the task. “Actually, I had a doctor examine you days ago.” Her fingertip smoothed over the bruising with a startling gentleness. “Now – if you would kindly turn to the side.”

He did as requested, fully exposing the gun wound and shattered bones. He knew the sunlight from the window illuminated his grotesque disfigurement; the heat illuminated his misery and summoned unexpected thoughts. Gabriel wondered if she found his appearance repulsive. The thought came without invitation, and he struggled to drive it away. He might resemble something out of a child’s nightmare, but he remained a man at heart.

He searched the room for distraction and failed miserably. After several moments, his eyes descended to Ariah’s left hand.

“Your ring.” She paused her handiwork and sucked in a hollow breath. “You are married, I take it?”

A weighted silence hung between them. Then she resumed once more, her tone casual, all emotions tucked behind a mask of indifference. “I have a daughter. Why wouldn’t I be married? And besides – I recall telling you that her father is away in the war.”

Gabriel shrugged. “She is what … five, six years of age?” She responded with a single nod. “And you? You are twenty-one, twenty-two by the looks of it?”

Her hands plummeted from his face. Unbeknownst to her, salve trickled from her fingertips and stained the material of those wretched skirts. “Twenty-two last spring. Though I can hardly see why my age matters.”

“After some arithmetic, I find that fifteen is a rather young age to marry and have a child.”

“Perhaps I was betrothed and forced into marriage,” Ariah said, resuming her work. “After all, it’s not so uncommon for girls to be sold to the highest bidder.”

“No – ” Gabriel flinched as a wave of pain crashed through his body. Ariah murmured an apology before resuming. “But something tells me you could never be forced into anything.”

She smiled at the last remark, and Gabriel felt something stir inside his chest. He shook the feeling away and braced himself against the female’s pretty charms. “And besides,” he continued, gesturing to the unfortunate surroundings with his hand. “I hardly see proof of a marriage of convenience.”

“You don’t suppose I fell deeply in love?” Her eyes lowered to his. The lush fan of lashes shadowed her cheekbones like butterfly wings. Her fingers paused midair, stopping centimeters from his flesh. Startling awareness replaced Gabriel’s despair. He felt the heat radiating from her … and he ached to lose himself in her warmth and comfort. “Maybe that’s why I chose to marry and start a family.” She’d grown very nervous, Gabriel noticed. A charming blush brandished her cheekbones, her breaths were strained, and her hand subtly trembled. But she fought to shroud her anxiety – and did a rather decent job of doing so. “Not much of a romantic, are you?”

“On the contrary. I’m a realist.”

“Mmm.” Her expression invited Gabriel to parry.

The playing field had evened. He decided to test her limits. Indeed, he was certainly not one to lose at sparring, whether it be with pistols or words. “And how would this alleged husband feel … knowing a strange man was lying in your bed? This is your marriage bed, I presume?”

Impenetrable silence took command. She forced a smile, though some of the light faded from her eyes. “Pardon me, good monsieur,” she finally said in a playful, mocking tone, “but I thought you were a colonel. Not an inspector.”

Gabriel studied her expression. It was cloaked with apathy and nearly impossible to read. Yet something was there – a powerful emotion. Indeed, the darkness had resurfaced. And despite her greatest efforts, it was a darkness she couldn’t conceal.

Not from him. Not from a man who’d lived and breathed darkness for over eleven years.

“Lisette – ” The name slashed through the silence.

Breath caught in his chest, Gabriel felt his heart pound against his rib cage in a fierce requiem. The sound traversed through his body and echoed in his ears with the audacity of a war drum.

“Who is she?”

He responded with silence. Cold, tense silence.

Then he reached his breaking point and shattered. “Why the hell do you ask? What business is it of yours?”

“Well … you … you spoke her name while you were unconscious. Continuously. And I just assumed – ”

Gabriel’s hand shot forward at lightning speed, cutting off the last of her words. His fingers latched onto her chin and curled around the pale curve. He secured her head in place, forcing her to meet his eyes. In that moment, all of her carefully erected barriers fell away, leaving her vulnerable. His grip was firm and direct, though he took care not to harm her. “Never mention that name again. Never again.”

Frustrated with her inquisitive nature … frustrated with her safely guarded secrets –
frustrated with himself
– Gabriel increased the pressure of his fingers.

Conflicting urges collided. Indeed, he yearned to break her pretty neck and consume her mouth with a sweltering kiss. Instead, he adjusted his grasp and gave her chin a firm shake.

Then everything shifted.

Ariah bounded from the mattress. She towered above his seated form, the intensity of her stare matching his own. Her right hand rested just beneath his chin – and with it was a small dagger. He felt the blade’s jagged edge against his skin … felt the potency of her gaze as it penetrated his bandaged face. For several weightless moments, only her labored breathing ruptured the quiet.

She leaned over the bed, the blade held perpendicular to his throat, positioned several centimeters above his Adam’s apple. Her hand quivered, causing the metal to draw trickles of blood from his neck. He swallowed deeply as they streaked down his skin and splattered onto the mattress. Shimmering and undulating across the dark blade, dawn’s light seemed to take on a life of its own. He tensed, daring to neither move nor speak. He simply met her fevered gaze and awaited her next move.

“Do it,” he finally urged, his voice no more than a strained whisper. “Go on. Finish what I started five days ago.”

Her stare was strangely blank, unfocused, inward. Gabriel wondered if she’d heard his challenge.

Then she blinked once, twice, three times – as if jolting back into the present. With a shaky breath, she lowered the blade from his throat, lifted her skirts, and tucked the weapon away. And without so much as another word, she fled the bedchamber.

A sloppy, wet kiss jarred Gabriel from sleep.

His eyes blinked opened at the odd sensation. Surveying the room, he lifted his face with a groan and peered downward. Just as he’d feared, perched on the edge of his mattress was the dog’s colossal head. Below was its snout; slaver and God only knew what else saturated the bed sheet. Hot breaths wafted against Gabriel’s hand as the ugly creature panted expectantly. Annoyance speared through him and simmered inside his belly.

How the hell did the beast even get inside? Over the past few days, Ariah had appeared at brief intervals – only to disperse his medication, food, and water. Ever since the dagger incident and his lash out, she seemed to have erected a protective wall around herself. And Gabriel didn’t blame her. Sighing, he observed his uninvited guest, and a sudden realization surfaced: Ariah had purposely urged the dog inside.

Damn her.

“Get away from me, daft mongrel.” Pain dashed through the left side of Gabriel’s face with the force of a thousand needles. He cringed and sputtered a curse as a wet tongue swept across his hand. Irritated beyond comprehension, Gabriel shoved the mutt’s face aside, pushing him away with little success. Not comprehending the notion of rejection, the dog issued a pitiful whine and resumed his stare. “I said away with you. Go. Be gone.” Gabriel grabbed the dog’s muzzle and attempted to force him away again. Instead of taking offense to the gesture, he firmly rested his skull against Gabriel’s palm. His thin tail sliced the air while that speckled tongue rolled out from enormous jaws.

“Ah … pathetic simpleton.” Defeated, Gabriel sighed and ran his palm over the creature’s monstrous head.
Mon Dieu,
the dog felt worse than he looked. His skull was painfully thin, the bones protruding at prominent angles. “Well, you did put up a good fight. And, if nothing else, I’ve always appreciated a proper fight.” The dog’s jowls stretched into something that resembled a smile; absurd as the notion was, he couldn’t help but think the mutt was laughing. For a fleeting moment, Gabriel was swept back to his own childhood – to those warm, summer afternoons in Le Havre, where he, his trusted hound, and unruly cousins had scourged for game …

With each caress, rough patches of fur stung Gabriel’s palm and shed onto the mattress. The creature’s coat felt unbearably coarse beneath his fingertips – much like dried-out straw. “Oliver, is it?” Gabriel asked conversationally. The dog responded with an insistent toss of his muzzle that urged his attention. He sighed and scratched at the scruff below his chin. Oliver’s pale, speckled tongue rolled out, spilling across the mattress like a royal carpet. His head tilted onto its side while his back leg madly thumped up and down. The planks boomed beneath the assault and seemed to vibrate the entire room. Gabriel lightly chuckled. His opposite hand unconsciously caressed his signet ring. “Found your special spot, I suppose.”

The beast’s ears were as unattractive and scraggly as the rest of him. Yet the companionship he offered warmed Gabriel’s spirit. And, for the first time in so long, he acknowledged just how lonely he’d become.

Gabriel had hardened himself to yearning for comfort. Aside from the occasional camp follower, for nearly a decade he’d known only death, ruin, and destruction. He’d forgotten the warmth of sharing in another’s closeness, the feeling of being wanted,
needed
…

And that damnable chit was to blame. Ariah Larochelle. She’d awoken dormant feelings that’d been long buried. And now a myriad of emotions stirred to life within his heart: bitterness, anger, and an unshakable sadness.

He needed to find a way out of this situation. If not, he’d lose whatever remained of his soul.

He turned his attention back to the mutt. “Bit of an ugly thing, aren’t you? Rather demanding, too …” Gabriel muttered, his voice harsher than intended. Oliver took no offense to the words. Instead, he gave a talkative bark and attempted to crawl onto the mattress. But the perils of arthritis and old age made the climb an impossible pursuit. “Sorry, old man. Not today.”

Gabriel sat up and eased to the edge of the mattress. Relief bloomed in his body as both of his feet grazed the floorboards. It was quite a liberating moment. With an unsteady breath, he rose from the bed and stood upright for the first time in nearly a week. He felt rather drunk and unsteady on his feet – as if he were a baby fawn taking its first steps into the world. Oliver loyally stood beside his heels and gazed up at him with those contemplative, strangely human eyes. Gabriel sighed and awarded the dog with a quick pat before treading forward.

He peered out the window and gazed into Paris’s streets. The fog-covered glass mirrored his ghostly, bandaged reflection. Breathing heavily and clenching both fists, Gabriel wrestled to see past himself and observe the empty alleyway. It was overcast, the sun halfway hidden by a blanket of low-hanging clouds. The district was small and its buildings equally so. Nearly built on top of one another, countless homes crowded the walkway, their walls splintered, battered, and windswept. Clotheslines and ropes of lanterns webbed the buildings as one. From what he could make out, the streets appeared to be poorly tended and crawling with filth.

Rocky on his feet, Gabriel crossed the length of the room with tentative steps. A moderately sized wooden tub lined one of the walls. Standing before the chipped vanity, he examined his ghastly reflection for the first time. Though the linen bandage obstructed the view of his wound, Gabriel was disgusted by the man staring back at him. Vivid bruising and dried blood encrusted the bandages. Below the linen, on the left side of his face, the exposed flesh was grossly discolored and welted – a likely result from attempting to scramble out of the Seine’s depths. Yellowish bruising and half-healed punctures encircled the bandage’s perimeter. Blood pooled through the material in a morbid ring and darkened the linen to a brown hue. He could feel that several of his back teeth were missing, leaving cavernous holes in their wake. And his eyes … they were rimmed with shadows and strangely vacant. They resembled two open wounds beneath a pair of tightly knit brows.

Although he couldn’t view the actual disfigurement, he’d seen far more than enough. Half his face was distorted beyond recognition – and he looked worse than a dead man. He was a damned stranger to himself. Pulse racing, he lolled away from his reflection and examined the vanity’s chipped countertop. Various trinkets were scattered across the nicked surface – including a small hand mirror. Gabriel grabbed hold of the wooden neck and lifted it to his face.

Ariah’s words from days earlier echoed in his mind: “
Well, I’m sorry to say, monsieur, but I don’t have the luxury of a hand mirror
…
as you might have gathered.”
A knot gathered in his chest as he realized she’d protected him.

Indeed. Ariah Larochelle had protected him from himself.

Sudden, choked laughter exploded from his mouth.
The deformity must be truly inconceivable,
he thought in dull amusement. Then, exhaling a rigid breath, Gabriel lowered the hand mirror and continued his investigation.

His satchel hung over the arm of a scarred chair. Several miniature portraits were arranged across the countertop’s worn surface in a single-file line. Two of them appeared quite old and spoke of considerable fortune; their frames were gilded and craftsmanship superior. Where did she acquire such items? And who were the people? They consisted of dual portraits – surely a man and wife. Gabriel assumed they were Ariah’s parents – a revelation that confirmed she did indeed come from a decent bloodline. The lady was a charming blonde with soft eyes and an even softer smile; her husband bore curly auburn hair, a thoughtful grin, and unparalleled refinement.

The third miniature, however, was much plainer and more recently acquired. It boasted a rather handsome young gentleman dressed in military garb. Gabriel collected the third portrait from the countertop and examined it closely. His vision was still strained, and he was forced to lift it centimeters from his face.

Mon Dieu.

The air gushed from his lungs. His fingers grew numb and ice-cold. The portrait fell from his grasp and tumbled onto the vanity with a resounding crash. He chanced another look at the thing – inwardly hoping what he’d seen had been an illusion. Perhaps a trick of his deluded senses.

Alas, it was not.

A dent marred the frame and a fine hairline crack ominously spread across the man’s handsome features. Oliver approached Gabriel with a low whine, his hind leg skidding against the floorboards. Gabriel ignored the dog and battled to control his breathing. Staring down at the portrait, he grasped onto the vanity’s edge to better support his body weight. Sudden heartache flooded his body in a fierce storm. He glanced into the mirror and saw past his reflection – past the bandages, past the bruised, weathered features and insipid stare. Instead of looking at himself, he saw
sapphire eyes
staring back at him. And they pierced his very soul.

Indeed, his thoughts traveled to the child who was only a room away … an innocent child who’d been left fatherless. In many ways, Emmaline and Ariah were living on borrowed time and hope. And in a flash of brutal realization, the misfortunes of Gabriel’s own life began to pale. The pain eased from his wound, fading into a dull ache.

He recognized that face.

Gabriel had known that soldier for many years.

Jacques Larochelle was dead.

•

Muted footfall and erratic banging anchored Ariah’s attention. Arching her brow, she thoughtfully closed her book and laid it aside. Was Gabriel finally out of bed and walking about? And if so, should she check on him? The footsteps sounded clumsy and remarkably loud. Ariah wasn’t surprised by that fact – though she worried for the man’s safety. What if he grew dizzy and fell? Perhaps he’d overexert himself; he was a very proud individual with little regard to his own humanity or limits. Nor would he care if he exerted himself to the point of death. He’d made that point pristinely clear several days earlier.

“
Do it. Go on. Finish what I started.”

At first, she’d barely heard those words, so consumed she’d been by her own inner turmoil.

After a moment of contemplation, she decided not to check on him; she’d left a chamber pot and a pitcher of water inside the room for his convenience and didn’t wish to intrude. He’d made it abundantly clear that he desired solitude. He considered her an unwanted presence – and Ariah could respect that. In less than a week, he’d ventured into the depths of hell and back. As one might expect, he was bitter, drained, and angry with the world at large. In many ways, the soldier reminded Ariah of a wounded, cornered beast. She suspected he needed time to lick his wounds and gather his thoughts.

She should have never inquired about Lisette. At the mention of the name, his pain had been tangible. And she ought to have remembered his words from nearly a week ago: “
My family is dead.”
During his hours of darkness, he’d whispered
Lisette
with incredible love and devotion. Those raw emotions had called out to her, stirring something deep inside her heart. And alongside Ariah’s newfound empathy dawned a revelation: they were both equally broken.

She winced, recalling her elaborate reaction to his outburst.
Surely he must think me a madwoman.
And in many ways she was. She’d acted without rational thought, guided purely by instinct and self-preservation …

More footfall resounded from the back rooms.

Ariah sighed, cradled her chin, and observed her daughter. Emmaline didn’t seem to mind the disturbance. Spread across the floorboards and contentedly playing with her dolls, she was quite oblivious to the ruckus. As usual, she’d resigned to a world of make-believe. Flushed with cheer, she chattered incoherently and infused her dolls with life.

A jarring crash resonated through the house.

Eyes wide, Emmaline lowered her rag doll and twisted toward the sound. “Maman? What was that noise? I’m frightened!”

Ariah sprang to her feet. Her heart banged against her rib cage, threatening to burst from her chest. “I … I don’t know. But I want you to stay here. Understand?”

Sitting cross-legged, Emmaline set her dolls aside, nodded, and watched as her mother vanished into the bedchamber.

•

Ariah’s heart fairly stopped at the sight lurking before her. Gabriel was hunched over the vanity, staring down at one of the miniatures. He remained mute and motionless, his back curved into a powerful and menacing arch. Even through the material of his greatcoat, she saw that his arms were as muscular as the rest of him. Folding both limbs over her chest, she took a tentative step forward and summoned her courage. The long raven forelock curtained his bandage and obstructed his face from view.

He was absorbed in unwavering thought. Ariah had the feeling he hadn’t noticed her entrance. Deciding it best to leave him alone, she spun on her heels and proceeded to exit.

“Stay.”

Obeying, she froze dead in her tracks and slowly turned toward him. Indeed, he spoke with complete authority – as if he was used to giving commands. And having them obeyed without question.

A new strength fortified the word – one she hadn’t heard before. “Ariah …” His tone was a rich, sultry baritone. Husky, robust, demanding. It crawled underneath Ariah’s skin in a resonating caress and set her imagination ablaze. The words were slightly muffled from the injury to his mouth, though such a thing didn’t detract from the force of his vocals. On the contrary, the raspy accent stroked her skin, making the fine hairs on her arms stand fully erect.

The urge to both flee and swoon overcame her.

So she did nothing at all.

Standing a few paces away from the colonel, she waited in suspenseful anticipation. There was something different about him this morning … something she couldn’t place her finger on, something that both saddened and intrigued her greatly. This was not the resentful and embittered man from mere days ago. A new energy radiated from his body, a
s palpable as the very air they shared
. It was a subtle change, but a change nonetheless.