Chasing Shadows

by Ashley Townsend

  ~Chapter 18~

  Sarah juggled the stack of bandages as she made her way up the stairs, focusing on the top of the pile where the leather pouches were sliding back and forth with each motion. She received a few odd stares from the staff as she shuffled down the passageway leading to her room, panting from her sprint up several flights of stairs.

  Shifting her load, she gripped the cold candle in one hand—having endured the hot, dripping wax only until she reached the lighted tunnels—and took a moment to find her balance on one foot so she could kick the door open without toppling over. She hastened into the room to escape the curious and accusatory stares she was receiving, catching the side of the door with her hip and awkwardly thrusting the thick piece of wood closed, satisfied when the lock clicked into place.

  “Sarah?”

  She screeched and jumped, sending the carefully stacked layers of bandages flying. One pouch fell to the ground with a squishy thump, while the other gracefully arced through the air toward the open window beside her bed. It landed near Will’s feet, where he stood half hidden behind the drapes, a startled look on his face.

  Sarah had the candle in a death grip and hurled it at his figure reflexively. “Stop doing that!” she fairly shrieked, still on edge after her race from the darkened dungeons.

  Will leaped from his hiding place in time to dodge the flying object. The candle split in two when it hit the wall, the curtains causing the impact to make a solid thwump before it dropped to the floor.

  He walked toward her, hands outstretched in surrender, but he halted a safe distance away. “Stop doing what?”

  “You always sneak up on me,” she said as her heart rate slowed, though it wasn’t beating normally just yet. “I could have killed you, you know.”

  Will glanced pointedly at the candle lying broken on the floor and almost looked like he wanted to grin. Almost. “Yes, I can see that. If I were made of wax, I might be dead.”

  Sarah gaped at him, and any traces of mirth drained from his countenance. “Sorry,” he apologized. “I should have informed you of my coming.”

  “How did you even get in?” she asked, not yet recovered from the shock of seeing him in her room. She still wasn’t sure how to act around him after their . . . disagreement earlier. She found herself struggling to look at him without picturing Jade’s triumphant face in her mind, and Sarah wondered if he felt uncomfortable around her after her embarrassing breakdown in his shop.

  He shrugged. “The unlocked door, the open window, a secret tunnel—you choose.” His dark eyes took in the elegance of the room in one deft glance. “I had a difficult time finding you, though, until I overheard someone mention that the new servant had been ‘promoted.’” One broad shoulder lifted in a shrug.

  “So . . .?” she asked slowly, honestly curious about how he had managed to sneak in. Will’s lips stretched into a ghost of a smile at her unspoken question.

  “The open window,” he answered.

  Sarah’s eyes went wide, and she brushed past him to lean over the windowsill, getting a nice view of the snowy cobblestones below the slick stone wall. Hands spread on the sill, she glanced over her shoulder at Will, who was watching her with a blank expression. She didn’t like it when she couldn’t read him. “You came through this window?” she questioned doubtfully.

  “It was not the first time I’ve scaled the castle walls.” She couldn’t keep the awe and shock from her face, and Will looked away, stooping to gather the bandages strewn about the room. A flicker of embarrassment had crossed his features before he turned away, though his jaw was set in a tense line that let her know something was eating at him other than her unintentional flattery.

  Picking up the discarded pouch nearest her and giving a quick tug on the straps to ensure that it was still closed, Sarah tossed it onto her bed next to the forgotten rose. She watched Will for a moment as he knelt on the floor, cleaning up the mess without being asked. Some of it was nervous energy, she could tell, but she also knew that it was his way of making up for scaring her. And possibly make amends for something else.

  Her heart clenched.

  She leaned down next to him to help collect the strips of fabric, his body nearly twice as tall as hers in their crouched positions. He glanced down sharply at her when she placed a bandage in his arms. His eyes probed her face, and his brows puckered, stretching that half-moon scar and reminding Sarah that they both bore marks from Allan’s treachery. Before she could ask herself what he was searching for in her features, he stood abruptly and walked over to the bed, dropping the bandages in a haphazard pile on the quilt. He frowned at the mess, looking unsure about what the next step should be.

  Bachelors, Sarah thought wryly. No idea how to fold laundry.

  She walked up next to him and touched his arm lightly. She felt him start and knew he was more frazzled than his composed features let on. When his eyes finally met hers, she gave him a faint smile.

  “Sorry about freaking out earlier,” she said, though just thinking about the immediate pain of her discovery turned the smile on her face into a grimace.

  Will shook his head, sending that wayward lock of hair onto his forehead. He placed his hands on her shoulders and leaned down, his eyes intense and tormented. She hated seeing him like that, but she had no idea how to make it better. “You have nothing to apologize for. I am the one who wishes I had handled the situation differently.”

  Sarah wasn’t sure if he meant his cold demeanor in the livery earlier or the “situation” with Jade. Then she realized she didn’t really want to know, so she kept quiet.

  He expelled a heavy breath. “Is it all right if we discuss this now? I cannot let it go unresolved.”

  She wasn’t sure if things between them could be fixed or if there was even anything to be resolved, though she so wished to forget everything that had happened in the last day—she was so confused and torn. But he had been a friend first, and it wasn’t his fault that she had fallen for him.

  Both needing and dreading to hear him out, Sarah nodded reluctantly, and then immediately shook her head. He looked hurt at her refusal, and she spoke quickly. “I mean, I do think we need to talk about everything, but I forgot that someone’s coming over any minute now.”

  Will’s eyes drifted to the rose lying on the bed amongst the bandages. A lone brow lifted, which was never a good sign.

  “It isn’t like that,” she said quickly, knowing where his train of thought was headed. She huffed, frustrated that there wasn’t enough time to resolve their situation. “I just can’t do this right now.”

  “Chores?”

  She averted her eyes for a second too long. “Not anymore.”

  His gaze roamed the room again, and he appeared to glimpse it with new eyes. “Ah, I see.” He turned back to her, a mixture of hurt, fear, and trepidation in his gaze. His jaw tightened. “Why, precisely, were you moved here? This wing is reserved for nobles and dignitaries.” But from his tone, he’d already formed his own reasons.

  “Look, Will, you don’t have to worry about me. Damien’s a nice guy.”

  His lower lip dipped almost imperceptibly in surprise, face flooding with concern. “The new lord? Had you even met him before he changed your position?”

  Oops. Sarah grimaced at how much she’d revealed. “Well, I met him earlier today, and he seems really nice. And at any rate, it isn’t like that—what you’re thinking. I’m just here to be his nurse.”

  Will eyed the flower, the muscle in his jaw twitching. “I can see that. What is ailing him, I wonder?”

  She balked at him. “Come on! You can’t honestly believe—”

  “Where are his quarters?”

  Sarah hesitated. “Across the hall.” She could have kicked herself for speaking.

  That single brow rose slowly on his forehead, and his eyes flashed, making Sarah wince at the barely concealed anger she saw there.

  Someone rapped on her door twice, then Damien’s voice called through the wood, “M
y lady?”

  Sarah’s eyes widened at his horrific timing, looking back and forth between the door and Will, who was glowering in the direction the voice had come. It wouldn’t look good if she were caught with a guy in her room, especially one who had snuck in. “Just a minute,” she called out, her voice nearly squeaking out her reply.

  Shoving Will toward the window, she whispered, “You have got to go. We can talk later.”

  He fixed his gaze on the door as she pushed him across the room, her hands planted firmly on his chest. His eyes had darkened to the color of the ocean depths that scuba divers didn’t dare navigate. “Actually, I have yet to meet this lord that has set the town abuzz.”

  “Don’t do this to me,” she groaned. “Damien doesn’t deserve your distrust; he’s a nice guy.”

  Will looked baffled. “Why do you defend him? How can you be sure he is deserving of your faith?”

  Sarah had begun to wonder the same thing, but she felt completely at ease around Damien and had already made a fool of herself when she jumped to conclusions. Maybe she was making up for things in her own way, but she was answering honestly when she said, “I can’t say why, but he is.”

  His eyes blazed as he took her wrists. “If he lays a hand on you—”

  For whatever reason, his words made her previous doubts resurface, and she did her best to push away the niggling uncertainty. “Ever the big brother,” she muttered, taking her hands from his grasp, though she felt her cheeks blazing at what he’d implied.

  Will looked surprised at her reaction, but she was too flustered to make amends. He could spend “time” with Jade while she was away, but a kind man took pity on her and saved her from servitude, and suddenly she was the one whose virtue was being questioned? She hiked her chin. “I can take care of myself.”

  “I know.” Sarah was taken aback at the sincerity in his words and the reluctant acceptance on his face.

  “Sarah?” Damien called from behind the door, sounding uncertain.

  “Hold on!” she called out, praying he didn’t barge in on this scene. She gave Will an imploring look. “Please, I need you to go now. We’ll discuss this later.” She didn’t wait for his answer but spun back around and bolted for the door, stumbling over the rug in her haste. Gripping the handle, she took a moment to compose herself and glanced over her shoulder. Will was gone, the window wide open.

  Taking a deep breath, she opened the door and did her best to smile brightly at Damien. “Come on in.”

  The handsome Spaniard glanced inside her room but did not enter. “Did I come at a poor time? I thought I heard voices.”

  Sarah shook her head quickly. “It’s just me.” She motioned him inside and closed the door behind him. “How is the arm?”

  “It still feels as though I’ve been stabbed, so I suppose all is as it should be.”

  Sarah smiled sympathetically. “Yeah, I’m afraid so.”

  Damien’s gaze perused the room and landed on the wardrobe she had left open in her haste to find the watch. “Did you not like the dresses I had brought in? There is a red one that I believe will look particularly lovely on you.”

  Sarah realized she was still wearing her black uniform and hoped he didn’t think her ungrateful for his kindness. “Actually, I haven’t really looked at them yet. But I’m sure they’re all beautiful,” she was quick to add.

  “I wanted you to feel as comfortable as possible, though I wasn’t sure of your tastes.” His look was uncertain.

  It was genuine when she thanked him. “We should probably check out that wound, though, before it sits for too long.” Glancing around the room for a place that he could sit, she motioned Damien over to the chest at the end of her bed and went about gathering the poultice and bandages in her arms. Sarah dropped the pile on one side of the chest and then snagged the water pitcher from beside her bed, leaning down to place it on the floor where they would be working. She straightened and nearly jumped when she turned around to see Damien just behind her, holding the back of her desk chair with his good hand.

  “Uh, thank you,” she said, taken aback at the gesture. He didn’t seat himself until she had taken her place on the chair, and Sarah bit back a smile at his impeccable manners.

  She untied the pouch and leaned her head down to stare at the goopy contents. “It looks weird, but at least it doesn’t smell too—” The words died on her lips.

  Damien had removed his shirt—in record time, it seemed—though he was no longer wearing the undershirt he’d had on earlier. Sarah tried not to stare at the hard, lean muscles on his arms and stomach.

  Oh, good Lord, she inwardly grumbled. She trained her eyes on the blistered skin like it might worsen if she removed her gaze. Briefly, she considered asking him if she could just cut the sleeves off his shirt, but that could make the situation more awkward than it already was. Risking a glance at his face, Sarah saw that he was completely at ease as he watched her. The man was either hot with fever from his earlier ordeal and wanted as few clothing layers as possible, or he was just very confident about all of . . . that.

  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.”