Broken Wings

by Judith James

  She knew he was falling in love with her. He'd known little of pleasure, nothing of kindness, and he had a heartbreakingly distorted view of himself. He was likely to fall in love with anyone who showed him warmth and acceptance, because he didn't know or understand his own worth. Trying to be honest, she admitted she'd wanted him from the first moment she'd seen him in Madame Etienne's library. His kisses melted her inside and out, leaving her hot and heavy and wanting more, but he'd known a surfeit of lust and sex, was intimately familiar with it, and she worried it wasn't a lover he needed; it was a friend.

  He was so vulnerable, had taken so many chances by opening up to her. Well, damn it! Who else would take the time to know him, to appreciate and value all that he was? Who would have a greater care for his heart than she did? She had grown to care for him far too much, and he had grown to trust her. The depths of his hurt and anger frightened her at times, as did the depths of her feelings for him, but she'd gone much too far to pull back now, not without wounding him terribly. For better or worse, they were embarked on a journey together. Her heart refused to abandon him, and her instincts told her he was worth any risk. There was nowhere to go, but forward.

  Chapter

  15

  When Gabriel came, hesitant to her room the next night, he made for the window seat as was his habit of late, but Sarah patted the bed beside her. Needing no encouragement, he eased himself alongside her, gathering her into his arms and kissing her soundly. Last night hadn't been a dream then. She knew more about him than anyone did, and here he was, back in her bed, back in her arms, kissing her. Shifting position to pull her underneath him, he let out an involuntary groan as a spasm of pain seized his back. He'd been practicing like a demon over the past few months, partly to hone his skill, but mostly because it allowed him to escape from his worries, and his fears.

  "You've been overdoing things, Gabriel," Sarah chided, pushing him away. "You'll do yourself a serious injury, if you're not more careful."

  "Nonsense, my sweet. It's all your fault. You're aging me before my time."

  Sitting up, she tugged at his collar. "Take off your shirt. I can help you like I did last night."

  "I'm fine, cbere, and last night, as I recall, was rather a mixed blessing."

  "Fine, have it your way. If you'd rather be stiff and sore than let me help you, that's your choice."

  He supposed there was some lesson she meant him to learn, but he wasn't in a mood to be schooled. Nevertheless, after several minutes of pointed silence, he sat up suddenly and tore off his shirt. "There, woman, are you happy now? Have a good look." He lay down again, on his stomach as she'd asked, sullen, his back clearly exposed to her view as it hadn't been last night.

  He flinched and stiffened as her fingertips traced his scars, brushing gently down his back. She worked slowly, easing knotted muscle with deep, smooth strokes, pulling and pushing to release the tension gathered there. She moved her hands lower as she felt him begin to relax, working the muscles in his lower back, her movements slow and sure as she allowed her

  fingers to feel him, to tell the difference between, and respond carefully to, the tension in his muscles, and that in his soul.

  As her fingers worked their magic, something deep inside Gabriel loosened and relaxed. Her touch was calming, healing, and it lulled him gently into sleep.

  He woke to an empty bed. She was sitting on the window seat, legs curled under her, head bent toward the candlelight, lost in one of her books. He allowed himself the pleasure of watching her as she bit her lip in concentration and tapped her fingers impatiently. Something she read was annoying her, he thought with a grin. He watched her fingers, fascinated as they turned the pages, gentle fingers, skillful fingers. He remembered them trailing down his back, and closed his eyes, imagining them circling his waist, stroking his belly. His body tensed again, this time with hunger. Shivering, he drew a ragged breath and opened his eyes, meeting her gaze.

  She greeted him with a sunny smile. "Welcome I back, Gabe."

  He allowed himself a grunt, unwilling to turn over or to speak, the evidence of his arousal pronounced and unmistakable.

  "Feeling better?"

  He twisted his neck and shoulders, and then stretched from his head to his toes, ending with a groan of pleasure. Her fingers were magic. His aches were gone and he felt peaceful and content. He reached for a pillow to plump beside him before turning to face her. "Much better, mignonne. I swear you must be a witch, no, a goddess, like your namesake."

  She closed her book and moved back to the bed, climbing under the covers to get warm. He pulled her into his arms and kissed her, the layers of blankets, covers, and clothes between them giving them both a sense of innocence, allowing them to indulge their senses.

  Much later, breathless and dizzy, Sarah ventured a question, "Gabe?"

  "Mmmm?"

  "Is there anything else you need to tell me?"

  After a moment's silence, he sighed and rolled over on his back. "You know most of it, mignonne, more than anyone else."

  "I just want to be sure you know you can tell me anything."

  Silence stretched between them, the void filled with the sound of the surf, crashing against the rocks below. "What if I told you I'd killed a man?"

  "It wouldn't make you different from many other men I know."

  "What if I said I cut his throat and left him to die in an alley?"

  "I would want to know why. Ross has killed before, several times, but he won't talk about it. He was a soldier, of course, and I told you about my uncle." She leaned into him, resting her arm on his chest, absently tracing his collarbone with her fingertips. "Davey's killed and he does talk about it. If it troubles you, you might want to discuss it with him."

  He looked at her in amazement. "Does nothing shock you, Sarah?"

  "Yes, of course! I'm shocked at what some people will do to children, to the helpless ... Whom did you kill, Gabriel, and why?"

  Gripping her hand, he clenched it tight against his chest, suddenly awash with memories. The taste and scent of fear and blood were acrid in his nostrils, coppery and dank on his tongue. His heart drummed faster as memories of ice-cold rage and bloodlust washed through him. "It was just a few months before you came for your brother. He was a German, a wealthy merchant from Brest." His voice was flat, devoid of emotion, but he gripped her hand like a vise, bringing tears to her eyes. "He was one of de Sevigny's cronies. He frequented Madame's when he was in Paris. He started coming more and more often. I was with him one night, in the salon when Jamie walked in looking for me." Sarah gasped.

  "We weren't ... we were just talking. I chased Jamie out, but it was too late. I could see it, the interest and the hunger. He started asking questions, making offers to Madame. I could see her weighing it. What cost this? What cost that? He kept coming, asking. You don't want to know this, Sarah."

  "Gabriel, tell me!" she said, frantic and sick with dread. "What happened? What happened to Jamie? I have to know!"

  "Shhh," he released her hand and gathered her close, stroking her back, his voice colored by emotion again as he tried to soothe her. "Nothing happened to him, Sarah. He had a fright. That's all. I was going to my room and I heard noises. I thought I heard Jamie's voice. I went to check on him, and that piece of shit was there with his hands on him."

  "Oh, God!"

  Gabriel hugged her tighter. "He was too fucking drunk to do anything but scare him, mignonne. That's all. I swear. I got there in time. I... I was in the habit of carrying a knife. I don't know, something came over me ... a rage ... I put my hand over his mouth and dragged him out into the alley and cut his throat, Sarah, without a second thought. I didn't want Jamie to see, but he followed me, he saw the body. He knew what I'd done. I think that shocked him more than anything else. I can still see it. His eyes were huge and he couldn't stop shaking. As for the rest of it, I don't think he really understood what was going on, thank God."

  They clung together, taking comfort from one ano
ther, as he continued, "I took care of things. It's not hard to dispose of a body in Paris at night, and I made Jamie promise never to tell. I told him it would be my head, if he did. I'm sorry, mignonne. If Jamie carries scars from Madame Etienne's, they're because of me."

  "No! He was very lucky to have you, Gabriel."

  "I didn't have to kill him. I could have left him in the alley, guarded Jamie more carefully, but I wanted to. I knew he'd keep coming. I... I enjoyed it, Sarah."

  "Good! I would have done the same! You did well, as far as I'm concerned, and I pray you never lose sleep over it again." Ruffling her hair, he gave her shoulder a little push. "Bon DieUy what a bloodthirsty wench you are! Remind me not to cross you. But it's not that easy, cbere, to kill a man. One thinks about it a great deal more after the fact, than when it happens."

  "I don't doubt it, Gabe. Talk to Davey; it will help."

  "Thank you, mignonne, perhaps I will." Letting go of her, he rose and stretched, twisting, and adjusting his neck and shoulders as the rosy glow of dawn crept tentatively into the room. He was surprised at how good he felt. The aches and pains of his body had succumbed to her magic fingers, and those of his heart...well, confession was said to be good for the soul. Turning to take his leave, he was struck by how pale she looked. Crouching down by the bed, he stroked her hair. "Are you all right, Sarah? Merde! I need to learn to keep my mouth shut. Not all secrets need to be told."

  Smiling she reached out and touched his cheek, his lips. "The dark ones do, Gabe. They keep people apart, and it's only by telling that they lose their power."

  He realized he had no secrets left from her. She'd taken them from him, claiming them one by one, and then she'd claimed him, giving him everything he'd ever dreamed of, a home, a family, a friend...someone to love. His heart filled to overflowing. Taking her hands in both of his, he leaned in and kissed her tenderly. "I love you, Sarah," he whispered. He hadn't been thinking, or he'd never have risked it, but she didn't turn away.

  With a radiant smile and eyes full of tenderness, she threw her arms around him, hugging him fiercely, and said words no one had ever spoken to him before, “Oh, Gabriel! I love you!”

  He knelt there by her bed as she rocked him in her arms. Overcome by emotion, they didn't speak, they didn't kiss, they just held one another, neither of them wanting to let go, but too soon they had no choice. The day was almost upon them, and the house was beginning to stir.

  "God, Sarah! I don't know if I can leave you," he said, his voice unsteady. "There's so much I want to say to you ... to tell you ... I—"

  "Shhh," she whispered, kissing his lips. "You can tell me tonight." Her eyes were warm and full of promise.

  His lit with hope and joy. "Yes, mignonne. We'll talk... I'll tell you ... tonight." Exultant, Gabriel left her room, seeking out Davey, seeking out something, anything, to pass the hours until he was warm in her arms again.

  Sarah lay in bed, eyes wide open, long after he left. She felt a connection with him so deep it transcended anything she'd ever known. She loved him. She had always loved him. At some level she had recognized it, and she had recognized him, the moment she'd first seen him standing, proud and wounded, in Madame Etienne's library. She felt frightened and exhilarated, as if she stood on a cliff edge, poised to fly. She didn't know what would happen next, but she knew that things would never be the same.

  She thought about what he'd told her last night, still horrified at how close Jamie had come to something vile, to being changed forever, his innocence stolen, his trust in the world, and himself, destroyed. But he'd had a protector. At last, she fully understood, viscerally, in her stomach, and her heart and her lungs, what Gabriel had tried so hard to tell her. "Oh, my God!" she moaned aloud, hugging herself. For him there had been no protector, no one to save him, not ever.

  She cried for him, for the childhood he'd never had, and the pain and sorrow he'd endured, alone and friendless. She cried out of pity she knew he wouldn't thank her for, and with gratitude, that somehow, through some source of inner strength, he'd managed to survive it and become the decent, sensitive, remarkable man she'd fallen in love with. She vowed he would never find himself alone or friendless again.

  Later that afternoon, exhausted from his labors, his body clamoring for sleep after all the restless nights he'd spent worrying about leaving, Gabriel excused himself from his duties, and crawled into his own neglected bed for an uncharacteristic afternoon's sleep. He dreamed, of course, of the German, of blood-bursting veins and white-hot rage, of the guilt when he saw himself, savage and halfmad, reflected in the stricken eyes of a small boy. In the midst of it she came. She stood behind him and wrapped her arms around him, whispering to him and drawing out his pain, lifting him effortlessly from the blood-splattered alley, and carrying him away with her to a deep and peaceful sleep.

  Chapter

  16

  Gabriel awoke refreshed and eager for nightfall. Sarah had said she loved him. There was little about him she didn't know. He wasn't sure she really understood what he'd tried to tell her. He found it hard to believe she could love him, want him, or allow him to touch her if she fully understood, but he hadn't lied to her, or hidden anything from her. He'd been as honest as he knew how, and if she chose to ignore certain things, or to pretend he was something better than he was, he wasn't going to argue. He wouldn't allow himself to plan or hope beyond the present, but he was going to enjoy every moment with her he could steal.

  He didn't get to see her that evening. Davey had need of his help. A quantity of British wool had arrived unexpectedly, and was waiting in a secluded cove to be exchanged for a small fortune in brandy and tea. They slipped away under cover of darkness, catching the night breeze and cutting silently through the still waters of the bay. Once they were well underway, Gabriel gathered his courage and sought out Davey on the quarterdeck.

  “’Tis a fine evening, is it not, lad?" Davey welcomed him with a merry grin. "I smell profit and adventure in the air tonight. You've something else on your mind, though, I think. Spit it out."

  "There's a private matter I'd like to discuss with you, Davey, when you have the time."

  "No time like the present, my boy. This lovely lady is well underway. Come with me to my cabin. We'll share a brandy and you can tell sweet Davey all your troubles." The fellow looked as skittish as a cat in a roomful of rockers, Davey thought with a grin. He directed him to a comfortable chair in front of his desk, and poured them each a brandy. Amused, expecting

  some breathless revelation about his feelings for Sarah, he was a little taken aback when Gabriel finally blurted

  out his business.

  "I killed a man, Davey, just over a year ago, almost in front of Jamie. I dream about it all the time. Sarah

  says ... she said I should talk to you about it."

  "Do tell." Davey sat back in his chair, crossing his ankles on the desk, and sipped his brandy as he watched his pupil intently. Sarah says. So that's the way of it, he thought. "Pray continue, lad."

  Gabriel told him about the German, his obvious interest in Jamie, and how he'd found him attempting to molest the boy. He was a little more candid with Davey than he'd been with Sarah about some things, and less so about others. The result was the same. He'd killed a man in the throes of rage, and he'd enjoyed it. • Davey closed his eyes, nodding his head as Gabriel spoke, as if listening to some internal music. He stopped when Gabriel finished his story, and took a sip of brandy, motioning for his protege to do the same. He considered a moment before responding. "A man may kill for many reasons, Gabriel. To defend himself or his country, to protect that which is his; his holdings, his woman, or those who depend on him; to avenge an injustice...some fools even kill to avenge their honor over any slight, real or imagined." He shrugged. "Generally we accept these reasons as just and worthy. Others kill for greed or gain, out of anger or jealousy, even for pleasure or sport. I've been a mercenary, lad, and I've seen men kill and be killed, for all these reasons." He swung his
legs down and leaned forward across the desk, one finger absently circling the rim of his glass. "Sometimes it's a coldblooded business, and other times it's not. Sometimes a man hates. It's easy to kill when you hate, and there's joy in it.

  He looked directly into Gabriel's eyes. "You killed to protect your own. There's no shame in that, but if you took pleasure in it, I suspect you must have hated him a great deal." He shrugged his shoulders, still fingering the glass. "Nevertheless, it didn't drive you to kill him until he put his hands on the boy. I wouldn't worry about it overmuch. For what it's worth, I'd have done the same. Still... a word to the wise, Gabriel, eh? Hatred is a powerful thing. It crawls up inside a man when he's empty, filling him, pretending to be his only friend, and then it eats him from the inside out, killing every worthy feeling he has, leaving no room for peace or pleasure, happiness or love. If a man has hatred in his heart, it's best not to feed it. Leave it starve, let it loosen its grip, let it die before it kills you." He stood and clapped Gabriel on the shoulder. "Now, that's enough of my blathering, lad. We've a tea party to attend."

  A heavily armed contingent of custom men was waiting with the wool, and Lieutenant Brey and the Hind skulked in the shadows of the cove. A hasty change of plans precipitated a mad scramble on deck. Davey shouted orders and the Lesperance heeled in the wind as she hove to the right, back toward open waters. Her sails slackened and flapped for a moment as she strained to recapture the breeze, then fluttered, popped, and billowed as she surged forward, running before the wind with Lieutenant Brey in hot pursuit. It was twenty-eight hours before he gave up the chase.

  Cursing and laughing, Davey handed Gabriel the wheel and took his glass to watch the cutter disappear over the horizon. "Bon Dieu, but he's a tenacious bastard! That was a close one, boys. Discretion being the better part of valor, and as we're already halfway to France, I do believe we shall do our business on a different coast for the next few days. Let that panting cur pick up another scent. I've no mind to skulk home without a profit."