Broken Wing

by Judith James

  “Poor Jacques didn’t know what to make of it all. He was too well bred to pursue it, but I know he was confused. He must be even more so, after seeing you.”

  Sarah felt a rush of protective rage, remembering what he’d told her before their first real kiss. How it was something meant for lovers, far too intimate and personal a gift for anyone else. He’d been so happy to have kept his kisses for her, to have something between them that was theirs alone, unsullied by the horrors of his past. She could guess what it must have cost him. “I had to kiss my husband, Gabe, and I hated it, but it didn’t take any magic away from the kisses between you and me. If anything, it made them all the more precious. If I’d known you then, believe me, I’d have done my best to pretend it was you I was kissing.”

  He looked at her intently, wishing he had nothing more to tell, wishing she would reach out and wrap her arms around him and hold him close. But there had always been honesty between them, and so he continued. “It’s not the same, mignonne,” he said quietly. “I chose to do what I did. I knew it wouldn’t stop there. I knew it wouldn’t be enough. He had me moved to his private suite, a reward for my cooperation. He was beginning to trust me and he wanted me very much. I used everything I’d learnt at Madame Etienne’s to make certain of it. The first night he had me brought to him alone in his room, I was ready. I took the knife from his belt and I gutted him and cut his throat. I watched his eyes as he died, Sarah. I wanted him to know. I kissed him, one last time, and I didn’t feel a thing.”

  Sarah blinked, startled and caught off guard.

  He watched the confusion in her eyes, the play of muscle and skin over her throat as she struggled to find something to say, finally lapsing into silence. The clatter of hooves and the drunken shouts of late night revelers rose from the street below. He stared at his hands, folded in his lap. “I’ve done so much in my life, so little that I’m proud of, but I … I never deliberately set out to harm anyone, Sarah. Not even the German. But I meant to kill de Sevigny. I set a trap. I baited it with a kiss, and then I murdered him. It … I … I sold my soul. I acted the whore so I could have my revenge. I betrayed myself and I betrayed you, Sarah,” he whispered, “and I would do so again.”

  “No, Gabriel,” she said gently. “There was no betrayal. You didn’t go after him. He came after you. He stole your childhood, your life. He degraded and abused you and when you’d finally got free of him he tried to drag you back.”

  “He did drag me back.”

  “No! He didn’t! He tried to and you killed him for it.” She was becoming angry and her words grew more heated. “He would have destroyed you! What other choice did you have? You did what you had to do to escape him. It wasn’t a betrayal, it was self-preservation. It wasn’t murder it was self-defense. Did you think I would blame you for that, or want you to do any differently? I would have kissed him for you if I could. I would have killed him for you, and done it gladly. You’re only human, Gabe, not some plaster saint. So what, if you don’t regret it? I’m glad if you got some satisfaction from it after all he put you through. But you have to find a way to let it go now, to put it all behind you, or he wins.”

  “Do you really think it’s that simple, mignonne?”

  “It has to be. What other choice is there? He’s taken far too much of your life already. Don’t allow him to take any more. He’s not worth it!” Noticing the shocked look on his face, she took a breath and calmed herself. “I’m sorry, Gabriel. The thought of him … it just makes me very angry. I don’t care what you did. All I care is that you survived him, and he can’t ever hurt you again. I’m glad of it, and I won’t apologize for it. He would have killed your soul.”

  “He did, Sarah. Or, I did. I let him.”

  “Nonsense, Gabe! If that was true, you wouldn’t have come here tonight.”

  “There’s more, though, Sarah. Things I …” He shivered and wrapped his arms around his knees, a haunted look in his eyes.

  “Tell me then, Gabriel. Tell me the rest.”

  “We disguised ourselves as mercenaries, Jacques and I. We … I … became a mercenary. We spent the next eighteen months fighting for a renegado commander before finding an opportunity to make good our escape last summer. We killed for money, Sarah, for profit. I saw terrible things. I did terrible things.”

  “And did you enjoy that, as well?”

  “No,” he said, his voice devoid of all emotion, “by then I was dead. I didn’t feel a thing.”

  “I can’t believe you would have killed the innocent, Gabriel. Women or children.”

  “No, God, no! We were mercenaries, Sarah, not butchers. It was paid warfare. But they were men who’d done me no harm.”

  “But they would have killed you if they could.”

  “I’m hard to kill, mignonne. Davey’s seen to that.”

  “And I’m deeply grateful for it, Gabe. And while I can’t say I approve or understand it, it seems that a good portion of the adult males in Europe fight and kill each other, and whether they fight for commerce, king, or country, they all get paid.”

  He gave a short bitter laugh. “Will you absolve me of all my sins, then? Hail Sarah full of grace, mother, sister, and dearest friend.” He reached out his hand to take hers, but she withdrew it from his reach.

  “You’ve been free for almost a year now, Gabriel. Why didn’t you come back to me, or write me when you were able?”

  “I knew you would think me dead, and the man that I was, the man that you loved, was dead. I thought you would have grieved him and moved on with your life. I never expected that you’d wait. I thought you’d be married. I thought it was too late, and even if it wasn’t … I didn’t realize how much hatred I had, Sarah, how dangerous I could be, though Davey warned me.

  “After de Sevigny, after all that I’d done, I felt unclean. I didn’t feel I had the right to seek you out. I was ashamed, Sarah, and afraid of the disappointment I’d see in your eyes. I didn’t think I could bear it. It’s how you looked at me tonight. I … it was for all those reasons. I felt you’d be better off without me. I still do, but after I saw you tonight, I just didn’t have the strength to stay away. I don’t know what else to say.”

  “Why would you think I’d remarry? I am married! To you! When did you stop believing in us, Gabriel? When did you stop believing in me? You are the man I love. Even with hate in your heart and blood on your hands. How could you think I would judge you? How could you think I would not want you back, alive and safe with me?”

  “You’ve never judged me harshly, mignonne. You’ve always been too kind for you own good. I sought to protect you. I never stopped believing in you. I stopped believing in me. I … I was too afraid to hope, Sarah. I just couldn’t believe that I deserved you. We stayed in Paris and I was miserable. I thought about you all day and dreamt of you every night. We continued our partnership, Valmont and I, gambling at the Palais Royale. We have done very well for ourselves. You saw the house. I’m a wealthy man now.”

  “They whisper about you. They say you and he are lovers.”

  His laugh was bitter. “Yes, I know. It suits us both. He wanted to spite his father and I wanted to be left alone, and when he blinks at me, besotted, everyone watches him while I watch the cards. It’s proven very profitable. He’s become a true friend, Sarah, and those are rare in my life. You would like him very much. I have so few friends. I hope you still consider us … I …

  “What of your mistress? Lady Wilmont? She has comforted you in your misery, has she not? It seems to me you’ve made many new friends. It’s no great wonder you have difficulty finding time for your old ones.”

  Dismayed at the sudden welling of tears in her eyes, he reached out to offer comfort, but she stiffened and pulled away. “She’s not my mistress, Sarah,” he offered hesitantly. “She only appears to be.”

  “Is that so?” she replied acidly.

  Relieved, far more comfortable with her anger than her tears, he tried to explain. “Yes, Sarah. That is so. Bar
bara is a highborn slut. She’s probably been with every man who was in that room tonight. She means nothing to me, nor I to her. No doubt she’s playing with Valmont as we speak. I was tired of being pursued. It was growing very awkward. Women … men, they were worse here than in Paris.”

  “I see. So you were really left with little choice.”

  He winced. “Sarah, please, let me finish.”

  She looked at him expectantly.

  “Thank you. She waylaid me in the library one night. Don’t look at me like that! She wouldn’t leave me alone, and I was tired of being chased, so I told her that while I was in Algiers I had been converted, and there had been an unfortunate accident during my circumcision.”

  “You told her what?”

  “That I had been unmanned, mignonne,” he sighed, “that I was incapable of satisfying her needs. I begged her to tell no one. It delighted her, as I knew it would. She wanted me as a sort of trophy, and she assumed she had me in her power. She promised to tell no one if I’d pretend to be her lover, and I agreed. It was a mutually satisfying arrangement that has served both our needs.”

  It had hurt. Far more than she’d been willing to admit, even to herself. Something deep inside her began to relax. “She is not your lover, then?”

  “No, Sarah,” he said gently. “She is not my lover. Valmont is not my lover. And there was no one in Paris. There’s been no one since my last night with you.”

  A thrill of elation and wild hope spread through her, warming her like fire, and she edged closer to him on the bed. “You were cruel to her in front of all those people.”

  “She was rude to you. Don’t fret, mignonne, that is one sin I don’t feel guilty about.”

  “And what now, Gabriel? What happens next? You didn’t seem happy to see me. You looked like you wanted to wring my neck.”

  “Good God, woman! What did you expect? The world I built crumpled into dust the moment you set your dainty boot into London. They whisper about you, too, my love. They whispered that you were here, that you waited for someone. Ever since I heard it I’ve been in an agony of suspense.”

  He reached for her hand again, and this time she let him take it. A familiar jolt of longing sizzled through her body.

  “I couldn’t return to you, mignonne. I didn’t know how. But you will admit, I hope, that for a man who didn’t wish to be found I’ve made quite a spectacle of myself. I wanted you to hear of me. It’s why I came from France. I couldn’t stop myself. I’ve waited in dread, wondering if you’d come. I’ve been terrified you would, and terrified you wouldn’t. When I saw you tonight I wanted to weep. I was so grateful you came, but I hated you for it, too, because you made me hope again, as you always have, as you always do. It would have killed me if … Ah, Christ, love! You were so angry, so disappointed but you’d waited. I had to know. I had to come because without you I have nothing to believe in, nothing to hope for, and … Oh, God, Sarah, when I got here you were wearing my shirt! “I’ve thought of you, and ached for you, and missed you with every breath. All I know of loving, wanting or need, begins and ends with you. I’m so sorry I hurt you and disappointed you. I pray you can forgive me, Sarah. I need you to hold onto. Without you I find this business of living so very lonely and so very hard.”

  She threw herself into his arms and he clasped her to him, sobbing with relief and need. “God, how I’ve missed you, Sarah,” he moaned, sliding his cheek up and down against hers, mingling their tears. I’m sorry … so sorry … please forgive me, I …”

  “No, Gabriel, shhh … stop … don’t, I beg you,” she soothed, bracketing his cheeks with her palms, kissing his eyes, kissing his tears. “There’s nothing to forgive. It wasn’t your fault. It doesn’t matter, not any of it. All that matters is that you’re safe, and well, and back in my arms. Don’t be sorry, just hold me, love me.” She wrapped him so tightly he could hardly breathe, and he held her tighter still, pulling her into his lap and rocking her back and forth. They stayed like that a long while, murmuring words of love and joy, comfort and forgiveness.

  Slowly, steadily, the soothing cadence of comfort and relief, pulsed and quickened into passion. Sliding his fingers through her hair, Gabriel bent his head and drew her into a kiss. He tried to be gentle, courteous, and careful, but his body raged with longing, overwhelming all restraint, desperate to join hers, to feel and to touch. Growling his need, he pushed her back against the pillows, kissing her wildly.

  Swept along with him, consumed by a craving and joy as deep as his own, Sarah kissed his eyes, his lips, his throat, writhing and straining against him. She pulled frantically at his shirt and breeches, desperate to feel his skin, his warmth, his heartbeat, close against her own. Cursing softly, moaning, and laughing, they struggled with their clothes as he murmured sweet endearments in French, and Latin, and Arabic.

  “Forgive me, mignonne. I don’t think I can be gentle. It’s been too long.”

  She didn’t expect him to be, she didn’t need him to be, and he wasn’t. He held her too tightly, bruising her skin. His kisses were frenzied and rough, leaving her sore and abraded. But when he entered her, it was with exquisite care, and though their clothes and limbs were tangled, she rose to meet him, and for a private eternity they lost themselves, in love, in ecstasy, and in each other.

  Sated for the moment, deeply content and enormously pleased with themselves and each other, they lay side by side, holding hands. “What did you say to me before, Gabriel? It was Arabic, wasn’t it?”

  “I said that your eyes were lovely, sultry, and lambent, and soft as those of a she-camel.”

  “You didn’t!” she said, laughing and shoving his shoulder.

  He caught her hand before she could hit him again, and held it flat against his heart. “I said that every part of me is yours, mignonne, to do with as you wish. I place myself freely, completely, and most gratefully, under your governance. My heart, my soul, my body, my breath, and whatever other parts you might have a use for,” he finished with a grin.

  She wrapped herself around him, burrowing her head against his shoulder and tracing her fingers absently back and forth across his chest. “Joke if you must. I’m sure I can find out for myself.”

  “I wasn’t joking, Sarah,” he said, suddenly serious. “I meant every word. I thought I’d lost you forever. I had to force myself to keep going from one day to the next. It was hell. Dark, and cold, and empty, stretching out before me the rest of my life. I can hardly believe you waited for me, love, but I’m deeply grateful you did. It would have killed me if you’d married again, if you’d found someone else.”

  “I know. “I’ve felt much the same. When I saw … never mind. Don’t you understand by now that there could never be anyone else? I wanted there to be. It hurt so bad that I wanted to forget you, but I couldn’t. You’ve ruined me for other men. I never believed you were dead, you know. I felt you. I knew you were alive. I knew you were hurting, and lonely, and lost, but I couldn’t find you. It broke my heart.”

  He gathered her in his arms and rested his chin on the top of her head. “I suppose we were meant for each other, and no one else.”

  “Of course we were, you fool! Are you realizing it only now?”

  “Forgive me, mignonne. I am not as quick about these things as you are.”

  “Well, now that you’ve grasped it, see that you don’t ever forget,” she said, snuggling closer.

  “I promise you, I will never forget it again, Sarah,” he said, his voice sleepy and tender. Warm in her arms, lulled by the steady beat of her heart and her soft breath against his cheek, he fell into the sweetest sleep he’d known in years. He slept all night and well into the next day, still and quiet in her embrace, at peace in a way he hadn’t been since they’d parted.

  Sarah woke first, grimacing as a shaft of light pierced through the edge of the curtains, hurting her eyes and snatching her rudely from her sleep. Despairing, she turned her head and burrowed under the covers, desperately trying to recapture the
lovely dream that had soothed the ragged edges of her grief. It had been so real, and it pained her to leave it behind to face another lonely day. The mattress shifted beside her and she started, coming fully awake.

  He lay stretched out beside her in all his glory, one arm flung back above his head, the other clutching the sheet about his waist. He looked boyish and vulnerable. His hair was tousled, a sweet smile curled his lips, and his jaw was rough with early morning shadow. She blushed and feasted her eyes. He had the broad shoulders, muscled chest, and rippling abdomen of a swordsman. Licking her lips, she reached out to touch him, to make sure he was real, and wanting to see the rest. Catching the sheet with her fingertips she tugged gently, gasping in surprise when he woke, and with one flowing motion, flipped her onto her back.

  “What a naughty wench you are, mignonne!”

  “I was attempting to ascertain if you were real. I feared I might be dreaming.”

  “If you are, my love, then so am I. It’s a lovely dream and we are caught in it together.” He placed his hand against her breast, feeling the nipple tickling the palm of his hand, keeping his touch light and gentle, even though he was raging inside. “You feel real to me,” he murmured, capturing her lips.

  “How like a winter hath my absence been,

  What freezing have I felt, what dark days seen,

  For summer and his pleasures wait on thee.”

  They made love again, unhurried, and tender. He employed all the art and grace at his command, dedicating himself to her delight, weaving a spell of tender words and delicate sensation. Heedless of the world outside, the servants, or the passage of time, they satisfied their hunger, feeding each other with passionate caresses, poetry, and words of love. After, held close in each other’s arms, they shared the moments they’d missed from one another’s lives.