Finding Gabriel

by Rachel L. Demeter

  “You had no idea what sort of man I’d wake up to be. I could have been a murderer. A rapist. Why save me?” he demanded. “Why pull me from the Seine? Why risk everything for a broken stranger?”

  An eternity of silence descended. Only Ariah’s frantic breathing broke the quiet. She felt faint and heady, as if she were experiencing the entire moment through a dense cloud. She finally regained a semblance of composure and answered his inquiry.

  “Because I could,” she told him. He straightened, lifting his face from the cushion of her curls. “Please, why … why are you doing this?”

  A low, haunting chuckle rumbled against her. Then he surrendered to a subtle, crooked grin and met her eyes; only the right side of his mouth appeared to move when he spoke. “Because I can.”

  “No. No – you cannot.” Struggling to break free, she shook her head and fidgeted in his grasp. An overwhelming sense of claustrophobia overcame her mind and body. “This has gone too far. Let go of me. Now. I shall fight back. I am not the defenseless waif you imagine me to be.”

  “Oh, I don’t doubt it. You proved as much several nights ago.” Mild amusement laced his words. “It’s all rather interesting. My touch frightens you terribly, does it not? Yes, now that I’m no longer restrained to a bed, your fear is much more transparent.” Sincerity and gentleness dwelled beneath the challenge. There was no mockery in his voice. Just a primal need and acute curiosity. “You pull a knife to my throat in the blink of an eye. You poke and probe at my wounds all day, yet the slightest brush of my fingers sends you into submissive silence.”

  His right hand released her chin. Fingertips traced the length of her spine, tracking from the base of her neck to the small of her back. His hands were large and strong, roughened from his labor out-of-doors. She could feel the warmth of his skin through the barrier of cloth that separated them. Ariah’s body stiffened as her mind grew dizzy. Her toes curled against the confines of her slippers, and she struggled to maintain her breathing. Then she met the haunted depths of his eyes as though peering through misty, fog-covered glass.

  “Now why is that? Hmm? Who are you, Ariah?”

  She could sense that he was testing her, struggling to uncover the secrets of her past. Ariah steeled herself against his inquiry and locked onto his gaze in the mirror. She may not be a soldier like him, but she was not one to readily yield. She hadn’t known defeat in over twenty-two years, and she certainly wouldn’t surrender now. In the following silence, his eyes softened, sparkling with a riot of emotions.

  She slanted her chin at a high angle and challenged his penetrating gaze. “My daughter could walk into this room at any moment.” Her words were a whispered plea, barely audible to even her own ears. She wondered whether he’d heard them.

  Neither Ariah nor Gabriel moved for several moments. And in that stretch of silence, time seemed to be measured in heartbeats.

  Then his hands fell away in slow motion. His fingers curled, taking the form of two clenched fists. Crescent moons embedded both palms from the force of his nails. He increased the pressure until blood gathered within those slight crevices.

  It was a defensive, defeated stance.

  And Ariah had a notion he didn’t stomach defeat well.

  “You are right,” he finally murmured, “you should leave. So go. Leave.”

  His head fell forward as his gaze settled on the planks beneath his feet. Then he stepped away, allowing Ariah to brush past his body and into the safety of the drawing room.

  Chapter Six

  The local marketplace was packed tight the following morning – an engine of pure chaos. From every direction, Paris’s walkways teemed with activity and excitement. Hooves clapped against the cobblestones, carriage wheels creaked, and lighthearted chatter infused the air. Within this moment, the terrors of the past year were nonexistent … nothing more than a distant, surreal memory.

  Indeed, Paris held a remarkable talent for blissful oblivion.

  Streams of light trickled through the countless shops and covered booths. Men and women waded through the commotion, baskets of goods balanced atop their heads. Potent aromas mingled in a delectable swirl. Overlapping banter, the frantic calls of tradesmen, and hurried footfall weighed heavily in the winter air. The town baker maneuvered his cart through the hustle and bustle, his bread rolls still warm and steaming. He whistled a merry tune and nodded amiably to a passerby.

  Ariah drew to the scent of fresh bread as a fish is lured to a hook. Clutching the wicker basket to her chest, she came into step beside the cart and greeted the baker with a cheerful wave. He nodded, returned the formality, then continued on with his day. As she resumed her quest, a gust of smoke from a nearby factory rolled through the boulevard and obstructed her vision.

  With each step, relief expanded Ariah’s spirit and helped bring peace to her mind. It felt as though a weight was lifted from her shoulders. A mild breeze tickled her neck, and the crisp air infused her with wild abandon. This is what I needed. Fresh air and sunshine. From the pleasant days of her girlhood, through the darker nights of her adolescence, Ariah had been a creature of adventure and the outdoors. Now the desire for freedom surged through her very veins.

  Being in Gabriel’s presence was emotionally and physically draining. He resurrected familiar fears, and at the same time, breathed life into foreign longings. For both her sake and her daughter’s, she needed to tread with caution. Jacques would surely return home soon, and life would continue as they’d planned.

  Distracted by her thoughts, she was nearly run into the pavement as a fish cart whizzed by her skirts. Startled, Ariah leaped back and grabbed her chest. The driver murmured a clumsy pardon – though his voice sounded more annoyed than apologetic – and faded into the surrounding commotion. Ariah smoothed down her skirts and paced forward. A clan of children raced down the street, their faces covered in soot, filth, and muck. Her chest grew heavy at the image – and for a brief instant, she envisioned Geoffrey and herself in their shoes. “Vegetables and fruits, mademoiselle, brought to you fresh off the boat …”

  Sighing deeply, she halted in front of the covered booth and examined the man’s impressive wares. She purchased a variety of produce for the stew she planned to cook that evening. Then she continued on course and set out for the local general shop, where she bought animal hide glue, fresh linens, and more food goods. Her purse ached from the loss of coin, but she knew well there was no avoiding such expenses.

  On the way back home, she took an unexpected detour that lasted close to a kilometer.

  Clasping her wicker basket, Ariah stared at the shop in front of her as a storm of emotions stirred within. Tender memories swelled her heart as she gazed at the familiar façade. As always, it had changed very little since her visit years prior. And indeed, nearly five years had passed since she’d visited her childhood home. Vines crawled up and down the pale stonework, and the three wooden steps were still in need of urgent repair. A hand-carved bench sat beside the door. One of its arms was amputated, and spider webs infested the nicked legs.

  Inhaling a stiff breath, Ariah adjusted her grasp on the basket and strode closer. The twitter of sparrows resounded as two birds playfully dove from the thatched rooftop. Slanting her chin, she glanced at the second story window. She shielded her gaze with her palm, straining her eyes against the afternoon rays. There she saw her own face inside the frame – a wide-eyed girl of only ten, a smile upon her lips as she admired the turbulent walkways below …

  Ariah unconsciously shuffled toward the shop. Invisible fingers seemed to urge her forward. In the back of her mind, she heard Father’s robust laughter, saw the whimsical sparkle in that wise, sea-green gaze … heard the melancholy tune of his beloved violin …

  Dull thuds resounded as she climbed those three wooden stairs, and each sound echoed the erratic beat of her heart. She reached out, allowing her fingertips to run across the stone walls. She caressed those tender, long-ago memories … the remnants of a simpler, happier ti
me.

  Then her palm slid across the top of the bench. Her heart ached at the slight imperfections; the wood was sun-streaked, chipped in spots, and clearly unloved. Her eyes fluttered shut as she recalled the evening Father had constructed it; he’d labored well into the night, sanding away every last imperfection, carving each detail with all the passion he’d felt for his craft. Afterward, he’d played his violin and permitted Ariah to contribute to the bench’s construction. Smiling wide, she’d carved a tiny heart on its backing.

  She set the basket on the ground and sought the marking. Her breath caught while her fingertip traced the heart’s clumsy, childish shape. Father had been a merchant by profession, and a carpenter and musician by passion. She’d spent countless hours observing as he ran the humble shop, traded goods, and showed clientele wares from around the country. His smart business sense and charisma had made the shop a remarkable success – something one would never know from looking at it now. The shop had grown weathered and weary over the last decade and no longer resembled the thriving establishment it had once been. Indeed, a lack of care and love had stripped away its beauty, leaving a hollow shell in its wake.

  Ariah fought back her tears and pressed a kiss against the cold wood. “I love and miss you, Father. Each and every day.”

  “May I help you, madame?” Ariah stumbled to her feet and locked onto the shop owner’s inquisitive stare. It was accusing and not at all friendly. Wrinkled skin hung on his face like worn leather. Graying brows drew together as his lips hooked into a fierce scowl. He awaited her reply with meaty, crossed arms, ice-cold vibrations permeating the air.

  “Oh, no, monsieur – but thank you just the same.”

  Hands propped on either side of his hips, his eyes tracked her descent down the steps. Heart spinning, she turned away and returned to Paris’s congested streets.

  With each step, fierce resentment welled in her gut. Her grasp tightened on the basket’s handle until her knuckles grew numb from the lack of circulation. The tears resurfaced, threatening to spill down her cheeks.

  Why, Father … why did you leave me alone in this world?

  This shop – their home – should have been hers by birthright. But she’d been a child at the time of her father’s fatal accident – and, in a single heartbeat, everything had been stolen from her.

  Everything.

  •

  Gabriel tensed at the sudden knock. In spite of the nausea and pain, he straggled from the bed and crossed the room with determined strides. For reasons he couldn’t fully comprehend, it was very important he opened the door for Ariah.

  Though the agony was still an ever-present force, over the last week it had faded into a throbbing ache. As a result, Ariah had decreased the laudanum to a measly spoonful every hour – a trick that had earned her quite an earful. Now, days later, the haze had thinned and cold reality took its place.

  Distracted with his newest revelation, Gabriel spent less time sulking in his own misery and was no longer so consumed with himself. The resentment was still there, of course – though it had been replaced by a reluctant acceptance. Upon discovering Jacques’s miniature, an unexpected compassion had emerged. And despite Gabriel’s greatest efforts, he couldn’t drive it away.

  Not to mention he hated feeling so damned vulnerable. He loathed being helpless and incapable of caring for himself. After a decade of ordering around soldiers and living from camp to camp, allowing himself to be fussed over and tended to didn’t come easily. Or without a proper fight.

  “Monsieur?” The sweet melody of Ariah’s voice rang out, subdued by the wood that separated them. Gabriel wrenched the door open as she attempted another knock.

  Mon Dieu, but she was enchanting. Her curls were hastily fastened back this morning. The arrangement accented her cheekbones and exposed the fine architecture of her collarbone. The slender column of her throat seemed to whisper his name. Gabriel, it called out, touch me, tease me, taste me …

  Tendrils escaped the ribbon’s confines and tumbled down her cheeks in mesmerizing swirls of gold. Gabriel clenched both fists as he was overcome with the desire to sweep those strands aside. Dark circles rimmed her gaze, though they did little to detract from its captivating pull. Indeed, there was something infinitely powerful in her eyes … something omniscient and all-consuming. And within those spellbinding depths, Jacques Larochelle took form.

  Jacques had been stationed under Gabriel’s regiment for numerous months. He’d proven himself an indispensable force across many battlefields, instilling qualities that too many soldiers lacked. Every battle had been fought with valor, keen insight, and heart. And Gabriel had admired the lad greatly. He remembered Jacques as somewhat shy and a deep thinker; when he’d been in the midst of other soldiers, he’d rarely voiced his thoughts – but when he did, every word had commanded attention and respect. The words were always softly spoken, yet firm, decisive, and powerful. It was a rare quality – and one that initially drew Gabriel to Jacques. They’d personally spoken on many occasions, and though Jacques had remained guarded and withdrawn, he’d clearly had much waiting for him back home … sufficient reason to live and see the ending of the war.

  But those dreams had been shattered.

  “Gabriel? What, pray tell, are you thinking about?” Ariah asked. “My, you look so intense!”

  “Nothing. Nothing of importance.” Restraining the memories, he dropped his gaze and noticed a large wooden basin balanced against her hip. Likewise, several garments were slung over her forearm. He arched an inquisitive brow, leaned against the doorjamb, and gestured to the basin. “This again? What for?”

  “Your much needed bath. Now if you would kindly step aside, monsieur.” Her words were strained as she pushed past him and battled the tyrannical basin. Drawn to the commotion, Oliver poked his massive head inside and attempted to join her. Gabriel urged the mutt backward and slammed the door. Now that he and Ariah were alone and contained, the air seemed to shift direction and grow heavy. Indeed, even Ariah’s footsteps slowed – as if an extra burden was laid upon her shoulders.

  Momentarily paralyzed, he observed while she carried the basin and began the impossible journey to the tub. Amused by the spectacle, Gabriel latched onto the basin’s handle and tugged it from her grip. She refused to let go, challenging him with fiery eyes.

  After a moment of contemplation, she surrendered with an agitated sigh and lowered the basin to the floorboards. It landed with a dull thud as water sloshed over the sides. He knelt, intending to collect the basin from the ground. Ariah also knelt in an attempt to assist him; he firmly peeled her hands from the wooden rim and replaced them with his own. Sparks of awareness exploded through his palms and seemed to meld their hands together. Both Gabriel and Ariah remained in a crouched position for several moments, exchanging their awkward glances and heated stares.

  Weighted silence passed between them. Uneven breaths mingled in a torrid swirl. Steam rose from the tepid water, causing the tendrils to dampen and curl against Ariah’s nape in delicious spirals. Gabriel’s eyes drew to her pale flesh – and he was overcome with the wretched desire to press his lips against her collarbone. He wanted to taste her, to consume her warmth, to track his tongue across her beating pulse … to lick the damp steam from her neck and blow lightly into her eardrum. He wanted to make her squirm, to discover what made her blush, to awaken her mind and catch fire to her imagination.

  Muttering a vile curse, he averted his eyes and gazed downward; for the first time, his vision wasn’t so damned blurry – and he could finally decipher the engraving on her wedding ring: The only journey worth traveling starts from within.

  He unconsciously echoed the words. Each letter thrummed through his veins and affected something profound inside his soul. Ariah returned upright and shuffled backward several paces. Her kid boots resounded against the planks and wrenched Gabriel from his thoughts.

  He made haste for the tub and transferred the water inside. Her footfall resounded again as
she eased toward the bed.

  “I … I brought a change of clothes,” she said, arranging the garments across the mattress. “Jacques isn’t nearly as, um … built … as yourself – but hopefully they shall make do. Besides, you’ve lost quite a bit of weight this last week.” The basin landed against the floorboards with a muffled bang. Gabriel nodded, rotated toward her voice, and examined the garments.

  The pristine, airy dress shirt and straight-legged burgundy trousers echoed Jacques’s personality remarkably well: simple, humble, yet undeniably elegant. Entombed in thoughtful silence, Gabriel reached out and ran his fingers over the smooth fabric.

  Should I tell her? Should I reveal the truth?

  Ariah’s gaze tracked his every movement. Indeed, he felt the hot caress of her eyes dancing across his skin. Gabriel wrenched his hand away – behaving like a lad who’d been caught invading the cookie jar. She grinned a slow, sensual smile while apprehension and curiosity flickered across her lovely features.

  No. Not yet. I refuse to spirit away her light.

  Without warning, his thoughts traveled to the previous evening – to the exquisite sensation of Ariah in his arms …

  He shouldn’t have touched her. He should have never reached out. But she’d been so close – and it had been so long since he’d experienced genuine warmth. And once he’d learned about Jacques, he’d felt a compelling need to understand her … to unmask the truth of her character. It had been a need unlike any other – a compulsion and almost protective instinct. He yearned to drive those feelings away, to bury himself within the black hole that had become his existence. But whether he wished to admit it or not, things had drastically changed.

  Ariah Larochelle had roused him from an eleven-year slumber.

  “You ought to change your bandage,” she finally said, breaking the quiet. “I’ll bring some fresh linens and bathing towels.”