Finding Gabriel

by Rachel L. Demeter

  Now who’s the fool? The taunt echoed in his mind until he heard nothing else.

  Catching his breath, Gabriel gradually slowed his movements and glanced at the mirror. Three-fourths of the glass had fallen away, leaving an obstructed, incomplete image of himself.

  What the hell had he done? Had he finally gone mad? And what would Ariah think when she discovered him in such a state? The thought of upsetting her reeled Gabriel back to his senses.

  Drops of blood flowed from his hands and dribbled onto the counter. Near to fainting, he clutched onto the edge of the vanity. He watched the curve of his back expand and deflate with labored breaths. Blood rolled down the vanity’s wooden surface … he felt the burn of Jacques’s eyes … heard the broken melody of his daughter’s voice: “Papa … Papa … why did you leave us … you promised …”

  The walls of his stomach felt scorched. Each breath wheezed in and out of his lungs … his brain throbbed, thrashing against his skull … his skin tightened like a vice and strangled his organs. Then the entire room appeared to rotate and swivel. It spun in nauseating circles … round and round it went, undulating with no rhyme, reason, or coherent logic. He felt lost, detached, and utterly without hope. His vision grew hazy as his mind slowly registered the pain.

  “Papa, help me … please, Papa … I’m frightened …”

  Several more punches were thrown in frustration, sending crushed glass every which way. His legs folded beneath him and sent his body crashing to the floor. Gushing hands swept back and forth over the broken glass as blood drummed atop its shiny, fragmented surface. The pieces reddened, clouding his reflection into a distorted blur. A thousand tortured Gabriels swam beneath his knees. They were all incomplete, all disfigured, and all drizzled in red.

  They were a morbid collection of his shattered soul.

  Bile rose into his throat in an agonizing burn. Battling the nausea, he fought to swallow it back … but alas – it was too late. Vomit erupted from his throat, spilling onto his bandages and the glass shards. It mingled with the blood in a macabre swirl of red and brown.

  Drifting in and out of consciousness, he rolled onto his back and gazed at the ceiling. The room continued to spin in dizzying circles. Struggling to anchor himself, his eyes traced the countless stains and hairline cracks that soared overhead, committing each one to memory. Then he saw her floating above him … her angelic features … the soft curve of her red lips … the vast mane of curls that framed her shoulders like a gossamer shawl …

  Gabriel closed both eyes in resistance and fought to lock the image out. But her voice whispered to him, as persistent and gentle as ever. “Don’t worry, monsieur. I am here with you. All shall soon be well …”

  Then the darkness returned, welcoming him with open arms like an old friend.

  •

  Ariah pressed a hand against her lips and stifled a scream. A storm cloud gathered overhead as the room physically flipped and swiveled.

  Mon Dieu. Surely she would faint. And she’d never been prone to fainting spells. Her pulse reached breakneck speed as a sheen of sweat covered her forehead. She wiped away the perspiration and edged farther into the bedchamber. With a strained breath, she clasped onto the edge of the vanity, lest she collapse and join Gabriel among the broken glass, vomit, and blood. Counting to five, she turned back to his splayed body and regained her composure.

  He was lying on his back in the midst of the destruction. One arm was folded across his torso; the opposite was cocked at an awkward angle and positioned alongside his body. An unholy sea of red flowed among the broken shards, streaking Jacques’s garments an unforgiving hue.

  Ariah knelt beside his motionless form, flushed with equal parts concern, confusion, and outright rage. How could he do such a thing – and after all they’d endured?

  Fine shards of glass protruded from his hands. Illuminated by the sun rays, his palms shimmered from the blood and glass fragments. He’d managed to inflict a sufficient amount of injury upon himself. His chest moved at a steady pace, contending that he still lived. Ariah simultaneously whispered a silent prayer and cursed Gabriel for his stupidity.

  Discovering him like this, sprawled across her bedchamber floor, was far worse than finding him beside the Seine. Granted, he wasn’t nearly as injured – but the stakes had been vastly raised. She knew him as a person … as a man.

  A week and a half ago, he’d come to her as a nameless soldier whom she’d known nothing about. Now he was Colonel Gabriel de Laurent – a sensitive yet thoroughly damaged soul whom she still knew very little about. And yet, in spite of herself, she’d grown to care for him deeply. From the moment they’d locked eyes, there’d been an unspoken connection between them. She felt it even now.

  Ariah shuddered from the raw emotions surging through her. Doctor Mongeau had been right; this was more than she could handle – and far more than she needed. Swallowing deeply, she straightened out his bent arm and carefully lifted it from the sea of bloodied glass. Much like the first time she saw him, his eyes were sealed shut.

  “Gabriel?” She grasped onto his shoulder and rocked his body in a determined motion. Nothing. She tried again, this time with increased pressure. “Gabriel! Can you hear my voice?” He groaned, stirring against the glass particles. His eyes were heavy-lidded as he stared up at the ceiling. “Gabriel! Are you … are you all right?” He was barely aware of her, she knew. Yet somehow he managed to climb onto his feet and stumble over to the bed. The back of his heels slammed against the bed at full force, sending him into a haphazard, reclined position. Falling limp, Ariah breathlessly watched as he descended into sleep in a matter of seconds.

  Chapter Ten

  It was a week and a half ago all over again. Yet this time, Gabriel was filled with gratitude rather than resentment. Indeed, he was grateful to have Ariah at his side.

  Drenched in a wealth of sun rays, she was crouched beside him like some immaculate, heaven-sent vision. Her face was thoughtfully tipped, those sapphire eyes as deep and as blue as the ocean. Her fierce golden locks were swept off her shoulders and fastened back in a low coiffure, exposing the pale flesh of her neck. She wore a simple rough-spun walking dress of paisley; it was faded and severely creased in spots – though on Ariah, it rivaled France’s most luxurious gowns.

  A curl dislodged from the coiffure and draped against her skin. Not noticing he’d woken, her rosebud lips creased with worry as she gazed downward. Her lush fan of lashes rested against her cheekbones and shadowed her eyes. Gabriel swallowed as his heart stirred at the sight. She’d never looked more beautiful than in that moment. He adjusted his back against the headboard and drank in the sweet lines of her face with fervor.

  “Oh, Gabriel! Oh – thank God.” She lurched forward with a shallow cry and embraced his upper torso. Her touch came as an unexpected, thoroughly welcomed surprise. Gabriel unfettered a dejected sigh and fairly melted into her arms. The cold he’d felt within the darkness vanished away like a true phantom. His eyes fell shut while he stroked the luscious strands of her hair. He reverently worshiped each one, reveling as they filtered through his webbed fingers like finely spun silk.

  Gabriel might have held her in his arms, just like this, and died the happiest of men. The revelation shook him to the very core. Exhaling a withheld breath, he increased the pressure of his grasp, afraid that she’d slip through his fingers at any given moment.

  Then she thrust him away, and his eyes jolted open. Once again, worry creased her delicate brows and knitted them together. Barely restrained anger flushed her fair complexion. “What were you possibly thinking? What – whatever compelled you to do such a thing? And after all we’ve endured together?”

  Sighing deeply, Gabriel inclined his chin and glanced at his battered hands. He rotated them, watching in awed silence as the sun rays set the glass shards aglow. “It was a mistake. One of many.” His gaze rose to Ariah in a swift movement. “When I looked into the mirror … Dieu, it was as if seeing myself for the first
time. I can’t quite describe it.”

  Ariah shook her head and exhaled a long breath. Then she reached out and cupped his chin in the curve of her palm. He unconsciously leaned into her touch and felt his insides unravel. She gave a tender, soothing smile. “Then you don’t have to.” After a tentative silence, she lowered her lashes and allowed her fingers to slide away. “Just promise me you’ll never do it again. I couldn’t bear it.”

  “You have my word.” Gabriel swallowed as the horror of his disfigurement raced through his mind. How could she look upon his mangled features without disgust and terror? Suddenly ashamed, he turned away and concealed the left side of his face with a trembling hand.

  “No, Gabriel. Please. You mustn’t do that.” Ariah wrapped her fingers around his suspended wrist and lowered his hand. Unblinking and relentless, she stared into his eyes and connected with his very soul. “Really – it does not frighten me.”

  “Then you are much braver than I am.”

  The windowpane jostled against the sill, manipulated by an abrupt breeze. Sorrow filled the immaculate depths of her gaze. A small, sad smile followed after. Her slender throat pulsated as she swallowed deeply. “Well. I am just grateful that you are all right. But you have been injured yet again – and I’m afraid you’ve lost a decent amount of blood.” She thoughtfully worried her bottom lip between her teeth in a parody of pleasure. Gabriel felt the remaining supply of said blood rush to his groin. Then she gripped the headboard and climbed onto her feet in a rocky motion. He sensed her restlessness and shifting emotions with ease. Indeed, they radiated from her body in a dense cloud, causing the air to tremble and thicken. “Now for your hands. We shall need – ”

  He grasped onto her dangling wrist, stopping her words mid-sentence. He couldn’t contain himself. He had to touch her. He needed her warmth, her soothing promises, her gentle touches. Not allowing the glass shards to harm her, he ensured the caress was tremulous and featherlight. His fingers moved in a slow, sensual upward glide as he savored the feel of her knuckles, her slender wrist, her lower arm …

  She tensed and peered down, questioning him with her gaze. “What? What is it?” For a moment, he allowed the silence to speak. Her uneasiness grew at an increased tempo. Gabriel felt it within her very skin. Her fair cheeks flushed and then paled … the melodic drumming of her pulse doubled over. And there it was again – that fear and uncertainty – but something else was there, too. She was in conflict, trapped in an eternal war with herself … wanting to pull away yet craving the comfort of his touch. And he understood her dilemma far more than she knew. She glanced about and shifted from foot to foot, as if searching the room for answers. Apparently none were to be found. “Your hands. I really must – ”

  “I never thanked you.”

  Her gaze locked on him. Eyes of sapphire mingled with eyes of amber, each probing the other’s soul. Another silence lingered on, this one more powerful than the last. The connection they’d shared during their first meeting returned at full force. It consumed the very air. It wafted between their two bodies, uniting them as one. It whispered a thousand unspoken secrets. And he knew she felt it, too …

  Bowing his head, he elevated her hand to his lips and pressed a gentle kiss across her knuckles. Her fingers curled into a tight ball, and her body unconsciously shifted closer. “Thank you. For staying by my side.” Her hand tremored as he whispered the words against her skin. Then he examined the shattered mirror and pile of broken glass with swarming guilt. Sighing deeply, he murmured against her soft flesh, “You truly are an angel.”

  Staring into her eyes, he drew invisible circles along the back of her knuckles with his thumb. She finally responded with a warm smile, leaned forward, and brushed the forelock from his brow. Her fingertips lingered on his scalp and heated his insides, filling his body with pure temptation. He ached for her to bend forward a few centimeters farther – to feel the tender brush of her lips against his brow, to yank her on top of his body, flip her over, and consume her mouth in a sweltering kiss …

  Mon Dieu. He was doing it again – allowing himself to get too close. And he was betraying his comrade’s memory.

  Sobered by the thoughts, Gabriel released his clutch and eased against the headboard. Venting his frustration, he clenched his fingers, once, twice, three times.

  “You are most welcome,” Ariah finally breathed. Then she offered a last smile, turned on her heels, and left the room in a mesmerizing swirl of paisley linens.

  Gabriel sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face by habit. Forgetful of the embedded glass shards, he flinched and muttered a vile curse. Defeated and overcome with exhaustion, he draped both hands across his abdomen, resting them atop the stained material of Jacques’s dress shirt. Folded on the edge of the mattress was the greatcoat. Its medals shone weakly in the afternoon light, obscured by a thick film of dirt and grime. They were painful to behold – nothing more than grim reminders of the man he’d once been.

  As a renowned military commander, Gabriel recognized a losing battle from leagues away. And indeed, he was fighting a losing battle.

  Ariah returned fifteen minutes later with the infamous basin clutched to her breast. Easing the door open, she squeezed through, simultaneously urging Oliver back with a knee to his bony chest. Then she turned to Gabriel with an audible groan. A rag was draped over her forearm, and the other hand bore a pair of copper tweezers. Stuffed beneath the crook of her arm was a bundle of men’s garments. She muttered an uncharacteristic curse, adjusted the basin against her hip, and nearly spilled the water in the process.

  Then she perched on the bed and carefully set down the basin. Apprehension was cleanly written in every line of her lovely face. Gabriel stiffened as she grasped onto one of his hands. Soft, sensually long fingers enveloped his wrist and tugged at his heartstrings. Gabriel hadn’t realized how cold his hand had been until he felt the warmth of hers.

  “Here,” she explained, clearing her throat, “your hands – you must let them soak first.”

  Gabriel nodded and scooted forward. She lounged centimeters away – sharing the same intakes of air. Her eyes brightened as she watched him with a mixture of sympathy and that something else.

  Willing himself not to tremble, he dipped each hand inside the basin and lost himself to the lukewarm liquid. It swirled around his mangled flesh in an earnest embrace. Clouds of blood tinted the water in voluptuous red vapors, painting the liquid a rich scarlet. Gabriel’s pain eased as he felt himself grow pleasantly tired – much like a young child at the end of a long day.

  Ariah spread the rag across the mattress, placing it beside the basin. As if sensing his relaxed state of mind, her voice lowered to a hushed whisper. Though each word was steady, firm, and spoken with determination. “This destructive behavior must stop.” Nerves visibly dancing, she paused and tucked a loose curl behind each ear. Delicate fingertips lingered against the slope of her neck, beckoning Gabriel’s attention. How he burned to taste the beat of her pulse, to smooth his tongue over the wings of her collarbone …

  “How long must you insist on punishing yourself? It … it’s killing me, Gabriel.”

  Contemplating the reddened water, Gabriel shook his head as he flexed his submerged fingers. The bloodstains gradually washed away, leaving the clouded image of tanned, callused hands in its wake. He felt the caress of Ariah’s eyes on his face. She was braver than him indeed – and the realization sent a tide of resentment crashing through his body. Mute and motionless, he stared at her silver cross. As always, it rested across the generous curves of her breasts, glowing, trapping glints of light within the dark metal. Like fuel to a fire, the resentment mounted. Gabriel scoffed and shook his lowered head.

  “Something amusing to you, I suspect?” she asked.

  “You ask how long I insist on punishing myself, yet you are ignorant to what I’ve done.” He straightened against the headboard, reached forward, and flicked the cross with his fingertip. It twirled and swiveled, reflecting the s
urrounding sun rays. “Tell me, what does your Bible say about murderers, the faithless, and the sexually immoral? Hmm? ‘Their lot will be in the lake that burns with fire and sulfur, which is the second death.’” Ariah’s gaze widened, and Gabriel felt a crooked grin twist his lips. “Ah, you mustn’t be so surprised, ma chérie. I did my time as a boy – attended Sunday masses and sermons by the plenty. And look where it got me,” he added with a sardonic, self-deprecating laugh, “a front seat into ‘the lake that burns with fire and sulfur.’”

  Gabriel scooted closer, eliminating the space between them. Seated on the mattress, their bodies were intimately close … nearly pressed together. Ariah’s breathing grew shallow and irregular as she locked onto Gabriel’s gaze. Those hyacinth depths shimmered with uncertainty as she waited for him to continue. “Now allow me to impart a rather ingenious secret with you, madame: it’s all fucking hypocrisy. There’s no redemption, no rebirth. Only suffering while we pay off our debts with interest.”

  Damn himself. The acidic outburst came without warning or thought. Gabriel waited in anticipation, expecting her to flee, to finally see him for what he was, to curl into a little ball and weep … to unsheathe her dagger and align it to his jugular. Perhaps even slit his throat wide open. He wouldn’t put any of those options past her.

  Instead, she lifted her chin and met his stare as an equal. When she at last spoke, her tone was decisive and as steady as a war drum.

  “And allow me to impart a rather ingenious secret with you: we are limited only by ourselves. Reality is what we make of it – and faith fuels our hope. Nothing more. It is not intended to be a crutch. Neither is it a magical way to wash away our past mistakes and sins. True faith takes time, determination, and courage – and ends with hope.” Then, with a slight shrug, she added, “At least that’s what I’ve learned through the years.” She momentarily paused, reached forward, and placed her hand on top of Gabriel’s. His pulse roared to life at the simple contact. He closed both eyes, allowing her words to flood his consciousness. “I won’t pretend to understand what you are experiencing – or the trauma you’ve endured – but know that you don’t have to face it alone.” It was an invitation to unburden himself, Gabriel knew – and one he was sorely tempted to accept. Fetching the tweezers, she cleared her throat and continued in a brisk voice, “Now – let me have at those hands.”