Broken Wings

by Judith James

  "Well, Gabriel, I must say, you look a good deal improved."

  "Yes, I feel much better, thank you. The coffee," he said with a hint of a smile. They continued down the path together, an awkward silence between them. "I suppose I should apologize, Sarah, for my behavior last night. It seems I've acted the brute again."

  She stopped walking and turned to face him. "More like a bloody big fool, I'd say." "I'm really very sorry." "And so you should be. It took me half an hour to clean up that mess, and I cut my thumb doing it." She held up her abused digit for his perusal.

  "It won't... it won't happen again." He would make sure of it. These visits to her room were too dangerous for his equilibrium. They would have to stop.

  "Well, whether it does or not, I won't clean up after you again. You make a mess, Gabriel, you should stay to clean it up."

  He looked down at his fists. "I know. I just..." "Yes," she sighed, "I know. I upset you terribly and you had to leave. I have to learn not to go blundering about in other people's private affairs. I apologize for that. Again. I didn't mean to. It seems we both keep repeating the same mistakes."

  Meeting her gaze, he saw the worry and concern in her eyes. It wasn't what he'd been expecting, but that shouldn't be a surprise, when everything about Sarah was so ... unexpected.

  "Friends?" She held out her hand to him, an expectant look on her face.

  Her invitation almost unmanned him. Unaccountably, he wanted to cry. He stood there in the middle of the path, doltish and inept, with no idea how to proceed.

  Grinning, and playfully raising her brows, Sarah spoke slowly and carefully, as if to a simpleton, "Gabriel, this is where you say friends, and we exchange a hearty handshake, leaving all last night's unpleasantness behind us."

  He blinked, then smiled in gratitude and relief, taking her hand and bowing gallantly. "Friends."

  As his mood eased and the tension between them evaporated, the boyish grin he gave her was so genuine and so beautiful it curled her toes, and made her glow all over. Vastly pleased with each other, they continued the rest of the way to Davey's, chattering about horses and composers, and telescopes and the moon.

  Friends. It was such a simple word. She was the only one who'd ever cared to know any more about him than what they could see. The only one who'd ever asked, and in response, he'd told her things he'd never told anyone else. He realized that he'd wanted to tell her about his dream. He'd needed to know if she would still welcome him, still accept him, if she knew, really knew, what his life had been like. He'd allowed her a glimpse into the dark horror of his past, and foolish girl, wise in all ways but this, she'd extended her hand in friendship. She knew what it meant, as much as anyone could, but she couldn't possibly have known what it meant to him. There had never been anyone to share thoughts or ideas with, hopes and dreams, fears or hurts or sorrows. Until Sarah, no one had cared.

  He waited three days, afraid to test the boundaries of this new friendship, afraid to make a mistake, but on the fourth night he went to her, drawn like a moth to the flame.

  Chapter

  10

  Sarah was asleep when he arrived, and something was different. It took a moment before he realized the window seat was strewn with cushions, furs, and blankets. A leather wine flask had been left, as well. The gesture offered comfort and invited him to stay and take his ease. He wasn't used to anyone caring for his comfort, and it convinced him that her offer of friendship, and the welcome he'd seen in her eyes, was genuine. Choosing not to wake her, he settled in between the furs, falling into a deep, dreamless, and much needed sleep, and left silently with the dawn.

  He came often after that, no longer hesitant of her welcome. He stayed for hours on her balcony, watching the stately dance of constellations as they spun slowly overhead. It struck him that there had always been other worlds surrounding him, just outside his reach, unexpected and unseen. They were opening to him now. Sarah was opening them. They spoke long into the night, their voices joining in easy laughter and lively debate. For the first time, Gabriel shared his opinions and ideas. They discussed the philosophers, Voltaire and Hobbes, Locke, and Rousseau. They discussed composers, Haydn, and the prodigious Mozart, and Sarah discovered, much to her delight, that Gabriel was as talented with violin and guitar as he was with the piano.

  Gabriel felt intoxicated, as if he'd stepped through some fairytale mirror into an enchanted world. He knew he was in love with her, deeply, sweetly, madly in love. His world had been dark and colorless before she'd come into his life, devoid of any strong emotion, except hatred, despair, or fear. She'd opened his eyes to wonder, had welcomed him into her home as warmly as she did her brothers, or Davey. She filled his every waking thought and his heated-longing dreams, keeping the nightmares at bay and giving him a reason to welcome sleep, rather than dread it. He was always respectful, careful never to jeopardize the bond growing between them, and he was truly happy for the first time in his life.

  The next few months went by in a blur of activity. His days were spent under Davey's tutelage. A hard taskmaster, Davey insisted that Gabriel learn his way about the ship, sending him aloft, clambering up the shrouds with the topsmen over a hundred and fifty feet above the deck until he was at ease skylarking in the rigging. He learned how to set, reef, and furl a sail, edging out along the swaying yardarms with only footropes for support, each roll of the ship whirling him about in dizzying circles.

  Balancing on heaving deck and narrow rail, he practiced with short sword, cutlass, rapier, and a curved sword Davey called a katana. The long weeks of strenuous physical activity hardened and honed his body, sculpting him into an engine of muscle and sinew and fluid grace. His early experiences had taught him to distrust his body, to distance himself from it, divorcing mind and sensation. Now, his training with Davey forced him to meld mind and body—focused, present, and aware. As his training continued, he became more comfortable and at ease within himself. He enjoyed the gentle ache that drugged his arms and legs after a long session. He enjoyed the way his body responded and moved, as quick as thought, and he found himself running, jumping, and climbing, for the sheer joy of it.

  The focus that had allowed him to survive his disastrous childhood, now helped him to be one with his weapon, as Davey taught him to channel his anger and passion into the blade in a living, breathing dance of beauty, steel, and death. A natural athlete and thirsty to learn, he poured himself into the rhythm of sea and ship and sword, until they were an extension of himself, as natural to him as breathing. He exulted in it, and despite his late start, he soon excelled.

  Gabriel was as susceptible to Daveys roguish charm as were Sarah and Ross. He valued the mans opinion, understood what Davey expected of him, and found himself able to fit in with the assorted collection of misfits and eccentrics that made up Davey's crew, in a way that eluded him in other settings. He knew he excelled at the things Davey taught him, and the mans irreverent good humor and worldweary cynicism struck a chord that resonated deeply within. Davey was enough of the outlaw that Gabriel felt comfortiable, on occasion, sharing some small part of his past. Davey greeted these revelations with humor at times, but never shock.

  His relationship with Davey was far easier and more relaxed than the one he had with Ross, who had undertaken to instruct him in estate matters, and matters of trade and investment. He suspected the older man was trying to prepare him to make the most of his ten thousand pounds when their bargain was complete, and the thought made him distinctly uncomfortable. He also felt that he was being measured against some standard he didn't understand, couldn't relate to, and could never achieve. It never occurred to him that these feelings of being judged and found lacking might involve his own interest in Ross's sister. He respected, admired, even liked Ross, but he never felt completely at ease in his company, and it amazed him that the two men, who seemed so different in temperament, were such close friends.

  As much as Gabriel's days were filled with challenge, hard work, and physical eff
ort, his nights were filled with magic. Some evenings they would all join on the lower terrace. Davey would come with one or two of his ragged crew, or Gypsy friends from across the river. They would sing and play throughout the night, drinking whiskey and wine and raising their voices in laughter, conversation, and song. Trading words and melodies, challenging each other with whatever the moment, the mood, or their imagination allowed; they made wild and beautiful music against a background of sea and sky, in a warm and wonderful communion that left Gabriel feeling exhausted, happy, and replete.

  Most nights he waited, breathless and excited, for the sun to set, the moon to rise, and the house to settle for the night. Then he'd climb the oak to her room, to watch the sky and talk, listening to her voice, husky with excitement, watching in fascination as her eyes flashed with passion, lit from within, and watching in envy as the evening breeze caressed her cheeks, ruffling her hair and playing with the tendrils as he longed to do.

  On cooler nights, he settled himself in the place she'd made for him on her window seat. He told her more about his time at the chateau. How he'd loved the stables and the horses, and what it had meant to him to discover music and learn to read and write. In time, hesitant and careful, he told her more of de Sevigny, how he would have done anything in his power to please him so that he might stay, how he'd tried to escape, and how in both ways, mired in shame and confusion, he was an active participant in his own ruination. He told her how badly it had hurt, how much he'd hated both de Sevigny and himself, and how much he'd hated going back to Madame's.

  Sarah seldom said much as he told her these stories, just lay in the dark listening, a soft comment now and then. "You loved him because he made those things possible, the books and the music. He gave you the only pleasure you'd ever known."

  "Yes."

  "But he didn't care for you. Not at all. You were just a thing to him. Something to use. And he let you do those things, let you ride and play and learn, to make you a more valuable thing."

  "Yes," he rasped.

  "And so? You took what you could, what you wanted and needed, and then you left. Or you tried to, at least. You survived him. What else could you have done, Gabriel?"

  He shook his head in the dark, uncertain, never having thought about it quite that way before. "I don't know." He fell asleep there, more often than not, warm and peaceful in her cozy room. He imagined it possessed some powerful, protective enchantment, because the nightmares could never seem to find him there, not even when he opened the door to bitter memories.

  As the days grew shorter, and the first frost covered the ground, he found himself climbing the big oak almost every night. One night, when the wind was whipping cold spray and early sleet against the window behind him, she invited him to share one side of the big bed. Breathless, careful not to misconstrue, he accepted, lying gingerly beside her above the covers, an arms length away. In this intimate and rarified atmosphere, he told her that Davey was in love with her, and she called him a muddleheaded fool. He complained of her arrogant older brother, and he described with enthusiasm the feeling he got from the bloody and controlled dance of violence, metal, and mind Davey was teaching him. One night he asked about her husband.

  "Were you really married, Sarah? I have trouble imagining it."

  "So do I," she said with a shudder.

  "You told me, on the ship, that you didn't care for him very much."

  "I ... I didn't care for him at all."

  "I wouldn't think ... I'm surprised that Ross, or your parents, would force you to marry someone you disliked."

  "No ... it wasn't like that, Gabriel. It's...it's rather a long, complicated story."

  "I'm sorry, mignonne. I didn't mean to intrude." As the silence stretched between them it struck her how difficult it was to reveal painful memories to someone else. She didn't want to tell him about it. It made her feel exposed in a way she didn t like, and she truly appreciated, for the first time, what it must cost him to answer all her questions. "It's not an easy thing, to talk about one's past, is it?" she said quietly. "No, mignonne, it's not."

  Reaching across the space that divided them, she found his hand and squeezed it tight, making his heart thud wildly in his chest. "It happened so quickly," she offered, "and lasted barely a week. I was sixteen years old. My parents...their ship foundered. They...they were drowned. When it happened, Davey was away at sea, looking for Ross. Ross had been reported dead, a casualty of war, over a year before, but Davey wouldn't accept it." The swift sharp wave of pain surprised her, bringing tears to her eyes. She'd thought it long since eased. She'd never talked about this, any of it. It made Ross uncomfortable, and even Davey closed himself off if she brought it up. She hadn't realized how close it hovered to the surface of her being.

  "I'm not sure if you're aware, but Ross is my half brother. His mother was my father's first wife. She came from a very powerful family, as did my father. I don't know what she was like. Ross...well, he doesn't really speak of her, although he told me once he remembered her as being very cold. I don't think they were very close. In any event, after she died, my father met my mother. She was from Bohemia, they fell madly in love, and they married.

  "My father's family was furious. She was a foreigner and had some Gypsy blood, and they felt her far beneath him. She told me once, that I was named after Kali Sara, the Romany goddess. Nobody would have cared. I was only a female. Jamie was a different matter, but at least Ross was heir, and that suited everyone. When Ross was declared dead ..." She took a deep breath. "When Ross was declared dead and Jamie became my father s heir it enraged them. They called him the Gypsy brat. My uncle was furious, and when my parents died... he became Jamie's guardian, and mine, as well. He wanted me out of the way as quickly as possible, I suppose, so he could have full control over Jamie and no interference. He married me to an old crony of his, Lord Munroe. I hate the name. I hated him "

  "He ... What was he like?"

  "He was sixty-two years old, mean, vicious, smelly and sour, with rotting teeth. When he tried to kiss

  me>1 gagged "

  "Your first experience, then, was not what you would have wished."

  "No, Gabe, it was not" She was embarrassed to discuss it with him, but after all he'd shared with her, she couldn't very well refuse. "It was damned unpleasant. He came to my room, drunk as a soldier, dragged me onto the bed and jumped on top of me. He was a very big man and I could hardly breathe. When I tried to protest he slapped me, and when he . .. well, suffice to say it was painful, and messy, and terribly embarrassing, and I cannot say I was eager to repeat it."

  "Did you?"

  "Yes, three times, each time worse than the last, although from what IVe gathered since, I was being very melodramatic. It seems to be the general way of things between husbands and wives."

  "No wonder I never lacked for clients." It was a thoughtless remark and he regretted it the instant he said it, desperately seeking some way to take it back, but her startled laughter was genuine, and she looked at him in fond amusement. His heart eased as he realized that apparently, inadvertently, he'd done something right, or at least he hadn't done anything wrong. "What happened then, Sarah? How did he die? How did you come to leave him?"

  "My uncle came. He called to tell me that Jamie had disappeared on his way to boarding school. I didn't believe it. I... Oh, God, Gabriel! We'd been so happy together, my parents, Ross, Jamie, Davey, and I. We loved each other so much, and in a year they were all gone!" Tears were streaming down her cheeks now.

  Unaccustomed to offering comfort, Gabriel resorted to the methods that had worked with Jamie. "I'm sorry, mignonne," he offered, awkwardly rubbing her back and patting her shoulder.

  "It was a very dark time. I... I think in my grief for my parents, and for Ross, I let myself go numb. I stopped caring, stopped paying attention. Poor Jamie, he needed me and I let him down. If I'd been thinking ... If only I'd—"

  "Shhh, mignonne, it wasn't your fault," he said gently, putting his ar
ms around her. Sobbing, no longer able to contain the guilt and pain she'd been holding in for so long, she didn't resist as he pulled her into his lap, rocking her back and forth. He held her like that for several minutes, letting her cry, stroking her hair and patting her back as she soaked his shirt with her tears. Suddenly becoming aware of her in a different way, warm, soft, and vibrant, he groaned and changed position, praying she wouldn't notice his rampant arousal. Christ, he was an animal! Carefully shifting her back onto her side of the bed, he used his shirttail to wipe her tears and then ruffled her hair, much as he used to do with Jamie. "Better now?"

  “Yes, I'm sorry. I'm not usually so .. "

  "I know, mignonne. It's not like you at all," he said with a grin.

  "Gabriel, I don't know if I've ever really thanked you. If I've ever actually said it. Told you how grateful I am for what you did for Jamie."

  He hushed her, embarrassed and uncomfortable. "Shhh, Sarah, stop it, please. It's not necessary. Your brother helped me as much as I helped him."

  "No, Gabe," she said, hugging herself. "You may not want to hear it, but I need to say it. When my uncle came, when he told me that Jamie was gone, I woke up from the daze I was in, but it was too late. I knew he was behind it. I escaped my husband by dressing as a stable boy and stealing a horse. I came back here to hide and wait for Davey. I sailed with him for two years, you know, as we searched for Ross and Jamie, and every day I felt sick with fear, and sorrow, and guilt. We found Ross, thank God. And then we had news of Jamie after five long years. I couldn't believe it. I thanked all the gods and all the angels. I wept with joy. And then they told us where he'd been. I was sick with fear, Gabriel."

  She looked directly into his eyes. "I couldn't stop imagining the horrors he must have been through. I thought about it, and dreamt about it, and I knew it was my fault. I knew that however he might be wounded, it was because I'd failed him. Failed to protect him when he had no one else in the world."