by Chelsea Fine
So that was his new purpose: finding a way to die so Scarlet might live. He had dedicated most of his days to finding the right weapon, but being that he had no clue what type of weapon he needed, his hunt was tedious and long.
But time was something he had an abundance of so his new hobby was accumulating as many weapons as possible and eliminating them one by one.
He would find the right weapon and when he did, he would make sure his blood never stole life from Scarlet again.
He let another arrow fly and watched it split through the board far away as a tremor of agony raked down his spine.
CHAPTER 17
Charleston 1792
Scarlet stared at the flames in the fireplace; her mind wandering a thousand places that no longer existed as midnight drew near.
She was adjusting to her new life.
Nathaniel and his quirky ways were quickly becoming a piece of her heart and Gabriel had dedicated most of his days to making her laugh and showing her new things. The only person missing from her life was Tristan.
From the conversation pieces she stole while listening to Gabriel and Nathaniel—and she did, indeed, have to steal them—she knew he lived a good distance away, but aside from that she knew nothing about him. That was the point, she supposed.
She spent many cold nights in front of the fireplace, entranced by the blaze within. Something about the flames reminded her of Tristan, and something about the sparks reminded her of herself.
Sometimes Gabriel would join her, his easiness wrapping around her as he sat beside her in the firelight. She would sink into the warm calm he provided and be wonderfully distracted from any sorrowful thoughts. They would breathe, they would talk, and they would sit in silence. It was wonderful. Easy.
If Tristan was her fire, then Gabriel was her serenity; waiting her out, lighting her face, filling her heart in the slow, patient way only peace could.
He had told her to live, and so she did. She stopped wallowing. She made friends. She laughed at dinners. She even tied herself into corsets for special occasions.
And with every passing day, she felt less fire and more peace, until her heart no longer stung. Where once her chest would ache at the thought of Tristan, it now only echoed like a canyon filled with wind.
She had not fallen apart without her green-eyed Hunter—a realization that comforted her heart almost as much as it broke it—but she had become someone else in his absence.
She bit her tongue, she reigned in her temper, and she behaved like a lady. But more importantly, she was pleasant. Gabriel deserved a pleasant companion.
“I knew I’d find you here.” Gabriel’s voice held a smile as it met her ears.
She turned to look at the brown-eyed boy with Tristan’s face leaning against the archway into the study and smiled. “Fires are both destructive and beautiful. I find them terribly intriguing.”
“Of course, you do,” he smirked, and came to sit beside her on the sofa.
“How goes the state of your heart?” Scarlet constantly asked about his heart and his curse, always getting the same answer from him.
“Happy.” He grinned and his dimples pulled a grin from her face as well. “How about yours?”
She tilted her head. “Content.”
His grin softened as he reached for her hand and pulled it to his mouth, kissing her open palm. “I am glad. Now I can die a happy man.”
With Gabriel’s lips on her palm, Scarlet felt her heart flutter and the sensation surprised her. “You cannot die at all.”
He lowered her hand from his mouth but held it in his palm. “Then I can live a happy man.”
Scarlet rolled her eyes. “You are always a happy man.”
“Not always.” His tone was jesting, but a deep pain coursed through Scarlet’s veins as she thought of Gabriel’s life without her and the curse he bore.
“I do not want to die again,” she said. “I do not want you to be empty.”
He looked her over carefully, his pained eyes falling along the lines of her face as firelight flickered across his own. “You fear death for my sake?”
She nodded, realizing it was true. She was incredibly healthy and had not fallen ill in the three years she’d been alive, but death would surely come for her eventually. And the thought made her ache for Gabriel. He was full of good and her death would leave him empty.
“You are a silly woman to care so much for me. I do not deserve it.”
“You do.” She nodded. “Very much.”
He leaned over and kissed her cheek. “I love you.”
Scarlet’s eyes fell closed with the touch, remembering a time when she thought Tristan was gone and Gabriel had loved her fully and held her in his arms with great pride.
Scarlet opened her eyes. “I love you, too. Do you know that?”
He smiled. “I do.” He tilted his head to the side and sighed. “Come here.” He pulled her into him and leaned back on the sofa. Scarlet willingly tucked her head into the soft place between his shoulder and chest and inhaled deeply.
He smelled good. He was safe and careful, and everything about him was familiar and warm. She nestled in further and Gabriel wrapped his arms around her completely, setting his face against the top of her head as they watched the fire.
“Stay with me,” Scarlet said.
He ran his fingers down her arm and caught a strand of her long hair, wrapping it round his fingers. “I would not wish to be anywhere else.”
Scarlet suddenly wanted to cry. Not for her lack of Tristan. Not for her broken heart. But for Gabriel and his dedicated patience and unconditional love for her.
Like a weary warrior after battle, Scarlet let herself relax into the arms of the man who had loved her deeply in her darkest times and cherished her heart. Not just the parts that were undamaged and beautiful, but the entire mess.
And slowly, like it had never left, love seeped in.
CHAPTER 18
Charleston 1793
Scarlet was happy, her heart was full and life was pleasant. She and Gabriel spent nearly every day together. Nathaniel was pleased with her health and rarely stopped over to check on her anymore. And the only socially-unacceptable thing Scarlet was guilty of were her fighting lessons with a Frenchman named Pierre.
She hired Pierre in secret, insisted they train in the forest where no one would see her, and had slowly begun collecting weapons for these occasions.
Gabriel never questioned her fascination with blades and bows, but he did raise a suspicious eyebrow every now and then when Scarlet returned home claiming to have enjoyed a brisk walk through the property. For three hours.
She refused to give her secret away. She wanted something that was just hers, and fighting in the trees suited that purpose.
Other than the fighting, Scarlet had become a true lady; curtsying, taking tea, and managing not to spew sarcastic comments at pompous men who annoyed her at parties.
The fiery girl she used to be was dead, replaced by a polished lookalike. She barely recognized herself, but perhaps this was a good thing.
She loved her life, she loved Gabriel, and she had almost completely rid her heart of Tristan.
But then she misplaced her dagger.
This was not such a grave dilemma, for she had several other weapons and could easily replace the dagger if she chose to, but this was her lucky dagger. Its handle was unique and heavier than most and it fit her hand perfectly when she was sparring with Pierre.
It was because of this that Scarlet found herself prowling on hands and knees behind the sofa in the front room—where she had last remembered sheathing the knife—and heard Nathaniel’s voice in the adjacent dining room.
“Tristan is not well,” was all it took for Scarlet’s ears to perk up and her thief-like senses to keep her on her knees and hidden.
Nathaniel’s voice came again. “He is in a great deal of pain and, might I add, dreadful company.”
Scarlet crept along the sofa and crawled through s
hadows to stand behind a tall cabinet, where she could see Gabriel and Nathaniel seated at the dining table.
“Yes, well. Nonstop pain does that to a person,” Gabriel said.
Scarlet’s heart started to pound.
Nonstop pain? Tristan was hurting without reprieve because of her?
Well, that was unacceptable.
“He hasn’t been able to sleep for months.”
Gabriel scratched his chin. “Should we take Scarlet to him, just to give him a break?”
Yes. Yes, they should take Scarlet to them.
“No,” Nathaniel said.
Damn him.
Gabriel nodded. “You’re right. We shouldn’t risk Scarlet getting sick. She’s lived for so long this time.”
“Yes, that. And also Tristan would kill us if we brought Scarlet to Hilldoor. He would actually kill us,” Nathaniel said.
Hilldoor.
Just like that, the fiery girl rose from the dead.
“He would not kill us,” Gabriel scoffed.
“He would try to.”
“I doubt that.”
Nathaniel said, “You didn’t just spend a fortnight in his manor filled with weapons and his tendency to punch things.”
“True. What shall we do with him?”
“I think,” Nathaniel sighed, “that you should suggest he move closer to us. Not anywhere Scarlet would know, but just close enough to keep them both healthy.”
“And why should I suggest this and not you?”
“Because it’s your turn to suffer his miserable mood.”
“My turn? I went to him last week.”
”Yes, but you’re his brother. He is less likely to hit you.”
“You’re his doctor and he actually likes you. You go.”
“No. You go.”
No, I’ll go, Scarlet thought, already planning a trip to Hilldoor Manor, wherever that was. And all because she had misplaced her dagger.
It was her lucky dagger after all.
***************
The next night, Scarlet bustled out the front door and tried to act like she had pertinent and very-much-approved business to tend to as she approached Jensen.
“Good evening, Miss Scarlet.” Jensen tipped his hat in the moonlight as he stood beside the carriage.
She gave him her best smile. “Good evening, Jensen. Lovely night, is it not?”
“Lovelier with you under the stars.” Jensen was always good for a compliment. “Where can I take you this evening, Miss?”
Gabriel and Nathaniel had been invited to a gentleman’s dinner, leaving Scarlet under the scrutiny of only the household staff. Which, based on the interrogation she’d just endured by Beatrice, was almost as detouring as Gabriel himself.
“I need to get to Hilldoor Manor.” Scarlet kept her smile in place, knowing this was the critical moment.
Jensen rubbed at his chin. “I seem to recall Mr. Archer insisting on you never traveling alone. I believe my job—and quite possibly my life—was threatened at the thought.”
Scarlet waved a hand. “Gabriel would never harm you, Jensen. I know he adores you and he really is nothing but soft.”
Jensen looked at the ground with a knowing smile. “Gabriel was not the Mr. Archer I was referring to.”
Scarlet dropped her flirty act and scoffed. “Well, that Mr. Archer is a pain.”
“That Mr. Archer insists that your presence is unwanted at Hilldoor and I have no intention of angering him.”
Scarlet rolled her eyes. “Why does everyone fear Tristan so? He is more harmless than Gabriel, I swear. Take me to him.”
“I’m afraid that will not be possible, Miss Scarlet.”
“Jensen.” She set her mouth straight. “Tristan is in severe pain, is he not?”
“I am not supposed to know about any such pain.”
“And I am not supposed to know where Tristan is.” She smiled. “But sometimes we know things we shouldn’t.”
The driver looked unmoved.
“Jensen,” Scarlet complained. “Tristan is hurting. Do you wish for him to continue to live in agony?”
“My wishes are not important. Mr. Archer’s wishes, however—“
“I have his cure.” She was desperate now. ”I can take away his pain.”
Jensen said nothing, but Scarlet saw the indecision in his eyes and knew she had won.
With full lips and all the charm she possessed, she said, “Take me to Hilldoor, Jensen.”
He sighed. “Very well.”
She tipped down the edge of his hat in a friendly gesture of camaraderie before climbing into the carriage.
Then into the night they rode away. Farther from Gabriel and Nathaniel. Closer to Tristan.
***************
Scarlet watched a large mansion grow up from dark hills silhouetted by the full moon above. The house was vast and elaborate, but nearly hidden in the many vines and thick foliage around the property. It looked somewhat sad.
When Jensen pulled the carriage to a stop, Scarlet took a deep—well, as deep as she could manage with the blasted corset top she wore—breath and took Jensen’s hand as he helped her from the carriage.
At the front door, she did not knock. Knocking would have been polite and well-mannered, but so would have announcing her presence. Fiery Scarlet didn’t possess good manners.
Finding the front door already open, she stepped inside and found Tristan standing there, with his arms crossed, as if he’d been waiting for her.
The open front door made more sense now.
She braced for the yelling that was sure to pour from his throat, trying to memorize his features before things got ugly.
Although it was evening and rather cool outside, Tristan was shirtless.
Of course.
The tattoo of her drawing laid against his muscles and Scarlet’s heart squeezed. She had almost forgotten about the permanent design he’d put on his body and the sight of it did funny things to her stomach. Hopeful things. Warm things.
Sad things.
His dark hair was longer, almost to his shoulders, and hung about his head in disarray. Dark stubble marked his face, his eyes had dark circles around them, and his jaw was set hard and firm.
He was not a happy sight, but he was the best thing Scarlet had seen in years.
“What are you doing here?” he said.
Scarlet shut the door behind her, leaning against it as she responded. “I came because you have been in great pain.”
“Yes. And because of my great pain you still live. It seems my isolation is good for your wellbeing.”
“The strength of my pulse has little to do with the health of my heart.”
He continued to stare at her with a scolding silence, so Scarlet casually glanced around the rather-empty house. “So…this is the dark dungeon where the very angry Tristan sleeps?”
“No. This is the dark dungeon where the very dangerous Tristan keeps himself away from a very careless young woman.”
Clearly, he was in no mood for small talk.
Scarlet raised her chin. “I am not so young anymore.”
“I can see that.” His eyes darkened as they drifted along her face and body and Scarlet reveled in the hot look. He snapped his eyes back to hers, anger and desire in their green depths.
“You need to leave, Scar.”
Yes. She should probably leave.
She didn’t.
“Tristan, this is ridiculous. You are in too much pain and I miss you deeply. Come home.”
“I am home.”
“No, you’re not. You’re hiding.”
“Not very well, it seems.” A muscle in his jaw ticked. “How did you find me?”
“I do not recall, but it had absolutely nothing to do with Jensen.”
A ghost of a smile flashed across his face, and Scarlet would have given her very heart to see the real thing.
She took a step forward. “You should not have allowed yourself to suffer for so long.”
“Everything about you is my concern. You cannot just keep yourself in pain,” she said, filling up with all the fear and love she felt for him as she stepped forward again. “You are a foolish man.”
He stood still. “And you are a reckless woman.”
She smiled. “We are quite the messy pair.”
“That we are.” He searched her face then softened his voice. “You know you cannot stay here.”
“Then tell me to leave.” She stepped closer.
“Leave.”
“No.”
“Curse you woman,” he said. “You are a terrible pain.”
Another step closer and she was standing right in front of him, looking up into green heat.
“Yes, I am.” She kissed his chest, letting her lips brush against his skin a moment longer than necessary, and felt his body sigh with the pleasure her touch brought him. “And you love me for it.”
She traced her fingertips over his tattoo, following the dark lines around his skin.
“I do,” he said, gently catching her hand in his. “And that is why this will never happen again.”
Scarlet looked up at him. “Do not make such threats, Hunter.”
“It is not a threat.” He looked sad. “You need to leave.”
Scarlet straightened her shoulders. “Not until you’re better. Not until you’ve had a decent night’s sleep in my nearness.”
He released her hand. “Leave before I carry you out.”
Scarlet narrowed her eyes. “No.”
They were in a standoff for a moment, staring at each other, pulses high for more than one reason. But then Scarlet’s feet were no longer on the floor as Tristan easily threw her over his shoulder, marched to the front door, and flung it open.
“Open the carriage, Jensen!” His voice was so angry Scarlet could feel it vibrate against her body.
Trying to wriggle free, she slapped his bare back, her waist and legs completely imprisoned by his arm.
“You,” she saw Tristan’s free arm point at Jensen, “I will speak to later.”