Gabriel’s thoughts returned to his meeting with Napoleon. Of course, it wasn’t so simple. Bonaparte was not a man to act out of impulse; he behaved strictly from precise, calculated thought. He was a master chess player who always thought three moves ahead. He’d received news from his agents of Paris’s discontentment and re-seized the throne while the iron burned hot. The only risks he ever took weren’t really risks at all. And there lay the power of his genius.
“He’s never been one to run and hide,” Gabriel said in a low voice. “On the battlefields, he always fought in the thick of it – beside his men, wherever he was needed most.” Rotating the glass between his thumb and forefinger, Gabriel returned his glower to the stranger.
A twisted half laugh, half sob emerged from Geoffrey’s lips. “Damn. I’ve spent my whole life in exile, wasting away in a one-man purgatory, living with nightmares and bitter regrets. Everything – the entire fuckin’ world – is nothin’ more than a reminder of her … of what might have been.” He paused to take a long drag of his cigar. A smile split his mouth in two, exposing the yellowed stumps of his teeth. “I might have found what I’ve been searchin’ for all these years. A home to return to. A place in the world. And damn it to hell if I’ll let it slip away now.” Bowing his head, he turned to Gabriel and raised his glass in a mock toast. “Here’s to chasing our legacy. Long live the emperor, eh?”
And as their glasses tapped together, everything became very clear to Gabriel.
•
Sitting in the rocking chair, Ariah attempted to rein in her anxiety with little luck. It was late, yet no rest was to be found. After the celebrations, Marius had taken Miriam out for supper and dancing, allowing Ariah, Jacques, and Emmaline a moment of solitude. The hearth had burned down and now offered only a few glowing embers. Ariah’s eyes ran across the novel’s lettering, though each word blurred into the next. But she was too exhausted to light a candle. Far too exhausted and plagued with fear. Geoffrey’s words echoed through her mind in an eerie requiem.
We were supposed to brave the word together. Instead, you fuckin’ abandoned me. You left me alone and raised my child with another man …
Terror closed around her throat. After nearly eight years, her nightmares had come true.
Dear God, why had she ever stayed in Paris? Why hadn’t she and her sister run farther away? Because of Jacques, her mind whispered, and my father’s memory – something I could never part from.
What would Jacques say about Geoffrey’s reappearance? Once Ariah was certain Emmaline was asleep for the night, she would have to confide in her husband. The very thought summoned another wave of anxiety. With a deep intake of breath, she set the novel in her lap and slid a hand inside her pocket. The signet ring’s cool metal brushed against her fingertips in a reassuring touch; thinking of Gabriel, she drew in its energy as if it were a palpable thing.
I need you, Gabriel. I need you more than I can say.
Her movements ceased at the sound of heavy, dragging footfall. Jacques appeared in the archway, exhaustion plainly etched into every line of his face. Ariah withdrew her hand at lightning speed. She felt incredibly naughty – as if she’d just been caught stealing sweets before suppertime. Jacques’s mouth ticked at the corner while he struggled to hold back the beginnings of a smile. Then he leaned against the doorjamb and studied her expression for several weightless moments, as if committing every one of her features to eternal memory.
“So many nights I yearned to see you again, looking just like this.” He pushed away from the wall and balanced on his walking cane. Ariah felt the heat rise in her cheeks as he came forward, his gaze bearing deeply into her own.
She finally brought herself to speak. “And I yearned to see you again, too.” Then, regarding his faux leg, she added with a sympathetic smile, “Though not like this.”
He chuckled lightly, and for a moment, the young man she’d first met years ago resurrected before her eyes. She tucked a curl behind each ear and met his gaze. “Is … is Emmaline asleep for the night?”
Jacques nodded. She swallowed as he tentatively reached out and cupped her chin in the curve of his palm. He outstretched his other hand in offering. Ariah placed hers within his own, tensing as his fingers curled about her hand. Then he gave a gentle tug and pulled her onto her feet. Obliging, she placed the novel on the nearby end table.
Ariah fought to focus her energy on the noble gentleman who stood before her – yet thoughts of Gabriel swarmed her mind and body. Jacques’s hands rested on either side of her shoulders, slipped down the length of her body, finally finding their place on her hips. Even through the material that separated them, his hands felt strong and sure. His gaze was riddled with agony and insecurity. He was clearly aching for the slightest measure of human comfort. He needed some form of reassurance – no matter how shattered or forced. Frustration shot through her body and weighed heavily upon her heart. Why couldn’t she love him as he deserved to be loved? Jacques was good, kind, and honest … and yet he was not the man she burned for.
He is not Gabriel de Laurent.
“Ariah,” Jacques’s whisper was strained and thin – an agonized plea. Then he released her body, limped over to the far corner, and fetched the painting of Gabriel from the floorboards. Shaking his head, he exhaled a long breath and lowered the canvas to the planks. “I shall never be him. But I promise to be good to you … to your daughter and sister.”
The words were too much to stomach. Ariah pressed a fingertip against his lips, silencing his voice. “You always have been.”
“Ariah, I’ve loved you for years. You know that. And I don’t expect to have it returned. After all, we can’t choose who we love. Such a thing is not so simple.”
“There’s nothing more confusing, I’m afraid.”
Silence descended. He scratched the back of his head and surrendered to a light chuckle. “You remember how we used to sneak into your father’s shop and play house? In the middle of the night when the entire world was fast asleep?”
“Why, of course,” she said, her thoughts dissolving into warm memories. She leaned against the mantel and examined Jacques’s softened features. “I shall never forget.” Reaching forward, she playfully tugged on his sleeve. “Tell me – why did you humor a little girl’s imagination, Jacques? You were nearly seventeen at the time!”
“It was our own secret, safe corner of the world,” he said with a shrug. “And I loved sharing it with you.”
And without another word, he fetched the water basin from the table and then opened the door and stepped into the black of night.
•
Jacques waded through the impenetrable darkness. The need for fresh air overwhelmed him. He ached for a warm bath … a chance to wash away the chill that gripped his bones. His boots pounded against the pavement and echoed eerily in the night. The wooden leg was an unbearable burden, and each step burned more than the one before it. He paused, set down the basin, and shut his eyes.
No refuge was to be found. Cannons exploded inside his mind along with the deafening sounds of splintering wood and faded screams. And he vividly remembered them all: The sensation of being ripped apart. Glancing down to find his leg halfway severed. Hearing another explosion. Feeling the ground swallow him whole. Being thrown from the splintered deck and into the inky water below …
Sweat trickled from his brow as the memories crashed down with the force of an avalanche. Somehow, he’d summoned the strength to crawl onto a chunk of ship debris, remove his coat, and fashion a makeshift tourniquet around his leg. Then the endless waiting had begun – a twisted purgatory of contemplation and numbing terror. Thirst, hunger, and heat had plagued him for days on end – they’d been his sole companions. Blisters had crusted his lips, his throat had turned drier than a furnace, his tongue had grown inseparable from the roof of his mouth, and corruption had begun to consume his maimed leg. Sweltering heat had flashed across his face and seared his skin with the bite of a cattle brand. Sweat ha
d clotted his hairline and trickled down his temples in lieu of his tears. I’m not supposed to die here, he remembered thinking. I have no great love for the open sea. Only for Ariah.
Days later, a fisherman had discovered him in that state – far more dead than alive, baking in the sun, and gasping for water. It was a true wonder he’d survived at all. Even a miracle, one might claim. Through the hours of excruciating pain and unknown darkness, the memory of Ariah had kept him from slipping away.
Jacques’s eyes snapped open at the distinct sound of footfall. He glanced behind him and to the sides – though could see nothing through the heavy shadows.
He was losing his sanity. After fetching the basin from the ground he continued limping forward. He exhaled a breath of relief when he finally arrived at the water well. Groaning from the exertion, he slammed the basin onto the moss covered edge. Catching his breath, he wiped at his face with his sleeve and blotted away beads of sweat. Then he latched onto the hanging rope, grunted, and gave a hard pull. The small basket emerged from the water’s oily depths and dangled in midair. Just as Jacques reached forward, another strain of fear twisted through his body – this one much more potent. The rope whizzed and whirled back into place as he freed it. He quickly filled the basin, collected it from the edging, and paced toward home.
The instincts he’d developed across the battlefields kicked into high gear. His breaths deepened, whispering against the night in dense clouds. Every hair on the back of his neck stood erect.
Jacques’s grip faltered as he allowed the basin to slip from his fingers. It smacked against the cobblestones in an unsettling bang and caused water to slosh over the sides. Leaning on his walking stick like an old man, he inspected the shadows, looking for any trace of movement – any sign of a lurking threat or concealed danger.
Approaching footfall sounded again.
Jacques rotated on his heels, reeling toward the muted thudding. Straining his eyes against the impenetrable black void, he edged forward. Beads of sweat gathered along his hairline in spite of the bitter cold.
Everything happened in a flash.
A dirty hand splayed over his lips, silencing any cry for help. Heavy, pungent breaths fell across his nape and seared his skin. Red-hot pain shot through his body as metal was drawn across his throat. The icy fear that clung to his heart tightened its hold. The dagger’s toothy snarl tore through his flesh.
He could feel it – blood streamed from the wound and gurgled from his mouth. He tried to yell, to cry out, to reach someone’s ears … but all words were drowned beneath that bubbling, crimson fountain. The cane slipped from his hand and landed on the pavement; it emitted a muffled sound that seemed to come from kilometers away.
The surrounding darkness twisted into something surreal, and the stone buildings seemed to cave in on themselves. The trees vanished into the bruised skyline. Everything became warped and indistinguishable from one another. Breathless, his knees gave way, sending his body tumbling onto the cobblestones face-first. The bridge of his nose shattered as he collided with the ground. Then the entire world and everything in it slowly faded away.
His eyes fluttered shut while a sliver of peace overcame him. His heart slowed. His pulse boomed inside his ears in a deafening roar. All the while, the dull thud of footfall receded, leaving him alone in the eternal darkness.
Chapter Twenty-nine
Ariah fastened the shawl around her shoulders and shuffled into the night. Her breaths pierced the air as she waded through the poorly lit streets. A low-hanging fog had slipped through the alleyway and curtained the world around her.
Where, pray tell, was Jacques? He’d left for the well nearly an hour earlier. Ariah didn’t want to leave Emmaline alone – but a terrible premonition weighed heavily on her heart.
Something has happened to him.
She scrambled through the winding walkways with quick, decisive strides. Overhead, the oil lamps swayed back and forth as they were cradled by the wind’s breath.
Perhaps he merely wished for some fresh air and time to himself. Surely he’d be waiting by the well, distracted and lost to deep thought.
The lamps flickered, shedding rings of light across the scarred cobblestones. Minutes later, the water well came into sight. She hiked up her skirts and raced forward. Wind whistled through her ears in a piercing wail, urging the curls from her cheeks. Then she stopped in her tracks, overcome with a stinging, unimaginable terror. Several meters from the well, a faint silhouette was sprawled across the cobblestones. And beside the body was an over-tipped basin. Spilled water pooled around the motionless, splayed limbs. Cloaked beneath the darkness, the man’s features were barely visible. And yet she knew it was him. She felt it with every breath, every manic beat of her pulse.
Ariah cried out and stared down in horror.
No. Dieu, no …
Blood streaked the water, painting it a vivid red. Blinding tears sprang to her eyes as she collapsed in the midst of the puddle. The liquid drenched her skirts, plastering cold, stiff muslin to her flesh. Muttering beneath ragged breaths, she scooped Jacques’s face in her palms and lifted it from the sullied water. Fresh blood coursed down his neck, bubbling from the deep knife wound. Sobs wracked Ariah’s body as she threw herself across his motionless form and held on tight.
•
Ariah unlocked the front door and flew inside the home. Eyes sealed shut, she leaned against the wooden panel and attempted to regain her composure. Her bloodstained hands madly shook as she wrung the material of her skirts. The tears kept falling. She wept for Jacques. She wept for Gabriel. She wept for her daughter, who’d lost so many people dear to her. Ariah fought to restrain those wretched tears. If not, Emmaline would ask questions. And she found herself sorely lacking answers.
She wiped away her tears with renewed purpose. Streaks of blood stained her cheeks like war paint. She desperately rubbed at her skin until the flesh grew irritated and red. Gabriella eased inside the room, appearing quite spooked. Her thin tail was tucked between her legs, both ears were pinned down, and a low whimper sounded inside her throat.
Then Ariah shattered into a million, unidentifiable pieces. Her tears transformed into choked sobs. It wasn’t merely crying; soul-wrenching sobs were jerked from the most intimate depths of her body, twisting through her entire being like a dull blade. Grasping onto the door’s panel, her chest wheezed with labored breaths. She fought to hold them back – it would be terrible to wake Emmaline in this state.
An exasperated, bizarre sound emerged from her throat as she surrendered to her emotions. Fighting for breath, she lowered her hands from her swollen features. The oil lamp’s illumination set the wedding band aglow. Heart pounding, she grasped the emblem and silently bowed her chin. Forgive me, Jacques. Forgive me for everything.
Mon Dieu. How would she break the news to her daughter? How much loss could one child endure? Would her illness return? Ariah purged the thoughts from her mind and glanced at her wedding band again. The inscription seemed to burn into her skin.
What exactly had happened to Jacques? Who would have done such a thing? A brief flash of Geoffrey’s embittered face emerged inside her mind. Never had she seen such grief … such anger and resentment. Those eyes would haunt her forever.
It had been him. She knew it with every fiber of her being. Anger burned inside her chest and stole the breath from her lungs. She leaned against the doorjamb and fought back the rising bile. Then she curled her fingers into a fist and punched the wooden panel until blood oozed from her knuckles. Tears of heartache grew ice-cold, transforming into tears of burning, seething hatred. Out of breath from the exertion, Ariah sagged against the bloodied panels while a sudden, terrible thought screamed through her mind. Mon Dieu. Geoffrey wouldn’t dare touch her daughter …
Emmaline. Ariah raced into her daughter’s bedchamber. What she discovered split her heart in two and purged the last breath from her lungs. The window had been cleanly shattered – and Emmaline was gone.
Gabriel’s mind spun as his legs ate up the walkway at record speed. He shot through the darkness with one goal in mind: Ariah would be his, and he would be Ariah’s. Forevermore. Whatever doubts and complications lay ahead were minor obstacles in the face of their destiny. He, Emmaline, and Ariah belonged together.
They would be a family.
But the sight that came into view near her home pulled him up short. Several meters away, a dense, low-hanging fog shrouded a body. Gabriel felt his insides clench as he slowly eased toward the motionless form. His skin tightened, prickled, moving like a living thing.
The man was sprawled on his stomach – and he had a wooden leg.
Jacques.
Breaths misting in a white cloud, Gabriel fell onto his knees and examined his comrade’s pallid features. A crusty ribbon of blood wrapped around his neck, streaking down the strong column of his throat.
“No …” Gabriel hung his face. He allowed his eyes to drift shut. Behind his closed lids, he was back on the battlefield and in command. Jacques stood gallantly before him, all youth and vitality as he tossed himself into the midst of flying debris and gunshots. Brave and fearless, he held nothing back – obeying each of Gabriel’s orders with precision and heart.
Gabriel hesitantly opened his eyes and took in the sight of his comrade’s cold, lifeless body. His fingertips clenched and unclenched several times before constricting into steel fists. Red-hot anger swept through his veins like molten lava. His breaths deepened, expelling harshly into the cold night air.
Jacques had deserved better than such a bleak fate and frivolous death. And he’d deserved better than Gabriel’s betrayal. A landslide of guilt smothered the last of his thoughts.
With trembling hands, Gabriel unclasped the enameled croix from his greatcoat. Then he pinned the ornament to Jacques’s coat, smoothed back his auburn hair, and whispered a grief-filled apology.
Finding Gabriel Page 37