Sara, but I'll find out."
"Thank you."
She glanced over his shoulder. "Where are we?"
"This is where I… live."
"Here?" She stared at the room, empty save for a large, thronelike chair. There was a faded space on one wall where a large crucifix had once been. She thought it odd that the room's only window was covered by a thick black cloth. "What is this place?"
"It used to be a monastery."
"And you live here?" She frowned as vague memories of the night of the fire began to surface. "I seem to remember being taken to the hospital. How did I get here?" She stared at him, waiting for an explanation.
"Are you hungry?" he asked, abruptly changing the subject.
"No. I want to know why I'm here."
"Thirsty?"
It was obvious he wasn't going to answer her, and she was too muddled by all that had happened to pursue the matter.
"I am thirsty," she said, her throat feeling suddenly dry.
With a nod, Gabriel poured her a glass of wine, and she reached for it, her hand halting halfway to the glass.
He saw the horror in her eyes as she gazed at her hand, at the reddened skin, the ugly yellow scabs left by the blisters.
"Sara…"
"My hand. What happened to my hand? My arm?" She threw the cloak aside, the fact that she was naked not registering as she looked at the raw red patches that covered her arms and legs and chest.
He saw the scream rising in her throat, the panic in her eyes, and cursed himself for not thinking to prepare her.
"Sara, listen to me, you're all right."
"All right? How can I be all right?" She stared at him, then slowly shook her head. "I don't understand. Why doesn't it hurt?"
"I…" He took a deep breath. "I gave you something to aid in the healing."
"Something?"
"A new medicine. Sometimes it works miracles." He drew the cloak around her. "Rest now,
cara
. Sleep is the best healer of all." He stroked her hair. "Don't be alarmed if I'm not here in the morning," he said. "I may have to go out, but I'll be back by nightfall."
She nodded, and then she closed her eyes and curled into his arms, as trusting as a babe.
He held her until he was certain she was asleep, and then he went out. She would need something to wear when she woke. Clothes. Shoes. Undergarments. A comb and brush and pins for her hair. A bed to sleep in.
Unmindful of the rain, he went into the city. The shopkeepers all knew him. His material wants were few, but he always bought the best, the most expensive, and the tradespeople were eager to serve him. The shops that had closed for the night eagerly opened their doors, anxious to do his bidding.
He bought bread and cheese, a variety of fruits and vegetables, a bottle of vintage wine. He bought a small curved settee covered in blue and green striped damask, a matching footstool, a small table inlaid with ivory, a box of scented candles, a Persian rug, a narrow bed with an elaborately carved headboard, sheets and linens, a pillow stuffed with feathers.
Entering one of the ladies' shops, he picked out several colorful frocks, undergarments, silk stockings, a pair of shoes with silver buckles. Ribbons in rainbow colors for her hair. A bonnet trimmed with feathers and lace. Perfumed soap for her bath. A dark blue cloak trimmed in ermine to keep her warm. A sleeping gown. A dressing gown of rose-colored velvet. He bought her a box of chocolates, a feather fan, a pair of gloves, another book of poetry, a bouquet of spring flowers, an elegant crystal vase to put them in.
He was on his way home when he passed a toy shop. The doll in the window immediately caught his eye, and he bought that, too.
Loading all his goods into a rented wagon, he drove back to the abbey.
Sara was still asleep in front of the fire. Moving quietly, he carried the furniture into the room, placing the bed against the wall where the crucifix had hung. He made the bed as best he could, smoothing the linens over the plump mattress.
Sara stirred but didn't wake up when he carried her to the bed. Removing his cloak, he
"Thank you."
She glanced over his shoulder. "Where are we?"
"This is where I… live."
"Here?" She stared at the room, empty save for a large, thronelike chair. There was a faded space on one wall where a large crucifix had once been. She thought it odd that the room's only window was covered by a thick black cloth. "What is this place?"
"It used to be a monastery."
"And you live here?" She frowned as vague memories of the night of the fire began to surface. "I seem to remember being taken to the hospital. How did I get here?" She stared at him, waiting for an explanation.
"Are you hungry?" he asked, abruptly changing the subject.
"No. I want to know why I'm here."
"Thirsty?"
It was obvious he wasn't going to answer her, and she was too muddled by all that had happened to pursue the matter.
"I am thirsty," she said, her throat feeling suddenly dry.
With a nod, Gabriel poured her a glass of wine, and she reached for it, her hand halting halfway to the glass.
He saw the horror in her eyes as she gazed at her hand, at the reddened skin, the ugly yellow scabs left by the blisters.
"Sara…"
"My hand. What happened to my hand? My arm?" She threw the cloak aside, the fact that she was naked not registering as she looked at the raw red patches that covered her arms and legs and chest.
He saw the scream rising in her throat, the panic in her eyes, and cursed himself for not thinking to prepare her.
"Sara, listen to me, you're all right."
"All right? How can I be all right?" She stared at him, then slowly shook her head. "I don't understand. Why doesn't it hurt?"
"I…" He took a deep breath. "I gave you something to aid in the healing."
"Something?"
"A new medicine. Sometimes it works miracles." He drew the cloak around her. "Rest now,
cara
. Sleep is the best healer of all." He stroked her hair. "Don't be alarmed if I'm not here in the morning," he said. "I may have to go out, but I'll be back by nightfall."
She nodded, and then she closed her eyes and curled into his arms, as trusting as a babe.
He held her until he was certain she was asleep, and then he went out. She would need something to wear when she woke. Clothes. Shoes. Undergarments. A comb and brush and pins for her hair. A bed to sleep in.
Unmindful of the rain, he went into the city. The shopkeepers all knew him. His material wants were few, but he always bought the best, the most expensive, and the tradespeople were eager to serve him. The shops that had closed for the night eagerly opened their doors, anxious to do his bidding.
He bought bread and cheese, a variety of fruits and vegetables, a bottle of vintage wine. He bought a small curved settee covered in blue and green striped damask, a matching footstool, a small table inlaid with ivory, a box of scented candles, a Persian rug, a narrow bed with an elaborately carved headboard, sheets and linens, a pillow stuffed with feathers.
Entering one of the ladies' shops, he picked out several colorful frocks, undergarments, silk stockings, a pair of shoes with silver buckles. Ribbons in rainbow colors for her hair. A bonnet trimmed with feathers and lace. Perfumed soap for her bath. A dark blue cloak trimmed in ermine to keep her warm. A sleeping gown. A dressing gown of rose-colored velvet. He bought her a box of chocolates, a feather fan, a pair of gloves, another book of poetry, a bouquet of spring flowers, an elegant crystal vase to put them in.
He was on his way home when he passed a toy shop. The doll in the window immediately caught his eye, and he bought that, too.
Loading all his goods into a rented wagon, he drove back to the abbey.
Sara was still asleep in front of the fire. Moving quietly, he carried the furniture into the room, placing the bed against the wall where the crucifix had hung. He made the bed as best he could, smoothing the linens over the plump mattress.
Sara stirred but didn't wake up when he carried her to the bed. Removing his cloak, he
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