successfully keeping the soldier hidden away from her daughter’s curious nature. This couldn’t have been accomplished without Miriam’s assistance, of course – something she’d ever be grateful for. They’d decided it best to keep the stranger in Ariah’s chamber for the time being. Within the isolation of her room, he would be free of disturbances and worlds easier to hide away.
Ariah wrung excess water from the rag and laid it over the soldier’s brow. Miriam’s words, from only an hour before, disturbed her thoughts: “ I can see it in y-y-our eyes. By saving this poor s-soul, you mean to make amends for that n-night.” Yes, that was certainly part of her motivation – but as Ariah observed the soldier’s distress, she knew it accounted for only a fraction.
His head twisted from side to side. The muscular chamber of his throat pumped like a furnace. As if fighting off unseen demons, his hands blindly waved and shoved at the blackness. Ariah felt helpless. She was beyond exhausted and at a loss for what to do … of how to ease his pain. If he continued in this way, he’d surely wake Emmaline. Even worse, he’d exhaust his remaining life. Doctor Mongeau had made that much pristinely clear; both his mind and body were aching for rest and fighting for survival. And the next few hours would determine his fate.
“No …” Ariah leaned forward as she struggled to make out the words. His voice was breathy, hoarse, and little more than a whisper. It was also strangely muffled – each syllable strung together in a clumsy legato.
Shivering, he flinched, mumbled a curse, and tossed onto his side. His body trembled, victim to fever and something else. Something that cut far deeper than the wounds on his face. As Doctor Mongeau had warned, the laudanum seemed to make his dreams much more vivid and intense.
“Please, monsieur – ” Ariah seized hold of his thrashing limbs and lowered them onto the mattress. “I know you’re in great pain. I only wish to help you.” Without conscious thought, she tentatively ran her fingertips up and down his shoulders, arms, and torso. Thick muscles corded every centimeter of his body, reminding her of his sheer strength and size. Being so close to a man – even though he was unconscious – sent tremors of fear racing down her spine. Indeed, had he not been incapacitated, she would have been paralyzed at the very thought of being so near to him.
She brushed the forelock from his brow and murmured words of comfort – just like when her daughter had been deathly ill all those nights. “Shh. All shall soon be well. Just rest now.”
Her voice seemed to effectively cut through the hazy delusions. The words died on his tongue, and she felt the tension ease from his muscles. Exhaling a relieved breath, she placed a hand over the middle of his chest. Beneath her palm, his heartbeat gradually slowed, resuming a normal pace. She examined his slackened limbs and undulating torso. The greatcoat was drenched through with sweat. No wonder he was suffocating, fighting to break free of unseen barriers. He desperately needed to breathe.
With shaking hands, she slowly undid the row of golden clasps. Each snap sounded unnaturally loud within the silent din. Past memories surfaced and sliced through her consciousness with the force of a blade.
Ariah shoved the images away and focused on the task at hand. She peeled the material aside, exposing the soldier’s strong, nude chest. A fine sheen of sweat covered his skin. It glistened beneath the wavering light and shone like unshed tears. His chest was paler than the rest of him, though every bit as muscular and well formed. A thick mass of hair blanketed his skin, equipping him with a primitive quality and ruggedness. Healed knife and bullet wounds twisted his flesh, causing the hair to grow uneven in places. Ariah drank in the vision with an unblinking stare. She was fascinated. Fascinated and thoroughly intimidated by the man’s
Ariah wrung excess water from the rag and laid it over the soldier’s brow. Miriam’s words, from only an hour before, disturbed her thoughts: “ I can see it in y-y-our eyes. By saving this poor s-soul, you mean to make amends for that n-night.” Yes, that was certainly part of her motivation – but as Ariah observed the soldier’s distress, she knew it accounted for only a fraction.
His head twisted from side to side. The muscular chamber of his throat pumped like a furnace. As if fighting off unseen demons, his hands blindly waved and shoved at the blackness. Ariah felt helpless. She was beyond exhausted and at a loss for what to do … of how to ease his pain. If he continued in this way, he’d surely wake Emmaline. Even worse, he’d exhaust his remaining life. Doctor Mongeau had made that much pristinely clear; both his mind and body were aching for rest and fighting for survival. And the next few hours would determine his fate.
“No …” Ariah leaned forward as she struggled to make out the words. His voice was breathy, hoarse, and little more than a whisper. It was also strangely muffled – each syllable strung together in a clumsy legato.
Shivering, he flinched, mumbled a curse, and tossed onto his side. His body trembled, victim to fever and something else. Something that cut far deeper than the wounds on his face. As Doctor Mongeau had warned, the laudanum seemed to make his dreams much more vivid and intense.
“Please, monsieur – ” Ariah seized hold of his thrashing limbs and lowered them onto the mattress. “I know you’re in great pain. I only wish to help you.” Without conscious thought, she tentatively ran her fingertips up and down his shoulders, arms, and torso. Thick muscles corded every centimeter of his body, reminding her of his sheer strength and size. Being so close to a man – even though he was unconscious – sent tremors of fear racing down her spine. Indeed, had he not been incapacitated, she would have been paralyzed at the very thought of being so near to him.
She brushed the forelock from his brow and murmured words of comfort – just like when her daughter had been deathly ill all those nights. “Shh. All shall soon be well. Just rest now.”
Her voice seemed to effectively cut through the hazy delusions. The words died on his tongue, and she felt the tension ease from his muscles. Exhaling a relieved breath, she placed a hand over the middle of his chest. Beneath her palm, his heartbeat gradually slowed, resuming a normal pace. She examined his slackened limbs and undulating torso. The greatcoat was drenched through with sweat. No wonder he was suffocating, fighting to break free of unseen barriers. He desperately needed to breathe.
With shaking hands, she slowly undid the row of golden clasps. Each snap sounded unnaturally loud within the silent din. Past memories surfaced and sliced through her consciousness with the force of a blade.
Ariah shoved the images away and focused on the task at hand. She peeled the material aside, exposing the soldier’s strong, nude chest. A fine sheen of sweat covered his skin. It glistened beneath the wavering light and shone like unshed tears. His chest was paler than the rest of him, though every bit as muscular and well formed. A thick mass of hair blanketed his skin, equipping him with a primitive quality and ruggedness. Healed knife and bullet wounds twisted his flesh, causing the hair to grow uneven in places. Ariah drank in the vision with an unblinking stare. She was fascinated. Fascinated and thoroughly intimidated by the man’s
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