Finding Gabriel Read Online Free Page B

position. His head rolled onto its side, aligning the left half of his face with the floorboards. Blood pooled underneath his torn features, where it expanded into an unholy red sea.
    Ariah hustled to the hearth, removed the satchel from her shoulder, and placed it beside the flames. Then she grabbed a spare linen from the table and wrapped it around the man’s gushing wound. After the bleeding was more or less pressurized, Ariah paced over to Oliver and ushered him into Emmaline’s bedchamber. She breathed a sigh of relief as she eyed her daughter’s sleeping form. Shutting the door behind her, she quickly returned to the drawing room and crouched beside the soldier.
    Remnants of firelight brightened the uniform’s dark hue and illuminated the numerous medals. They rattled, clinking in time with each shift of his mighty form. Indeed, his muscular body was a flesh-and-blood testament to his years on the battlefield.
    “Would you mind keeping an eye on Emmaline? I’m afraid Oliver might rouse her,” Ariah whispered to her sister, knowing well Miriam would appreciate a moment to gather her nerves.
    “Of c-course,” Miriam said, rising to her feet. “I’ll fetch a basin, alcohol, some linens, and the like w-w-while I’m at it.” Her stutter had grown so severe, the words were barely coherent. With a swish of her skirts, she vanished into Emmaline’s bedchamber.
    Ariah sighed, leaned forward, and untied the man’s shoelaces. She slid each boot and sock from his feet and set them with his satchel beside the fire. Clutching her body, she returned to his side and lowered onto her knees. In spite of the blazing hearth, a profound shudder raked through her limbs.
    In Miriam’s absence the walls shrank indefinitely. A cloud formed within the pit of Ariah’s chest and eclipsed her heart. She unwrapped the shawl from her shoulders, rolled it into a makeshift pillow, and arranged the material beneath the man’s wrecked features. Streaks of crimson leaked through the linen; they stained both her shawl and palms, painting them an unforgiving red.
    The right side of his face was valiant and rugged, softened only by dark, sweeping lashes. How very beautiful he’d once been.
    A thousand questions crossed her mind. Did he have someone to love? Was a wife patiently awaiting his return? Did he have children who’d grieve at the loss of a father?
    In a delicate motion, she swept her fingers across his brow and pushed away the damp forelock. Firelight danced across the multitude of thick waves. Streaks of ice shone within the black, igniting his hair with enchanting highlights. The frost stubbornly clung to the strands and fought to brave out the nearby hearth. How wondrously peaceful he looked in his sedated state. Almost childlike. His face appeared astonishingly innocent, whatever horrors he’d endured hidden behind a mask of sleep.
    Ariah narrowed her gaze upon the dangling Légion d’Honneur badge. The medal brilliantly shined and glittered. Contrasting against the dark uniform, Ariah thought it resembled a star in an eternal night sky. Strangely transfixed, she reached forward and caressed the insignia with her fingertip. A film of grime and dirt obscured the emblem, tarnishing its sovereign beauty. With an aching heart, she traced all five points of the white enameled croix … the faded silk ribbon … the golden insignia with Marianne’s stern, engraved profile – the trusted face of liberty and reason …
    Suddenly it was very important this stranger survived the night. Ariah Larochelle would not let him die. Not with his blood on her hands. Not as he lay within reach, sprawled across her drawing room’s floorboards. For better or for worse, their fates were united.
    And in the back of her mind, she heard that terrible, guttural sound once more: the whisper of a dying man’s breath. Indeed, she’d already turned her cheek years ago. This time, things would be different.
    This man would live.
    “She’s still