gentleness he found within himself came as a surprise. She
was sick and lost—and he could understand being lost
"Inglesa. Inglesa, settle
yourself."
She fought him, albeit with less
strength. "You'll let him cut me. Don't! I haven't done anything
wrong!"
"Ada," he said, her name
feeling heavy and unfamiliar on his tongue. "Calm yourself. I'm here to
offer aid."
Her struggles eased, those blue eyes
still wide and shimmering with tears. "You won't let him?"
"Let him what? Who? Who cut
you?" He glanced around the room. "See, no one else is here. Do you
remember who I am?"
She sank into the pallet, overcome by
ceaseless tremors, but she studied his face with something akin to her
previous, sharp-minded thinking. She was in there, whoever she was. And she was
suffering.
"You are Gavriel."
The words rattled past her chattering
teeth, a surprise. But more surprising was his reaction to hearing his name
from the disturbed woman. A warmth like anticipation spread across his chest.
Whether he awaited danger or pleasure he could not know.
"Yes," he said.
"Gavriel, my captor." Her
unfocused eyes veered to the ceiling. "My feet ache. Will you remove my
boots?"
He rubbed his eyes, clinging to his
dwindling patience.
"Need a moment to pray?" She
stretched on the pallet, arms above her head. "Although I can't imagine
why you might ask for divine intervention. They're only boots. And you're only
offering aid."
"You enjoy baiting me. Why?"
"A man who sets himself apart as
purer than anyone else is asking to be brought low."
He stood, jaw aching. "You intend
to bring me low?"
"If I must. All I want is to be
free of here and to make my own choices."
"So you can choose more opium?
That's not freedom."
"You righteous—"
"Stop." He stalked to the end
of the pallet and began to unlace her boots. "I'll feel more inclined to
help if you cease the name-calling."
"I've said I don't want your
help."
He opened his hands. Her foot dropped
to the bed. "Then take off your own boots."
Ada raised her upper lip in a snarl and
threw back the mantle. She swung her feet to the floor, hiked her skirts to the
knee, and knelt over the complicated leather laces. Her fingers grasped and
fumbled, too impaired to unravel the mystery of those knots. She yanked hard,
whimpering. The shaking increased until she could hardly stay seated on the
edge of the pallet Her foul cry split the air.
Gavriel knelt and caught her shoulders,
steadying her. He said nothing, only met her eyes and slowly shook his head.
She looked away, a silent acquiescence. He lifted her foot to rest on his
thighs, making short work of the puzzle that had thwarted her so completely. He
urged her to lie back, her feet bare. Only when he went to replace the sheepskin
mantle over her lower body did he notice the long, matching scars on her soles.
A vice pinched his chest. She flinched
when he traced one silvery scar, heel to toe. He needed to swallow twice before
finding his voice, an unsteady one at that. "Inglesa, what happened
to your feet?"
"He cut me," she said, her
voice faraway.
"The man who held you
captive?"
She sighed. "Yes. And now he's
dead."
"Who was he?"
The door to her room clanked opened to
reveal a slim man and a stout, whey-faced nun. The man held more in common with
a bird than a person, all sharp angles and quick movements. A hummingbird,
perhaps. Agitated. And all without an introduction.
"What seems to be the concern, senorita?" he asked.
Ada burrowed deeper within the shelter
of the sheepskin. "What do they want?"
Gavriel glared when the man pushed him
aside, the nun bumping into place beside him. "This is the physician, I
assume. Here to help."
Apparently.
Ada would not look at the newcomers.
She worried her chapped lower Up and pinned Gavriel with a look of wild fear.
"I hardly want you here, let alone strangers."
The bird puffed up the feathers of his
dark robes. "I'm no stranger," he said. "I'm a physician, a
servant of God sent to tend your
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