Sophie had offered to do some mending for the men, partly to keep her mind busy. Between the rhythm of the stitches and the melodies the men created, her mind was fairly occupied, until she heard a dull thump from upstairs followed by another, louder one. She looked around the room to gauge the others’ reactions, but they were all occupied with the music. She stood up, laid her work in her chair, and hurried out of the room and up the stairs, no longer caring how Bartel would react to her going to Gabe’s room. She hadn’t seen Gabe for more than an entire day and she couldn’t bear it any longer. Besides, she reasoned, he may need help.
Her heart was in her throat as she reached the top of the stairs. She stared at his door. Her hand shook as she reached out to knock.
The door opened just as her knuckles were about to touch the wood. Gabe stood there, his face troubled.
“Gabe. What are you doing up?” Her voice sounded breathless. She made an effort to calm her breathing. She couldn’t tell if the look on his face was anger … or hurt.
Chapter 18
Gabe stared down at Sophie, propping him self against the door frame. How good it was to see her face. He reached out and touched her arm. From the look in Sophie’s eyes, she was glad to see him too.
“Where have you been?” he asked softly. “Why did you stay away?” He tried not to let her hear the emotion in his voice.
“Bartel said you needed rest.”
“He’s worse than a prison guard.”
“Are you all right? Is your fever gone?” She stood on tiptoe and touched his forehead, bringing her face very close to his.
As her hand lingered on his forehead, their eyes met. He tried to read what was hidden there. Her hand was so cool and pleasant on his forehead.
“You still feel warm,” she whispered.
He leaned closer. Her deep blue eyes, which appeared almost black in the dark corridor, held a little bit of fear. Her thick eyelashes curled delicately against her skin. A strand of black hair had worked loose and lay against her cheek. He was tempted to brush it back just to see if her hair was as silky and her skin as soft as it looked now.
Hair and skin that only Valten should ever be allowed to touch.
He stifled a groan and clenched his jaw instead. Why do I have to have such a loud conscience, God? It was beyond frustrating. Sophie took a step back.
He pulled on her arm. “Come inside for a moment. Before Bartel comes back.” I only want to talk to her, God. Can’t I just talk to her? He effectually ignored his conscience’s answer.
She flinched and he let go, staring down at her arm. He had forgotten all about the long arrow wound. She followed him inside, and he shut the door behind them.
“I want to see how your arm is doing. Have you let Bartel look at it again?”
“My arm is well. You’re supposed to be resting.” She nodded toward the bed. “Bartel would not be happy if he knew you were out of bed, would he?”
“No, probably not.” Gabe knelt in front of the fireplace and stirred up the smoldering fire.
“You should let me do that.”
He added more wood. She pulled on his arm, trying to make him stand up. When he finished, he straightened, then stumbled and almost fell, propping himself against the wall. Sophie put her arm around him and helped him to the bed.
He hated letting her see him this way. He wanted to be strong, to take care of her as he had when they’d been running from the duchess’s guards. He wanted to find the man who might be stalking them, trying to hurt Sophie. And he wanted her to trust him.
If it wasn’t for this cursed fever …
She started to pull the blanket up to his chin, but he held out his hand to stop her. “I want to see your arm.”
“As you wish.”
“Will you light the candles?”
She lit the pillars on the table by the bed, and he was finally able to see her better. He noticed she was no longer wearing her old servant’s garb or the men’s clothes Dominyk had provided. Instead, she wore a beautiful red dress.
“Sophie,” he breathed, looking her up and down. He pulled himself into a sitting position. “You’re beautiful.” He had never seen her wearing anything so exquisite. Her clothes hadn’t detracted from her natural beauty, but he’d always had to imagine what she’d look like in the clothes of the nobility. Now, in the elegant gown that, with its perfect shade of red that accentuated her flawless skin and ebony hair … she took his breath away. Before him stood a woman who could grace any dance floor in the Holy Roman Empire and make all the other women look plain.
She blushed as she glanced down at her dress. “The men gave me the fabric.”
“So that’s why you didn’t come to see me. You were busy.”
“Gabe, I —” She hesitated, using her finger to smear a dribble of hot wax on the side of a candle.
He held his breath, waiting for what she would say, wondering why she was so hesitant.
“I wasn’t that busy,” she said, still picking at the candle. “I was afraid to disturb you and afraid of …” She bit her lip, her brows drawing together.
“Afraid of what?”
She pulled her hand away from the candle and started rubbing her finger, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, and refusing to look him in the eye. “I don’t know. It doesn’t matter.”