Page 8 of To Vanquish Darkness

He glanced down. “Oh. It’s not a deep cut, I?—”

“Come to the house. I can have one of the servants patch you right up.” She took a step toward the break in the wall, but the man didn’t budge. His brow furrowed as his eyes lowered to his boots. “What is it?”

“I can’t go to the house.”

His hands stayed at his side, his posture aloof. He didn’t seem threatening in the least, but she shouldn’t be with him alone after dark. She should get back to the kitchen, yet something tugged at her. A sense of worry. Pity? Compassion for this man she knew nothing about.

Rachel nodded toward the garden shed on the other side of the pond. “I could do it. If you follow me there.”

His eyes lifted, his face full of innocence and surprise. “A kind offer. One I surely don’t deserve.”

Tending to his wounds seemed like the most important thing in the world. There was something she was supposed to be doing. Something she needed to get back for, but she couldn’t remember what it was.

Rachel walked in the opposite direction of the house, her blood humming at the soft pad of his boots on the path behind her. They entered the shed, and Rachel set down the knife and her bowl of rhubarb then lit a candle. She rummaged through dusty shelves, her hands trembling.

“I don’t think I asked for your name.” The man stood just inside the door, angling himself toward her.

“Rachel.” She found an old but clean rag and brushed past him to dampen it with water from the rain barrel outside. When she returned, she found him standing with his shirt pulled up, exposing his left side.

“Florent.” He lifted his hand and the paring knife shifted on the wooden shelf.

Rachel swallowed hard. She hadn’t been this close to a man alone who wasn’t her brother, clothed or unclothed, since Romane’s death. It sent a tingle down her spine.

“My name. It’s Florent.”

Rachel nodded. “I understood.” She cleared her throat and stepped closer, focusing hard on the scrape along his shoulder. “How did this happen?” The wound wasn’t deep, but the skin was cut, not torn like it would be from a run-in with a natural element. Rachel frowned.

“I’m a carpenter.”

Rachel pressed the cloth to the cut, and Florent sucked in a breath. “Are you working on the abby?” Workers had been coming and going for weeks now that the foundation was finished. She’d taken Amalie and Bethany by the construction every afternoon for the past week.

“Yes.”

“And you found yourself here? Across the river?”

Florent met her eyes as she reached for a clay pot, retrieving a handful of dried comfrey and yarrow, crushing them into a makeshift poultice and applying it to the wound.

He winced. “I was exploring.”

Rachel’s fingers hesitated on his skin before she pulled away and tore a strip from a burlap sack then wrapped it around his arm to secure the poultice in place. With a final knot, she stepped back, forcing her eyes from his wholly-masculine form. His chest swelled as he drew breath, and she folded her arms over her chest, turning her head as he tucked in his tunic.

“Thank you, Rachel. For your kindness.” Florent straightened and took a step toward the door.

She nodded once and pressed up against the wooden countertop behind her, giving him a wide berth. “Better luck tomorrow.”

Florent raised a brow. “With what?”

Rachel’s mouth went dry. “Avoiding injury. Finding interesting places to explore.”

His expression softened, and Rachel’s insides twisted. Florent made her uncomfortable in a strange, exciting way. She wanted him to leave and, in the same instance, wondered what it would feel like to follow him wherever he was heading.

“I think this has been quite interesting. Don’t you?”

6

1836 COUNTRYSIDE BEYOND MORDELLES, FRANCE

Amalie's eyes rolled back in her head as the sharp sting against her neck stole her breath.How was she not writhing in pain?Her thoughts scattered. Perhaps there was venom vampires injected that ended life swiftly and prevented suffering. Though the legends she read as a child did not leave much room for compassion.

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