Page 36 of The Taste of Light
Silence.
Anne turned the handle and peeked inside. "Cris?" she whispered.
No one answered. Shouldn't the brother be nursing the count? By the dim light, she could make out an enormous bed, a chaise, and a table.
"Pedro?"
When her sight adjusted to the shadows, Anne stepped over the threshold. A circular window covered most of the wall, and the hazy blue light pulled her closer to the bed. Pillows strewed over the floor, the scenery of a struggle. Moonlight caressed Pedro’s bare chest, and a loose trouser hung low on his hips. She shouldn't notice the taut skin stretching over the lean muscles of his torso, but she had nowhere else to look. The bandages tied around his midsection were clean. He wasn't bleeding. A good sign, right? Untied, his golden hair veiled his cheek and shoulder. What would it feel like to sift her fingers through the strands?
A tortured moan escaped his lips, and his face scrunched up as if in deep pain.
Hands trembling, she touched his forehead. His skin was cool. No fever, then. Thank God. "Are you in pain?"
He didn't respond but kept staring at her vacantly.
Anne searched the medical supplies over his tallboy and spooned laudanum into a porcelain cup. She brought the liquid to his mouth. "It will make the pain go away."
He sniffed the contents. Jerking his head, he knocked her hand away. "No more."
The cup fell from her grasp and shattered, staining the carpet. Gasping, she backed away. She shouldn't have disturbed him. His head thrashed, his torso jerking as if he fought invisible ropes. She couldn't leave him like this. He was wounded because of her.
"Please, be at ease. Shhh. Pedro, you'll open your wound."
He seemed beyond hearing. Anne's gaze darted to the exit, and she wrung her hands. What could she do to calm him? He needed a nurse, not her.
There, over his couch, lay a guitar. When Tony had trouble sleeping, music helped.
She kneeled by his bedside. After a deep breath, she sang a lyricmodinha.
“Rosas Flores, tão bonitas..."
His breathing less strained, he turned to his side, perhaps seeking the melody's source. Anne was admiring his voluminous eyelashes when his eyes opened—precious stones lit from within. Unable to hold his stare, she forgot the chorus, her voice fading into the waves rocking the hull.
"Don't stop," he whispered.
His eyes pleaded, and it tugged her heart. No one should go through pain alone. What comfort she had would be his. Sustaining his gaze, she weaved the song into soothing sounds, a mellow lullaby. The weight pressing against her chest lessened, and her loneliness receded, blinking far away like Oporto's lights.
Pedro's forehead smoothed. When his hand traveled closer to her, she interlaced her fingers with his. The night had a chill, but their shared touch was warm like milk before bed, wool mitts, and Pedro's smile. He sighed. Anne sighed too.
Touching him tasted like the sun filtering through her umbrella pine.
Chapter 17
Pedrofoughttheshadows,but they tied his arms and pressed against his torso with the weight of dead bodies. He thrashed against it, and his strength seeped away, his limbs powerless to fight its hold.
A voice. Music penetrated the darkness. A lifeline enveloped his hand. The tide receded. He inhaled neroli and rain and knew to open his eyes. Anne. So radiant even the night paled against her. She kneeled by his bedside, her face level with the mattress, her hand holding his.
The touch... the touch grounded him.
Her transparent eyes beckoned, pushing the haziness away. Her outline became clear, faintly illuminated by moonlight—an angel.
His head seemed full of tar, and somewhere it registered that he shouldn't allow anyone near him, not when drugs dulled his reflexes. This wasn't anyone. This was her. She had come for him of her own free will. Not because he paid. Not because he forced her. Not because she had hidden designs.
She sang, her voice the chiming of heaven, lifting and nurturing. Her eyes found him, and she gazed away, the song dying on her lips.
The tide threatened to pull him under again, and he took a ragged breath. "Don't stop."
Notes lilting and liquid, she sang until Pedro's vision cleared, until she dazzled the tide, until her voice faltered, until her chin rested on the bed, until her eyes became heavy-lidded, and her hand turned lax where it touched his.
