He shouldered through the door to the small bedchamber at the back of the cottage. The air there was scarcely warmer, the hearth long cold, but it was a smaller space that would take less time to warm. He set her gently upon the bed and looked about for anything that might burn. There was an old table pushed against the wall, its legs wobbling with age. With one swiftmotion, he overturned it and began breaking it apart, the crash of splintering wood echoing through the room.
He piled the pieces in the hearth, struck flint to steel, and coaxed a flame into being. When the fire finally caught, it flared bright and hot, filling the narrow room with the first faint stirrings of warmth.
He turned back to her.
Her gown clung to her skin, heavy and sodden. He did not hesitate. There was no time. Using a knife that he kept tucked into his boot, he cut the laces for the sake of expedience, then stripped away the drenched layers. Working quickly, his fingers shook as he fought with the stubborn fastenings. Beneath the gown, her shift was equally wet, clinging to her chilled flesh.
He peeled the fabric away and wrapped her instead in the wool blanket he had dragged from the bed, carrying her closer to the fire. He rubbed her arms, her hands, her feet—anywhere he could reach—trying to drive the cold from her skin.
“Come back to me,” he urged softly. “You hear me, Eliza? You must come back.”
For a moment, there was nothing. Then, faintly, she stirred. Her lashes flickered, her lips parting to form broken words.
“The spell,” she murmured. “Grandmama… I never had it…”
Gabriel’s throat tightened. “Eliza, it’s me. You’re safe now.”
Her brow furrowed, her head moving weakly against his shoulder. “I killed him,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean to. But I did.”
He stilled. “Killed who?”
“The Reverend.” Her eyes opened then, glazed and unfocused, their color dulled by exhaustion. “He… he stopped breathing. I said the words… and he…”
Gabriel looked toward the doorway, where the faint glow from the other room cast long shadows across the floor. The Reverend lay just beyond, still as stone. He felt the chill of it then—the eerie quiet that filled the cottage, the sense that something terrible had indeed taken place.
But she was trembling in his arms, fragile and terrified, and he would not allow her to bear that fear alone.
“No,” he said firmly, drawing her closer. “No, my darling. You didn’t kill him. You couldn’t have. You were bound when I found you.”
She shook her head weakly. “I said the words…”
“Then he died of fright or folly,” Gabriel said, forcing steadiness into his voice. “The man was a zealot, not a god. His heart failed him, that’s all.”
He pressed his lips to her temple, his breath warm against her chilled skin. “You are not to think on it now. Do you understand me? He’s gone, and you’re alive. That is what matters.”
Her breathing hitched, a broken sob catching in her throat. He held her until it passed, until the trembling began to ease and color slowly returned to her cheeks.
Outside, the storm raged on, hammering at the walls, but within the small chamber the fire crackled louder, brighter, casting its golden light over them both.
Gabriel looked down at her face, pale but no longer deathly, her lips parted as she drew a steadier breath. Relief nearly undid him.
He brushed a damp lock of hair from her forehead and whispered, “You’re safe now, Eliza. I swear it.”
But even as he said it, his gaze lifted toward the darkened doorway beyond the hearth—toward the corpse that lay cooling on the floor.
Safe, yes. For the moment.
Yet the curse that had haunted them both was far from done.
Chapter
Twenty-Six
Blood once sundered may yet be bound,
If love and life in union found.
When son is born of both their line,
