Unaware of my inner turmoil, the captain gestures inside. “We retrieved your possessions from your horse, who is being housed in our stables. You don’t have your weapons, for obvious reasons, but we’ve returned everything else.”
“Are we prisoners?” Gabriel asks.
That’s the question of the hour, isn’t it?
There’s a heavy pause as the captain glances at the other guards. “You may consider yourselves... guests,” he says evasively.
Guests who require an eight-guard escort? No. But at least this room is better than a cell.
I glance at Gabriel, my gut writhing. He’s paler than before, clutching his injured arm to his chest. His breaths are shallow, and he needs my help. There’s no time to worry about our sleeping arrangements.
“Fine. We’ll take it,” I say. As if we have a choice.
Besides, this can’t be as bad as our stay at The Ivory Spoon. Maybe there’s more to the space that we can’t see from the hallway.
I suppose we’ll find out soon enough.
This room situation is bad. Worse, honestly, than our sleeping arrangements at the inn, because I don’t think we will be moved tomorrow.
The only positive about these quarters is the attached bathing chamber, which I’m delighted to discover has a small sink equipped with warm running water. I take care of my personal needs quickly, washing and drying my hands on a small towel before filling a wooden basin with water. Picking up a bar of soap and a washcloth, I hurry back into the bedchamber.
“Sit down, Gabe.” I direct him to a rickety stool that looks like it’s one wrong move away from collapsing. Seating options are limited, though, so it’s better than nothing.
He obeys, his eyes tracking me as I deposit my items beside him before finding the jar of blessed salve from our things and returning to his side. I chew on my lip, eyeing him carefully. He’s covered in so many injuries, I hardly know where to start.
“They really did a number on you, didn’t they?”
He nods, grimacing.
“Because they thought we were spies?” I heard two of the guards whispering about it on our walk here.
There’s a long pause, and then he dips his head. There’s something about the action—equally tired and resigned, that has my mind whirling. It’s almost as if...
A sickening feeling swirls in my stomach, dread and confusion intermingling.
“Gabriel.” I crouch in front of him, my brows furrowing. “Did you know they would treat you like this?”
There’s a beat of silence, and then he says, “I knew it was a possibility.”
This man. I catalog his many injuries and try to sort through all this in my mind.
“But you still brought me here.”
His eyes meet mine, and my breath catches in my throat. The way he’s looking at me, with tenderness and care, has my stomach flipping.
“Yes. And I would do it again.”
That’s . . .
A lot.
Too much to parse through right now. This train of thought is overwhelming, and it’s making me feel things that I’m not sure what to do with. But healing is something I can do, something I’m skilled at.
I wet my cloth, focusing on keeping my breath steady. Being in such close proximity to him has my pulse rushing, and I gently wipe at the grime on his face. He winces when I dab at a cut on his cheek but doesn’t pull away.
I move methodically across his face, neck, and hands. I’m incredibly aware of the shallowness of his breaths, the warmth emanating off him, and the emerald eyes tracking my every movement. The weight of his stare is heavy, but oddly, I don’t mind. I feel like I could live beneath it forever.
Once the dirt is gone, I open the jar of blessed salve.
