Page 19

By the time Rollant reached the charity hospital in Le Marais, three hours had passed—a trip that should have taken an hour at most. Every step sent fire through his shaking calves, and his fingers were numb with pain.

The sun was hot overhead, and the burning bite of fatigue coursed down his trembling arms. Though élise was light, her weight became almost more than he could bear.

But he willed his body steady for just a little longer.

“Help!” he called through gritted teeth, and two nuns came from the tent. Their long ankle-length habits bustled around their hurried legs.

“Oh, my little girl,” one said, and the other sighed, “Oh, poor dear.”

They gestured Rollant into the tent. The strain in his neck was visible, and his vein throbbed from the walk. Light-headed, he swayed in his gait. He could only imagine how Gabin would have taken her—pulled her down the street and might have left her for dead.

“Put her down,” a nun said and gestured to the only remaining empty cot, which sat low to the ground.

He fell into the thin cushion, his elbows beneath élise.

His head hit her bosom. His chest heaved.

He’d made it. He groaned at the stabbing pain in his extremities. His arms were stuck, unable to move.

A warm hand came to his brow. “You are exhausted,” a nun said. “Here, lay back, rest until you recover. We will take care of her.”

They helped him untangle his arms before he collapsed on the floor, gasping for breath, unable to move. Another nun came with a small cushion and placed it under his head.

“The street is uncomfortable, but we don’t have any more cots.”

He shook his head with heaving breaths. “I’ll manage,” he finally spurted on his exhale.

“Bless you, my boy,” the nun whispered, dabbing his brow. She tilted his head to give him a sip of water before easing his sweaty head on the cushion. Then she turned her attention to assist the other two nuns, helping élise. They wrung rags and dabbed her body.

“Grab the mint and the teas. We need to cool the fever,” the nun’s soft voice intermingled with the other voices from beneath the tent. Children’s whimpers and women’s wails pierced the air.

So much suffering. élise was just one small part of it.

He was immortal but unable to do anything about it.

The suffering had long been something he ignored, a quiet decision to lock himself away, severed from humanity.

But now, as he lay on the cool stone street, the cries around him pricked his heart, a sensation he’d forgotten.

It was easier to let others suffer without hearing it.

Everyone died except for him. He had not let himself feel for a long time, but élise had cracked the wall he’d put up, and their wails flooded his soul.

Maybe he could not help everyone, but he could help her.

élise’s hand dangled off the side of the cot. Rollant reached for it to ensure she was not dead. He heard her labored breaths as he squeezed her fingers with his thumb and forefinger before his hand fell to the earth once again, spent.

One nun began to pray, “Dear Holy Lord, Father of all mercy, hear our humble pleas. Take this child, this dear soul, in your arms. Like so many, she carries the heavy burdens of life and is bound by trials that test the spirit and, now, the body. In your shining glory, comfort her in this hour, heal her, and give her peace. If this child walks in shadows far from your light, remind her you have not forsaken even the least among us. If she has gone astray, fold her back within your glory. If she has no shelter in this life, may she find it within your mercy. Ease her pain and give her hope, Blessed One. We are certain you see and love all your creations, though they feel unworthy. Amen.”

The words of the prayer were not lost on Rollant. God loved him in his self-imposed severance. He doubted the sentiment, but the prayer soothed his soul, if not for élise’s sake, for his own.

After a while, stiffness replaced the fatigue in his muscles. His breathing had calmed, and knowing élise would be cared for by these gracious nuns sent a wave of peace through his body. And at that moment, he dared to imagine a life free from suffering, even as his curse forbade it.

He regained his strength and sat up to look at élise on the cot.

Her dress had been pulled down, and the nuns rubbed an ointment into her chest. He noted the bruises on her skin, but realizing the intimacy of the care being given, he turned his gaze aside to preserve her dignity.

He stood despite the ache and stepped away to grant her privacy.

A nun, recognizing his presence, gasped and spread her arms wide to cover élise before escorting him from the tent.

“You are good to bring her. We will take it from here. Come back at sundown, and we will give you a report.”

He looked over his shoulder before addressing the nun. “If a man from Faubourg Saint-Antoine arrives for her, tell him whatever you need to make him leave. He’s done this to her,” he gestured inside. “Make him leave.”

Her brow furrowed. “Isn’t she your wife?”

He shook his head. “No, she remains unmarried, but don’t let a man named Gabin take her. She is sick, and she needs rest from him.” He doubted Gabin would make the nearly hour walk, but in case he did, he wanted the nuns to protect élise if he could not.

The nun touched his cheek. “You are a good soul,” she whispered with an understanding nod.

Her words were simple and genuine and left him feeling strangely forgiven.

“I see you care for her.” Her hand retreated beneath her gray habit robes. “We shall not lie, but we will do our best to divert this man’s attention should he come. She is in God’s hands.”

Rollant urged. They had the see the severity. “She will not survive if he takes her back too soon. Please, do what you can.”

“I will make the others aware, although we all saw her bruises.” Her gaze averted, and Rollant grew sick to his stomach.

The nun sighed. “Now, young man, get something to eat and drink if you can find it, and rest your weary legs. I’m not sure how you carried her from Faubourg Saint-Antoine.“

Fine lines creased at the corners of her eyes beneath her starched white bandeau. “To be young again,” she whispered. “Rest now, my son.”

She slipped inside behind the tent flap.

Rollant turned with an unexpected wetness on his cheeks. He wiped the escaped tears away quickly before anyone noticed.

Only one other woman had moved him to tears before—Amée.

With a slight limp, he made his way to a nearby cafe and inn, choosing a seat near the window where he could still watch the tent hospital.

He ordered water, wine, and stew and stretched his aching leg as he listened to the hum of voices around him.

At the next table, a group murmured about the recent promise of an Estates-General.

His muscles slowly relaxed, and he lowered his head and stretched his neck to relieve the tension.

Glancing back at the hospital tent, he clasped his hands over his mouth, gathering his thoughts.

Whatever came next, he vowed he would not abandon élise to this fate. Perhaps it would be the closest to redemption he could ever hope to find.