Atonement

Chapter 9

A ripple shuddered through Fabien at her words, their gentle whisper piercing a tiny hole through the hardened shell surrounding the place he'd once known his heart to be. Who was this woman, this intriguing, maddening creature who kept turning everything he thought he knew about her onto its head - and in the process burrowing deeper into the recesses of his mind, making him doubt his own convictions?

Sophie had saved his life, at great risk to her own. But what he could not fathom was why. Why she'd attempt such idiocy - to gamble her own future away on behalf of a man who was not worth saving. His demise would have ensured her freedom, an opportunity to forge a life free of his influence, free of the shackles of Versailles. And yet despite that monumental reward, she'd returned.

Unable to resist, his fingers gently brushed across the creamy expanse of her cheek, compelled by some unknown force to discover for himself whether her skin was indeed as silky smooth as it appeared. It was.

"Do you imagine that saying it enough times will alter my position?" he uttered, knowing he should let her go, but his hands unwilling to comply.

"Perhaps," she smiled tentatively, then frowned. "Although you seem determined to believe otherwise."

"I trust only my instincts," he said, tilting her head back slightly, fascinated by the graceful arch of her neck. He noted the rapid beat of her pulse at the base of her throat and felt an irresistible urge to place his lips there, to sweep his tongue across the erratic fluttering of her heartbeat.

"What do your instincts tell you about me? That I am your enemy?" she whispered.

They were both still as they gazed at one another, locked together in a breathless moment. Sophie's eyes, so dark he could drown in their depths, searched his, prompting him to murmur, "They scarcely know what to make of you."

His honest admission startled them both. Fabien knew better than to convey any weakness, and yet Sophie seemed to draw his thoughts forth, unfiltered. His brows furrowing, he withdrew his hand and averted his gaze, relieved when she said nothing more. Instead, with what appeared to be an unsteady hand, she resumed her earlier task of cleaning his wound. It was no longer bleeding but she nonetheless wrapped a strip of clean linen around his arm before tying it snugly. When she finally let go of his arm and turned away to face the stream, her physical touch was gone, but the memory of it somehow lingered. Righting his clothing they sat in silence while his eyes, sharp as daggers, scanned the surrounding woodlands, though he felt no imminent threat. Their pursuer would certainly follow, but between overcoming the colossal ache to his head and the injury to his leg, they would not see him too soon.

The rushing water intermingled with the ubiquitous sounds of the forest appeared to have a soothing, hypnotic effect on both of them and Fabien soon felt his shoulders relax. Sophie brought her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, lost to her own thoughts. When he eventually cast an eye in her direction, he noted that the hood of her cloak had slipped off her head and hung down her back. Her dark hair was twisted up and secured behind her head in a simple knot. Her face was resting atop her updrawn knees and rotated slightly towards him. Her eyes had drifted closed and it was not long before he could tell by the steady rise and fall of her chest, that she'd fallen asleep.

His gut twisted at the sight of her. At rest she looked young and innocent and uncorrupted - everything she claimed to be and everything her involvement with him would certainly erode over time. Guilt gnawed at him, stabbing at his conscience and harder to ignore in light of her recent deeds.

Hating the way she affected him and yet unable to escape its cloying hold, he jumped to his feet and went to check on the horses. Stuck in the side of his saddle bag he saw the hilt of the dagger she'd plunged into his attacker. He removed it, the bloodstained blade another reminder of Sophie's sacrifice. After rinsing the blade in the cool water of the stream, Fabien glanced up at the angle of the sun; it was time to press on. Reluctant to disturb Sophie, but having little choice, he rose to rouse her.