To Vanquish Darkness (Le Sombre #1)

Chapter 5

5

1824 BLOIS, FRANCE

R achel pressed herself against the garden wall, the stone still warm from the afternoon sun. A sliver of light glowed above the horizon, shimmering like a strand of gold through the gaps in the trees.

The light was not playing tricks on her. Not this time. She'd seen the figure of a man move in the shadows between her and the path back to the chateau. She glanced down at her hands clasping the basket of rhubarb stalks. The cut on her finger stung, and there were fresh droplets of blood forming now that she clenched. Why had she been so careless with the knife? Why hadn't she stayed inside the house and let the kitchen staff take care of it?

Because the greenery of the gardens had called to her after staring at stone walls all afternoon. Because this was the countryside. They were supposed to be safe here.

Rachel forced herself to breathe. The girls were inside. They were safe. Oren and Maurielle knew where she was, and if she didn't return soon, they'd come looking for her. Plus, she wasn't the only one in the gardens this time of night. There were men taking care of the animals—the shadow she'd seen had probably been one of the help.

Even as she thought it, she knew it wasn't true. There was something off about the way the man moved and the way her body had reacted to the brief flash of his fair skin.

She should run. Leave the basket and dart for the stables in the opposite direction of the house. Then she wouldn't have to walk back to the front door alone.

Rachel loosened her grip on the basket and was about to set it on the grass and bolt when the brush of boots on grass sounded next to her. She froze as blood rushed to her middle, making her woozy.

"Excuse me, I wondered if you could?—"

Rachel's body suddenly remembered how to move. She jumped back, her heart in her throat, brandishing the paring knife and basket of green leaves and raspberry-colored stalks like she knew how to use them. "Don't come any closer."

The man held up his hands and stepped back. "I didn't mean to frighten you."

"Whether you meant to or not, you shouldn't be here."

His mouth quirked. "You're so certain?"

Rachel took a good look at him then, searching for anything out of the ordinary. He was of average height. Strong build. Like he worked with his hands. He wore plain trousers and a linen tunic with sleeves rolled up his forearms. She might've believed he was one of the farm hands, but his skin was too fair. His fingernails too clean. Plus, he wore his chestnut hair loose and long over his shoulders. All the men here had theirs tied back during the workday.

It was different but not strange enough to attract notice. Laborers from different regions were flooding the town, and it was difficult to keep track of who belonged and who didn’t.

She didn’t feel anything . . . odd. No strange scents either. Her shoulders relaxed a fraction.

"I'm certain." Rachel set her jaw and only then realized she'd dropped her hands. She lifted the knife again, pointing it at his chest, but her heart was no longer in it. He could still be dangerous, but he wasn’t one of them .

The man took another step back, and that's when she noticed it. The blood on his shirt. “You’re hurt.”

He glanced down. “Oh. It’s not a deep cut, I?—”

“Come to the house. I can have one of the servants patch you right up.” She took a step toward the break in the wall, but the man didn’t budge. His brow furrowed as his eyes lowered to his boots. “What is it?”

“I can’t go to the house.”

His hands stayed at his side, his posture aloof. He didn’t seem threatening in the least, but she shouldn’t be with him alone after dark. She should get back to the kitchen, yet something tugged at her. A sense of worry. Pity? Compassion for this man she knew nothing about.

Rachel nodded toward the garden shed on the other side of the pond. “I could do it. If you follow me there.”

His eyes lifted, his face full of innocence and surprise. “A kind offer. One I surely don’t deserve.”

Tending to his wounds seemed like the most important thing in the world. There was something she was supposed to be doing. Something she needed to get back for, but she couldn’t remember what it was.

Rachel walked in the opposite direction of the house, her blood humming at the soft pad of his boots on the path behind her. They entered the shed, and Rachel set down the knife and her bowl of rhubarb then lit a candle. She rummaged through dusty shelves, her hands trembling.

“I don’t think I asked for your name.” The man stood just inside the door, angling himself toward her.

“Rachel.” She found an old but clean rag and brushed past him to dampen it with water from the rain barrel outside. When she returned, she found him standing with his shirt pulled up, exposing his left side.

“Florent.” He lifted his hand and the paring knife shifted on the wooden shelf.

Rachel swallowed hard. She hadn’t been this close to a man alone who wasn’t her brother, clothed or unclothed, since Romane’s death. It sent a tingle down her spine.

“My name. It’s Florent.”

Rachel nodded. “I understood.” She cleared her throat and stepped closer, focusing hard on the scrape along his shoulder. “How did this happen?” The wound wasn’t deep, but the skin was cut, not torn like it would be from a run-in with a natural element. Rachel frowned.

“I’m a carpenter.”

Rachel pressed the cloth to the cut, and Florent sucked in a breath. “Are you working on the abby?” Workers had been coming and going for weeks now that the foundation was finished. She’d taken Amalie and Bethany by the construction every afternoon for the past week.

“Yes.”

“And you found yourself here? Across the river?”

Florent met her eyes as she reached for a clay pot, retrieving a handful of dried comfrey and yarrow, crushing them into a makeshift poultice and applying it to the wound.

He winced. “I was exploring.”

Rachel’s fingers hesitated on his skin before she pulled away and tore a strip from a burlap sack then wrapped it around his arm to secure the poultice in place. With a final knot, she stepped back, forcing her eyes from his wholly-masculine form. His chest swelled as he drew breath, and she folded her arms over her chest, turning her head as he tucked in his tunic.

“Thank you, Rachel. For your kindness.” Florent straightened and took a step toward the door.

She nodded once and pressed up against the wooden countertop behind her, giving him a wide berth. “Better luck tomorrow.”

Florent raised a brow. “With what?”

Rachel’s mouth went dry. “Avoiding injury. Finding interesting places to explore.”

His expression softened, and Rachel’s insides twisted. Florent made her uncomfortable in a strange, exciting way. She wanted him to leave and, in the same instance, wondered what it would feel like to follow him wherever he was heading.

“I think this has been quite interesting. Don’t you?”