A Very Rude Deer - Chapter 43

Élisabeth could not have said how long they stayed there. The world had narrowed to the woman clinging to her, to damp hair beneath her fingers, and to the rise and fall of Rafaela’s breathing.

Her hand kept moving over Rafaela’s back. The garden was dark around them, the siren long silent. The cold was forgotten. She had stopped thinking about anything except the solid warmth of Rafaela in her arms.

Élisabeth felt the last of the shudders leaving Rafaela's body like water running out of a tide. Her breathing was still uneven against Élisabeth’s waist, but the desperate grip of her fingers had loosened. Rafaela stirred. She lifted her head but would not look at her. Her gaze remained fixed on the blanket between them.

"Sorry."

The word came out hoarse, barely more than a rasp. Rafaela pulled back, her hands leaving Élisabeth's waist, her face turning away. "I’m sorry. Did I hurt you? Your leg. I should have been more careful."

She reached for the edge of the blanket, her scraped palm catching the faint light from the manor windows, and Élisabeth caught her wrist before she could lift it.

"Rafaela."

"I just need to check. If I hurt you, I need to—"

"You didn't hurt me."

Rafaela's hands were still in hers, cold and trembling. It struck Élisabeth that she had never known Rafaela to avoid anyone’s eyes before.

"Rafaela." Her fingers found the line of Rafaela's jaw, and she turned her face gently toward her. "Please. Look at me."

Rafaela's fingers gathered the blanket into a fist.

"Please."

The single word hung between them in the dark. The only sound was the distant rustle of the trees. Élisabeth watched the tension in Rafaela's shoulders. She was beginning to think she had asked too much.

Then Rafaela drew a slow, shuddering breath and finally lifted her eyes. Élisabeth almost wished she had not asked.

She had expected anger, or fear, or at least the familiar hard look Rafaela wore when she had already decided what to do next. Instead, Rafaela looked undone. Her eyes were red-rimmed, their dark depths brighter than Élisabeth had ever seen them, her lashes clumped together from tears. Damp strands of hair clung to her forehead, and there were streaks of dirt across one cheek where she'd wiped at her face with the back of her hand.

It startled her more than she wanted to admit. Rafaela looked exposed in a way Élisabeth had never witnessed before, as if every wall she kept between herself and everyone else had been pulled down in one hard breath.

Rafaela swallowed, and Élisabeth found herself searching those dark eyes for the woman she'd known these past months: the composed bodyguard who always seemed to know exactly what came next. She couldn't find her.

A knot in Élisabeth's chest finally gave way.

"You weren't in your room." Rafaela's voice cracked on the last word.

"I know."

"I thought—" She swallowed. "Why weren't you in your room?"

Élisabeth opened her mouth to explain. Julien. The fresh air she'd finally agreed to after days of refusing it. It was such a small, ordinary thing to have to account for, but watching Rafaela's face, she knew that ordinary wasn't going to be enough.

"I'm sorry," she said instead and meant it. Not for leaving the room, not for being outside when the alarm sounded, but for the terror. For what Rafaela must have imagined. For every second between finding her bedroom empty and finding her here. "I'm so sorry."

She had closed the door on Rafaela a dozen different ways over the past week. It hadn't occurred to her, until now, what that might have looked like from the other side of the door.

Rafaela stared at her. Her lips parted, as if she wanted to say something, but no sound came out.

The sharp rattle of wire shattered the quiet. Rafaela turned so quickly Élisabeth’s hand slipped from her chin.

Rafaela stared toward the fence.

"What is that?"

"A stag." Something in Élisabeth wanted to laugh despite everything.

Rafaela looked from the deer to Élisabeth and back again. Her brow furrowed. "A what?"

"The four-legged one." Julien's voice carried from the fence, breathless. "Big antlers. Currently winning."

Rafaela closed her eyes and let out a slow breath.

"Jesus Christ."

"Quite possibly," Julien agreed. "He’s been fighting the wire and about as cooperative as you’d expect."

She planted a hand on her knee and made to push herself up but faltered with a wince.

"You're hurt." Élisabeth's hand shot out and caught her arm.

Rafaela didn't answer. She looked down at her own hand as if it belonged to someone else, turning it over once before she seemed to remember why she was looking at it at all.

"Your gun," Élisabeth said. "It's in the grass."

Rafaela looked down. The Sig lay a few feet from the wheelchair, its barrel dark with moisture. She picked it up without a word.

Élisabeth watched her fingers close around the grip. She watched the tremor in Rafaela's fingers as she smoothed her shirt, a gesture that was probably meant to look composed.

Rafaela started toward the fence. Élisabeth followed as far as the ridged earth of the flowerbeds would let her chair go, the wheels catching on the ground.

Julien had both hands on the wire, holding it away from where the antler had twisted deepest into the mesh. "Any day now," he said, to the deer.

Rafaela crouched at a distance the stag could still see her from. When she spoke to it, her voice dropped low, and the animal's ears turned toward the sound even as its legs kept working against the ground.

Élisabeth watched her move, one careful step at a time, and felt something settle in her chest that had nothing to do with the deer. This was the Rafaela she knew. Steady hands. A voice that made you believe things would be fine before there was any proof of it.

The deer lunged. Rafaela shifted, circling wide, her hands raised. "I know. I know. Just stop fighting for a minute and let us help."

Julien moved to the far side of the fence and took hold of the wire with both hands. “What’s the plan?”

“You lift. I’ll work the antler free.”

"Lift. Right." He adjusted his grip. "I should warn you, upper body strength is not my primary asset."

"Neither is modesty, apparently."

Julien made a noncommittal humph. "Love that for me."

The deer threw its head, and the wire jerked in Julien's grip, and he muttered something in French that Élisabeth pretended not to hear. Rafaela stepped closer, her hands moving toward the tangle of antler and wire with deliberate patience. Her fingers found the point where the antler had wedged between two strands, and she worked it gently.

"It needs to come left," Élisabeth said.

Rafaela glanced back at her. "Left?"

"If you push the antler left and Julien lifts, it should slip through."

A brief nod. Then Rafaela's hands were moving again, and Julien's shoulders were braced against the wire, and Élisabeth found herself calling adjustments from the path, her voice steadier than she expected. "A little higher. Not that high. There. Right there."

It took another full minute. The antler came free, the stag stumbling back so hard it nearly went down before it found its legs and ran for the trees at a speed that made its earlier thrashing look almost calm.

Julien let go of the wire and shook out his hands. "Next time," he said, "we’re calling someone."

"Who?" Élisabeth asked. "The deer police?"

"The deer police would be excellent. I'll look into it." He was looking at Rafaela, Élisabeth noticed. Taking in her soaked socks and wild hair. He just said, "We should get back."

They crossed the lawn toward the house, its windows lit gold ahead of them. Rafaela fell into step beside Élisabeth, and when her hand finally found the handles, she stopped there and waited.

It took Élisabeth a moment to understand what she was waiting for.

She lifted her hand off the wheel and let it settle back into her lap.

Neither of them said anything about it.

The chair moved differently under Rafaela's hands than it did under Beatrice's, or her own. Beatrice pushed at a steady pace, the same whether the ground was smooth or rough. Rafaela slowed for every uneven patch before Élisabeth felt it, correcting a full second ahead of the dip, as though she'd already learned the ground between the fence and the house and was choosing the kindest path through it.

Élisabeth wanted to look back. She did, just once, and caught Rafaela already looking at her. Rafaela’s mouth curved into the smallest smile. "Hi," she said quietly.

Élisabeth blinked, then smiled despite herself. "Hi." Heat rushed to her face, and she turned forward too quickly.

Julien glanced over. "You’re limping."

"I'm fine."

"Did you fall?"

"I'm fine, Julien."

He didn't push, though Élisabeth could see the effort it took him to shut up.

Beatrice was waiting at the side door, her face pale. "It's off," she said, before anyone could ask. "I disarmed it. I called the gatehouse, like you told me to. Everything's locked."

Her eyes moved over the three of them as they came in, the wet grass clinging to Rafaela's socks, her hair, and didn't fully clear until Julien told her, gently, that it had only been a deer.

"A deer." Beatrice's hand went to her chest.

"A very large, very rude deer," Julien said.

"Thank you, Bea," Rafaela said. "Everything's fine."

Beatrice nodded, her eyes moving over them. "I'll bring tea," she said, and turned toward the kitchen.

Julien excused himself, muttering about his hands.

The drawing room was warm. The fire had been stoked, the cushions plumped, the curtains drawn against the dark. Rafaela wheeled Élisabeth to her usual spot near the hearth, then lowered herself into the chair across from her. After a moment, she bent and peeled off her ruined socks. Her feet were pale and creased from the damp, the skin raw-looking. She draped the socks over the fender and wrapped a blanket around her shoulders, her hands disappearing into the folds of wool.

Beatrice reappeared a few minutes later with blankets and a tray, set both down without a word, and withdrew again, pulling the door shut behind her.

Rafaela wrapped both hands around a mug of tea, the steam rising past her face, and stared into the fire.

Several times Élisabeth forced herself to look elsewhere. Each time, without thinking, her gaze wandered back to Rafaela. At length Rafaela tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear before closing both hands around the mug again.

Élisabeth found herself waiting for her to drink.

She opened her mouth to say something, but she didn't know what to say. She didn't know if there were words for what had just happened in the garden, or for the week that had preceded it, or for the complicated tangle of fury and longing and relief that was currently sitting in her chest like something she couldn't swallow.

The tea grew cold. A week ago she would have welcomed the silence. Now it felt as though there were too many things inside it.

Julien returned a few minutes later carrying a first-aid case. He took one look at Rafaela curled around her untouched tea and sighed.

"Right," he said. "Humor me."

Rafaela looked up. "About what?"

"Your hand. Then your ankle."

"Julien—"

"I'm not asking because I enjoy your company."

Rafaela looked as though she meant to argue. Instead, she set the mug down and held out her hand.

Julien knelt in front of her and took her hand without ceremony. He rinsed away the dirt first, working in silence, then reached for the antiseptic. The moment it touched the raw scrape across her palm, Rafaela's fingers tightened.

Without thinking, Élisabeth leaned forward and reached across the space between them and laid her hand over Rafaela's other one.

Rafaela looked down at Élisabeth's hand where it rested over hers. Her gaze lingered there for a long moment before, very carefully, she turned her own hand beneath it until their fingers rested together. Only then did she lift her eyes to Élisabeth's.

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