Easton's Gold Read Free Page A

all. I was trying to say something optimistic. “I had to be evil,” I persist, “only so I could
understand
evil and truly feel the bliss of forgiveness. Only a true sinner can be redeemed.”
    I feel the warmth of her hand on my shoulder, and through the mist of tears, I see her descend toward me. Her warm lips touch my cheek, and I close my eyes again.
    â€œI don’t believe you were ever evil, my lord,” she whispers. “I believe you were always a good man, as you are now.”
    __________
    G ABRIELLE SHIELDS HER CANDLE flame and begins climbing the steps to the servants’ bedroom. Halfway up, she catches Maria’s voice, whispering: “I’m surprised the gypsy hasn’t climbed into bed with him yet.”
    â€œMaybe she already has,” Philippa’s replies, not in a whisper. Excited laughter follows.
    Gabrielle stops and grips the rail with one hand. She tries to hold the candle holder as steady as she can in the other. The hatch to the servants’ bedroom is open. There is only faint light within, so Philippa and Maria must know from her approaching candle that she is within earshot.
    Gabrielle has overheard them talking about her before, but then it was like the distant howling of a wolf pack. This is different. Now she can see their shadows in the moonlight and hear them breathe and lick their lips. Now they want her to know they are closing in.
    She begins climbing again, and the stairs creak loudly. There is more laughter, apparently at the sound of her timorous approach. When she finally emerges into the hot attic space, Gabrielle feels sick and shivery. She holds her gaze steady upon the candle as she steps onto the floor. She places the candle holder on a trunk then slides the hatch closed.
    â€œHe’ll never get that open, dear,” comes Philippa’s voice again. The tone of it seems kind; Gabrielle looks up to catch her smile, thinking for a second she has had a change of heart. But Philippa is cleverer than she looks, at least when it comes to hurting. The gentleness of her voice and the warmth of her expression are like axe grinder’s tools: subtle, well-maintained but intended to cut.
    Maria stares across the room from her bed to that of her accomplice, her reddened face glutted with the anticipation of some mockery to come. Philippa holds Gabrielle’s gaze.
    â€œAt his age, my dear, you should give him some more encouragement. Try crouching at the foot of his bed with your legs wide open.”
    Maria squeals with laughter and presses the white sheets into her mouth. Philippa grins and continues staring at Gabrielle, her lips glistening.
    Gabrielle reaches for the candle but finds her hand shaking. She leaves the candle where it is and sits down upon her bunk, which is thankfully close by. Her limbs ache as she unwraps her head scarf.
    She knows she is at a crossroads. There are only two directions she can think of to take. She can buckle down and bear it, and wait for what she hopes is her quiet dignity to wear them down. Or she can get up, run across the room and take a flying leap at Philippa, letting her fists fly with all the fury smouldering in her breast. She knows this moment has already slipped past, but she tries to imagine what would happen if she ever took that second course. Would the two of them end up pummelling her? Anger always magnifies a person’s idea of their own strength, she knows that much, and Philippa has broad shoulders and big animal hands. But then, perhaps Philippa would be too shocked and Maria too cowardly to deal with the situation. She can just picture Maria retreating to a corner and watching horrified, allowing her mentor to take the blows unaided.
    Maria is still watching her leader for the next joke at Gabrielle’s expense, but Philippa has become silent and watchful as Gabrielle unbuttons her day dress.
    Gabrielle moves quickly in the flickering light, slipping her nightdress over her