Page 30 of The Darkest Oath

Her eyes darted to assess her surroundings in the dim glow of evening filtering through the tent. A small panic rose in her chest before she realized where she was: in a place of safety.

A sigh of relief rolled off her dry lips. Her gaze followed the sound to its source, and there Rollant stood, just beyond the open tent flap, speaking with Sister Ingrid. He watched her, and his expression softened when his eyes met hers.

“She is improving,” Sister Ingrid was saying. “The fever has lessened, and she took water and broth earlier. You were right to bring her. How are your legs and arms?”

Rollant nodded, his gaze never wavering from Élise. The relief in his eyes was plain, and for a moment, she felt the strength of his attention, something solid and settled after days of feverish drifting. “I am fine,” he said. “I only worry about her.”

“Rollant—” Élise’s voice came out weak, hoarse, but his eyes met hers immediately, and the rest of the call faded on her lips. She wanted to thank him, but her throat tightened.

Again, a hand, soft and cool, rested on Élise’s forehead and coaxed her attention away from Rollant’s gaze.

The gentle evening shadows framed Sister Francine’s face as she whispered, “I gave him your message when he first arrived.”

From beyond the tent, Rollant’s voice rose again, low but insistent. “How long can you keep her?” he asked, the words tinged with concern. It drew Élise’s gaze again.

“We will keep her until her fever is gone and she is strong enough to walk back to Faubourg Saint-Antoine.” Sister Ingrid’s voice carried. “But for now, rest is what she most needs—and perhaps you could do with some rest yourself. Return in the morning. She will be well cared for."

There was a pause before Rollant nodded and said low, “I will return in the morning. Thank you, Sister Ingrid.”

Élise reached out in an urge to keep him from leaving. Rollant hesitated to go, but his body was already half-turned. His form lingered just beyond the tent flap for a few moments longer.

Sister Ingrid urged him on. “Get some rest, Monsieur de Montvieux.”

Sister Francine pressed gently against her arm, lowering it to the cot. “You are safe here, Élise. He is leaving at our request. Men are not welcome in this hospital, which is meant for women and children. There is another up the street for men,” she whispered in reassurance as Rollant disappeared.

A pang of fear struck Élise’s heart. He would leave her behind again, but she pushed the thought aside.

Sister Francine reassured her again as if she could feel the sudden tension of his departure. “He stayed at the cafe across the street nearly all day. There is an inn nearby, and I’m sure he will be there until his coin runs out.”

The cool evening wind exposed his absence, but knowing he was still close by gave her the calm Sister Francine asked of her.

The rustle of Sister Ingrid’s habit sounded in the otherwise quiet tent as she re-entered and secured the flap for the night.

“Sleep now,” Sister Francine’s voice echoed in her ears.

It was the last voice she heard until the stream of daylight found her eyes in a small slit of fabric in the tent wall.

Sister Francine knelt beside Élise’s cot and rubbed a mint oil on Élise’s chest. “Good afternoon, Élise. Your fever finally broke, but I am still trying to cool your chest. You’ve been coughing in your sleep.”

Only one memory was fresh in her mind. “Rollant? Where is he?”

“He came every morning and night for the last three days.”

“Three days?” Her heart raced as she ran her hands up her face and into the base of her hair. Gabin would be irate. She tried to get up to go back.

But Sister Francine’s unexpected strength stayed her with a firm press of her hand against Élise’s chest. “Yes, three days. You’ve had a rough go, poor dear.”

“I must get back to the bakery,” she said and strained against Sister Francine. Her eyes grew at either the nun’s strength or her own weakness.

“No, you must rest.” Sister Francine’s palm pressed flat against Élise’s chest over top of Élise’s rapidly beating heart.

“But Gabin,” Élise began, but Rollant’s coat pressed against her leg as she fought to sit up. Its fabric balled between her fingers.

“Rollant would want you to stay,” Sister Francine whispered as Élise emerged victorious in the fight to sit up.

Élise pulled Rollant’s coat to her chest at the mention of his name. “But Rollant cannot protect me. He has to leave again. I should return and reduce any consequences I have incurred for being away.”

Sister Francine removed her hand and whispered, “I see.” She shook her head. “There are other options, Élise.”

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