But what we call our despair is often only the painful eagerness of unfed hope. – George Eliot, Middlemarch

In War: resolution. – Winston Churchill

Briel gasped with the sensation of Jase's blow as if the breath had sucked from her lungs. Though Liam had temporarily lost his equilibrium, he quickly recovered and fixed his eyes, not on his attacker but, to her renewed terror, on Briel.

Liam's training allowed him to assess immediately what had taken place, and Briel saw a determined tightening of his jaw as he resolved on his course of action. Unwilling to move within Jase's reach, Liam aimed a kick at Jase's chest and, though Jase parried the blow, he stumbled backwards, allowing Liam all the time needed.

From across the courtyard, Briel heard Nessa's impassioned cry, “Jase! Stop him!” just before Liam, using his massive strength, shoved Briel over the low stone ledge that served as a rail. Briel glanced up toward the sound of the shout and into the horrified eyes of Nessa Santiago. Then the courtyard disappeared from beneath Briel as she tumbled over the ineffectual stone railing that mocked her as it hastened her fall.

Even in her helplessness, Briel's mind reacted coolly, grasping at any possibility for recouping her advantage. She did not fall wildly over the edge, but twisted midair until her arms could reach out toward the stone that flew past her on her descent. With her fingertips, she grasped at the ledge as it slipped by, and though she could not hold it, the friction from her attempt slowed her momentum.

The wall scraped across her fingers as she began her rapid descent. Inexplicably, her right hand latched onto some unexpected projection several feet down, and the handcuffs hooked onto the same, painfully yanking her broken left arm. When the pain subsided, Briel looked up to determine her savior and beheld a mechanism whose purpose she could not surmise.

Its most logical identity seemed that of a large pulley of some sort, ensconced in a pillar attached to the wall. Perhaps the ancient monks used this device to hoist large objects up the wall rather than through the narrow passageways of the Abbaye. Briel would later wonder at how adrenaline slowed time, sped her mind so that she could analyze each of her passing thoughts in slow motion – even peripheral and unimportant ones.

To her left, a sheer wall of stone fell away exactly perpendicular to the ground beneath. To her right, a less steep decline sloped at a minute angle toward that same unforgiving pavement below. Jagged stones and wild grass dotted the facet of this drop.

Trying to reason through the fog of her pain, Briel pondered whether or not she could reach one of the stones with her foot and climb either up or down the craggy precipice. With the handcuffs and her broken arm, however, even the most minuscule miscalculation would no doubt send her plummeting to her death.

Her arms ached, but the handcuffs seemed wedged securely on the teeth of the pulley, so Briel opted to rest a few minutes until she could more clearly determine her best course. In order to breathe freely, she squeezed the pillar between her knees and used the stability to relax her back.

Above her, the noise of a fierce battle reached her ears as if from another world. Though she prayed for Jase's victory, she could not waste much concern on the outcome. She heard voices, but could not in any way discern their tenor.

Briel's arms began to pulse as the blood crept from her extremities. Despite the receding of her blood, or perhaps because of it, the pain in her broken limb increased once again causing her mind to swim. She dimly pondered her future. Surely if Jase could outlast Liam, someone could rescue her; she needed to hold on. Still, her legs began to quiver with the strain of holding herself up. She might very well suffocate rather than die from the fall.

To her dismay, she felt consciousness begin to slip. Her sensations had fled and only a dull generic throbbing swallowed her mind. On the borders of her thoughts she realized that her legs had relaxed, and she now hung limply by the handcuffs that restrained her. If she passed out, she would lose her ability to breathe, and within a short time, her brain would die from oxygen starvation. Liam might leave her to die in such a way if he won, she realized. Too tired to fight, Briel let go of her grip on reality.

Once again, Briel began to dream. For the first time in a decade – maybe because I'm going to them, she mused – Briel saw a vision of her parents. The vision came, not from the cold, angry period after her move to America, but from before her world had shattered. She remembered her mother sitting quietly in the oversized rocker in the Revelles family living room.

Her mother held her sister, little Jacqueline, in her arms and sang a French lullaby. When Briel walked into the room, her maman reached out her arms in welcome, and Briel climbed gratefully into the warmth of her embrace. Briel had felt happy. Had she known she was happy? She couldn't remember. Still, she knew now.

A new glow gleamed in Briel's peripheral vision, and as she turned toward it, her father materialized from within the brilliance. He extended his hand to take Briel's. Come with me, he commanded with the confidence he always bore, and he led her past a glass wall of windows through which the sun shone into their spacious back garden.

Though she could not see his destination, she knew it in her mind: the downy oak, his prized transplant from the verdure of Provence.

As the massive branches sprawled before her, she stood in awe watching her father begin to scale the lowest branches easily. After gaping at him for a moment, Briel stared, horrified, as he turned to her, leaning down from the lowest branch and commanding her to climb with him. She had not counted on this.

Briel knew her father, and though she grew to resent him later in life, in her early years, he had been her rock. He would have extended his hand, but he would never have commanded. Paul Revelles would have smiled at her, climbed the remaining height for her, and thrown down whatever she needed him to retrieve. He would not demand that she join him – it made no sense.

Give me your hand, his voice demanded, and the unexpected order confused Briel.

He had no experience helping her climb. Could she trust him not to drop her? Would he let her fall? Finally, the tone of his voiced changed, adopting an authority that he rarely utilized. Briel, he insisted, drawing her attention to his dark eyes. They spoke no compromise as he extended his hand to her again. Give me your hand now!

Though she feared the immensity of the tree, she feared more the displeasure of her father, a man who had never harmed her, who loved her even with all of her insecurities. She longed to trust him even in this most fearful of enterprises. Seeking his eyes once again, she searched within them for the knowledge of his own certainty. I will not let you fall, his eyes insisted.

The face swam, becoming more feminine, and Briel thought the face resembled Nessa more than her father. Inexplicably, the ruddy brown eyes changed, swirling into a strange violet and finally melding into a light, milky blue. “Give me your hand, now,” a new voice commanded, a voice much more comfortable with command.

Through the stupor of her pain and the vision, Briel's gaze waded unintelligibly, finally resting with confusion on the anguished face of Nick Alexander. Nessa, indeed, hovered beside him over Briel. The slow movement of Nick's lips seemed unconnected to any sound or communication, but as if through water, his voice did eventually reach Briel's ears causing her to return her gaze to his with a new understanding.

“Give me your hand!” he commanded again.

She now realized the insubstantial nature of her previous vision. Unlike her specter father, Nick's corporeal figure hovered over her, solid and unmoving. In her daze, Briel could not ascertain how to manage the feat he asked of her.

Though he leaned dangerously over the ledge above, he seemed confident that he could handle his portion of the task. If she reached for his hand, she would have to unhook the handcuffs from their secure perch on the pulley by hugging the pillar once again with her legs.

Briel cringed away from the vulnerability. From somewhere overhead, she could still hear the unmistakable sound of exchanged blows. Liam still fought for her.

Would he hear Nick and come to prevent her rescue? Would he attack Nick for interfering? In her exhaustion, tears of fear welled up inside of her and spilled over, blurring her vision. Still, only a couple of inches separated her from rescue; why did she falter now?

Blinking away the tears, Briel locked her eyes on Nick's determined expression.

“You have to leave, Nick!” she gasped, her voice barely a croak. “He’ll kill you.”

“Just this once,” he pleaded, “let go of control. Give me your hand. I won’t leave until you do.”

What could she do? If she resisted, how long would he stand there and leave his back uncovered? She did not know if her strength would successfully hold against her fatigue, but she forced herself to grip the wall with her knees, stretching upward toward the hand that grasped to save her.

Even through her physical struggle, her mind supplied thoughts that ached beyond her sore muscles and fatigue. Finally, when it probably wouldn’t matter, Briel had figured out why she could be vulnerable with Nick Alexander – why she could trust him.

Nick possessed the kind of nature that bore deep concern and responsibility for those he loved. The look of misery and fear on his face as she peered through her pain up at him neared agony spoke his agenda clearly, the agenda she had accused him of holding – he cared about her. He had worn the same look when he had heard about Felicity’s kidnapping. And I mocked him for it.

No more. For the first time she could remember, she realized the value of what Nick had offered her. She would probably fail to reach him – he would watch her die – but she would die having accepted Nick's hand. He would see that she trusted him now, that she knew the truth. The thought brought her a sudden and strange contentment.

As she gripped the pillar tightly with her knees, her legs began to quiver, instantly exhausted after their earlier exertion. To her horror, a metal clank signified that her handcuffs had unhooked themselves from their support, and now only her overwrought leg muscles prevented her descent into oblivion.

As her head swam once again, she felt her legs loosen their grip, and she knew that in seconds, Nick would watch, horrified, as she plunged out of his reach. She had failed. She felt herself falling through the air, and closed her eyes in concession to her fate. All at once, she realized that the direction of her flight made no sense; she had somehow lost her orientation and did not know which way she tumbled.

Then, to her utter joy and amazement, she felt the massive warmth of Nick's embrace and the frenzy of his kisses on her face.

“Briel,” he impelled her. “Briel, please look at me.” The desperation in his tone lured Briel from her stupor, and her eyes plodded through the mire of her thoughts until they reached the azure of his gaze.

“Nick,” the word escaped as if through molasses; she couldn't quite understand the sound that echoed back at her ears from her own lips.

“Nessa, come back! Help me!” Nick pleaded in some indistinct direction as he carried Briel across the stone terrace into the cover of the courtyard. She could see the pink roses that had hidden her pursuer only moments before, and she cringed at the memory.

“Over here,” Nick pleaded, and the voice that drifted across the space beside Briel in response brought a sleepy smile to her lips. She heard her friend, Nessa, calmly commanding Nick to relax, and Briel realized that Nessa had moved across the courtyard for something – it looked like a bandage? A laugh escaped Briel's lips at her confused vision, and she felt Nick's eyes search her face.

Gradually, Briel became aware of the sensation of Nick's substantial arms, squeezing her as tightly as if he still feared her plunge over the ledge. “You're going to be okay,” he comforted her, his voice low and warm. He pulled her head into his chest and cradled her as he sat on the soft grass in the courtyard.

“Henry,” Briel began. “Felicity. Liam knows...”

Briel could not form a coherent sentence, but Nick seemed to understand.

“I got your message, Briel. Felicity and her kids are fine; they've moved.”

With the freeing knowledge, Briel melted into Nick's embrace, relief battling with her exhaustion and awakening her senses. The cold air could only tease her through Nick's warm arms, and the sun's rays completed the cocooning effect.

“She's in shock,” Briel felt the pressure of fingers on her wrist and heard Nessa's pronouncement. “You're doing the best thing you can by keeping her warm. We can't move her until we hear from Jase.”

“Look at her arm,” came Nick's anguished tones, and Briel thought she felt the warmth of a tear drop onto her hand from somewhere above her own eyes. With a silent laugh and a roll of the eyes beneath her closed lids, she leaned into Nick. Such a sap! she snickered indulgently.

“It's broken, but it's not compound,” soft hands lifted gingerly on Briel's injured arm, and she winced in pain. “Don't be a baby, Briel,” Nessa goaded her, knowing, Briel was sure, that Briel did not like coddling. “I'm just going to look at it.”

For one miserable second, Nessa prodded at Briel's injury. “It's a clean break. Still, it would be better if you laid her down. Her arm needs to be straight.”

Briel finally found her voice, a stubbornness rising from somewhere inside of her. “No,” she insisted. “Don't let go of me,” she strained her neck up to speak to Nick.

“No, I won't,” he assured her. “I'll be careful,” he promised Nessa.

“That's fine, then. I'll go see if Jase needs backup.”

“Nessa,” Briel's voice came out in a croak.

Surprise colored Nessa's countenance when she turned back to Briel. Nessa crouched down and took Briel's uninjured hand.

“Please be careful,” Briel begged. “I love you; I don't want to lose another sister.”

Nessa's face twisted with an awkward pleasure. When she spoke, her attempt to reassure Briel largely hid her surprise. “I love you, too, Sweetie. I'll be careful.”

With that, Briel relaxed completely into Nick's chest and closed her eyes in relief.

“Not yet, sleepyhead,” Nick corrected. “You have to drink this. Doctor's orders.” He raised a bottle of water before her, slowly bringing it to her lips and pouring the cool liquid into her parched mouth.

Despite her irritation at his interruption – she really wanted to sleep – Briel relished the sensation of the refreshing draught as it effused into her overwrought body. Briel smiled contentedly. Just like Nick, she laughed internally at her sentimentality, but she did not regret it. Nick's presence had renewed her strength more than the best medication or the most powerful cure.

“I’m so sorry, Nick,” she rasped, and tears threatened as she curled against his chest.

“Don’t you dare, Bri!” he commanded. “I’m the sorry one. I’m responsible for this. Don’t apologize to me.”

“But I accused you…”

“We’ll talk about that later, okay? You rest. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere – I have a lot to tell you.”

She wanted to blurt out her apologies, explain everything, but she was so tired. Instead, she just said, “Thank you,” and began to settle back into his embrace. Suddenly, however, she realized that he might misconstrue her meaning.

She did not mean to thank him for the water, or for holding off on conversation, but for coming to get her despite her accusations, despite her confusion. For holding her now, inexplicably caring about her. She raised her face to him.

The tone could not contain the sentiment she wished to convey, weakened as she was by her ordeal, but she prayed that the words would successfully communicate her intentions.

“What is it?” Nick asked, concern painting his visage.

“Kiss me,” Briel commanded, parting her lips in invitation.

For one moment, Nick stared uncomprehendingly into her face, but then a look of the utmost exaltation supplanted his usual casual demeanor. He gently leaned her back a fraction more and, supporting her neck with his arm, he gingerly placed his lips upon hers, completing the retreat of her pain. Nothing but joy could find a route to her mind in such a moment.

He started to pull away after a minute, but Briel contradicted him. “No,” she commanded, and Nick screwed his face up in concern. “I don't feel the pain when you kiss me,” she explained.

Nick's laugh shook her but did not jar her, and she let an uncharacteristic giggle escape her lips. “I guess I can make that sacrifice for you,” he smirked at her, but quickly lowered his lips onto hers, evicting any thought of misery once again.

Briel would not do Nick the disservice of imagining that they would live happily ever after. Still, she felt a sense of elation for her future as she lay in his arms. For too long, she had insulated herself from vulnerability, and as a result, had insured her isolation.

The euphoria of her connection with Nick gave her hope that the long dark winter of her heart had finally ended, and that spring would blossom in ways she had never imagined.

Finally, Nick released her, and this time she did not protest. He pulled her to his chest and gently stroked her hair. “Are you going to beat me up for this later?” he teased gently.

“I promise I won't; that is if you don't hack any computers to try to control where I go after this,” she returned, comforted by his humor.

“Deal,” he agreed, and reached up to hold her tightly to him. “Besides, I'll be sitting next to you on the plane, so that would be kind of counterproductive.” At this, Briel smirked and melted against him. They remained that way, unmoving, and all the pleasure of the setting removed the terror that had filled the same courtyard only moments before.

After twenty minutes, Nessa returned, frustration apparent on her face. Briel had dozed restfully, but her friend's step on the stony ground disturbed her.

“What's wrong?” Nick asked, saving Briel the trouble.

“Jase lost him. He followed him through the dining hall adjacent to this courtyard, but then lost him in the crypt. Noise bounces around a lot off of these stone walls.”

Briel huffed in agreement. Somewhat recovered, she sat up. Her nap had rejuvenated both her strength and her mind.

“Are you sure you should...?” Nick began to protest. Briel pierced him with her glare, and a chuckle rumbled in his chest. “Forget I asked.”

Smiling at Nick, Briel turned to face Nessa. Despite her surface calm, the realization that Liam had escaped sent Briel into a minor panic. Though she showed no outward signs of her weakness, her heart sped with anxiety. Nick inconspicuously tightened his arms around her as if he had felt her heart change speed.

“Is Jase okay?” Briel wondered, hiding her concern for her own safety under a concern for her coworker.

“He's fine. After Jase had chased Liam down some very dark alleys, Liam disappeared behind a row of shops,” Nessa explained.

“Can Liam do that? I mean, can't Jase keep looking?” Nick seemed almost beside himself, and Briel wanted to calm him, his lack of experience giving free vent to his nervousness.

“Nick, there is almost a mile of road between here and the entrance to the island, and most of the buildings stand three of four stories tall. There's no way Jase can cover all of them,” Briel tried to reason with Nick, and it seemed to work, but his look had transferred from one of concern to one of irritation.

“Still,” Nessa seemed oblivious to Nick's evolution of emotion. “I hate to take you back through the roads where he can watch you and plan his next course of action based on your position.”

Finally, Briel watched a smile break out on Nick's face. She couldn't fathom his amusement until he began to stand, using his arm as a brace for her own. “I can take care of that,” he asserted.

To Briel's horror, Nick began to carry her beyond the open terrace where Liam had attacked her and into the huge sanctuary where she had first entered the Abbaye. The first tour of the day seemed to gather in the rows of seats at the back of the room.

“Pardon,” Nick offered loudly to no one in particular. Immediately, a small, mousy middle-aged woman arose from somewhere beyond a grouping of pillars and approached the cluster of three.

“Silence, s'il vous plait,” the woman insisted, pointing to a sign that Nick had obviously seen. Briel tried to sink further into Nick's arms so no one would notice her. Of course, Nick could not allow this.

Turning to the woman, he proceeded to undertake a very poor attempt at French. “Mon amie,” he began, his harsh American accent marring the lilt of Briel's mother tongue. “She's, um, she's hurt. Elle a tombé.” When the woman feigned ignorance, Nick strode over to face her in a very non-French confrontation. The woman started at his effrontery.

“Please,” he pleaded genuinely. “She's hurt. Does someone here speak English? I need to get her to a doctor and don't want to walk a mile to my car carrying her.”

The woman, who had balked at his persistence, caved beneath his passion, a very French sensibility, and almost immediately the woman placed her arm in a comforting gesture on Nick's right hand.

“C'est bien, Monsieur. Un moment.” The woman turned from them and headed over to a tall, thin man who wore some sort of religious vestment.

“Why are you talking to her?” Briel accused, looking up as she tried to reach his eyes with her own. “You're the only one here who doesn't speak French.”

In reply, the corners of Nick's mouth curved steeply upward, and Briel felt the shrug of Nick's shoulders.

“Whatever he did, it seems to have worked,” Nessa admitted, motioning toward the approaching priest.

“Oh, I think it was Briel's damsel-in-distress act,” Nick offered, refusing to meet Briel's gaze as his grin widened to fill the width of his face. Briel glared at his chin. As if his embarrassingly public outburst had not already appalled her!

Nodding graciously at Nessa, the monk turned silently to offer his direction to the trio. Nessa led the way, and Nick followed behind with Briel in his arms. After departing the sanctuary through a previously locked door, the priest led them down an open-air staircase that seemed to curve directly down the side of the mountain, then nodded again toward a gate that stood several yards before them.

The three offered their thanks, and the priest stoically acknowledged them before turning back to ascend the steps. Briel worried tacitly about Nick's fatigue, seeing as he carried 115 pounds down about 120 steps. To her surprise, however, she could not detect even a rise in his rate of respiration.

After their descent, Nessa turned to her right and led Nick and Briel through a mass of bodies toward the entrance to the monument.

“Nessa,” the voice came almost immediately, and Briel recognized Jase's tones before she could spot him in the crowd.