Baron’s pack, still strapped to him when he leapt, had become our salvation. He had rigged up the soaked blankets to create a makeshift windbreak, and I could only imagine how cold he must have been while doing it. But even with the wind mostly cut off, the fire warmed the cave at a painfully slow pace, the temperature creeping outward at a glacial speed.
I couldn’t imagine how grueling that final stretch of Baron’s swim to shore must have been—keeping my head above water while supporting my limp body, fighting the drag of our chain, and wrestling a waterlogged pack and cloaks that must have felt like a stone anchor. Baron claimed that when I’d passed out, we were close enough to shore that he was able to walk soon after, but he was always so modest about everything that I wasn’t sure how much to believe. Once he made it to shore, he would have had to find shelter, build the fire, haul me in here…all withoutever straying farther than the length of that cursed chain. He must have carried me the entire way.
Guilt prickled through me. I was a burden. There was no denying it. And yet…he had borne it. He had saved my life, first by jumping after me so the chain didn’t snap my neck, then by rescuing me from drowning, and now by helping me not freeze to death.
I curled my fingers slightly, gripping his back where my hands pressed against his skin. Baron didn’t comment, but I felt him exhale shakily, the warmth of his breath brushing the top of my head.
We couldn’t sleep. Everyone knew the stories. People who dozed off in extreme cold like this never woke up again. I watched the firelight dance over the cave walls, hoping it was enough to keep me up.
I knew that I needed to stay awake, but I couldn’t prevent my blinking becoming slower, eyelids closing longer each time. It would feel so good to rest just for a little while longer…
“Laurel?” Baron asked suddenly.
I snapped back awake. “What?”
“Talk to me.”
“About what?”
“Tell me about… Tell me about your mother.”
“Why?” I mumbled, already tempted to drift off to sleep again.
“You need to stay awake.”
I groaned. I was too cold to think of a different topic and he was right; I needed to dosomethingin order to resist sleeping.
“I don’t remember much,” I confessed. “She died years ago. She was beautiful and kind. She used to tell me stories when Father was away. They were usually funny stories about growing up with King Richard and Prince John, and she would take meon walks through the forest. She knew all the different types of birds.”
“How did she die?”
“The sheriff set fire to the house where my parents and I were living. Father got me out and to safety, but Mother didn’t make it in time.” I paused. “She was about to have a baby. It was due any day when she died. I would have had a brother or a sister.”
“When did it happen?” Baron asked quietly.
“I was eight,” I told him.
“I’m sorry,” Baron said. “I know what that’s like.”
I raised my head slightly to look up at him. I hadn’t heard Baron ever talk about his past beyond a few vague hints. He glanced down and continued. “My mother died when I was eight too. After that I had to go live with my father, and he never wanted me.”
“Your parents weren’t married?”
Baron shifted his weight. “No. My father didn’t even know about me until right before Mother passed away. They barely knew each other and he left before he knew my mother was expecting.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
Baron shrugged. “No matter. Mother always said she was glad she had me, however I came to be. But it still makes me mad when men in the camp think they can…” he trailed off. “That’s why I didn’t want Dorian or the others near you that day.”
I was touched. All those times when he had shielded me from the more vulgar men in camp…perhaps it was because he had higher moral standards than the rest. I then wondered if it was along those same lines that Baron had never asked for additional guards at night, even though they had been offered.
“How did she die?” I asked.
“She was ill,” he said. “I don’t remember what it was exactly. I was too young to understand. I just remember that she got sickerand sicker and then died. Mother knew she didn’t have much time left near the end, and we had no other family, so she took me to him.”
“That must have been awful for you,” I said. “Do you miss her?”
“Every day.”
