“What’s wrong?” he asked when he saw I wasn’t following him.
I shuddered. “It is just cold, that’s all.”
“You’re lying again. You can have the bedroll if you’re worried about that.”
“It’s not that.”
“Then what?”
I couldn’t deceive him, so I opted for the truth. “You scared me.”
Baron looked genuinely surprised. “When? Why?”
“Just now! I thought you were about to kill Dorian!”
“He deserved it for what he did to you,” he said bitterly, then hastily amended, “what he did to both of us.”
“Still.”
Baron shook his head at me. “You don’t hesitate to kill innocent animals by burning them to death and you throw knives at people every chance you get, but when a man who made an open attempt on your life gets a few lashes, you feel bad for him? You’re the one who makes no sense.”
I couldn’t explain it. I’d thought before that I would enjoy seeing Dorian punished. I certainly had enjoyed tying him up and throwing his boots into the river and I’d relished setting his tent on fire. But somehow, this felt different.
Baron continued, his hands shaking slightly, “No one will ever hurt you as long as I’m around. I promise.”
I wanted to believe him. But I didn’t.
Baron went into the tent. I would have stayed the whole night by the fire, but the chain’s short length prevented it. I was pulled inside after Baron and moved as far away from him as I could, my shoulders hunched and arms folded tightly across my chest as if that would help protect me. Baron noticed.
His voice became much gentler. “I am not going to hurt you, Laurel.” He nudged the bedroll toward me. “Here, you can have it.”
“I’m fine with just blankets,” I told him, trying valiantly to keep my voice calm and casual to mask my fear. “You keep the bedroll. I don’t want it.”
It took several repetitions before he believed me.
Baron sat on his bedroll, pulled blankets over himself, then tossed me a few as well. I accepted them and wrapped myselftightly. I curled into a ball on the cave floor, staring into the dark.
Baron’s steady breathing filled the tent. I listened to it, a constant reminder that the man who saved my life was also possible of horrific cruelty, and I wasn’t sure I could trust him.
CHAPTER 24
During the night, Baron became feverish. He thrashed around under his blankets, and waves of heat poured off of his body. I knew that this was the aftereffect of all he’d done for me, swimming me through the icy lake, building a fire, and keeping me warm. He had done all that for me and was now writhing around in agony. I felt beholden to him for saving my life, but also helpless. I had no idea how to treat illnesses. I was no healer.
As much as he had scared me the previous evening with Dorian’s whipping, I couldn’t bear to stay away. I rose and crossed to him. Perspiration poured off his entire body, first beading out hot then quickly turning icy as it touched the cold night air and trickled down his face. I had no medical training beyond how to splint a broken bone, but determined to do the best I could. I ripped the thinnest of our blankets into strips and began dabbing Baron’s forehead and neck, removing the sweat to try to keep him comfortable.
There was no formal doctor within the sheriff’s camp, no makeshift infirmary at all. A gross oversight, in my opinion. No one seemed to know how to treat Baron, and though they had hailed him as a hero not twelve hours previously, now theydeserted him. I sat beside him all night long, the only distraction he had from his suffering.
When I called attention to Baron’s weakened condition, there had been a brief discussion among the officers about removing me from Baron and getting a new guard, but it seemed that not a single other man in camp was willing to take the risk of being attached to me. They reasoned that I was small enough that I would be unable to move Baron if I tried to escape, and they were right. If Baron couldn’t move, neither could I. So, we were abandoned, left to our own devices, surrounded by men but still completely alone.
Our time together in the cave near the lakeshore had eased my old fear of touching him and my new fear had no power with him so weak. I brushed the damp hair from his forehead, smoothing it back the way I dimly remembered my mother doing when I was small. His skin burned against my fingertips, and even though I knew how uncomfortable he must feel, it felt good to touch him for my own selfish reasons of wanting to stay warm.
“Easy,” I whispered, rubbing his forearm when his muscles tensed. “You’re going to be alright. Just hold on.”
He drifted in and out of sense. Sometimes he groaned through clenched teeth, other times he spoke to people who weren’t there. Between his bouts of feverish rambling, I coaxed small sips of water past his lips, wiping away the droplets that spilled down his stubbled chin.
During one of the rare moments when he seemed aware of me, his hand fumbled over the blankets until it found mine. His palm was rough and calloused, but also warm and comforting.
“Talk to me,” he rasped.
