So I did. I told him about my childhood dog who endlessly chased squirrels but was terrified of cats. I told him about the month when Father was imprisoned, and how Mother smuggleddrugged wine to the guards before picking the lock herself. I told him about beating the boys in weapons training and the immense loneliness that followed. I kept talking because when I did, the tension in his jaw slackened and his shivers eased for a moment.
He listened when he could—his eyes half-open, trying to focus on me—and when he couldn’t, he still seemed soothed by the sound of my voice. It felt strangely freeing, sharing pieces of myself with him. I wanted to tell Baron those things, and he was likely too sick to remember, so there was no harm in it.
His fever lasted the whole day, but finally broke by the time night rolled around again, giving way to violent chills. Baron groaned and curled inward, his teeth chattering hard enough that he could barely talk.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, breath fogging in the cold air.
“For what?” I asked, brushing sweat from his brow.
“What I did to Dorian. I didn’t…I didn’t mean to scare you.” I could barely understand him because of how hard he was shivering. “I’m a monster.”
The statement punched something deep in my chest. “You’re not,” I said quietly. I had been wrong to fear him.
He searched for my hand again, blindly this time. “Laurel…don’t go. Don’t leave me.” His fingers found mine.
“I won’t.”
He shivered harder, curling further into himself. When I pulled the blankets up around him, he was still shuddering, teeth chattering. He needed more warmth.
Sharing our body heat had worked after the lake; it ought to do the same now. I hesitated. He probably wouldn’t even remember and he had protected me when I was in need. Besides, I desperately needed to stay warm, too.
I paused only a moment longer before sliding under the blankets beside him. His body trembled as he instinctivelypulled me closer. I rested a steadying hand on his chest, feeling his heart pound unevenly beneath my palm.
“It’s alright,” I murmured. “I’m here.”
Baron let out a shaky breath and relaxed incrementally, the tremors slowly easing. And as he drifted into a fitful sleep, still clinging weakly to my hand, I allowed myself to fall asleep next to him.
The morning sunfiltered weakly into our cave, but I kept my eyes closed.
Heat rolled through me in unfamiliar, luxurious waves. It was the first time in weeks I hadn’t woken shivering, and it was the first time my muscles weren’t knotted tight from cold or fear. For a stolen moment, I nuzzled closer, reveling in the warmth.
Then awareness slammed into me and my eyes flew open.
Baron and I were tucked together beneath the blankets, my legs tangled with his, and my hand was traitorously resting over his heart. The man radiated heat like a forge, no doubt fever-driven, but I had greedily soaked it in all night like some selfish, freezing creature.
And I had liked it.
Mortified, I held my breath and listened. Baron’s breathing was uneven, but he still hadn’t woken. His skin was warm but his grip around me was loose, slack with exhaustion.
Carefully, I eased my hand away from his chest. His fingers twitched as if searching for mine, and I nearly stopped. But if he opened his eyes and saw me curled against him like this, he would know. He wouldknowhow safe I’d felt.
No. Absolutely not.
I gathered my courage, held my breath, and attempted to peel myself away without rousing him. I slipped free at last, retreating several inches across the blankets as though distance alone could erase the way my heart thudded at the memory of being held.
Cold air rushed in where his warmth had been, and instinctively, miserably, I missed it.
I glared at the tent flap where a narrow strip of the gorge beyond was just visible. The Cresswell Crags’s main gorge was shaped in a way that kept the snow off of us, and the caves inside were the perfect place for pitching tents out of the wind. But it was still miserable. It was always dimly lit, the stone was always cold, the entirety of the caves stank, and firewood was difficult to come by. More than anything, I wanted to go home.
I missed the soft greenness of the trees, the sunshine on my face, the sound of birdsong as sparrows flew overhead and, most of all, Father and the Merry Men. I missed all of Little John’s and Dale’s jokes. I missed the way Father and Will Scarlet drilled me night and day in combat training. I missed the tournaments and games we would play. I missed my scratchy straw bed in the small hut my father and I shared back in Sherwood Forest. I would never complain about it again once I got back.IfI ever got back.
I plunged the dipper into our bucket of melted snow and raised it to my lips.
“Good morning,” Baron said from behind me, his tone back to normal.
I turned. “You sound much better.”
“I feel much better,” he answered with a smile. “Other than I’m hungrier than I think I’ve ever been in my life.”
