I grinned. “You’ll have to help with that. I feared that if I made you a meal, you wouldn’t make it through the night.”
“You’re probably right,” he said, then his gaze slowly took in all the blankets heaped over him, and he felt the spot where I’d laid next to him, a slight crease appearing between his eyebrows. “Where did you sleep last night?”
I froze. He was supposed to be too ill to remember. “Why do you ask?”
“I thought I remembered you…” His eyes snapped back down to where I’d been then jumped back up to look at me.
There was no use lying. He could always tell when I was, anyway. “I was next to you,” I told him, staring at his shoulder. “Your fever came in very handy for keeping me warm. It was just survival, that’s all, and it was easier to take care of you when I didn’t have to crawl back and forth.”
Baron didn’t answer for a long time.
“Thank you for helping me,” he said softly.
“I owed you,” I responded. “You jumped off a cliff, stopped me from drowning, and saved my life. I blotted some sweat. Now, we’re even.”
He grinned. “We’re even,” he agreed.
CHAPTER 25
During that afternoon, an icy blizzard blew in. The wind howled so ferociously through the gorge that our campfires were often extinguished. Everyone huddled in their tents inside each cave, trying to guard against the frigid winter weather. I was unusually concerned about the cold—Baron and I were still at high risk of getting sick or dying after being exposed to such drastic cold for so long mere days before.
That night, I bundled myself in my cloak as tightly as I could. But even with that and my blankets, I still couldn’t get warm. The wind seemed to sneak into every tiny opening in the tent and the chill penetrated to my very bones. I felt as if I were still back in the icy lake and didn’t have a shred of heat left in my body at all.
After an hour of tossing and turning as the temperature continued to plummet, I looked over at Baron, laying halfway across the tent. I thought I caught a glimpse of his eyes still open.
“Baron?” I called softly through the dark.
“What?”
“You awake?”
“Clearly.”
I swallowed hard. Father and his men would have a fit if they knew, but I felt sure I would die of frostbite otherwise.
“Can we call another truce for tonight?” I asked, then added lightheartedly, “I need your big, fat body’s heat again.”
There was a pause as he considered my request. “No funny business,” he finally teased as he scooted back and held open his blanket. I crawled inside, pulling my own blankets over the top of Baron’s as I did so. What a difference it made! Lying beside Baron, my head resting on his outstretched left arm and my back curved against his broad chest and abdomen, I was able to warm up quickly.
Baron snaked his right arm over my waist. “You’re lucky you’re warm. I would kick you out in an instant otherwise,” he mumbled into my hair.
“You’re lucky I ignore your snoring,” I told him. “We’re still enemies.”
He laughed quietly and briefly tightened his hold on my waist. “You know what they say, keep your friends close and your enemies closer.”
Through the rest of those bitter winter months, Baron and I fell into a quiet ritual, one neither of us ever spoke about, but both relied on. Each night, when the cold settled over camp, we would inch closer together beneath our heap of worn furs until our shoulders brushed…and then, inevitably, until we were pressed fully side-by-side with his arms wrapped securely around me.
At first, I told myself I only did it to survive.
Baron radiated heat like a furnace, and if I slept without touching him, the cold tried to take hold of me instead. When I curled against his chest, the shivers lessened and perhaps it was foolish, but I slept more deeply. I reasoned that it was because I could sense every small shift of his body. If he meant to harm me, I would feel it. I’d be ready.
That was the story I repeated to myself, anyway.
But as the weeks crept by, that explanation grew thin.
Baron never once gave me cause to flinch. His hands were careful when he helped me over icy patches. His tone softened when he asked if I was warm enough, which was several times a day. He always gave me the best seat near the fire without drawing attention to it. He still wore the chain with me without complaint, matching his stride to mine even if it slowed him down.
My fear—the sharp, bristling kind I’d clung to in the early days—began to loosen its hold. It did not vanish in one moment, but quietly, gradually…like frost melting under the morning sun.
