I waited, face pressed against knobbly bark, fighting against the weakness in my limbs from exhaustion and hunger.
The mere thought of climbing down terrified me.
Jethro paced, crunching the undergrowth beneath his black boots. He snapped, “I willneversay your first name. I will never be controlled into doing something I don’t want to do ever fucking again—especiallyby you. So, go ahead, stay in your tree. I’ll just camp down here until you either fall or wither away. I don’t revel in the thought of you dying in such a fashion. I don’t relish the conversation I would have when I returned empty-handed with just a diamond collar sliced from your lifeless neck, but never think you can make me do something I don’t want to do. You’ll lose.”
He smashed the whip against the tree trunk, making me jump. “Is thatquiteunderstood?”
His temper seethed from below, covering me like a horrible quilt of scorn. I pressed my forehead against the bark, cursing myself.
For a moment, he’d seemed normal.
For one fraction of time, I didn’t fear him because I saw something in him that might, just might, be my salvation.
But he’d been pushed too far by others. He’d reached his limit and had nothing else to give. He’d shut down, and the brief glimpses I saw weren’t hope—they were historic glints at the man he might’ve been before he’d been turned into...this.
I climbed.
It was a lot harder going down than going up. My eyesight danced with grey, my knees wobbled, and sweat broke out on my skin, even though I was freezing now the night had claimed the day.
I battled with him and lost.
Time to face my future.
The closer I came to the ground, the more fear swallowed me.
I cried out as Jethro’s cold hands latched around my waist,plucking me from the tree as if I were a dead flower, and spinning me to face him.
His beautiful face of sharp lines and five o’clock shadow was shaded with darkness. The hoots of owls and trills of roosting birds surrounded us.
“I have a good mind to whip you.” His voice licked over me with frost.
I dropped my eyes. I had no more energy. It was depleted. Gone.
When I didn’t retaliate, he shook me. “What? No reply from the famous Weaver who swore at my father and brotherhood and earned the right to run for her freedom?”
I looked up, stealing myself against his golden eyes. “Yes and what was the point?”
“There’s a point to everything we do. If you’ve forgotten it, then you’re blinded by self-pity.”
A ball of fire rekindled in my belly. “Self-pity? You think Ipitymyself?”
He shook his head. “I don’t think. I know.” Letting me go, he grabbed the saddlebag resting against another tree and pulled out a blanket. Spreading it over roots and crinkly leaves, he ordered, “Sit, before you fall.”
I blinked. “We’re not—we’re not leaving for the Hall?”
He glowered. “We’ll leave when I’m damn well ready. Sit.”
I sat.
Chapter Four
Jethro
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WHAT THE FUCK are you doing?
I couldn’t answer that. I had no clue.
