She grasped the lapels of his coat, attempting to drag him to a more secure hiding place among the high, frozen grass. All the while, she muttered a string of pleas: “Do you remember I once said I would never refer to you by your given name? I was afraid that I would begin to see you as something other than the enemy. But you’re no longer my enemy. You’re my…my…” The horses were nearly upon them now. Her breath hitched, her mind blank with animal terror. “Get up, Bram.Please.”
Something flickered in his face—awareness?
Suddenly, he lurched up, grunting from the effort. With her help, he heaved himself toward a clump of tall grasses.
Then, with a last burst of effort, Bram pulled her toward him,cradling the nape of her neck between his hands just as the horses approached.
Leena’s mind sharpened, taking in every detail around her: the feeling of Bram’s arms around her—a safety net all on their own—her own heart clawing through her chest, the taste of fear in her mouth, the sound of the horses’ rough breaths mere feet from them.
Would the horsemen notice the footprints in the snow? Would the storm worsen? Was Bram—for now she could think of him by no other name—well enough to continue?
In the silver light of the storm, Bram’s eyes were half lidded, feverish, but fully alert. As he watched her, an unidentifiable emotion seemed to be flickering in and out of his face. She couldn’t hide from him, not when they were only millimeters apart, so she stared back. They stayed like that during the long, agonizing moments in which the riders approached. She shrank down further, not daring even to pray, ears pricked for any sign that they had been discovered.
The hoofbeats came, then receded.
They didn’t move until the only sound remaining was their own harsh breaths.
With reluctance, Leena attempted to extract herself from Bram’s hold, but his arms tightened around hers.
His words were feverish. “Say it again.”
Leena looked at him in confusion. “Say what again?”
“My name. Say it again.”
His gaze was bright and unwavering from her face. Leena’s heart pounded.
“Bram,” she whispered after a long moment.
“Say it again.”
She rose up slowly, releasing his hold on her, unsure why it felt so intimate to meet his eyes while calling him by his given name. “Bram.” She swallowed, averting her flushed face. “We must go—”
“And again.”
“We cannot delay—”
“Leena.” He interrupted her, his voice a hoarse command. “Once more.Say my name.”
She stood up, her hands slightly shaking while brushing the snow from her jacket, still unable to meet his unfaltering stare.
The still moors and the thick trees were silent, as if waiting for her next words.
“Bram…”
He let out a staggered breath—as if this was the first real inhale he had taken in a long time. And yet the irony that these very breaths were now numbered did not escape her.
Leena banished that thought as quickly as it came, however, and stretched a hand toward him. With her aid, he rose to his feet with a grim determination, swaying for a moment, but then he regained his balance and took a half shuffle forward. Then another, until they set a slow pace again.
Even though it was much harder to walk among the long grass than on the route they had originally been traveling, Leena deemed it safer, as they were far less likely to be tracked this way.
The hours slipped past and night fell and still Leena was not sure they had made much progress. Their speed was painfully slow, and her shoulder had begun to ache from where she’d supported Bram. How far had they been from Lytham when the carriage overturned? Four miles? Five? She’d been too distracted to keep track, and she was now paying the price.
She mourned whatever the distance was ahead, for it was clear that Bram was struggling.
She began speaking again: words and secrets and half-remembered recollections flowing from her tongue. If Bram consumed secrets, then she would feed him all of hers.
He must live.
