The time Laurahad to be brave was long since past. A bone chilling air settled in around her, wrenching shivers from her frame. There was no telling how many hours had passed already. Her despair had morphed into dogged determination to escape this cell through whatever means necessary. She was convinced that death would be more welcome than a lifetime locked in another cage. But after tugging on the bars and digging at the edge of the cell until her fingertips bled, and her hands ached, she had given up on escape.
When an indifferent guard handed her a small bowl of gruel and a roll of stale bread for her dinner, she tracked every second of the interaction carefully. She had hoped that there would be some means of fleeing during that small moment, but nonecame. Three more guards were positioned at the entrance of the dungeons, and that said nothing of the key she would have to steal. For all of her hard-earned strength, she was no match for a handful of trained warriors and the iron bars on her door.
It was at that moment she realized the truth of that, that she fell well and truly into the deepest depths of her despair. For the first time in years, Laura allowed herself to cry, weeping for the days and moments, the memories and life the Baron had stolen from her. She grieved the little freedom she had lost for no reason other than her birthplace. Even more so, she grieved the glimpse of happiness she had caught from time to time with Brandon.
The thought of him made her tears fall faster. And in the hours that followed, she longed for death to claim her. She hoped the cold or the starvation would end her days before the Baron could come up with any creative means of hurting her.
Night settled into the dungeon, making the already frosty and dank air grow even more oppressive. She tucked her hands under her legs and watched as her breath moved in front of her face. The only mercy she had been granted was that they had placed her in the cleanest cell with the nicest bed. There were still mites and rats and any number of pests roaming the prison, but at least her cot held no remnants of death.
At the door, the guard snored loudly, the sound of his deep slumber echoing off the dripping stone walls. She could only wish for sleep to claim her so completely. With nothing left to do, Laura wiped the bowl clean, knowing it was all she was going to get for the foreseeable future, and laid down. It surprised her how quickly sleep claimed her, ushering her into a welcomed darkness. She dreamed of nothing, her body too weary and cold to do so.
A hand, warm and hard-pressed against her mouth, wrenching her from sleep so abruptly that she was halfconvinced she was dreaming. Her eyes blinked furiously, batting away tears as she tried to adjust to the complete blackness of the room. Slowly, with her heart pounding in her ears, she remembered the cot under her, her half-numb fingers curled around her assailants arm, rats ran by. The dungeon. She was still in the cell. Putting it all back together came haltingly and then all at once. Fear, hot and slimy poured into her veins, waiting to discover her attacker’s identity and purpose.
“Laura.”
The warm breath on her cheek came with a wave of relief.
“I am sorry if I startled you. I could not risk you making any noise and waking the guards. Can I take my hand off now?”
She nodded against his palm but didn’t release her grasp on him. His closeness was an anchor she desperately needed.
“Brandon,” she sighed, “what are ye doing here? Ye are going to get yerself in grave trouble.”
“Come on,” he urged. “We don’t have much time.”
“Much time for what? I still dinnae understand what ye are doing here?”
“I am getting you out of here.”
He spoke with a determination she had never heard from him before. Before she could fully understand his meaning, he had her sitting on the cot and was tugging a thick, warm cloak over her shoulders.
“Put these on,” he insisted, reaching for her feet.
She was too shocked to protest as he pulled the thin slippers from her feet and slid on a pair of wool stockings and her boots.
“How did ye—” she started to ask, before realizing that how he had managed to get her boots and stockings was the least surprising thing he had done tonight.
“I told you,” Brandon answered, pulling her gently to her feet. “I mean to see you get free of this place. I have stood idly by and watched that monster mistreat you for far too long. I will notstand by again and watch you waste your life away in this cell, waiting for him to remember you.”
“But Brandon, how do ye think to get me out of here unseen? There are guards at the door and I have nowhere to go.”
It didn’t register in her mind that for Brandon to even have the cell door unlocked, the guards must have already been dealt with.
“Laura,” Brandon said, a little exasperated with her confusion/ “I swear I will explain it all. But we must make haste. The dawn is not far off, and I want to give you every second I can to put as much distance between this place and you as possible.”
She stood in a mixture of awe and amazement as Brandon bent to form a figure in the cot that looked eerily similar to her own form. He pulled the threadbare blanket up to cover it completely and then turned to guide her out of the cell. They passed the guards, each lost in so deep a sleep that they did not move when Brandon hung the keys back on the hook or when the door to the dungeon creaked open to let them out.
The couple clung to the shadows, her hand held firmly in his, offering comfort and assurance that she could not summon for herself. Brandon went first at every turn, peering around corners and signaling her to move only when he was sure they wouldn’t be spotted.
The door to the yard and the stables beyond was in sight when Brandon spun on his heel and pressed Laura against the wall. He muffled her sound of surprise with his lips pressed firmly against hers. One hand threaded into her hair while the other clutched her hip, pulling her closer to him. He had never taken such liberties before, but she supposed the impending sense of danger was enough to spur him to action.
Laura lost herself in him, letting her hands clutch the front of his shirt before moving to his back, gripping his hair just as firmly. For that brief moment, she allowed herself to forget thedanger she was in, to forget the awful things happening. For a time, there was only him.
It wasn’t until she heard a scuffle of boots pound past them that she realized Brandon’s purpose in his actions.
“Get a room,” the voice called, a barb that brought such a flush to Laura’s face that she was entirely grateful to the darkness that concealed it.
Her hands froze, as did her lips. Brandon pulled back ever so slightly, saying nothing, doing nothing until the footsteps could no longer be heard. His hands stayed on her, holding her steady, forcing her to keep still no matter how much she wanted to flee.
