His jaw tightened slightly at the thought.
Suddenly, the carriage lurched hard enough that Edith’s hand shot out to brace against his legs.
There was no time to ponder the contact.
They dropped sharply into what felt like a shallow ditch, the wheels grinding against something that gave way beneath them with a sound Aaron recognized immediately as trouble.
Mud.
The horse neighed as it pulled forward, causing the carriage to tilt at an angle that made Edith slide slightly toward him before catching herself. Her face flushed.
“Steady,” Aaron said to her before dropping into the dark. The longer he waited, the higher the chance of getting stuck.
His boots immediately sank into the cold, thick mud.
Damn it.
The ditch was deeper than he had thought, the mud nearly swallowing the wheel to its axle. The horse whinnied sharply, tossing its head, its hooves slipping uselessly against the same treacherous ground.
“Easy,” Aaron murmured, moving toward its head, his hands finding the bridle with practiced calm despite the urgency clawing at his chest. “Easy now.”
Behind him, he saw Edith stepping out of the carriage.
“Edith, stay?—”
She was already climbing down, gathering her skirts in one hand as she stepped into the muck beside him without hesitation, her breath sharp and visible in the cold evening air.
He considered arguing with her for a moment before dismissing the thought.
There is nay point. She wouldnae listen.
“Move to the other side,” he said instead. “And push when I tell ye.”
She nodded, moving to the side of the carriage. She braced her shoulder against its heavy frame.
“Now,” Aaron called, pulling hard on the bridle while urging the horse forward.
He heard Edith’s breath catch with effort as she pushed, her boots slipping once before she steadied herself and pushed again.
The wheel groaned. The mud released its grip by inches.
“Again,” Aaron said through gritted teeth.
They repeated the motion until, with a final lurch that nearly sent them both sprawling, the wheel broke free. The carriage rolled forward onto firmer ground, stopping a few yards away.
For a moment, neither of them moved, then Edith let out a breathless laugh, straightening.
“I thought the carriage would leave us,” she said, placing a hand on her hip. Her hair had nearly come loose from its careful braids, and mud was streaked up one side of her gown.
Aaron swallowed.
She looked nothing like the composed woman who had sat across from councilmen with perfect poise, or the careful lady who managed every public moment with practiced grace.
She looked disheveled, breathless, mud-streaked, and lovely in the near-dark, and Aaron could not remember the last time anything had struck him as more beautiful.
Her laughter faded slowly under the weight of his gaze, and her breath steadied, her expression growing more careful.
“I should get ye some water,” she said, pointing at his mud-coated hands. “To wash.”
