He closed his eyes and imagined what it felt like to hold her warm body against his once more. To listen to her laugh. To feel her hair between his fingers.
As the night passed, he must have dozed off with those thoughts in his head because a scrape of metal startled him awake. He heard fast footsteps coming toward him. He knew immediately that they were hers before she came into view. He jumped up and was at the door to his cell before she arrived.
“Eve!” he whispered, up on the balls of his feet. He didn’t know if there was danger, but he could see the panic on her face. His sword, belt, and boots were in her hands. She fumbled momentarily with a key, then popped the door open with a clang. She pushed it in, and he grabbed at her, greedily wanting her in his arms, caring about nothing else. “Are you safe? Are you okay?”
“Michel,” she urged. “You must get dressed, and you must leave. Right now. I had the guard called away. We don’t have long.”
“But…Eve,” he said, filling his arms with her body, his nose with her scent.
“No, you will be killed if you stay here.” Her voice was stern, but he heard the remorse around its edges.
“Come with me,” he begged.
“Ican’t,” she said, fighting back emotion.
“We will go to France, like we planned,” he said, pulling on her arms. His voice, supplicant, frantic.
“Michel, if I leave now, it will be worse.” She brought her hands up to her face, shaking her head at whatever outcome she feared. “So much worse for you.”
“If I don’t have you, Eve,” he insisted, still trying to contain her, hold onto her somehow, “nothing matters.”
“Put your gear on,” she demanded. “Right now.” She pulled him off her, pushed him back.
“Eve—” He reached for her again.
“No, you must trust me. You have to leave.”
He paused and looked at her. His fingers brushed her chin and tilted her head up to him. He read her expression and the words she wasn’t saying. “Your father won’t accept me as your husband?” He asked finally.
“Absolutely not.” Then her voice broke. “I tried.”
“What do you mean, ‘you tried’?”
“He is too old-fashioned, distrustful of the West. He would never let me go. Besides…” She shook her head. “He would never accept the relationship we’ve had.”
“Let me speak to him.” He was desperate, pleading with her.
“You have no value to him,” Eve asserted. “He will not give me to you.”
“I do have value,” he said, indignant. “I have a city. I have Provence and France behind me.”
“Michel, you don’t understand your position here. Titles, cities, they’re of no importance. I could barely convince him not to have you killed before dinner.”
Michel just stared at her. “I protected you. I fought for you. Eve,” he begged. “I love you.”
She shook her head. “You must understand when I say I have a duty to my tribe just as you do to your people. Everything happened—my kidnapping, the murders—because I was selfish and refused to do what was expected of me. I abused my privilege because I wanted life to bend to my desires.” She pulled in a breath. “The ancestors brought me home. Now I must pay my penance to my people.”
“What does that even mean?” he asked, trying to get her to look at him.
“It means I have to stay, and Michel, it means you must leave, because you will be executed if you stay. And I cannot see that happen and have your death on my conscience too.”
An uncontrollable surge of tears came upon her then, and she had her face in her hands. Michel took her in his arms against his chest, as he had before, letting her cry as much as she needed.
When her shudders slowed, he asked, “Is this truly what you want?”
She nodded. “It’s not what I want, but it is what has to happen.”
Michel watched her for a long moment, doing his best to trace every emotion that went through her eyes. “Alright,” he said, taking in a deep breath through his nose. He backed away from her and sat to pull on his boots. “I will go.”
