Page 29 of Stay with Me

“I would give you my cloak to warm yourself if I had one,” he said.

“And I’d refuse the offer, no matter how kind, since you’d need it.”

“Then ’twould appear we are quite the honorable pair.”

They weren’t a pair. But before she could argue the fact, he glanced again at the forest behind them. “Simon’s men fear returning without me. Their desperation lends them fortitude.” He started upriver, pulling her along against the current. They sloshed hard, and her toes turned numb within minutes.

He was likely attempting to wash away their footprints and any trace of their scent so their pursuers wouldn’t know which direction they’d gone. Whatever his reason for staying to the river, she hurried to match his pace, her wet hair flopping against her cheeks. At least the exertion would warm her back up.

The forest hung more thickly above them, shutting out most of the view of the sky until it seemed darkness had already descended. When they’d waded another mile or so, he directed her out of the creek and up the bank. The way was difficult, the branches clawing at her clothing and hair.

When finally he shoved aside a tangle of brush to reveal a rounded opening in another chalky ravine, she climbed inside what appeared to be a cavern. The space was only slightly bigger than the stair closet in Reider Castle’s dungeon. The stone ceiling didn’t allow room enough to stand, but she could kneel comfortably.

Nicholas crawled in after her, then positioned the branches and brush in front of the entrance, concealing it and providing a refuge. And plunging them into darkness.

As she felt for the wall, her hand skimmed Nicholas’s chest. “Sorry.”

“Here.” He clasped her arm and guided her to the wall. “I regret ’tis not comfortable, but ’tis one of the places here in the Weald that will keep us secure from Simon’s men.”

She sat back, stretching out her wet jeans and boots, wishing she could take them off and dry out. But if merely wearing her modern clothing was taboo, then shedding them even in the darkness would be too much.

As Nicholas situated himself beside her, his warm exhalations brushed her ear. He stilled, his breath catching, as though he recognized how near they were.

There was most definitely an undercurrent between them.

She remained motionless, for what she didn’t know.

Finally, he shifted and winced, no doubt the pressure of the wall uncomfortable against his wounds.

She started peeling off her leather coat. “Use my jacket as a cushion for your back.”

“No, you need it for warmth.”

She released a scoffing sound. “It won’t keep me warm when it’s wet.”

Before he could protest any more, she finished divesting herself of the garment and pressed it against his chest. “Take it.”

He didn’t move. “You are already unclad enough as it is.”

“It’s dark in here. You can’t see anything.”

Slowly, reluctantly, he took hold of her coat. If he thought she was immodest in her T-shirt and jeans, what would he think of the way other modern women dressed—movie stars with their gowns cut to their navels, teenage girls with short-shorts that barely covered their bums, beaches full of bikini-clad women?

She didn’t like or agree with the modern fashions that too often turned women into sex objects. She’d never bought into the ideology that a woman baring her body showed confidenceand comfort with her sexuality. Such a philosophy ignored the fact that men—and even women to a degree—had visceral reactions to the beauty of the human body.

Whatever physical reactions Nicholas was feeling, it was clear he didn’t wish to take advantage of her—unlike the guard in the dungeon. She scooted away, putting a few centimeters between them. “There. No seeing or touching.”

“Very well.” His comment contained steely resolve, as though he was making a vow to himself.

She leaned her head back, and for the first time since awakening in the closet under the stairway, she replayed all that had transpired. Orchestrating Nicholas’s escape had all gone so swiftly and had been so dangerous that she hadn’t had time to think about what she was experiencing.

Was this real?

The goose bumps on her wet skin, the water dripping from her straggly hair, the tight rub of her jeans against her inner thigh—how could she fabricate everything?

She pinched her arm and gave a start at the bruising pain.

“Why did you do that?” he asked.

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