Chapter Five
“L ove is merely a madness,” Owen muttered to himself, recalling that blasted line of Shakespeare as he lay on the hard wooden floor, his spine feeling like a twisted branch, all because Thalia had insisted he could “manage just fine.”
He peered over at her across the room. Admittedly, it was a tiny bed but certainly better than his crude arrangement of a thin pillow and his coat as a blanket. He wriggled his shoulder blades against the floor, wincing. This was entirely beneath him, and by all that was Heaven and Holy, he would fix it!
Propping himself up on one elbow, he narrowed his gaze on Thalia. By all appearances, she was deep in slumber. With a silent vow to restore feeling to his poor back, he shifted quietly, inching across the floor in a painstakingly stealthy crawl. He wouldn’t be able to sleep unless it was at her side.
No. Ahem . Unless his back was on a bed.
Suddenly, his elbow slipped, and he crashed onto his stomach with a thud that echoed through the hut. Thalia shifted, and he froze, heart pounding. When she settled back down, he resumed his crawl, creeping with the grace of a badly concealed burglar. Finally, he reached the edge of the bed and gave her another careful look. Satisfied she was still asleep, he slid one leg up, then the other, and—
“Owen, what are you doing?” Her voice sliced through the dark, both amused and exasperated.
He stifled a groan, caught mid-sneak.
“Ah, well—” he began, easing a bit further onto the bed, hoping she wouldn’t toss him out. “My back hurts.”
She propped herself on one elbow, her eyes narrowing on him. “I thought the floor was your friend.”
“Turns out, the bed is a far better friend.”
“This bed,” she said slowly, “is for one person.”
“It could easily accommodate two,” Owen countered, slipping a little closer. He tapped the narrow strip of mattress next to her. “Plenty of room, see?”
“No, actually, I don’t.” She glared down at his leg sprawled down the side of her bed. “Off you go.”
Recklessly undeterred, Owen burrowed into the blanket she clutched, inching up until they were nearly nose to nose. “Thalia, my dearest, I promise I’m an excellent bedmate. Silent as a lamb. I’ll stay right here, perfectly still.”
“Really? You’ll stay still?”
Owen didn’t move an inch. “Of course. My word is my—” He cut off with a hiss as her bare, icy feet pressed against his, making him jerk his own feet back. “Bloody hell! Why are your feet so cold?”
She merely raised an eyebrow. “I don’t like wearing socks to bed.”
Owen froze, then raised a brow of his own. “That’s not fair; you provoked my movement.” He nudged her ankle with his foot. “But this is perfect, isn’t it? You don’t like socks, and my feet are warm. Let me be your foot warmer.”
“I feel no warmth,” she retorted, though she didn’t pull her feet away.
“That’s only because your toes are colder than an ice block in the North Pole. Just give it a moment.”
“This doesn’t mean I want you here,” she muttered.
“I know, I know. I’m merely a foot warmer. There’s no need for you to complicate things.”
“ I complicate things? How about the fact that you’re half-sprawled across my bed, uninvited? That is not a complication I have introduced.”
“Half-sprawled is such an unkind exaggeration.” Owen leaned closer. “And I only came here out of a pressing need. Had you let me share the bed from the start, we’d both be fast asleep by now.”
She scoffed. “Or perhaps,” she said, her voice low, “you wanted to creep into my bed all along.”
Her words hung between them, stinging with a surprising, and wholly uncomfortable, hint of truth. And if he was being honest with himself, lying here beside her, their feet entangled, felt more satisfying than it had any right to be.
Shakespeare’s words taunted him once more.
Love is merely a madness; and, I tell you, deserves as well a dark house and a whip as madmen do. And wasn’t it madness? A fever that consumed reason and left him lost, unsure of where he stood—or if he even possessed the strength to endure it.
Owen cleared his throat. “Let’s just get some sleep.”
A piercing scream suddenly echoed through the night.
*
Thalia jerked upright, heart pounding. Beside her, Calstone bolted up as well, instantly alert.
“What in blazes was that?” he muttered, his voice thick with alarm.
“Someone needs help.” Thalia flung herself out of bed, snatching up her coat. She shrugged it on hastily over the fresh shirt and trousers she’d changed into to sleep, barely managing to get her arms through the sleeves as she reached for the door.
“Thalia, wait!” Calstone’s voice caught up with her, but she was already fumbling with the latch, yanking open the door, and rushing out, the cool night air shocking against her bare feet. Calstone muttered a curse as he stumbled after her.
The smell hit her first—a choking, acrid odor that sent a jolt of dread racing through her veins. She swung her gaze toward the rising smoke, heavy and ominous against the starlit sky. Her stomach dropped.
“Fire,” she whispered, horror building in her chest. If it spread, the flames could easily devour the surrounding forest, sweeping through the trees like tinder until it wiped out the entire village.
Without a second thought, she shouted to Calstone, “Get a bucket!”
The duke was already sprinting back toward her hut, no doubt in search of anything that could hold water. Thalia raced to grab her own weathered bucket from beside the door, then tore off toward the river, her heart racing with a single, frantic purpose: get water to stop the fire. Stop it before it destroyed everything.
She heard Calstone behind her, a steady presence as they reached the riverbank together. Thalia plunged her bucket into the icy water, her fingers going numb as she heaved it out, droplets spilling over the sides as she turned to run back.
“Slow down before you fall,” Calstone called from behind her.
When they reached the burning site, chaos had already erupted. Villagers ran back and forth, faces illuminated in flickering orange as they shouted to one another, coordinating their efforts to contain the blaze. The Marquess of Leeds and his wife were also there, working alongside the villagers to keep the flames at bay. In the midst of the commotion, Thalia spotted the source of the trouble—the Harroways’ barn, flames licking its walls. Mr. and Mrs. Harroway stood nearby, holding the reins of their two horses and a donkey, trying to keep them calm as villagers passed buckets down the line.
Thalia dashed forward, pouring her bucket of water along the fire’s edge, where the flames hissed and sputtered. Calstone appeared beside her, his brow glistening with sweat as he tossed his own bucketful, his face set in focused determination.
Thalia coughed, and Calstone quickly drew her back from the barn. “Don’t get too close,” he warned.
She nodded, her eyes watering from the smoke. “I’m fine, really. Let’s get more water.” Fortunately, while the smoke was dense, the flames seemed somewhat contained. Several villagers were busy digging a narrow trench around the stable—a firebreak to prevent the flames from spreading to the trees. Clearly, everyone had moved quickly the moment the fire broke out. Someone must have seen it happen and alerted others.
“This is good, everyone! Let’s keep it contained!” Leeds shouted.
A young boy suddenly rushed out from beneath the trees and cried out, “There’s a fox cub in the barn, someone please save it!” His small voice rose above the chatter, his eyes wide and frantic as he pointed to the stable.
Thalia’s breath caught. A fox cub? While everyone hesitated, casting uncertain glances at one another, Thalia made up her mind. The cub represented more than just a life at stake—at least it did to her; it embodied resistance against the fire threatening to engulf everything.
It appeared to be the theme of her adulthood—fighting to save what others deemed already lost. She wouldn’t let the cub perish tonight.
She dashed for the stables.
“Thalia!” Calstone’s roar came from behind her.
Thalia plunged into the barn. The warmth brushed against her skin as the flames flickered nearby, their reach less threatening than she had expected, but with fire, anything could happen.
I must be fast.
She listened closely for any sound. There—a soft whimper broke through the crackling blaze.
Following the sound, she navigated around a fallen beam and charred debris. She spotted the cub, cowering in a small alcove near the back, its eyes wide with fright. The fox cub emitted a weak cry as she reached for it and brought it close, cradling it carefully in her arms.
Now, to —
Just as she turned to leave, a pair of strong arms encircled her waist, lifting her effortlessly off the ground. It might be madness, but she recognized the person instantly.
Owen.