Chapter 23
Somehow, we managed to make it through the night, talking through the long hours until the sun decided to emerge once more.
I spent the time telling Baron all about my family and training with the Merry Men, and he seemed genuinely interested.
I asked him about his childhood, but he avoided talking about his father, who I guessed had been neglectful at best and abusive at worst. Baron did speak very kindly about his mother, who worked as a serving girl at a tavern for all of his early childhood years.
Baron reminisced about the times he would wipe plates and cups every day as young as three years old while his mother flitted in and out of the kitchen, laden down with trays of food for guests, telling him with each trip how proud she was of her special boy, ruffling his hair or pecking him on the cheek.
It was easy to imagine Baron as a young child, dark-haired and round-faced, eager for praise as he diligently wiped cup after cup in the back of a gloomy kitchen.
It was very reluctantly that I peeled myself away from Baron in the morning.
By then, the fire had dwindled to a dim glow, but his body was generating enough steady, comforting heat that I wanted to stay plastered against him for as long as possible.
His muscular chest was far superior to any pillow I’d ever had, but the most surprising realization was that my suspicion and wariness evaporated when I was touching him.
Him holding me gave me a quiet sense of safety threaded in among that tantalizing body heat.
Such a thought was insanity, of course. Baron was my captor and had held me as a prisoner for more than a month. He had dragged me through forests and mountains and kept me tethered at his side.
And yet…he had also held me through the coldest night of my life, without hesitation and without complaint.
He was the only one in camp who seemed even remotely concerned with my well-being.
I couldn’t imagine how Father and the others were faring; certainly they would have no such luxury of their guards caring whether they lived or died.
The worst part of the night had been when sensation returned in painful stabs to our numb bodies. I was sure Baron would have my nail marks dug deep into his back where I had clung to him, grimacing against the agony of blood flowing back into my limbs again.
We both shifted away to gather our clothes, now stiff but mercifully dry enough to be better than nothing.
Trying hard not to look at Baron, I pulled mine on with trembling fingers, still shivering.
The cold still seeped into my bones, but at least it wasn’t as bad as the night before.
It had been weeks now of me constantly feeling chilled.
Baron claimed that the Crags would afford more protection from the unforgiving weather.
“We need to move,” Baron said quietly. “If we keep a good pace, we’ll reach the others before dark, and we’ll be able to stay at the winter encampment until spring. We can get there today if we move fast.”
“Right.”
As we stepped out of the cave, the cold hit instantly, slipping under my half-dried clothes and cloak and making all my muscles tense up again.
I paused when I emerged, staring down the winding trail that vanished toward Sherwood Forest, toward home, still impossibly far away.
My heart ached. Father and the Merry Men might still be alive…
they might be. If I could only break this chain, I could run.
Baron followed my gaze. “You’d never make it,” he said in a low, gentle voice. “Not in this condition. You’d freeze before the second night.”
I swallowed hard. He wasn’t wrong. My fingers were already numb, and the dampness in my bones made each breath shudder. But the truth still burned bitter. “They left us to die,” I said quietly. “They wouldn’t even know or care.”
He didn’t argue. He simply shifted, adjusting the pack on his shoulders, and the movement tugged at our chain.
“They might not care,” he said. “But surviving isn’t about what they want.” He nodded toward the trail leading upward, toward the Crags. “It’s about what we want. And I, for one, would prefer not to freeze to death today. Come on, Laurel. If we push hard, we can catch up before sundown.”
I hesitated for one more heartbeat, letting myself imagine what freedom might feel like. But then the icy wind howled down the mountain and made the choice for me. I turned away and followed Baron up the trail.
Baron and I wound our way back up the mountain, re-tracing our steps from the day before.
I loathed every second of it. I was being forced to return to my imprisonment out of sheer necessity; the protection that the large camp provided was essential for our survival.
Baron was eager to reach camp again, where there was plenty of firewood and hot food available.
I trudged along, miserable, cold, and confused.
I somehow needed to escape, survive while traversing a frozen wasteland alone, and find a way of freeing my father, if he was still alive.
And my life had just been saved by the man I was chained to.
I had been so sure that my imprisonment would be a short stint; never had I dreamed I would be confined for so long. I felt like an utter failure.
We reached the camp just after nightfall. Both Baron and I were nearly frozen, and as we stumped into camp, one of the men let out a cry. “Baron’s alive! He’s alive! Get the sheriff!”
The sheriff’s men were elated to see Baron.
They ushered him near a roaring fire and put mugs of hot drinks into his hands.
As relieved as the men were that Baron had survived, they seemed equally as disgusted to discover that I had lived.
I wasn’t offered anything, but Baron passed a cup to me anyway.
I was so cold that I didn’t even care what I was drinking.
I would gladly gulp down a mugful of poison if it was hot.
The men in camp were now asking Baron question after question. How had he survived the fall? How had we managed to swim while chained together? How had we stayed warm all night? My insides clenched as they posed this last question to Baron and I prepared to be humiliated and taunted.
“Some moron left their fire going when they broke camp, and we were able to build it up big enough to make it through the night,” Baron said lightly.
“That must have been Bilius,” someone chimed in.
“Hey!” Bilius protested feebly.
“I bet you were grateful!” a husky voice contributed.
“But still, after swimming in that frozen lake?”
“We were mighty cold last night,” Baron conceded, but true to his word, he never said a word about the other measures we’d taken to stay warm.
Hands rained down on Baron’s back as people commended him on surviving alone with “that witch” in tow.
Most men still avoided me. Only one met my eye.
Dorian. He glowered daggers at me from across the roaring fire by which I sat, clearly furious that his attempt on my life had failed. I matched his glare.
The sheriff stepped into the light of the fire.
He congratulated Baron on surviving and returning the prisoner to camp against all odds.
“Our little sour-faced shrew couldn’t get rid of you that easily, could she?
” he sneered at me. “Thought you could free yourself by pushing him off the cliff, did you? Did you forget your link to him?” The sheriff laughed unpleasantly and waited for the men to join in.
My mouth fell open. They thought I did that?! They assumed I had pushed Baron off? There was no reason. Was that the story Dorian had fed everyone? I was so shocked that I had no rebuttal.
“Actually,” Baron said evenly, and gazed across at Dorian. “She was pushed, and I had to jump after her so we wouldn’t lose our hostage. She’s the only leverage over Robin Hood we have right now.”
“Who did it?” demanded the sheriff. “Who would do such a thing?”
He followed my and Baron’s gaze to Dorian, who sat rigidly on his stump.
Dorian stood defiantly. “Alright, I did it,” he hissed venomously.
His fierce gaze flew around the circle of onlookers.
“And I am glad I did, too. No one else sees it, but I do. This girl deserves to be tortured or put to death, but instead, she is fed and washed and treated like some pampered princess. Has everyone forgotten what she did to me? And Sneeds? She needs to pay. She needs to suffer. We already have Robin Hood—we don’t need her anymore.
I say we kill her now and be done with it! ”
Baron’s face tightened in rage. He stood, several inches taller than any other man, and flexed his arms threateningly.
Again, I was reminded of his raw strength and power and fear pulsed in my gut.
Baron took a menacing step toward Dorian, fists clenched.
I scrambled to my feet and hastily dropped my mug to the ground as the chain reached its limit, following Baron as he advanced menacingly toward Dorian.
Dorian quailed under the ferocity that Baron emanated.
None of the other men said a word, not even the sheriff.
They all seemed to be waiting to see what would happen, simultaneously terrified and enthralled by Baron’s anger.
It seemed like no one was even breathing; the only sound was the crackling of the flames.
“You very nearly killed two people. You are the one who needs to pay for what you did.” Baron’s voice was barely a whisper, trembling with thinly controlled rage.
Dorian cringed away from Baron but persisted. “How many times has she injured you so far? Don’t you remember your black eye? I’m surprised you don’t thrash her soundly while she sleeps.”