Chapter 25 #2
The next day, we pretended that nothing unusual had happened between us in the snow.
Baron greeted me in the morning with his usual smile, and I made sure to say the same things I always did, but everything felt slightly off-kilter.
We shared snarky banter as we always had, worked side by side collecting firewood and snow to melt, and neither of us made a single reference to the moment when we had been so close to kissing.
I did my best to smother the growing desire I felt for him, but it clawed its way through every barrier I tried to build.
As the last winter days trudged by, I found myself savoring even the smallest details about him, from the way he hummed tunelessly when he cooked, to how he blew warm air into his hands before tightening his grip on a rope or tool.
Without meaning to, I caught myself glancing toward him whenever something amusing happened, eager to share the moment with him specifically.
At night, things became even harder to ignore. Each evening, Baron settled behind me, arms wrapped securely around my middle to ward off the frigid air through the night. The closeness had begun as purely practical. Now, it felt as dangerous as it did comforting.
There were mornings when I woke up before he did, his chin hooked over my head.
Instead of slithering away, I remained perfectly still, hoping he wouldn’t notice I was awake and soaking in his intoxicating presence.
I simply let myself exist in that warmth with him, relishing every second.
The steady rhythm of his breathing always calmed me and the slow, firm rise and fall of his chest against my back made me feel protected in a way I had never known I would crave.
Sometimes, when he stirred but hadn’t fully woken, he would tighten his arms around me instinctively, as if drawing me closer without realizing it. I pretended not to notice, but I always absolutely did.
It was insanity, the way I was feeling. I had always prided myself on being strong and independent enough to never want a man to feel the need to protect me.
And yet…I so desperately wanted to feel safe amid my imprisonment in this camp, and Baron gave that to me.
He cared. He wouldn’t let me get hurt. He took care of me and asked for nothing in return.
During the days, far more dangerous changes began to slip into my behavior.
I moved a little nearer when we walked, close enough that our shoulders or hands brushed.
I found myself leaning in to hear his low voice even when I didn’t need to, lingering near him long after conversations had ended.
I rarely let the chain stretch between us anymore—its full length went unused for days at a time.
Being close to him felt easier than pretending I didn’t want to be.
It felt like a betrayal to Father and his imprisonment to be enjoying the time I had with Baron.
I tried to school myself, to be sensible, to remember who Baron was and why I was here.
But each time he laughed at something I said, or playfully bumped his shoulder against mine, or brushed his hand against the small of my back while steadying me on icy ground, something in me weakened all over again.
It felt like a candle had been lit inside my chest, small at first, but then impossible to extinguish. The flame grew warmer each time Baron touched me or tossed a teasing remark my way, brightening even the darkest corners of my heart.
Baron didn’t make resisting easy. His face always lit up when I flirted, and when he flirted back, his voice softened in a way that made heat rush to my cheeks.
He found excuses to touch me—guiding me by the elbow, brushing stray snow from my hair, steadying me with a hand on my waist when I slipped on the frozen ground.
I caught him staring at me more and more often, and each time he saw me noticing, he looked away too quickly to be inconspicuous. If he didn’t mean it and this was merely an act he was putting on, he missed his calling in life and should’ve been a minstrel.
Each time my heart leapt because of him, I scolded myself afterward. I had always mocked the silly girls back home who fluttered over handsome men and hung around them, hoping for attention. Now I was behaving worse than any of them.
And yet, no matter how hard I tried to resist, Baron’s unwavering kindness broke down every wall I tried to build.
Month after month, he had shielded me from cruelty, from Dorian’s temper, from the sheriff’s brutality, and from the other men’s taunts.
He had placed himself between me and harm more times than I could count.
He had cooked whatever decent food he could scrounge, pressing the portion with the best meat into my hands before taking the lesser for himself.
He made sure I slept warm each night when no one else would have cared.
He crafted excuses to give me privacy whenever possible, even if it meant inconvenience for him.
As the weeks progressed, I began rethinking things I had dismissed before. Moments I had chalked up to duty now seemed intentional, even tender.
He watched me out of the corner of his eye when he thought I wouldn’t notice.
His jaw and fists would clench if another man addressed me with anything less than respect.
He was always careful with me, even though I knew he had the strength to break anyone he wanted to.
He had even risked his own life to save mine.
It couldn’t all be devotion to his job and loyalty to the oath he’d sworn to the sheriff. What if it was devotion to me? Could it be that he cared about me as more than just a job to take care of? Would there be a way in which he would choose to let me go free?
I didn’t have the answer, but I would’ve been a fool to pretend that I wasn’t hopelessly desperate to find out.
I couldn’t help feeling like I was slowly falling in love with him.
Each time the thought dared cross my mind, I pounced on it, clawed it apart, and buried the remains deep within me.
Such thoughts were absolute lunacy. My lengthy imprisonment had driven me to the brink of insanity.
What sort of madness had settled on me that I could entertain such ridiculous feelings toward the man who kept me chained to him like some unruly dog?
He had deprived me of my freedom for months.
For pity’s sake, he was the Sheriff of Nottingham’s right-hand man…
the same sheriff who would gladly see Father dead and who was the cause of my mother’s death.
Baron was working for my worst enemy; I couldn’t be in love with someone like that.
I had been so vigilant at the beginning of my captivity—swift to reject even the faintest hint of kindness, determined not to be softened by anything Baron did.
But now…now, with winter slowly turning into spring around us, I could feel myself slipping.
I was becoming soft and weak. And the worst part was how easily it was happening.
Baron hadn’t engaged in some grandiose seduction and there was no calculated maneuver.
He had just layered on countless small gestures of kindness, piling one upon the other until I was drowning in them. How could any girl resist that?
I ought to be more skeptical and suspicious than I was. I had deceived Sneeds—flirting with him so he let down his guard and I could overpower him. What if Baron was doing to me what I’d done to Sneeds? Was he capable of such deception?
Of course he was. I’d be a fool to think otherwise.
He had already proven himself my equal in every skill I had tested, and far superior in some.
One didn’t rise to senior officer in Prince John’s militia through simply being a good tracker.
It took cunning, discipline, ruthlessness.
Perhaps I was being arrogant; I knew I often was.
But if Baron were weaving the same snare around me, surely I would feel it closing in. But it didn’t. It never had.
His concern seemed genuine—maddeningly, adorably, genuine.
Was my attraction to him a professional respect or simple admiration for his skills?
Or maybe it was his because of his seemingly endless patience, so unlike my own, and that rare, guileless sincerity he carried.
Or, and I hated myself for even thinking it, maybe it was simply his physique and ruggedly masculine good looks.
I wouldn’t be a woman if I hadn’t noticed.
So basically, I only like everything about him, I thought.
Guilt pressed on me, heavy as the winter sky above us.
How dare I sit here, well-fed, warm each night, protected by the man binding me, while Father and his men languished in cold stone cells?
How selfish could I be? Father had to still be alive.
I could feel it deep in my bones and wouldn’t allow myself to imagine any other situation.
But even though I longed to escape, flee across the countryside, and reach Prince John’s dungeons to plan some sort of jailbreak, the reality remained: leaving camp alone in the dead of winter was a death sentence. I would freeze long before I reached anything useful.
And I still had no means of freeing myself from the chain.
So I had to wait. Winter would be over soon. All I could do was pray that Father found some way out, or at least lived long enough for me to find one once spring came.