Chapter 5 #2
I groan as I tuck into the bacon and eggs, the crusty bread, and the sharp, tangy cheese. There is tea. I’m on my second cup—and on my second plate of food—when I start to feel like myself again.
Only their eyes remain upon me in the manner of men with questions.
My hunger seems unnatural upon reflection. “How many days?”
“Three,” Rafe confirms.
I blink, unable to meet his eyes. “I didn’t realize.” Vulnerability and gratitude slam into me. “Thank you. Both of you. For looking after me and making sure I had water. I’m sure it must have been a frightful experience for you, dealing with my… fever.”
I make the mistake of looking up.
Rafe arches one brow.
He can’t possibly know what it was. I’ve done nothing to make them suspect.
Not one thing. “Fever,” I say again, with greater confidence.
“It is a family ailment. One I should have admitted was a possibility from the start. I apologize for that. I had hoped, perhaps foolishly, that it might not happen to me. Please know, there is no lasting damage with the… fever… but it might also happen again.”
“Fever.” Rafe says the word in the manner of a man testing the sound of it for truth.
“It’s important to stay hydrated,” I add, babbling now. “And I appreciate you handling my state of undress with the decorum that you did.”
“No problem, lass,” Lark says gruffly. “What any travel companion would do.”
There is something off about this exchange. Like I am missing something. They’ve shared several looks while I was pitching my fever excuse—and before, while I was eating, and in the bedroom when they were helping me dress, now that I think about it.
I have just been through a heat—false heat. My wits are scrambled. There is nothing improper about their demeanor. I dare say they have seen plenty of prettier lasses naked many times. Dealing with me and my fever was likely nothing but a nuisance to them.
They both look very tired when I dare to glance up and study them. “I’m very sorry if it disturbed your sleep. Going on so long as it did.”
“Not a problem,” Rafe says gruffly.
The presence of the breakfast food and the brightness beyond the window tell me it is still morning. All things considered, better if we leave today. The thought of remaining in this tavern, trapped in this room with them, with nothing to do but wallow in bed and think about this, is unbearable.
“What time is it?”
“Close to noon,” Lark says.
“Good, I’d like to set out again today. If that is agreeable with you both?”
“We are fine,” Rafe says. “You were struggling to walk not very long ago. It’s a couple of days to the next village, where we can find lodgings. We’ll need to sleep out in the open tonight. Are you sure you want to travel today?”
“Yes,” I say with more confidence than I feel. Even though I am exhausted, if a little better for eating the food. Better to wear myself out with the ride in the hopes that sleep will claim me thoroughly tonight.
My eyes remain locked with Rafe’s.
There is a long pause before he shares yet another glance with Lark, who shrugs.
Rafe turns back to me and nods. “We’ll gather our things. Prepare the horses. Take your time.”
Determined to prove I have got this, I rise on my own. They both rise, poised like they are waiting for me to collapse.
I don’t, and knees locked and back ramrod straight, I go to my room to pack my things. Inside, I close the door and put my head in my hands.
“Well, that was awkward,” I mutter to myself. But I’ll deal with this. Like I’ve dealt with everything that a woman must while traveling with two men on the road. My initial embarrassment when I needed to ask for pauses so I could go. Washing in streams when necessary.
Being in the company of two men all day and all night for the last two months, I have come to know them. In some ways, they are rough around the edges compared to the kind of men I mixed with at my home.
But they are also good men.
And I trust them.
Trust.
Why does that word linger like a memory…
Why do I feel like I’ve had a revelation regarding trust that I now cannot quite grasp?
One that the more I try to reach for it, the further it slips away.
How or why, I know only that my trust in them has risen while I have been lost in the throes of a fever.
I have no answers, so I put it aside.
I pack my saddlebag and ready myself for the coming journey.
Lark
“She doesn’t remember,” I say, a little mindless and a lot frantic. “She doesn’t fucking know.”
“Yes, so I realize,” Rafe says. He looks as fucking poleaxed as I do.
“What the fuck does this mean? What are we supposed to do?”
“Nothing,” he says, pinning me with a look. One that brooks no dissent.
He’s always taken the role of leader among us. I was happy to let him. He’s older than me. Infinitely wiser.
If ever I needed to lean into his judgment, that moment is now.
“Is she—is she faking it?”
“It doesn’t fucking matter,” he says, tone clipped, voice low so it does not carry into the other room where she is packing. “Whether she’s forgotten or she is choosing to forget does not fucking matter. We will follow her lead. We will not bring it up.”
“And what if it happens again?”
“If it happens again and she needs us, then we will help her in any way we can. But until then, we don’t mention it. Not unless she does.”
“Gods.” I grip my hair and tug. “I’ve been inside her. I had my fucking—” My hands lower from my hair, and the right one curls into a fist.
“Don’t,” he grits out.
I uncurl my hand and let it drop to my side.
“The things we did…”
Fucking debauchery.
Fucking hot.
“I know,” he says, and I see the pain in his eyes.
“Everything has changed,” I say. “She was just a lass before. Cute and spirited. I admit to having the occasional lusty thoughts. But it is different now. I am different. It has changed me.” A strangled laugh escapes me. “I think I fucking love her.”
The chair scrapes as he rises in a rush. He’s in my face, and I’m backing up until I land against the wall. “Get a hold of yourself. Find control. And find it fucking quickly.”
I blow out a breath and nod. My hands are shaking. I’m trembling all over. “Tell me this is as hard for you.”
“I took her innocence!” The hushed, sharp words seem to take something from him.
His hand rests on my shoulder—solid comfort.
He squeezes lightly, then he lets go, turns, and walks away.
He stands at the window, staring down at the courtyard below—the window where she stood and touched herself, and where the unraveling began.
“Trust me. It is every bit as hard for me as it is for you. But we will not shame the lass. We will not bring it up unless she does. Understood?”
“Aye, understood,” I say.