Was Lord Thornbeck asleep? His eyes seemed to be closed, but it was impossible to be sure in the dark little room.
Her shoulder seemed to have turned to ice against the cold floor. She clamped her teeth together to stop them from making noise. A few minutes later they started chattering and she could no longer control them.
Would the guards hear? She put her hand over her mouth.
“Come here,” Lord Thornbeck whispered harshly.
“What?” But speaking made her teeth chatter louder.
“Come. Closer.”
She sat up and crawled closer, still trying to stop her teeth from slamming together, or at least to keep her lips closed so they weren’t so loud.
He scooped her up before she knew what he was doing and placed her in his lap. “Now put your head on my chest. Your chattering teeth will get us killed.”
She sat stiffly but had little choice but to lay her head against his chest. His arms were wrapped around her and she was surrounded by his masculine scent and the dried mint and lilac of his clothes. His breath was in her ear, audible through her hair, which hung down unfettered, as she’d lost her ribbons and her braids had come undone when she’d run to find him.
Sitting in his lap like this was very improper, but she was deliciously warm. Of course he was more concerned about alerting the guard than her comfort. But she did not blame him.
She closed her eyes, breathing deeply of his comforting scent. If only she could be held like this every day, to feel loved by this man she had come to care for even more than her own life.
But it was foolish to think such things.
Neither of them spoke or even moved. Finally, warm and comfortable, she felt herself drifting blissfully into sleep.
It was night. She was in the forest just outside the town of Plimmwald, and she was searching for Lord Thornbeck.
A man, one of Geitbart’s guards, was kneeling in front of a fire in the middle of the dark forest. She started to hide, but as soon as she took a step, he looked up and glared at her. He strode toward her. She tried to turn and run but she could not move. Her feet were heavy and would not obey her.
As the guard approached, his head suddenly changed into the head of a wolf. The wolf face snarled and growled, saliva dripping from its fangs. Its horrible yellow eyes held her captive. Finally, she wrenched herself free from the eyes’ mesmerizing hold and turned to run, but her feet seemed to be made of iron. She could not move.
The hair on her arms prickled, as if she could feel the breath of the wolf just behind her, even as she could hear it snorting and snapping its jaws. Then, terrible pain tore through her ankle as the wolf sank its teeth into her flesh.
She jerked awake, gasping.
“It was only a dream,” Lord Thornbeck whispered in her ear. “You must be quiet.”
She clutched handfuls of his shirt, pushing herself off his chest. Had she cried out? Would the guard find them now?
25
REINHART HELD HER close as her whole body shuddered. She made a strangled sound, as if she was afraid.
“You must be quiet,” he whispered in her ear.
She gasped, pushing away from him.
“It was only a dream.”
Her eyes finally opened. She stared up at him as if finally understanding where she was.
One of the guards stood and took a few steps in their direction.
“Don’t move,” he whispered in her ear.
She was clinging to him now, her face pressed against his chest. If the guard found them, Reinhart would give himself up in exchange for her freedom. But the guard would still tell Geitbart that Avelina was there with him.
The guard took another step, then another, staring hard at their little alcove. Could he see the crack behind the bookshelf? The closer he came, the more likely he was to see it, to pull the bookcase forward and find them.
He stood still for several seconds, staring.
Avelina did not move, but Reinhart could hear her breathing fast. He wanted to tell her all would be well, but he did not dare take the risk of speaking, even in a whisper.
Finally, the guard muttered, “Must be rats,” and put his sword away. He walked back to his chair and sat down, leaning his head back against the wall.
Her silky hair brushed against his lips as he whispered, “We’re safe.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.” He should stop inhaling the intoxicating lavender of her hair. He should not be holding her.
He could have let her be cold. He could have left her where she was on the cold, hard floor. But she had no shoes, her clothing was so much thinner than his, and the healer had said she should not get cold this soon after nearly freezing to death. Besides that, her teeth were making too much noise.