In The Night

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

~XXII~

While winter nights were fierce and unforgiving, a winter morn was a thing of beauty. As the thick of winter approached, and the morning air was crisp and clean, harsh, brilliant rays of sunlight broke through the canopy of bare trees and lay its warming touch on the frozen ground. The wind had stilled, as if holding its breath, awaiting something, leaving the woodland unnervingly quiet.

For a second day, Ainslie found herself trekking through the woodland, the soles of her feet worn, her limbs aching, and her heart heavy as the prospect of sanctuary seemed like nothing more than a fable. Ainslie did not know for how much longer she could endure this journey, already she felt as if her legs were one step away from collapsing beneath her weight.

Soon after Charlotte had finished feeding little Hale, was when the men had awoken, and emerged from their tents. Ainslie had found herself avoiding Allister's gaze. It was not shyness that encouraged such an action from her, but unease. His presence, his close proximity, had her feeling something strange, and she did not like feeling so unaware at his side.

But, much like the day before, Allistair remained resolutely by her side, the tips of his fingers occasionally grazing against her elbow as they walked. When she would stumble beside him, that same hand would wrap tightly around her forearm to steady her, pulling her so close to his body until she found her feet once again. In those brief moments, all she knew was him, his touch, his warmth, his scent, all assaulting her senses until her head was left a clouded mess. With what little strength she had, she would push herself from his arms, until they were stood side by side once again, untouching, her breath haggard and quick.

Ainslie was abundantly aware that something had shifted between them, though she scarcely knew what nor why. Every interaction she held with Allistair was a foreign experience. She had had such little exposure to the world outside of Clayworth manner, outside of her father and his staff, that she felt lost in Allistair's presence.

Ainslie forced herself to continue on, trying her hardest to think of anything but the imposing man besides her, until, when the sun was at it's highest point in the sky, they finally came to a stop.

Hale had frozen at the front of the group, and fear began to coil tight inside Ainslie, until finally he spoke. "We're here."

There were no words to describe the immeasurable sense of relief that rushed through Ainslie, so strong she nearly stumbled to her knees. She clutched tightly onto Allister's arm instead, her fingers digging tightly into the flesh as fresh tears kissed her cheeks. She felt like a babe, unable to control her tears, but as she met Charlotte's gaze through the rest of their group, she noted that the other woman also has tears brushing her long, dark lashes.

"What do we do now," Ainslie asked in a voice too meek, the words hoarse against her dry throat.

Hale met her eyes and she did well not to shy her gaze away, despite the crushing instinct to do so. His chest heaved heavily, his breath escaping him in a deep exhale. He cast his eyes heavenward, then turned to Samual at his side. The younger boy looked no better than the rest of them. His blond hair and soft, angelic features were dirtied and weathered. Hale grimaced.

"Samual and Ainslie will go in search of somewhere for us to stay."

"Nae," Allistair uttered firmly, absolutely, his thick brows already furrowing deeply.

"Allis-"

"She will nae go anywhere wi'out me."

"You will not go anywhere. You will intimidate anyone you come across. Dante may also be similarly ill received. I will not leave Charlotte, and I will not force her to walk a step more than she must. Samual is the only one who can escort Ainslie, and she is the only one who would incite any sense of sympathy from a village of strangers."