Bisclavret

Chapter 28

By the time we return to the road, our men are nearly finished with their tasks. The wagons and carts look ready to be driven back to the chateau. I don't see any of the surviving republican men, and I'm too afraid to ask what will happen to them or if there even are any more survivors other than the captain we just left in the woods. What would be the point of my performance if there was someone else to counter it? To provide an alternate story for what happened here tonight? To kill all the others is heartless and bloodthirsty, and exactly what someone like the baron would do, so I must assume it's been done. And as much as I hate to admit it, part of me understands the need. It's much more harrowing if an entire well-armed force disappears into the woods and only a sole survivor emerges, ranting about monsters and demons.

"We'll stay to the back again," Henri says, pulling me out of my dark thoughts.

I make a noncommittal noise, and I must look as overwhelmed as I feel because he rests a large hand on my lower back and applies gentle pressure to get me moving. He keeps his hand in place all the way to the rear of the line, and I take far more comfort from his touch than I probably should. Am I supposed to be angry at him? Blame him for what has befallen me? If so, I can't bring myself to do it. He said he's been trying to protect me this whole time, and I believe him because his actions reaffirm that declaration. Earlier, when the baron made it clear he wasn't letting me go, Henri raged against the injustice of it and only stopped apologizing about what happened when I all but ordered him to.

In a weird way, we're stuck in this together, and it makes me feel less alone, knowing that I'm not the only one caught up in the baron's machinations. Instead of being angry at Henri, it makes me feel closer to him.

Relief washes over me when we pass the last wagon, and I clap my eyes on our horses. I look them over quickly, but they don't seem any worse for wear. In all the confusion, I forgot we left them tied up in the woods. Someone must have realized it and thought to fetch them. It's a wonder they didn't break loose during the chaos or that one of the fleeing republican troops didn't come across them and use them to escape.

We stop beside them, and I shiver when Henri's hand falls away. Even with his magic acting as a buffer, even with the collective power of the nearby men, the cold is creeping into my weary bones. I'm dazed and drained, and I think whatever the baron did to me must be fading because I become more and more exhausted with every passing second.

Henri turns me to him and tugs my hood higher before dropping his hands to my cloak and tying it shut. "You look about ready to drop," he says, his voice low, meant for my ears only.

I crane my head back and nod up at him, and he uses his hold on my cloak to pull me closer. His dark eyes roam over my face, concern etched across his brow. "Can you sit a horse like this?"

"Perhaps with your magical aid," I tell him.

He shakes his head, and that stray lock of hair falls over his forehead in a spill of silken strands. "I don't think that's wise. It's not truly helping you, at least not physically, just masking whatever symptoms of exhaustion you may have."

"Then why don't I ride with you?"

I surprised him with that comment. I can tell from how his brows climb up and his lips fall open. It's gone a moment later, replaced by a wicked smile and teasing eyes. "That's what I was about to suggest, but I thought I'd have to work harder to convince you." After last time, goes unsaid.

I shrug. "No point keeping our distance now."

His amusement fades, and I hate to see it go. I don't want to think about the position I'm in or the fact that if the baron gets his way, I'll probably never leave this accursed forest again. Not right now. Let those thoughts be for tomorrow. Tonight, I want to enjoy the last of my freedom while I can, so I lift a brow and pull my gaze from Henri's, giving myself leave to ogle him for once, taking in his broad shoulders, thick waist, gloriously long and muscular legs. Damn his clothes for hiding so much of him from me.