The Traitor's Escape

Prologue

"Are you going to talk to me yet?" she asked, sitting on the bed.

He didn't respond.

She continued staring at his broad back in the darkened cabin. He'd refused to speak to her since they'd been onboard Secondwind. He wouldn't even look at her after helping her out of the little rowboat up to the massive ship, their ticket out of King's Landing and all the way to High Garden. He'd grunted at the men, had the crew show him and her down to the bunks, and he hadn't made a noise since.

Sansa Clegane had never felt quite so bad.

She couldn't say she felt alone because her husband, Sandor Clegane, hadn't stormed off and left her to her own devices. She also had an ever present reminder of the life she was growing inside of her. She'd never be alone again, whether it was the child she carried or with her husband. Still, it was unnerving that her husband no longer wanted to speak with her. He hadn't in almost two days now.

It was understandable that he was upset. She hadn't told him she was pregnant. She didn't think she was going to until after they were far enough away from King's Landing and safely tucked away from the dangers of the Lannisters. But Lady Olenna, the woman who had been kind enough to give them passage and a place in High Garden, had told Sandor the reason for their escape was because Sansa was carrying his child. She'd never seen him shut down like this.

It brought tears to her eyes, but she wiped at them angrily and finally said, "You'll have to talk to me at some point. If you would just let me explain..." He didn't snap at her like she thought he would. He just shifted on the bed and continued to stay silent. It was a lost cause, she knew it. Silently, she blew out the taper and set it on the tableside next to her. She shrugged off the cloak she had across her shoulders, let the fabric pool on the ground, and tugged the sheets aside so she could climb underneath. She settled on her side, facing away from Sandor, her chest tight.

She never thought him just ignoring her could hurt so badly.

The tears in her eyes trickled out, down her nose and cheek into the pillow underneath her. She didn't make a sound, didn't say another word. She tucked herself into a sort of ball, her knees tucked in close and one hand resting on her belly bump. Her other arm was under her pillow. It had been the same every night, the same cold shoulder and the chilly room. She steeled herself for another restless night.

She lay there for probably an hour restlessly. She tensed when she felt the bed move, heard the boards creak. She felt Sandor shift, so he was close to her, and then, to her surprise, he wrapped an arm around her and tugged her close. She could have sobbed, she was so overwhelmed. She touched his arm, which snaked its way gently around her middle, with delicate hands. She could feel his large hand spread across her bump, for the first time truly feeling what it was it rather than just a bit of fat. She couldn't stop touching him, nestled down in the warmth Sandor provided.

She tried saying, "Sandor..."

He refused to say a word still. His hand found its way under her undergarment and he stroked the bare skin of her belly gently. His touch made her shiver. She hadn't felt his touch in almost two days. She was almost ashamed that she began to react to his touch as if he was playing with her between her legs or toying with her nipples. Ever since he'd finally gotten over his reserves to touch her, they coupled at least every day, if not more often depending on Sandor's mood. She'd grown so used to it; she almost ached with release now that it'd been over two days.

She knew he wouldn't want to take her still, so she settled with just being in his arm. She felt him bury his face into her hair and breathe in.

It was much easier to fall asleep, tucked safely in her husband's arms.