The Beautiful Pretender (A Medieval Fairy Tale #2)(70)

“Jacob is twelve and Brigitta is six. I miss them.” She sighed.

“Are your father and mother still alive?”

“My mother died nearly six years ago and my father worked as the Earl of Plimmwald’s stable master. But he was in an accident. One of Lord Plimmwald’s stallions kicked my father in the back and in the head. He can no longer walk or feel his legs, and he doesn’t think quite so well as he once did.”

“Did Plimmwald agree to provide for your father and his family?”

“No. I was already working at the castle as a servant for his daughter. He never even said he was sorry for what happened.”

No one spoke for a while. She leaned forward to look through the crack. The guards had stopped looking through the papers on the desk and the floor. They both sat down, one in Lord Thornbeck’s chair and the other in Jorgen’s. The guards’ heads were leaned back against the wall, but they faced the rest of the room and would have a clear view if she and Lord Thornbeck tried to sneak out.

“If the guards fall asleep,” Avelina whispered, “is it too dangerous to try to sneak out?”

“We will try it.”

What if the guards woke up? Lord Thornbeck had no weapon. She chewed on her lip, then reminded herself to pray for his protection.

They both watched the guards for a while, trying to see if they were falling asleep, until Avelina’s cheek brushed against his hair. She had not realized she was so close to him. She moved her head away a few inches.

“I am going to stand,” he said.

She drew her knees up to give him more room. He carefully got to his feet, no doubt trying to make sure he did not make any noise. When he was fully upright, he put his eye to the crack.

He stood like that for a long time. A crash sounded, as from something falling to the floor. Lord Thornbeck stepped back. “Not sleeping,” he whispered.

Avelina gazed up at him in the dark. He was very tall, with broad shoulders, and her memory filled in what she could not see in the dark—perfect masculine features, dark hair, a shadow of beard on his face, and brown eyes that could melt her heart—or freeze it, depending on his expression.

“Do you wish to stretch your legs?” He seemed to be holding out his hand to her.

She groped for it in the dark, and he pulled her to her feet. Now they were standing only inches apart, her hand still clasped in his. Neither of them moved. She felt his breath on her forehead.

“It is nighttime now. You should get some rest,” he said softly. “I’ll keep watch.” He moved around her, letting go of her hand and touching her shoulder. “I’ll sit here and you can lie down, with your head at the other end.”

He slid to the floor. Then she sat down at the other end and pillowed her head on her hands, her legs stretched out alongside his. But her body was slow to relax, her muscles still tense. The floor was hard and cold, and her feet were beginning to ache. If she got any colder, she was afraid she would start shivering again.

“Are you cold?” he asked.

“A little. Yes.” The pain in her feet reminded her of the frightening experience outside in the snow with the wolves. But she did not want to complain. Besides, what could Lord Thornbeck do about it? There was no blanket in this room and neither of them wore a cloak or outer garment.

“I do not want to make you uncomfortable,” he said after a short silence, “but the healer said you should not get too cold this soon. You will have to allow me to warm your feet.”

She sat up. “How do you propose to do that?”

“Lie back down. Now put your feet between my knees.”

She had no shoes on, only the stockings they had placed on her feet when all her clothing was wet. He held her feet in his hands, then quickly took hold of the stockings and stripped them off. Then he tucked her bare feet between his knees.

The warmth from his legs flooded her cold feet.

Her heart beat fast. She concentrated on staying still, not wanting to make him uncomfortable. Her muscles were cramping and even though her feet were warmer, she was still quite cold. She lay on the stone floor, forcing her eyes to stay closed, commanding herself to fall asleep. But it was no use.

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.