Run Wild

by Shelly Thacker

  He was going to live.

  Her muscles went slack as her tension drained away. They would be able to leave the cave, perhaps soon. There were things she should do. Find more moss. Rekindle the fire in the biscuit tin. Get more water.

  But at the moment she didn’t want to do anything but stay right where she was, beside him. Listening to the sound of his heartbeat.

  A moment later, she opened her eyes, lifting her head, feeling uneasy. What was she thinking?

  She wanted to stay beside him?

  Unsettled, she turned away and busied herself relighting the fire. With a scrape of steel against granite, sparks became flame, and after a few minutes, a scant pool of light encircled them.

  Setting the little knife aside, she watched the golden glow warm his features, wishing she could make sense of these uncomfortable new feelings. For so many years she had cautiously kept her distance from men—especially any large, ill-tempered, heavily muscled, or aggressive types. And he was all four.

  But somehow, with this particular man, her caution seemed to have vanished.

  Instead of feeling wary of him, she felt... drawn to him by some powerful force she had never felt before in her life, could not explain.

  Without thinking, she reached out to touch him. Tentatively, lightly. As if lost in a trance, she watched her hand move over the broad expanse of his chest, tracing the massive curve of shoulder into bicep, the veins that stood out on his arms. Even his wrists were large, heavy. It seemed he had been made with no softness at all, every part of him angular, rough, hard.

  Whatever gentleness he possessed was well hidden. Perhaps so deeply that even he didn’t know it was there.

  Fascinated, she couldn’t make herself stop as her fingers encountered one unexpected texture after another. The coarseness of the dark hair that blanketed his chest and narrowed to a fine line down the center of his body. The ridges of muscle that sharply defined his ribcage. He was so different from her in every way.

  But somehow the differences didn’t seem threatening. They seemed... intriguing.

  Sam went still, her hand coming to rest in the mat of black hair on his chest. Her heart was pounding. And an unfamiliar heat spread through her middle, pooling deep in her belly.

  Now what was happening to her? The sensation was utterly foreign, yet it seemed to come from the very core of her being.

  Oddly, she noticed that his heart seemed to be beating much faster than it had before...

  She froze. Unable to lift her hand, she turned her head, slowly, as if in a dream, to look at his face.

  And found him staring up at her.

  Their gazes locked. She felt as if she’d been struck by a bolt of emerald lightning.

  She snatched her hand back, her senses and her thoughts scrambled. “You’re awake.”

  She immediately felt like a fool for stating the obvious. A blaze of color heated her cheeks. How long had he been awake? While she had held him in her arms? While she had looked at him, touched him? What is the world had she been doing?

  He blinked at her, slowly, drowsily.

  And the smallest hint of a smile curved his mouth.

  A thoroughly devilish smile.

  The brigand. The rogue! He had been awake. Perhaps the entire time. And he hadn’t let her know. Hadn’t stopped her. He had let her... let her...

  Sam wished the cavern floor would split open and swallow her whole. She started to explain, then realized she couldn’t.

  What possible explanation could she offer? She didn’t understand herself. None of her thoughts, feelings, or actions lately were the least bit rational.

  Besides which, she seemed to have completely lost her ability to speak.

  But perhaps he wasn’t fully conscious yet. Perhaps he was still a bit delirious and wouldn’t remember.

  He struggled to speak, said something she couldn’t make out. She leaned closer to hear what he was saying. Hoped it would be something feverish. A nice hallucination would do.

  “How... long?” he rasped.

  That sounded completely lucid.

  Damn.

  And she wasn’t sure exactly what he meant. How long had they been in the cave? Or how long had she been holding him and...?

  She chose to answer the former. “You’ve been unconscious a long time.” She turned to pick up one of the rags she had used earlier to soak up water, suddenly wanting something to occupy her attention. And her hands. “Three or four days, I think.”

  He winced, lifted his head, tried to get up.

  “No, don’t,” she said, concern instantly replacing her other emotions. “You’re not ready for any kind of acrobatics just yet. Are you in pain?”

  He lay down again, blinking as if to clear his vision. He flexed his left shoulder experimentally. “Not bad.”

  Satisfied, she moved away from him, grateful for whatever distance she could get at the moment. Making her way over to the cavern wall on her knees, she repeated the now familiar, painstaking process of gathering water.

  When she had enough to fill the cup halfway, she moved back to him. Supporting his head with her hand, she brought the cup to his lips.

  He took a slurping, greedy swallow and almost choked.

  “Slowly,” she cautioned. “Take it slowly.”

  With a low sound of impatience, he drained the cup in seconds then lay back on the bunched-up sheet that pillowed his head. He looked exhausted merely from the effort of drinking. He closed his eyes.

  And didn’t ask anything more.

  She turned the battered goblet round and round in her fingers. “I took out the stitches and cauterized your wound to stop the bleeding,” she explained. “It’ll make an awful scar, but I didn’t think you’d mind. That is, you have so many.” She barely paused for a breath. “I’m afraid there’s no food left. And hardly any water. Just what I’ve been able to soak from the wall. And I had to use up all the candles. But I kept the fire going with some moss. I know it smells awful, but it burns slowly.”

  She was babbling. Why was it suddenly important to fill up the silence with words?

  Those dark lashes lifted and he gazed up at her, eyes gleaming darkly in the firelight. “You saved my life.”

  He said it curtly, gruffly. No doubt because speaking taxed his strength—not because her saving him had made him feel any emotion. She found that too hard to believe.

  Unsure how to respond, she simply nodded.

  “Thanks, angel,” he murmured.

  She blinked down at him, speechless. He had just expressed gratitude toward her. Gratitude. Thanks was not a word that had found its way to his lips before now.

  And that one simple, mundane word, that expression of genuine human feeling, warmed her heart beyond reason.

  “I think there’s a way out,” she said brightly. “Maybe just ahead. I saw a bird, a sparrow. It flew that way.” She gestured, turned to search the darkness. “The exit can’t be far. Maybe only a few yards...”

  Turning back to him, she saw that he had fallen asleep again.

  “... and here I am talking to myself like a fool.”

  She blushed profusely. The word fool described perfectly how she felt. Somehow, between the time she had entered this cave and the moment he had awakened to gaze up at her with those jewel-bright eyes, she had been transformed into a flustered featherwit.

  She rubbed at her temples. “Get ahold of yourself, Samantha,” she whispered.

  There had to be a logical explanation for what was happening to her. She was exhausted. She’d been under a great deal of strain. She’d been living in a cave, for heaven’s sake! What she needed was to get out of here. Then she’d be fine. Then she would feel like herself again.

  Yes, she would feel like herself again. Soon.

  The sooner, the better.

  ~ ~ ~

  The chain scraped the stone floor with a metallic jangle as they walked—but for once the sound made Sam feel happy. Almost exhilarated. It was good to be moving agai
n. Moving toward freedom.

  A cool breeze on her face made her pause. “Do you feel that? Fresh air.” She turned to look over her shoulder. “The exit must be just ahead.”

  “Well then, keep walking,” her companion urged, panting for breath. “Don’t wait for me. Something tells me I won’t be far behind.”

  She smiled ruefully. He was regaining his sense of humor—sarcasm and all. A few extra hours of sleep had helped him immeasurably, but he was still very weak.

  Once they had started out, he had refused to stop and rest, perhaps fearing that he might not get up again. Though, of course, he would never admit that.

  She hadn’t argued with him this time. She was just as eager as he was to get out of here. Perhaps more so. She never wanted to see another cave as long as she lived.

  Hefting the fishing creel on her shoulder, she kept walking.

  The creel was much lighter minus the foodstuffs and whiskey bottle. They had precious few supplies left—just the utensils, the pouch of coins, the fishing line and rope. He held the biscuit-tin torch, its glimmering fire illuminating their footsteps. Whenever she spotted a patch of moss, she scraped it off with the knife and added it to the tin.

  They turned a corner and she saw a gleam of light ahead.

  She stopped in her tracks. “Oh, thank God!” she breathed.

  “That doesn’t look like sunlight,” he said dubiously.

  As her eyes adjusted, Sam realized he was right. The light that spilled across the rocky floor a few paces ahead wasn’t bright and golden like sunlight. It was a muted glow. Almost unnatural.

  “Almost like a lantern,” she whispered. “Or—”

  “Listen,” he said sharply. “What’s that sound?”

  She strained her ears. There could be no mistake. They both said it at the same time.

  “Waterfall.”

  She felt her stomach drop to her toes. No, it couldn’t be! The thought of having to go through another bout with the river...

  They looked at each other. His expression held the same reluctance and dread she felt.

  But a moment later, his jaw hardened. “Let’s go,” he said grimly.

  “Right.” She echoed his determination. They had survived days of the worst kind of suffering in this place. After all that, she refused to be daunted by any obstacle thrown in their path.

  Quickly, without another moment’s hesitation, they walked toward the light, side by side. The cavern floor sloped downward, and the walls closed in around them, narrowing until they were forced to stoop over. The sound of the water grew louder, the wind stronger.

  An opening appeared ahead, blocked by branches. Her pulse raced. They might find themselves at the top of a cliff or some awful precipice.

  They pushed the branches aside. Cautiously slipped through the exit, bracing themselves.

  It was like stepping out of the deepest pits of hell straight into heaven.

  Into a lush, green Eden.

  Sam gasped in awe as they straightened and looked around. The light they had seen was not sunlight but moonlight. And starlight. Gleaming on a carpet of grass that stretched before them. They had exited into a small glade, tucked into a corner of the mountain of rock that formed the cavern. Craggy walls of stone protected it on three sides, while the fourth opened into the forest.

  The waterfall they had heard was little more than a gentle shower, spilling over the hillside on the opposite side of the clearing, into a stream that wound through the pines and oak and ash trees of the forest.

  Silently, they walked forward, out into the fresh air. She inhaled deeply. The scent of summer flowers, grass, leaves met them like a warm welcome and she knew she would never forget this particular fragrance as long as she lived. She had never smelled anything so sweet in her entire life!

  The silver light, the clear night air, the sound of the wind in the trees, even the waterfall—they all seemed ordinary yet exquisite.

  They were alive.

  She wanted to fall to her knees in gratitude and dance across the grass at the same time. Joy welled in her heart and flooded through her, so overpowering it brought tears to her eyes, so refreshing she swore she could taste it.

  Then her eyes fastened on the stream, and she glanced at the rogue, and she didn’t need to express the thought they were both thinking.

  Water.

  They rushed, stumbled, ran toward the stream, fell onto the bank and slurped up handfuls of the fresh, clear, sweet liquid. She didn’t bother to dig out the cups from the fishing creel. She splashed her face, her hair. Her relief bubbled up in her throat and came out as laughter.

  A small, furry creature dashed away from the opposite bank to take refuge in a nearby shrubbery.

  “A rabbit,” she exclaimed in delight, breathless, falling onto her back. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything so wonderful in my whole life.”

  “Forget wonderful—he looks like supper to me.” The rogue studied the spot where the rabbit had disappeared. “Where there’s one, there are probably more. Maybe a whole warren.”

  “But how can we catch them? We don’t have the pistol anymore.”

  “We’ve got fishing line. I’ll make some snares.” He stretched out beside her, looked up at the night sky.

  And suddenly cursed.

  “What?” Sam followed his gaze, but saw nothing threatening in the cloudless black sky spangled with stars. “What’s wrong?”

  “The moon is wrong,” he choked out, sitting up. “The night we stayed at the cabin, it was a quarter full. Look at it now.”

  “It’s half full.” Sam shrugged. “What does it matter?”

  “It matters because we weren’t in there for three or four days. We were in there for a week. I’ve lost an entire week.” He uttered a short, vicious oath. “I’ll never make it to York in time.”

  Chapter 15

  “I don’t understand why you are in such a foul mood.”

  Nicholas didn’t reply to Miss Delafield’s annoyed comment. He was busy gnawing on a piece of rabbit, and he wasn’t about to apologize for his swearing, his table manners, or his temper.

  They had settled beneath a stand of trees a few yards from the small waterfall. The moon and the firelight shone on the remains of their supper, scattered around them on the riverbank. They had roasted two rabbits and a fish, fried a half-dozen eggs—gathered from a nest near the water’s edge—in the biscuit tin, and made short work of a score of wild strawberries found growing beneath the evergreens.

  But even a hot meal in his belly hadn’t improved his humor in the least.

  One week. He had lost an entire week. Which left him only five days to get to York before Michaelmas. Impossible. Food and rest were helping to restore his strength, but he would never make it in time. Not on foot. He needed a horse.

  And how the devil was he supposed to obtain a horse in the middle of Cannock Chase?

  “I honestly don’t see what difference a few extra days makes.” Miss Delafield lay on her back, her head pillowed on the fishing creel, as she contentedly munched a strawberry. “Surely whoever you’re meeting in York will understand the delay.”

  “Not bloody likely,” Nicholas muttered, sitting near her feet, his back against a pine tree. He finished eating and flicked a bone toward the stream.

  “Well, we’re alive. That’s something to be grateful for.”

  He slanted her a glare. Her cheery attitude had grated on his nerves all night, ever since they had left the cave. “Why?” he snapped. “What’s there to feel grateful for? That the inevitable has been postponed? It may have slipped your mind, your ladyship, but we’re still facing a few problems. Like these for one.” He shook his right leg, jangling the shackles. “Not to mention a few dozen lawmen out there somewhere”—he jerked a thumb toward the far end of the glade, where it opened into the forest—“who want to put a bullet or two or ten into us. It’s a little early to be holding a victory parade.”

  She sat up, her expression as cal
m as her voice. “I think the fact that we were in the cave for seven days instead of three or four is a good thing. It works in our favor. The lawmen obviously gave up searching this part of the forest a long time ago. Maybe they’re looking for us in the towns by now. Or they think we’re dead. Or—”

  “Or maybe they’re still out there somewhere. Waiting for us to fall into their snare just like Mr. Bunny here fell into ours.” He nodded toward the blackened carcass impaled on a spit over their fire.

  She glanced at the rabbit, then back at him. “You’re right. We have plenty to worry about. And as soon as you’re strong enough to move on, we’ll worry about it.” Lying down again, she sighed wearily. “But do I have to think of all that right this minute?”

  Nicholas muttered an oath. He couldn’t stop thinking about it. He had wanted to press on the instant he realized how much time they’d lost. But he wasn’t strong enough for a grueling trek through the woods. Not yet.

  Which aggravated him more than anything else. The pain in his shoulder had ebbed to a dull throb that he barely noticed, but the fever had sapped his energy, left him weak when he most needed to take action. The feeling was intolerable. It seemed as if his own body had joined the conspiracy against him.

  And he already had enough to contend with: time quickly running short, marshalmen somewhere hunting for him, no weapons on hand.

  And this stubbornly cheerful lady chained to his ankle.

  Who vexed him in ways he didn’t want to think about.

  Nicholas picked up the flask by his side and drank a long swallow of clear, cool water, wishing it were fiery, bracing whiskey instead. “You’re right. Why worry?” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “It’s only a matter of life and death. Ours.”

  She gazed up at the night sky, her expression still unconcerned. “My point exactly. Don’t you think that if we were meant to die, we would have died in that cave? Or drowned in the whirlpool? Or been caught by the dogs on the riverbank?”

  “I don’t believe in fate, Miss Delafield.”

  “Neither do I,” she said adamantly. “There aren’t any guarantees in life. I know that. Believe me, I know that.” She closed her eyes, and her voice was softer when she continued. “But we didn’t die. We’re alive. For now, for this moment, we’re all right. Isn’t that enough? Do you always have to look at the dark side of things?”