North of Seana, Eganene

When he spotted the woodcutter’s lodge, he grabbed her by the shoulders. “Elisabeth, look,” he said pointing and pulling her down beside a tree.

She could just make it out. “A house? Out here?”

Peter surveyed the woods, his eyes alert despite his obvious exhaustion. “I want to see if we are close to town, if there are other houses out here. Don’t move, OK?”

She grunted and plopped down on a nearby log. He dropped his pack, moving south into the forest, not giving her a backwards glance. That was just fine with her. She might have been in great shape when this whole nightmare started, but the endless walking and jogging was catching up with her. Not to mention that she hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in… well, since those men had caught up with them.

Shoving that thought away, she stretched her legs. Taking herself through her basketball stretches ate away the minutes, her mind on school and her brother. Too soon she was done. Alone in the forest, without distraction or company, she turned inward.

Well, focused on herself at least. Along with her bone weary body, tired muscles and sleep deprivation, she smelled terrible. Elisabeth had never considered just how important showering was. Never considered just what it would be like to go days, weeks, without it. She was about ready to crawl out of her skin.

How many days had it been since she killed the men? Her puke still spattered her jacket in places, blood having turned the material darker. It all just coated her, the guilt of what she’d done like a coating.

“They’ll have a bath inside,” Peter said when he returned, seeming to read her mind. She touched her greasy hair, failing to undo the matted locks.

He crept closer to the edge of the forest, angling towards the cottage. She followed behind, quietly, her footsteps falling in his imprints.

“Thank god for that,” she whispered. “I’ve never felt so disgusting in my entire life.”

Peter looked back with a smile, but she didn’t see it. Her eyes were adjusting to clearing’s light, taking in the small cottage, the smoke trailing lazily from the chimney, the piles of cut firewood stacked to the left of the house.

“Looks like they are well provisioned,” she said, readjusting her guns in their holsters. “Will they have weapons?”

Peter shook his head. “Not anything we need to worry about.” His blue eyes were bright, dark circles surrounding them. He looked as exhausted as she felt. She watched him pull his fingers through the tangled dark mess of his beard. He had been clean-shaven when she met him. It must be driving him crazy.

“Do we have to wait until night falls?” she complained. “Can’t we go inside now?” Her stomach was grumbling. It was always grumbling. The wood smoke had started to smell like food, and she wondered if they had bread. The thought made her salivate.

Obviously, she was hungry. She had been hungry for days, her stomach cramping as she walked. There had been plenty of water, ice cold streams, fresh and pure in this winter wilderness. She always drank as much of the water as she could handle. Trying to fill her belly, trying to forget she was hungry.

It hadn’t helped. She couldn’t remember ever having gone without food before, not even for a day. Now, she knew what it meant. It was the first thing on her mind when she woke up and the last thing she the thought about before she fell asleep. Hell, she even dreamt about food.

“The husband is probably in the woods hunting. We’ll wait for him to come back.”

Elisabeth sighed dramatically, peering about behind her.

Peter gave her a sympathetic look. “I know you’re hungry. It won’t be too much longer. He’ll be bringing dinner.”

“Yessss.”

The day moved slowly, the sun sliding across the sky so imperceptibly that she almost felt like it was mocking her. She did manage to sleep for a while, curling beside a downed log. Without a fire, the cold ground seeped through her blankets, creeping into her skin and setting her to shivering. Peter lay down besides her, adding his warmth to hers. She worried that without a watch they’d be discovered, but exhaustion overtook her.

Only a little light remained when she open her eyes. She could hear soft footfalls and turned to see Peter approaching.

“Nothing,” he reported, when he got close. “They must be hiding out here.”

“Who? The people from the cabin? From what?” she asked.

Peter shrugged and she saw the lining of his coat was frayed. “Don’t know. But we’ll find out.”

“We are going to go talk to them?” she asked, surprised. She’d assumed they wouldn’t be stopping until they got wherever Peter was heading.

He grinned, the smile not touching his eyes. “We will talk to them, but more importantly, we are going to rest here for a while. Look south.”

She did, seeing nothing but forest, the sky grey and gloomy.

“I think there’s a storm coming,” he explained. “A big one. We need shelter. This place is perfect.”

“They’ll let us stay?”

“No. But we won’t give them a choice.”

Panic sunk into her. “Peter, I don’t want to hurt these people Not after…”

He was looking at her curiously, his dark hair hanging into his face. “Tell me you’re not worrying about them already. You don’t even know them.”

“I don’t want to kill anyone else.”

“No one said you had to kill anyone.”

She pushed her pack against the tree, taking a minute to gather her thoughts. “I don’t want us to kill anyone, OK?”

She met his eyes, “Please?”

He lowered himself down beside her. “Sure. We won’t hurt them. As long as they don’t try and hurt us.”

She glanced back at the cottage. “Fine, just don’t kill anyone.”

Her hair tie had broken long ago. Peter had made her one from a strip of leather. She pulled the greasy strands back and tied them off roughly, thinking about the time and effort she had spent on washing, brushing and curling her hair in the past.

That had been a different life. One without cold and hunger. A time of showers and refrigerators and comfortable beds and heat. That girl had no idea what life was like. Pulling her guns from her pack, she placed them in the holsters that Peter had given her. She felt better knowing they were within reach. Her thoughts flickered to the men she killed and she pushed the thought away roughly.

It was done. She hadn’t had a choice. Peter was right.

It had been them or her. They had been sent to find her, kill her. Or Peter. But at this point it didn’t make much of a difference. Without him, she was as good as dead. It was awful being so dependent, but then again, she had always had her brother around to help her before. She didn’t want to be alone.

Jamie. She tried to bring him up with Peter, but every time they ended up arguing. She wanted to go back for her brother. But, Peter said the men chasing them were coming from the north. That they had to run.

It was worth another try.

“Peter,” she said. “After we rest, can we look for Jamie? I feel like…”

“Leave it, Elisabeth,” he told her. The words were clipped, short. He sounded annoyed.

“But he’s my brother, Peter,” she argued. “I can’t just pretend he isn’t out there somewhere. We need to find him.”

“We need to concentrate on keeping us alive right now. Let’s get in the house and find something to eat. Your brother can take care of himself.”

She tried again, “But…”

“You said he was with someone, right? Who was it?”

“We met an old woman,” she replied, suddenly wary.

Peter watched her as she fought for control of her emotions. There was something about how still he stood, his arms hanging motionless at his side, that set her off all her alarms. This was dangerous ground.

“Who was she?”

“An old woman. I didn’t get much of a chance to talk to her before the fire.” She wasn’t sure why Peter was being pushy on the topic. It was weird that her instinct was to hide as much information as possible.

“How did you meet her?

“What? Oh…” Elisabeth stammered. How was she supposed to explain that? Would he even believe her. “I don’t know,” she tried. “She just kind of appeared.”

“She what?” he asked, his voice hard.

She tried not to flinch. “It was all confused. It’s really hard to explain. I’m not sure where she came from.”

“Umm, hmm,” he murmured. “And what did this woman say when she appeared?”

Elisabeth ground her teeth, thinking furiously. Why didn’t she just tell him that it was Bekka’s grandmother? Why was she hiding the truth about it? And why was he so damn interested.

“I don’t remember.”

Peter’s expression darkened, “But she was helping you?”

Elisabeth fought the urge to cross her arms across her chest. “Yeah, she said she would help us. We were going to look for the night watchman.”

Peter’s eyes flickered with excitement. “So, she was from your world?”

“I don’t know. Really. We were outside our apartment. Things were confusing. My head hurt like crazy. We tried to get back in. We didn’t know where we were.”

She spread her arms wide in exasperation. “We went up stairs, searching for help.”

“And?” he prompted.

“And then she and Jamie went to search in a different room and I went to look for the night watchman.” She was trying to breathe calmly, but the way he was looking at her made her heart beat faster. Her palms were already sweaty.

“Why didn’t you stay with your brother?”

“I don’t know,” she stammered. “What is with the twenty questions?”

“Answer me,” he said, his voice too calm.

She shuffled back a step, “Really, I don’t know. I wanted to find Arthur and get back into the apartment. I thought we were wasting time upstairs.”

“Arthur?”

“The night watchman. I told you, I thought we were on Earth.”

“So you left them in that room.”

“Yes,” she said, wishing the conversation was over.

“And then you found me?”

She nodded. “Yeah, the apartment you were in was really close to ours. Or, I mean, what would have been our place on Earth. I went back to check it one more time and everything was hot. I was worried there was a fire, so I checked the doors. Yours was open and I found you.”

“Lying on the ground,” it wasn’t a question. Fear gripped her, her mouth hot and dry.

“Yes, you were lying on the kitchen floor,” she forced herself to say. “The curtains caught fire.”

“Seeing as I was unconscious at the time,” he said, closing the distance between them, “it would be fair to assume you have more information than me.”

He was close to her now, too close. She couldn’t look away. “Peter,” she managed, her voice hoarse. She couldn’t concentrate, couldn’t put her thoughts together. “I...I…” she stuttered, staring at his lips.

What was he doing? He had been so angry. Now, he was...

“You, what, Elisabeth?”

She couldn’t look away, her eyes wide. He loomed in front of her. She couldn’t find her voice. His eyes were very blue, the color of the sky at the moment before dusk. Leaning towards him, her lips parted to speak.

“What Elisabeth? What did you do?”

“I...” she whispered, confusion spreading through her. She had been about to say... She leaned closer, her eyes on his face, his mouth. Everything forgotten.

His arms moved, wrapping around her.

Heat swept through her body, fast, hot, consuming. All her chills and aches were forgotten. A tightness spread in her chest, blossomed through her stomach. She felt her heart beat faster, the sun bursting behind him. Her fingers wrapped tightly against the back of his jacket. The muscles of his back were hard beneath her palms. The cloth was worn and rough against her skin. His back would be warm and smooth.

“Tell me,” he said, softly. “Tell me all of it.”

He was so warm. It felt good and right. Her fear dissipated.

He tipped her face up towards his, moving her eyes away from his lips. His eyes looked almost black.

Elisabeth relaxed into his arms, his breath hot against her face. She felt her own breathing quicken, her body pressing against his. Closing her eyes, she forgot her panic, forgot his cold and implacable expression. Her thoughts were a tumble of emotions. Had they been arguing a moment before? She couldn’t remember. It didn’t matter.

Now, with him against her, all she felt was heat. His body was warm against hers, and there was heat inside her. She closed her eyes, melting against him. There was no cold, no forest and no fear. It was just his body against hers. She felt nothing but heat, filling her, overwhelming her, spilling over her. Heat and desire.

And then as suddenly as it happened, he released her, turning away and picking up his pack. “Come on,” he said, “we need to get moving.”

Elisabeth blinked, her arms falling to her sides. What?

What the heck just happened?

Her heartbeat began to slow, cold ebbing back into her limbs. She shook herself, confused. Grabbing her pack, she moved to follow his retreating back. Her head was muddled, but she forced herself to hurry.

Had he been about to kiss her? It had felt like it. God had it felt like it. The warmth fled from her skin, her flushed cheeks bleeding back to white.

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Had he wanted her to kiss him? She shivered, the colors around her returning to their drab grey, blacks and white. It had been so intense. He was walking quickly and she struggled to keep up. Was he angry with her? Why was he walking so fast? He must be angry, but what had she done?

She kept her thoughts to herself, following him willingly. She didn’t want to ask him questions. She was afraid he might answer them. She knew his mood could change in an instant.

Alone with her thoughts, she replayed the scene over and over again in her mind. It didn’t get any clearer. Did she have feelings for him? When had that happened? It was too confusing to even think about.

She was stuck in this place, this Eganene. The last thing she needed was to have some kind of crush on the guy who was helping her. And Peter? He was violent and strange. And attractive, she thought, he was that, too.

But she hardly knew anything about him besides the fact that he was keeping her alive. She would need to fix that. Shuddering, she wrapped her arms around herself. Her body tingled, remembering the feeling of being pressed against him. None of the boys she had dated ever made her feel like that, made her feel so hot, so lost, so confused.

And none had ever been as dangerous.

Elisabeth, breathed deeply. Now, she was going to find out if he would keep his promise. Peter was at the cottage door.

Touching her holstered guns, Elisabeth cut east through the forest. Keeping an eye on Peter, who was still crouched at the door, she tiptoed to the other side. The roof was made of wooden shingles, the fieldstone chimney rising up three feet.

They were grey river stones, mortared with mud and crushed limestone. Elisabeth put her hand against the wall. The stones were warm. She rested her cheek against their surface. It felt like heaven.

When she opened her eyes, she saw Peter looking at her curiously. She gave him a thumbs-up and pulled her guns. He nodded and did the same. Just because they weren’t going to shoot anybody didn’t mean they didn’t need protection. Elisabeth had learned her lesson on that one.

The door jam splintered as Peter slammed his foot into the knob. The heavy wooden door rebounded against the wall. Birds shrieked and exploded from the surrounding trees, a woman’s high-pitched scream blending with them seamlessly.

“On the floor!” Peter yelled, stalking inside. His face was blank.

Elisabeth hurried to follow, her heart leaping into her throat.

The look on his face, how could she have forgotten? That rage, that anger. It was all rigidly controlled, restrained, waiting to explode. He was going to kill these people.

Guns held loosely, she followed Peter’s dark coat into the room. She looked around quickly, taking in the scene. There were two rooms. The one they were in functioned as a kitchen, dining area and living space. The air was hot and smoky, stifling compared to the fresh, clean chill of the forest. The smell of stew permeated the air. It was intoxicating, heavy with the scent of meat, carrots, onions and spice.

A hearth sat in the corner, the logs burning red and gold. The pot simmering above it was suspended from a long metal pole. A cured ham was tied to the rafters, baskets of dried apples and herbs decorating the wooden shelves amongst the bins of grain and seed. Strings of garlic were wound from nails beside the windows, along with purple and yellow corncobs and bags of chestnuts.

On the table, a candle burned in a jar. There were only two chairs, one on its side on the hand-woven rug. The man and woman, the woodcutter and his wife, were cringing on the ground. Peter stood above them, his gun trained on the woman’s head. She was tall, with grey twining through her dark hair. The long lengths covered her as she buried her face in her arms. She wore a brown dress with her apron tied about her thick waist.

The man beside her was on his knees, his hands open. Elisabeth guessed he was in his sixties. His hair a shock of white and his eyes were on Peter’s face.

“Peter!” Elisabeth cried. “Peter don’t!”

The man glanced towards her, surprise registering on his face.

Peter never even moved. “I told you to get down,” he said firmly. “You will comply.”

Sobbing, the woman sniveled. “Please, do what they say.”

“This is my home,” the man said, his face set stubbornly.

Oh, no, oh, no, Elisabeth thought. Please don’t try to be a hero.

Peter took a step, just a single step, closer to the woman. The man’s face tightened, fear and rage warring in his eyes.

Elisabeth didn’t dare breath. Frozen, too terrified to move, she watched. In the grey light of the cottage, Peter’s eyes looked black. Beneath the wild tangle of beard, his jaw was clenched, his body poised to harm, to hurt. The light from the fire rippled down the gold plate of his Ruger.

It was the woman who spoke first, her voice quavering. “For the love the Nineteen and Nineteen! Do as the man says!”

Yes, Elisabeth cheered silently, yes. Do as he says, please. No more blood.

The man glared at Peter, his broad chest straining against his shirt, his eyes filled with hate. “You’ll let us live?” he asked, looking at his wife.

Elisabeth’s heart twisted, the poor man was terrified.

There wasn’t any other choice though. She knew that. They had been over this. They were starving and they needed shelter. If these people listened to Peter, he would let them live. Everything would be fine. If they didn’t, Peter was going to kill them.

She could see it in his face. She had seen it before, the coldness in his eyes, the unnatural stillness. His face had no emotion. It was an empty void. This was survival. He would do what he thought was necessary.

“On the floor,” he repeated, in a voice like stone.

Elisabeth shuddered, he wouldn’t tell him a third time.

The man was thinking, trying to figure out how to escape. If he tried anything, Peter would shoot him and his wife. She had to do something.

Stepping forward, she holstered her guns. “We’re not here to kill you.” She didn’t dare look at Peter. She wasn’t sure what he was going to do.

Committed, she took another step. “Please, do as he says. We won’t hurt you. I swear.”

Confusion washed across the man’s face.

Please, please, Elisabeth thought, get on the floor. Do what he says. Please, please, please.

The man lowered himself slowly, his eyes never leaving her. “Your word, then?” he asked.

Elisabeth nodded, hoping that she was telling him the truth.

Peter moved to her side, but she didn’t look at him. She didn’t want to see the decision on his face. His gun was still pointed at the woman sobbing on the ground. Peter’s arm brushed against hers. She nearly jumped out of her skin, “Get rope.”

Quickly, she turned away, searching. It didn’t take more than a moment. There was a long length wound beside the door. She rushed it back to him. No one had moved.

“Tie their hands.”

She did the woman first, winding the rope round and round her wrists, pulling her arms tight behind her. The lady cried the entire time, whimpering as Elisabeth pulled. She should have felt sorry for her, but she was ecstatic that Peter hadn’t killed them. In the kitchen she found a knife to cut the rope. It was a butcher’s knife, wide and thick.

The woman saw her coming and started shrieking, lashing back and forth on the ground.

Peter aimed for her back.

“Hush,” her husband said from where he lay on the floor. “She is cutting the rope. She said she would do us no harm.”

Please, please, please, Elisabeth thought. Listen.

Her husband’s words must have been enough because his wife stopped struggling. She was watching Elisabeth, tears and snot glued to her face.

Working as quickly as she could, Elisabeth tied the husband’s hands. The man’s palms were rough with callouses. These people worked hard for their things. She wished she didn’t have to take it all from them.

“His legs, too,” Peter said, righting the fallen chair and sitting down.

Elisabeth wrapped his legs tightly, uncomfortable as the man watched her. His expression was thoughtful and he remained calm. Thank god, she thought.

“Good,” Peter sighed, putting his gun on the table. The man glanced at it.

“First things, first,” he began. “Elisabeth here promised you your lives. It’s in her hands. It would be easier to kill you.”

The husband glanced at his wife, concern evident in his expression.

“But as long as you do as you are told,” Peter continued, “I will concede to her wishes. However, the second I believe you are not acting in good faith, that will be the last second you breathe. Are we understood?”

The husband and wife nodded eagerly.

“Bring her,” Peter directed, gesturing the woman.

Elisabeth went to help. With the man’s legs bound, it was difficult, but Peter managed to get him into the bedroom and onto the bed. Elisabeth led the woman.

“I’ll need the rest of the rope.”

Elisabeth brought it to him. Peter checked their bonds and tied them to the bed, “I’ll be back in a few hours to give you food and water and take you to relieve yourself. It will be twice a day. I don’t want to hear anything out of either of you or gags will be next. Understand?”

They nodded.

“There is a storm coming, a bad one. We will be here until it passes. When we go, I will cut you free. Until then, you are staying in here. Silently. Otherwise, I will make other arrangements for you. We are clear?”

Again, they nodded.

Peter took Elisabeth’s arm and led her from the room.

When he closed the door, she shook off his grasp. “What the hell?” she hissed. “I need to be led around like a hostage?”

“I didn’t...”

“And ordering me around like that? Who do you think you are?”

Peter looked stunned. He didn’t speak for the a few moments while she glowered at him. Finally, he said, “I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry?” she asked, sarcastically.

He nodded. “Yes. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do that.”

Was he being serious? Elisabeth couldn’t keep up with him. One second he was about to kill someone, the next he was reasonable and apologetic. This whole day had just been too much. “I’m going to get our things,” she declared, turning on her heel and stomping out the door.

Grabbing the packs, she hauled one over each of her shoulders. Over a hundred pounds, tossed around like nothing. It hardly registered.

She was changing. She knew that. She had been strong before, but she was stronger now. Glancing at the sky, she looked for signs of the storm Peter was predicting. Everything looked the same as it had before. Grey, ugly white grey.

Perhaps the wind was a little fiercer, a little colder, she thought. The temperature had probably dropped into the teens since the morning. She shivered. She hadn’t needed another reason to take the couple’s cottage. She would have done it without a storm. She needed food and rest.

Almost on cue, snow began swirling down around her. Guess he was right, she thought. Her walk back wasn’t long, but by the time she reached the door, the patches of brown grass along the field were covered in a light dusting of white powder.

When she got back, the kettle of food was resting on the table. It smelled amazing. Peter had set out two bowls and spoons, along with an enormous hunk of bread and two glasses of water. A different kettle was resting above the fire now.

“Dinner?” he asked as she dropped the packs and pushed the door shut. It didn’t fit properly, and cold air seeped through the crack. “I’ll fix it when we’re done eating.”

“It started snowing,” she said. She hurried to the table. Her stomach was snarling. Plopping into the chair, she didn’t wait, but began shoveling food into her mouth with resolve. Her tongue exploded with taste. Salivating, she continued shoveling. Twenty minutes later, she came up for air.

Peter was still eating, watching her.

“Amazing,” she breathed.

He smiled, stuffing some bread into his mouth and getting up. At the fireplace, he used a hot pad to remove the kettle. She noticed the clay tub in the corner when Peter poured in the steaming water. He dunked the kettle in a large barrel of water that sat beside the fire and rehung it on the pole.

“A bath?” she asked, hope making her voice crack. Unbuttoning her coat, she hung it on the back of her chair.

“Almost ready.”

Elisabeth dropped back into her chair. She pulled off her boots, feeling exhaustion ripple through her body. She could hardly wait. Her body was so used to the cold now, that the room almost felt too warm. Still, the hot bath water seemed like a dream come true. “Who’s first?” she asked.

“Looks like you’re half way in already.”

She realized she taken off everything but the undershirt and long underwear. Her outer layers were piled at her feet.

“Yes, please.”

Peter was pulling his own worn boots from his feet. “Go ahead. I think you smell worse than me anyway.”

“Great! Come back in half an hour. Is there soap?” she asked casting about the room for a washcloth. She found both items on the nightstand, along with two surprisingly soft towels. The only problem was that Peter hadn’t moved.

“Well,” she said. “A little privacy, then.”

He smiled slowly, running his hands through his own greasy, black hair. “Don’t think so. I’m not going back outside, not now.”

“What about…” she asked, gesturing towards the bedroom.

“Not my kind of company,” he replied.

“You can’t be serious!”

“Calm down, Elisabeth. It won’t be that bad, I promise. I’m going to rest while you wash. You won’t even know I’m here.”

“But, but…”

“No buts. I’m not going back outside, not today. Feel it in here, Elisabeth. We are warm! Would you want to spend one more second outside than you had to? Out in the snow?”

When he put it that way, no, she sure wouldn’t.

Flopping on the bed and pulling off his socks, he said, “I’ll stare out the window. I’m going to make a bed by the fire. You will want to get in the tub before the water cools.”

Dumbfounded, she watched him spread all their blankets on the ground, adding the few he found in the cottage. He poured the last kettle of water in the bath, gave her a grin and then made himself comfortable before the fire.

He lay on his side facing the wall and closed his eyes. Indecisive, she looked back and forth, from Peter to the tub. She wasn’t sure for a moment, but the bath sat there steaming and her skin all but ached to feel its heat. Carefully, she sat on the clean wooden floor and stripped the rest of her clothes off, throwing them into a pile beside the bath. Maybe she could clean them later. Her guns she placed beneath the rocking chair. She would need to take them apart and clean them, too.

Peaking around the rim of the tub, she saw Peter was still faced away. What was she so scared of, anyway? Hadn’t she just been mooning around about him kissing her. Quickly, before she could change her mind, she put her back to Peter, stood and gently lowered herself into the bath.

Oh, god, she thought, this feels good.

Heat surrounded her, hot, glorious warmth. She had forgotten what it felt like. Moaning, she felt her joints and muscles relaxing as the cold melted from her body. It occurred to her that she didn’t know how many days they had been running. It was a miracle she had survived this long.

Grabbing the washcloth and the brick of cracked, yellow soap, she set to work. She scrubbed, rubbed and in some places, scraped the filth away. The water turned cloudy and then grey.

It was a small tub. She had to kneel to wash her hair. Cool air found her body, and goose pimples spread across her chest and arms. With hands full of soap she worked at the dirt and vomit that had caked her hair. Again and again she scrubbed it, dunking it back into the water to try again.

She hadn’t washed or brushed it in weeks, what did she expect? The water grew cold around her and still she worked, feverish to be clean.

She didn’t hear Peter get up from bed, pick up the basin of water and towel from the night table. He might have stood there for some time, watching her, but she wouldn’t have noticed. She was so focused on being clean, so singularly set in rubbing away the dirt and blood and filth of the past days, that she forgot where she was and who she was with.

She screamed as he dumped the cold water on top of her, the soap tumbling from her fingers to bounce against the floor. Sucking in her breath, she bounded out of the tub, furious, her hands clenched into fists.

Peter was holding the towel for her, his eyes averted.

“I think you’re done,” he said.

“You jerk!” she yelled, ripping the towel from his hands. “What the heck?”Laughing, he grabbed her dirty clothes from the floor and move to the kitchen. Wrapping the towel about herself, Elisabeth followed him, too angry to speak. She watched as he stuffed her clothes into a sack.

If he doesn’t give me back my clothes, I’ll kill him, she seethed. She stood there dumbly, dripping on to the floor and glared at him. When he didn’t move, she said as calmly as she could manage, “You didn’t answer my question.”

“And what question was that?” he replied, his face a mask of sincerity.

“I want my clothes, Peter.”

“Those dirty things?” he said, passing her on his way back to the bed.

Elisabeth’s hand shot out and grabbed, biting through his spoiled collared shirt into the flesh of his arm. Her long fingers barely made it around his bicep. She pulled him closer and despite the fact that she had to stand on her tiptoes, glared into his cool, dark eyes. “Yes,” she nearly spit. “I want my clothes back.”

He said nothing, only looked at her, his face inches from hers.

She could smell him too, the sweat of his body and the dankness of the forest. She was surprised to realize that it smelled familiar. It wasn’t entirely unpleasant.

He touched her hair carefully, sliding his fingers between the tangled strands, unknotting them carefully. And suddenly, she couldn’t breath. The rise and fall of her chest was heavy, the softness of the towel too much sensation.

She couldn’t move. Water from her body dripped slowly to pool around her feet, as Peter’s fingers slid between the strands of her hair. Softly tugging, he spread his fingers wider, slipping them down each tress. Slowly, the tangled strands unknotted, the twisted lengths undone in his hands. Water dripped down his wrist, pattering against the hardwood floor.

She shivered, watching his face as he concentrated on her hair. His blue eyes were focused, his brow smooth. He looked kind.

He put his hand on her shoulder and sparks ignited beneath his touch, sensation cascading down her back and arm. Gently, he spun her so that she was facing back to the fire, away from him. His hands moving back to her hair, leaving her shoulder, the skin there sensitive to the cold air blowing in from cracks around the door.

The fire in the hearth burned hotly, forming a wall of warmth, but sucked the cold air to it, feeding its flames. The frigid air was drawn into the building, swirling past her bare legs and shoulders as it raced to the fire. His fingers slid up her neck, to her scalp. Feeling rippled down her body and Elisabeth closed her eyes.

She shivered, afraid to speak.

She didn’t want him to stop. He must have noticed though, because he stepped closer to her, letting his body block the wind and gently leading her closer to the fire, away from the door.

The pressure of his body against her was almost too much. Each step she took, he followed. They were of a height together. His body fit hers seamlessly, his breath hot against the back of her neck.

When he was close enough to the flames, he stopped, his hands continuing to slide their way through her hair, each passage setting her scalp tingling. It shot through her body like tiny electric shocks, passing from her head to her feet. She could feel him behind her, her back against his chest, her legs against his, her behind against his hips.

She wanted to lean into him as his arm encircled her waist. It was hard to concentrate.

Suddenly, he was pulling away from her. His hands dropped from her hair.

She felt a moment of loss and confusion. What the hell just happened? She struggled to put together her thoughts.

And he just stood there, looking at her calmly, waiting for her to say something.

That was the worst thing of all. What was she supposed to say? He hadn’t done anything besides untangle her hair. And she had been feeling…

Shaking herself, she said, “I need my clothes.”

“They’re dirty. We need to wash them.”

“I can’t walk around in this towel,” she accused.

He nodded and went into the bedroom. He returned a few moments later holding clothes. “These are hers,” he explained. “They’re clean.”

Elisabeth grabbed them ungratefully. Two could play at this game.

“Enjoy your bath,” she said, turning her back to him and pacing over to the corner of the room. She didn’t turn around, but dropped the towel and pulled on the woman’s clothes. Surprisingly, they fit well, the stockings and woolen dress warm against her skin.

When she turned back, Peter was hauling buckets of water from the tub and pouring them out one of the windows. She fought the urge to help and positioned herself at the kitchen table instead, finishing off the remaining food he had laid out.

Who did he think he was, anyway? Like she was going to just fall into his arms?

He was on his fourth kettle of water when she got bored of sitting in silence. Grabbing her guns, she busied herself with carefully taking them apart. Peter had given her a small vial of oil and she dabbed some on a rag, gently cleaning each weapon, the inside of the barrel, the bolt and breach.

For a while, she forgot to be angry. The routine was calming in its way.

“Going to bathe, now,” he said to her.

Peter was stepping into the bath when she looked up, modestly keeping the towel around himself until he was submerged. At that point, it was just his neck and shoulders peeking over the rim.

Furious all over again, she reassembled her weapons and sat watching him. He took as long as she had, maybe longer. When he was finished, he grabbed the man’s mirror and razor and attacked his beard.

She expected him to shave it all off again, to go back to the clean-shaven business professional look he had worn before. She expected him to meet her eyes in the mirror, at least once. He did neither. He didn’t look in her direction and he didn’t meet her eyes. He left most of the beard, shaving along his neck line and trimming the rest to a manageable length.

Still without acknowledging her, he grabbed a towel and got out of the tub. He must have taken clothes from the man, because when he changed, his shirt and pants were sizes too large for him. The long-sleeved wool shirt he wore hung off his shoulders like a sail. He had to wrap the last of the rope around his stomach to hold up the pants.

Dumping the water, he began refilling the tub once again. Elisabeth could stand it no longer. Why the silent treatment? She hadn’t been the one doing anything wrong. “What are you doing?” she demanded.

“What does it look like?” he asked, watching her face.

Why was he so calm?

“I don’t know, Peter. That’s why I asked you.”

He walked towards her and her heart stuttered in her chest. Inhaling deeply, she waited… and he moved right past her to the sack in the kitchen.

Throwing it over his shoulder, he replied, “Laundry.”