Another worry.  Had her mother guessed what she’d done?  For half a dozen heartbeats, her pulse quickened.  Then she sighed.  At that moment, she was too tired to even worry with a clear head.  There was nothing she could do about it anyway, trapped in the mountains by a raging snowstorm, Murrow hurt, hiding in a rest-stop along a secret path to Ragonne.

     Suddenly she felt cheered.  Even if her mother figured out what had happened, why would she look for them here?  Elsbeth hadn’t even known the passage existed. 

     Encouraged, she found an ounce or two of new energy to force herself up and across the room.  She hung his wet clothes before the hearth to dry, cleaned and wiped the cup she’d used for his herb mixture, and spooned stew into their bowls. 

     “Here,” she said gently, putting the bowl into his hands. 

     His eyes opened.  “Thank you.”  He managed to stay awake just long enough to eat.  When the bowl was empty she took it from his listless fingers, setting it aside and easing him down, helping him get settled near the hearth, his head on his pack.  She covered him with his cloak.  By the time she’d cleaned their bowls and the pot, he was deeply asleep.  Still, she retreated to the furthest, darkest corner of the cave before removing her own sodden garments, gratefully slipping at last into dry clothes.  Her damp skin felt clammy and cold, even in the warmth of the cave, and she stood beside the hearth until her teeth stopped chattering. 

     She put more fuel into the fire before preparing a place for herself to sleep.  Murrow was so unwell, lost in his exhaustion, she did not want to be out of arms’ reach, should he need her.  And it was no small comfort, and reward, to cuddle close to him, to pull herself tight against his side, her arm over his chest, her hand feeling the rise and fall of his breathing and the soft inward thud of his heart. 

     This. 

All they had to do was finish crossing the mountains.  One day, maybe two, more.  She could picture it.  They’d get to the end of the mountain path, stand looking out over Ragonne, the world spread before them like their intertwined future, waiting for them to grasp it.  And then she’d tell him. 

     I am Elsbeth.  We have escaped.  We’re together. 

     She’d stay in her disguise until after they’d gone to Lord Garland to give him word of the Marlone warriors in the pass.  She’d hang back, let Murrow do the talking, just in case — maybe not even go in with him to see her father. 

     Then they’d leave together and go — where?  Somewhere in Ragonne — elsewhere in Valenna — later, even to Bruster, if he liked, once her father’s outrage cooled.  And then every night would be like this — their bodies warming one another, her breath mingling with his — and more. 

     One more day.  Maybe two.  Then they’d be out of Elbany, and safe.