The rain continued to fall, finding its way through the tangle of branches to where we huddled together. I lifted my face to the opening skies, my fingers swiping uselessly at my wet cheeks.
“This is good,” he murmured, his lips still close. I felt their movement beside my hair. The rain was on his skin, too. I could smell the combination of water and salt from his flesh. It was a heady thing. A little dizzying, in fact. “They don’t like hunting in the rain.” His deep voice stroked over me like a feather’s brush. “It makes them slower. . . . Sometimes they go to ground altogether.”
I knew these creatures were led by sound, perhaps even smell. The wash of rainfall would dull both those senses.
“I imagine it impairs their hearing,” I murmured, wrapping my arms around my knees and drawing them up to my chest, resisting leaning to my right where his warm body pressed into mine.
“Does it impair yours?” It was a simple question, yet it felt intimate squashed together as we were. I wondered what it would feel like if his body relaxed—if he didn’t hold himself so rigidly beside me. What would it feel like if he were to turn and fold me into his arms.
My face grew hot. “I suppose it does.”
“We’ll wait. Make certain they’re gone and then push on for as long as the rain lasts.”
I nodded. He was always so sensible.
“How long will it take to reach the isle?”
Silence stretched over the pattering rain. I was beginning to think he would not reply, but then he said, “By my calculation, three to four months.”
A few months of me talking to his back. Months of us being together but not together.
My chest pinched considering it. I might have been trapped in the tower for the extent of my life, but I’d never been alone. I always had someone.
Now I had no one.
We stayed half an hour longer in the tree before climbing down, and then we tromped through the rain, moving as quickly as we could in the dragging mud, taking advantage of the sudden downpour.
I trailed behind Fowler, listening to his near-silent tread, following in his steps, gauging the shape and direction of Fowler in front of me as the air passed around him.
We walked until I was well past the point of exhaustion, until I could no longer feel my nose on my face. I pressed my lips into a mutinous line, determined not to complain.
“This way,” he directed as though I could see him.
I followed him up a steep, rocky incline.
Suddenly I was out of the rain, my boots no longer squishing over sodden earth. I rotated in a small circle, wringing the water from the thick plait of hair that hung over my shoulder. “There is no wind.”
“It’s a cave. Sit down. Rest.”
“Should we not push on through this rain?”
“You’re dead on your feet. You need to rest—”
“I’m not wearied. I can continue—”
“Stand down. I’m wearied, too. Does that make any difference to you?”
I sniffed in response, mollified at least that he admitted this.
“We covered a great deal of ground,” he continued. “This is an ideal shelter and we should take advantage of it.”
I nodded, relenting. I listened as he dropped his pack. Following that, he divested himself of his garments, slapping them on the nearby rock.
My cheeks burned, thinking that he was naked—or nearly so.
“You should spread your clothes out to dry.”
“I’m not undressing in front of you.”
“You’ll catch an ague, and that would do us no favors. Besides,” he added, “we will be in close proximity for months. Am I never to see you in an indelicate state? That’s not very realistic. If you want, you’re welcome to go deeper into the cave.”
I turned, facing the chasm. The damp air felt colder in that direction and my flesh broke out in goose bumps. Who knew what lurked in there?
“Come, I’ll turn my back.”
Still, I hesitated.
“We’re going to be together for a long time,” he reminded me.
He was right, of course. There had to be trust between us. I shrugged out of my jacket and draped it on the ground. Hopefully it would be dry before I donned it again. My fingers moved to the ties at the neck of my tunic, hesitating. I felt his stare. “Don’t look at me,” I whispered.
He chuckled and the sound made my skin turn to gooseflesh. But I heard the rush of air as he turned around. More important, I no longer felt the hot crawl of his eyes over me.
With shaking fingers, I undid the ties and pulled the tunic over my head. Next came my trousers. I spread both articles out to dry and stood only in my thin shift, shivering still, but not nearly as cold as before.
I felt a ripple of movement and stilled. “Are you peeking?”
“Tempting as I find drowned little wrens, no. I’m not spying on you.”
Face burning, I crouched and dug inside my pack to find my bedroll, still mostly dry. I stretched out on my cot and pulled the blanket over myself.
Keeping the blanket tight, I pulled my shift over my head. The cool air of the cave dried my damp skin. Naked, I tucked the blanket all around me, exposing no part of me.
“You may turn around.”
His tread sounded near me. “Comfortable?”
I nodded.
“Sleep. I’ll take the first watch.”