Chapter 13
His slender finger pointed right at me.
With lips puckered, the man rested both hands beneath his chest and jiggled them around. The sheer vulgarity of the gesture sent my eyes darting straight to the floor. An awkward look settled over Peterson's face.
Peterson's lips parted soundlessly at his words. With an easy pivot, the man turned back toward me. His laughter had vanished, and the serious look in his blue eyes made me swallow hard.
He was the first person since my arrival who was willing to listen to my answer. The sheer wonder of it left me trembling.
Taking a deep breath, I enunciated each word with the utmost courtesy and gravity I could muster, though being choked had left my voice far from smooth.
Unable to contain himself, Peterson cut in, his voice thick with indignation. But the man shook his head, indifferent.
A faint smirk touched the man's lips as he caught Peterson flinching in dismay.
Jaw slack, Peterson shifted his eyes frantically. The man gave a soft scoff and muttered with cold disdain.
Without warning, the man violently struck Peterson across the face with the leather gloves in his hand. With a sharp smack, Peterson's head whipped to the side, and he sank to his knees, his face burning red.
Strictly speaking, it was a crime committed on baronial lands; Peterson had no grounds to argue.
This was precisely why he had meant to wrap matters up quickly. He could never have anticipated the baron's house taking action with such haste. His hanging head contorted in bitter frustration.
The man regarded the kneeling Peterson with plain contempt before pausing mid-motion. Following his gaze, my cheeks heated up as I noticed the crooked writing scrawled across the earthen floor.
When mortification kept me biting my lip, he burst into unexpected, cheerful laughter. His hands clamped roughly around my shoulders, hoisting me up until my feet nearly left the floor. The dazzling sight of his wide, toothy grin was almost blinding.
Between the dizzying turn of events and the sweet scent wafting off him, my head spun. He gave my hair a brisk, tousling stroke.
I stared blankly at his retreating back as he strode ahead, beckoning me to follow. Striding easily through the open cell door, he seemed to notice the lack of footsteps and glanced back. Under his questioning gaze, I stammered out a question.
The offhand reply left me blinking dumbly. I glanced down at Peterson, but he remained on his knees in that humiliating posture, head bowed low.
The sheer impossibility of it kept even tears from welling up. The noose fashioned from my skirt hem still hung from the candle sconce, and the kicked-away chair lay overturned on the floor.
Perhaps I had already died back there, and this was merely the journey toward heaven. Wrapped in that dazed thought, I took a tentative step forward.
I half expected Peterson to reach out and seize my arm at any second, but another step passed without incident.
The corridor leading outside was long and plunged in gloom. A dreadful dread crept over me that hell might be waiting at its end, but even if that were so, I wanted out of this place as quickly as humanly possible.
Leaving behind the dismal cries trailing at our heels, I followed the man out into the open air.
I had lost all sense of time, but the night was deep, and a brisk, chilly wind blew across the yard. As I inhaled, my chest felt on the verge of bursting.
It was so simple.
A mere handful of words was all it took to walk free.
A tempest of tangled emotions surged up, stinging behind my eyelids. I had never truly believed miracles existed in this world. Fumbling in my confusion, I hurried over to the man and bowed deeply.
Having never dealt with nobility before, I hesitated awkwardly, unsure whether to kneel or drop flat on the ground—only to jump in fright as he suddenly crumpled down.
He was gasping for breath, stroking his chest repeatedly with wide, saucer-like eyes.
Pouring out a ceaseless stream of mutters, the man reached out toward me. Before I could even protest that my hands were filthy, he gripped mine tight.
Startled enough to leap out of my skin, I still found myself unable to pull away for two reasons: his skin was astoundingly soft, and that large hand was thoroughly drenched in cold sweat.
Though frozen in awkward bewilderment, I could see he was genuinely suffering. With my hand caught in his grasp, I gave his back a tentative, clumsy pat.
I needed to catch my breath as well. As I demonstrated by lifting my shoulders, he mimicked me like an obedient child. Beholding the fine beads of sweat gathered across his sleek, polished forehead stirred a strange, inexplicable feeling within me.
…He slapped someone like Peterson across the face and forced him to his knees, yet what could he possibly be afraid of? And a noble, no less.
Having calmed down somewhat, he loosened his bone-crushing grip on my hand and offered a faint chuckle.
The self-mocking shadow drifting across his handsome face seemed curiously out of step with his earlier swagger.
I put quiet resolve into my voice.
Color gradually seeped back into his pale complexion. Tipping his head back, he exhaled a long breath and murmured softly.
“…Pardon?”
As if the previous fright had never happened, his eyes sparkled as he rose lightly to his feet. Watching me scramble up after him, he gave a jaunty shrug.
With his ease restored, he offered a cheeky wink. In that brief instant, a pair of striking green eyes that could silence the world flashed across my mind. Searching for an agreeable response, my lips moved almost mechanically.
