Page 85 of Wed By Proxy

“My gods,” he whispered. He sounded utterly astonished. Then thrust her away from him and staggered back, falling against the rock wall. Mathilde released the knife, with a stifled cry, as he sank down to the ground. She covered her mouth with her hands, then realized she was getting blood smeared on her face. His blood.

“You’ve done for me,” he said accusingly, looking up at her. “Why?”

“Because,” she said in mounting panic. “It was you or me! Wasn’t it?” Panic clawed at her throat. Had she misread the signals? Had she willfully murdered him? Oh gods!

He watched her a moment, and then a look of wry amusement passed over his face. He raised one arm and let her see the blade that was concealed at his wrist. “It was,” he admitted. “But I was going to slit your pretty little throat. I wasn’t going to give you a mortal wound and then let you bleed out for hours.”

“H-how kind of you,” she stammered, dashing the back of her hand across her eyes. Tears were coming thick and fast now. She had been badly frightened for a moment there.

“Come now, don’t cry,” he tutted. “You’ve defeated the nasty wolf. Now is not the time for tears, my brave little Mouse!”

“But your wound!” she wailed.

He glanced down at it. “There’s nothing can be done about that,” he said regretfully. The dark red stain had spread out across his entire stomach area. Extracting his own knife from his sleeve, he flung it away from him. The thought crossed her mind that he could very easily have chosen to throw it at her. She suspected his aim would be lethally accurate.

“No point crying over spilt milk,” she said shakily, through numb lips.

He grinned, though he was quite alarmingly pale. “Sensible girl,” he said bracingly. “Now pick up my knife and put it in your sheath, so you feel safe.”

Mouse stared at him, before retrieving his dagger and slipping it into her black leather sheath. She did not test the blade for she already knew it would be very sharp. “Men are always giving me knives,” she said with a small sob.

“Is that so?” He sounded genuinely curious. “Who else made you a present of one?”

“My first husband,” she said through chattering teeth. “M-my friend Willard, and then — then Guy.” Her eyes returned to Guy’s knife which still protruded from Tristan’s gut so horribly.

“And now me. How many benefactors can one girl have?” he drawled, with a wan smile. “We doubtless all thought you defenseless, and in need of protection.”

“Really?” she quavered. “Even you? Even though I—”

“Mouse,” he cut in sternly. “Do not disappoint me now.” He beckoned. “Come sit down next to me.” He winced, as he adjusted his position to pat the ground.

She dropped down onto her heels next to him. “Should we try to take it out?” she asked hesitantly, pointing to the knife.

“Not unless you wish to hasten my end,” he said cheerfully. “Pass me a twig, or a sharp little stone. Something good for drawing with.” Mouse scanned the floor of the cave, and passed a few such to him for his inspection. After casting away her first two finds, he settled on a piece of flinty stone. “This will do.” Then he started drawing in the dirt.

“What are you drawing?” she asked, though she suspected already.

“The route you must take to get out of these caves,” he explained. Mathilde closed her eyes a moment. When she opened them, he was watching her. “You must not mind overmuch,” he said. “That you were the cause of my demise. It was bound to be someone, sooner or later. I would rather it was you than any of the others. At least you, I like.”

“I don’t understand how you can—”

“I know.” He sighed, forestalling her. “I think,” he said ruminatively. “That there is a piece of me that is either broken or perhaps missing altogether.” He turned his head to look at her. “Please don’t trouble yourself over it. I would only ask that you try to remember my good points, and not the bad.” He looked at her thoughtfully. “Or is that asking rather too much?”

She shook her head. “No. No, it’s not.”

“Will you be sad when you think of me, little Mouse?” he asked, sounding strangely wistful.

“Yes,” she whispered. “Because I liked you. Even now.”

He smiled, his lips looking rather pale and bloodless. “That’s nice,” he said. “I feel the same way. Or…” he added conscientiously. “As close to such a sentiment as a cold-blooded creature such as I, can achieve.” He held his hand out to her, and she took it, clasping it firmly. It felt cold to the touch. “You must follow this route,” he said, gesturing to his diagram with his other hand. “It will lead you out of the caves. Then you must head down southerly, retracing our steps. You remember where I tethered the horses?” She nodded. “Now study the drawing, until it is imprinted on your memory.” They sat in silence a while, as Mathilde’s eyes travelled over the lines and squiggles in the dirt. His head jerked up. “Have you memorized it?” he asked.

“Not quite,” she prevaricated, clinging tighter to his hand.

“I don’t believe you,” he said sternly. “Not after seeing that intricate tapestry pattern you devised.” She did not answer. “I do not want you to sit here in the cold, standing vigil and waiting for me to die, little mouse.” His voice sounded thick and like it was forced.

“I don’t want to leave you alone here,” she admitted.

He was silent a moment. “Think of it this way,” he said at last. “The sooner you get back, the sooner you can send help to find me.”