“What is it?” he rasped through dry lips.

Eliza licked her own. She could hardly admit that she was meant to kill him. “Nothing.” Her voice sounded raw, cracked. “I’ve brought you some clothing.” A grimace twisted her face, for Eliza had not been able to provide very good ones; she’d had to pick through the footmen’s limited off-duty clothing.

She managed to gather up a cotton work shirt that had faded to a dull grey color and a pair of horrible red, black, and yellow plaid trousers. Boots were harder to find. The only size she thought might fit being a mismatched set, one with an appallingly large hole in the sole. Never mind, they’d get him a proper pair later.

He eyed her selection now without comment and then reached past the undergarments to pick up the trousers. He proceeded to tug them on, gritting his teeth as he moved. His struggles made the muscled plane of his abdomen bunch and his cock slide along his strong thighs… Eliza forced herself not to watch.

“Help me with my shirt,” he ordered, his eyes averted.

His short tone did not annoy her, for it had to be difficult asking for assistance, and with a certain degree of gentleness, she eased the paper-thin rag over his head. The thing smelled of cabbage and soot. Eliza did not want to contemplate what little beasties might be hiding amongst its folds.

Adam gritted his teeth and pushed his arms through the sleeves, the bulk of the chains he wore making the process unwieldy. By the time they were finished, Eliza buttoning up the collar with deft hands, a sweat bathed his skin.

Shaking inwardly with sympathy, she lifted his arm over her head to settle around her shoulders. The cold chains hit her arm, a marked contrast to the warmth of his skin beneath the thin shirt.

“We haven’t much time,” she said. “Can you stand?”

“I’ll crawl if I have to.” But he managed to lurch to his feet, dragging his broken leg along as she walked them out of the cell. It was slow going, the chains clattering, his body leaning onto hers.

“Remember the knot?” he managed to say.

“Yes, I’ve got it.” Eliza pulled the length of her gown they’d used to handfast from her pocket. Adam had tied the silk into an intricate Celtic knot. A symbol of their joining. They’d leave it here now to send a message. Eliza had grave doubts that Mellan would honor their handfasting. But she had to try, nor could she now explain to Adam that Mellan was privy to their escape. Such a mess.

Before she could drop the knot, Adam took the thing and rubbed it across his bloody brow.

“So they know you are mine,” he said, making her flush.

“Lean your bad hip against me,” she ground out, dreading the walk up the stairs. He had a foot in height on her and, even in his emaciated state, was a great deal heavier than she was. There was no help for it. Either they made it out or they would suffer.

Servants lay pell-mell around the house, their slumberous snores breaking up the eerie silence. Adam glanced at them as she shuffled him along, and his full, split lip quirked. “Devious, Miss May.”

“Necessary, Mr…” Eliza trailed off, realizing she did not know his last name or if he even possessed one.

“Once upon a time,” he rasped, “I was called Aodh MacNiall. But that man has long been dead to the world.”

They said no more; it was clear that talking drained his strength. At the back of the kitchens, Mr. Albright, the driver, set down a barrel of mead before looking around in a frantic manner. When he glanced back at Eliza and Adam, tilted drunkenly at her side, his eyes went as wide as dinner plates. She supposed seeing over six feet of bloody and battered and chained male would do that to a person.

“Jaysus. You didn’t say nothing about…” The driver swallowed hard and shook his head. “Hurry up, then.” Sweat peppered his grubby brow and he wiped at it with a dingy rag. “First sign o’ trouble and I’m off. Blunt or no.” He did not dare look upon Adam, as if doing so would somehow make him more accountable. “Get him in the cart, lass, afore someone sees.” The driver hurried off to finish his delivery.

The small trip out of the house and to the waiting cart felt endless. Eliza’s back was so tight that she feared a sudden movement might make it crack. The vivid image of them taking a tumble and sprawling on the pavers flashed in her mind before she pushed it away, and, bending her knees to take more of Adam’s weight, she gave his long, unwieldy frame a desperate shove. Coupled with his own, albeit weak, efforts, the man fell into the cart, only to lie prone and panting just inside of the cart door.

Sweat ran down her spine and over her brow as she roughly pushed his legs farther into the cavern of the cart. Good gravy, he was heavy. Wiping an arm across her forehead, she hopped in behind him, having to crawl over his body to get fully inside. Once there, she tugged on his hips and shoulders, edging him along. Adam’s eyes fluttered open, thin slits of pale amber. With a grunt, he heaved himself along, trying to help her. She did not want to think about the noise they were making or the time that had elapsed.

Nausea churned in her belly, threatening to rise up her throat. She couldn’t think about getting caught. She would not.

“Lie still,” she whispered in his ear when he attempted to move again. Thankfully, he did so immediately, though Eliza suspected that he’d simply run out of strength. Hunched against the side of the cart, he shivered, his mouth pinched, his knees drawn up to his chest. Damn it, but he was far too injured for her liking. They ought to have waited until he’d healed further.