“Shit,” she hissed under her breath. With quick movements, she hunched over him and heaved a barrel in front of him, blocking his upper body from view. Another barrel had to be moved to hide his legs. By the time she was finished, the world around them was a dark cocoon and her arms burned with exertion. She could only be thankful that the big, wooden barrels were empty of mead or ale.

On a suppressed sigh, she pulled off her cloak, draped it over Adam, and then sat back next to him. Her pulse knocked against her throat, her heartbeat visible at her breast. Every inch of her ached. Fear had her body twitching with the urge to run. They were barely covered from view. Anything could go wrong. Mab could decide to return and pay a visit to Adam.

Eliza ground her teeth together. Stop thinking. Now.

Footsteps echoed out in the courtyard, followed by a man’s voice. “Then it’ll be next month, sir?” The driver.

“Best to make it two weeks,” came the butler’s voice. He must have returned early, which meant he’d soon find the staff drugged. “We’ve been going through mead like washing water, this incident aside.”

“You’ll be hearin’ no complaint’s from the likes o’ me.” The two shared a chuckle. Too close to the cart.

Eliza tensed so hard that she shook. At her side, Adam stirred. Immediately, she put a quelling hand upon his sweaty shoulder. She kept it there, feeling the blood seep through the shirt and willing him still as a single set of footsteps grew louder. The cart shook as the driver heaved an empty barrel into the back of the cart.

The barrels next to Adam’s body were pushed hard against him as the driver adjusted his load. Though Adam hadn’t opened his eyes, nor made a sound, pain pinched his features. Eliza’s hold gentled, trying to soothe, even though a sick, dreadful terror had her by the throat.

She held her breath as the driver secured his haul with ropes, going about his work as though he hadn’t a care in the world. She wondered if he saw them hiding or if he’d done his best to cover them further. She dared not look. But the interior of the cart grew darker, the air heavy and muted.

Moments seemed to drag on endlessly in which the driver fussed about and then walked away. Silence stretched, broken only by her thundering heartbeat. And then suddenly they were moving. Eliza dared not breathe a sigh of relief; she’d save that for when they were well and truly clear of this house.

But as the minutes rolled on, she allowed herself to rest against the high slat-board wall of the delivery cart. Beside her, Adam dozed, his brows drawn and his complexion pale. She’d have to wake him; she didn’t know where to go. But there was time yet.

Eventually, the card rolled to a stop. And then the driver’s disembodied voice drifted through the weak light. “Where to then?”

Eliza moved to shake Adam awake, but his eyes flicked open, and he answered quick but quiet. “Houndsditch, by way of the Rag Fair.”

There was a pregnant pause from without, which made Eliza think Houndsditch wasn’t a favorable destination. Adam confirmed this when he added tightly, “You’ll be well rewarded.” Even half dead, his tone brooked no argument.

The driver’s sigh was audible, but he’d been given enough cash from her to know they were good for it. “Righto.”

They were off in a tick. And the small space in which they hid fell to silence. Eliza allowed herself to be lulled by the rocking of the cart. But her unease didn’t entirely fade. Would she ever feel safe again? Was she insane for helping Adam? Believing in his tales?

“I am sorry.”

The words were so softly spoken that, for a moment, Eliza thought she dreamed them. But, by the expression upon Adam’s face, she hadn’t. “I am,” he said a bit stronger now. “For chaining you.” He visibly winced. “Having been on the restraining end of one, I can safely say that doing so to you was possibly the worst decision of my life.”

She could not help but frown. Some things were harder to forgive. “I won’t argue with you, if that’s what you’re after.”

A line formed in his lean cheek, evident only when he was amused or regretful. She knew that much about him, even though they’d barely interacted with each other. And she was struck by the strangeness of how she seemed to read this man so well. Why him? Not for one moment did she entertain the idea that he was her soul mate. Such ideas spoke of fate. And she wasn’t one for fate but a woman who made her own way through the world. Actions determined one’s destiny not the other way around.

“Ah, Eliza May, believe me, lass, arguing with you is the last thing I want.” He glanced down at his wrists, raw and oozing around the thick cuffs that bound him, and a furrow worked between his thick brows. “I was afraid, aye? Centuries I’d been searching and my time was nearly up. I saw you and…” His muscled shoulder lifted then dropped. “I’ve always been a man of action. It seemed best to secure you by my side where nothing could take you away.”

Eliza sank farther down the side of the lumbering cart. The heavy canvas cover rubbed against her hair and threatened to smother. She hated the dark, hated feeling trapped. “I understand,” she said at last.

One of his brows kicked upward, and she gave him a crooked, half smile. “I didn’t say I approved of your actions. But… well, I’ll forgive you for them.”

When he sat up straighter, his attention more intent, she rushed onward. “We are in this together now. To be at odds is counterproductive.”