With love to odakota_rose for putting up with my constant second-guessing and never-ending need for reassurance that it doesn’t suck as much as I think it does.

Where I Follow

Chapter 3

---

‘We will be alright
I'll be by your side
I won't let you down…’

- Lenka, Don’t Let Me Fall

---

‘You know that I could use somebody
You know that I could use somebody
Someone like you and all you know and how you speak…’
- Kings of Leon, Use Somebody

---

“Calli! What do you think you’re doing?”

Marguerite heaved a long-suffering sigh as the man furiously approached their only ticket out of captivity. Obviously uncomfortable with confrontation, Calli was frozen in place, looking like she wished she’d never laid eyes on them. Unfortunately her accuser seemed disinclined to accommodate his target’s tender sensibilities, bristling with open aggression as he focused upon her with hostile eyes.

He was tall and dark, as were the others, but unlike them, his hair hung long and loose down his back over a robe with stylized patterns woven all over its surprisingly luxurious fabric. If she were to hazard an educated guess, it would be that he was of a higher status than the warriors. Marguerite saw that the man possessed matching markings across his arms as he gestured accusingly at Calli, ranting at her in his native tongue.

When she made a halting explanation, he abruptly cut her off, grabbing hold of her hair and roughly shaking her.

“Hey,” Roxton shouted in a futile protest. Of course it would be impossible for him to just sit back and passively watch such a scene. “Leave the girl alone.”

The man looked at him with distaste. “Outsider. You have no say here.”

Marguerite raised her eyebrow. “I guess English is the national language around here,” she remarked to no one in particular. “How handy.”

“You shall be dead before you see another dawn. Do not concern yourself with these matters.”

“I’m not dead yet,” Roxton replied heatedly. “And it is my concern if you’re going to punish her for helping me.”

“Hmm, it is just as I suspected. Perhaps I shall deem her to have been tainted,” he said thoughtfully, looking at the collection of herbal pastes and powders Calli was holding, evidence of her ministrations. “She offered you assistance, surely only one with a soul claimed by the dark would act in such a manner.”

“Oh, please, don’t be so dramatic,” Marguerite drawled in her most insulting manner. It was almost comical how his head snapped up and he gazed at her with a transparent disbelief that turned to dark anger as she continued flippantly, “There’s no harm done. She mopped the sweat from Roxton’s brow, so what? We’re still here, aren’t we? Helpless prisoners, completely at your mercy.”

He released the girl, who promptly fled, and strode over to Marguerite, advancing on her threateningly. She tipped her head back against the pole so that she could meet his eyes and smiled calmly. Another mark against her, she could tell. The man had a problem with bold women, it seemed.

Too bad, since that was a quality she possessed in spades. And pushing such men to the edge, throwing them off-balance in order to take advantage of their confusion was a well-honed talent of hers. It was a dangerous undertaking, but someone had to do it and she didn’t think Roxton was suited to the task, though the thought of him applying her particular methods was rather funny.

“A female’s tongue should be cut out at birth so that she does not trouble men with her nonsense,” the man hissed, moving in close, bracing an arm over her head and purposely crowding her.

She was far from perturbed at such an obvious ploy. “But then you would miss out on the other more enjoyable things a woman can do with her tongue,” Marguerite said in a sultry tone. She deliberately flicked her tongue over her upper lip, and smiled triumphantly as his gaze involuntarily dropped to follow the motion.

He flinched at her obvious amusement, then reared back and slapped her across the face. Roxton let out a roar of anger, hurling vehement insults to try and distract his attentions from Marguerite.

But she had seen her opponent’s face contort with embarrassment and anger, read his body language which clearly telegraphed his intentions and anticipated his move. While she was unable to escape it entirely, by turning her head to the side a moment before he struck, the blow didn’t land as hard as he’d intended.

With regal disdain, Marguerite slowly raised an eyebrow, undaunted. “Oh, well said. Your position was cleverly argued, you have convinced me.”

Glaring at her, he spat out a crude curse. “Kefe, momo.”

“Charming as that sounds, I have to decline. After all, we haven’t even been introduced yet.”

He clenched a fist, face tense with inarticulate rage but then halted at a call from the center of the camp. Giving her a look that warned her that this wasn’t over, he stalked away to deal with the query.

“And just when we were becoming fast friends,” she sighed with mock disappointment.

“That didn’t sound very pleasant,” Roxton commented. His voice was tight, evidence of his consternation at seeing her mistreated this way, but he had slowly regained his composure once he saw she was unaffected by the encounter.

“I’ve heard worse. The man doesn’t possess what you’d call an original mind. I finally understand our purpose here- to restore the lost art of witty banter to these simple, unsophisticated folk. They have no idea how to carry on the most basic patter with prisoners, it’s disgraceful.”

“He didn’t look like he was in the mood to appreciate your wit.”

“Some men don’t appreciate what they’ve got til they lose it,” Marguerite sighed. Her eyes took on a faraway look as she considered the options available to implement their escape, and a smirk curled her lips. “Why don’t we test the theory that absence makes the heart grow fonder?”

“Just promise me I’ll never have to find out.”

Her mind ground to a halt in the middle of its machinations, caught by the fervor of his tone. Still, she was certain that this was a joke at her expense and so she turned to Roxton with a tart remark ready, only to find a tender smile on his lips and no hint of mockery in his expression.

Biting back her retort, Marguerite searched his eyes uncertainly, but after seeing only heartfelt sincerity, a slow smile began to spread over her face. It was hard to resist Roxton when they were bickering in a friendly manner, and near impossible when he deliberately set out to be charming. The man picked the damnedest moments to put aside their regular verbal sparring in favor of a few sweet words and it threw her every time. If she thought he did so just to manipulate her or score a point off her, this would be a troubling realization but she had learnt that John Roxton was not that predictable. She could read him well enough to see the honesty underlying his words; these were not pretty compliments designed to bend her to his will, he meant exactly what he said. For some unfathomable reason, he never wanted to let her go.

And she didn’t know how to respond to that. No, she knew how she should respond; in her cold logical moments, she knew it was dangerous, she knew it should be discouraged, she knew it was folly to indulge in this flirtation because it was too easy for that enticing familiarity to foster impossible dreams and she of all people knew how easily dreams could be crushed, and her spirit with it. At the very beginning, she had fully intended to keep her distance from the dashing Lord Roxton and to ensure their paths never crossed once they returned from this expedition. But as fate would have it, they were stranded together and now the man that was supposed to have become nothing more than a distant memory was making a steady, determined pursuit of her heart- the one thing she had sworn never to give up.

So it should have frightened her that his smile could make that treacherous heart of hers skip a beat. It should have frightened her that these few words, hinting at a depth of feeling she didn’t want to consider, melted the barriers she so painstakingly erected to protect herself. Her old instincts screamed at her to withdraw, to make a cutting remark calculated to wound and make him think twice about how worthy she was of his attentions.

Or, she compromised, even just to laugh it off, to diffuse the moment with a playful quip. John wouldn’t push her, he didn’t expect her to respond in kind, and he would laugh and accept her step backwards with a cheerful patience.

So maybe that was why she couldn’t belittle him. Because she knew she could hurt him and he wouldn’t draw away. She had given him more than enough reason and yet, inexplicably, he was still there by her side. True, that happened to be in the distinctly unromantic atmosphere of an enemy camp, but it didn’t discount the fact that he had come after her when she had left the others to engage in more interesting and potentially profitable pursuits, even after their blazing row about the difference between vital necessities and selfish desires. She really shouldn’t be so charmed by him, given that he was the reason they were embroiled in this latest crisis involving hostile natives, but knowing he would give up his life if it would secure her freedom made it hard for her to hold a grudge. That was a hell of a trump card indeed, damn the noble self-sacrificing idiot.

The realist in her railed at the impossibility of a future for them, especially since they were currently reluctant guests subject to the dubious hospitality of a decidedly unfriendly host, but the romantic didn’t care- she just relished the moment and didn’t see the need to make it any more complicated than that. There were no tomorrows, no yesterdays, just the now in which he smiled at her with his heart in his eyes and she smiled back, the small hesitant quirk of her lips growing wide and unrestrained at his answering delight.

Marguerite wouldn’t make any promises she couldn’t keep, but she would accept his words in the spirit they were meant. And if her own shining eyes made silent vows she could not freely speak, well, she could always just blame it on a trick of the light.