Please Forget Me - Chapter 192

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

My name is Dana Loveridge.

The man using binoculars to spy on a building across the fields is Killian Ackroyd. We’re married, and although he used to be a soldier and a spy, now he’s a thief.

“Let’s go.”

He slipped the binoculars back into their case and effortlessly jumped over the waist-high fence. Immediately, he reached out to grab my waist as I stood unsure on the other side. I twisted away and coyly offered him only one hand, like a proper noble lady.

He looked a bit disappointed, his lower lip poking out slightly, but with a faint smile that seemed to say, “At least I get a hand,” he took mine. I lifted my long skirt above my ankles and stepped onto the fence.

“Be careful.”

When I jumped down, he caught me firmly by the waist with both hands. These days, even doing laundry or washing is tough, so I didn’t want to misstep and end up covered in dirt so, I didn’t pull away from him.

As soon as we cleared the fence, we hurried to a nearby cherry tree. Bathed in summer sunlight, its cherries hung ripe, darkening to a deep red, almost black. That was today’s meal.

Since the tree was tall, while he picked cherries and filled the basket, I took the binoculars from his waist and scanned the farmhouse at the edge of the orchard for any sign of people.

Even though it was just a fruit theft, we used binoculars to keep watch because our lives depended on it. We’re fugitives with a huge bounty on our heads.

Wanted posters with our descriptions and sketches spread like wildfire. As spies who know not only the bunker’s location and layout but also sensitive information about the military and high-ranking government officials, the Highland Army is desperate to capture us.

Fortunately, we haven’t been discovered or pursued yet. As soon as we were wanted, we left the snowy city and hid in remote mountain valleys.

Today marks the second day since we’ve been walking north, crossing mountains and fields. It’s exhausting, but I haven’t lost hope. We’re just a little earlier than expected; from the start, walking on foot through the wilderness was our only chance.

Judging by the newspapers the man bought at the train station and the occasional military transport vehicle we saw, he estimated that if we walk for three more days, we’ll reach the frontline where the Highland and Falkland armies are facing off.

I handed back the binoculars and looked up at the sky—or rather, at the mountain peak so far away it almost blends into the sky.

The two armies are stationed across that tall, long mountain range. We have to get over it to get home. We could try to go around and join a different front, but crossing the plains is too risky since we’d be easily spotted, and crossing rivers is dangerous even in winter when they’re frozen—trying to cross them in summer would be suicide.

Climbing the mountain is harder than walking on flat ground, but it lowers the risk of being caught by the enemy, and the terrain isn’t as densely fortified as the plains.

“We roughly know where the army has its positions, so we can avoid them and sneak through.”

Hearing him say that, I figured that the man really was a soldier.

I turned the binoculars back from the mountain toward the farmhouse. Now wasn’t the time to worry about the frontline. If the orchard owner caught us—or even just saw us—it would be dangerous.

While I kept watch, the man who had been filling the basket with cherries and plums around the orchard came back and offered me something fragrant. It was a bunch of lavender stems, freshly picked from a neat row planted along the orchard’s edge.

“You like these flowers too, don’t you?”

I loved the scent of blooming lavender. It was so strong it carried far, yet instead of giving me a headache, it calmed my mind.

I didn’t refuse and gladly took the lavender bouquet, bringing it to my nose to breathe in deeply. Watching me with hopeful eyes, the man asked,

“Do you know what the language of lavender is?”

I didn’t. Curious, I lifted my eyes to look at him briefly but quickly lowered my eyelids again. Though my eyes were open, I didn’t say a word.

As he watched me with anxious eyes, he gave up waiting for my answer and replied himself:

“Silence and expectation.”

Was he saying he was waiting for me to speak to him?

Ever since I found out he’d lied to me so terribly, I’d kept my mouth mostly shut for days. Just deciding to forgive him didn’t erase the pain I’d suffered.