Erzsébet arrives unkempt at his tent, wearing men's riding clothes and boots too big for her to walk properly in. Gilbert thinks she stole them from Roderich but he doesn't press, doesn't want to mention his name, really, just wants to pull her close and forget.
She smiles and pulls of her hat, messy tangled hair falling around her and he wants to let his fingers catch in it. She laughs when she sees him laid up on a cot, one leg a little shorter than the other.
"Bandage is soaked through."
Gilbert shrugs as best he can and shifts to sit up to get a better look at her, watches her rummage through the sack beside his cot and pull out clean bandages. She's done this before, stitched him up and wrapped his wound with soft hands. (Though as soft as they may be, she's hardly ever gentle. She teases and smiles, pokes at his wounds and shakes her head when he grimaces. She was never one to pity his stupidity.)
His bandages stick as she unwraps them, blood starting to congeal and she wrinkles her nose but doesn't say anything. Gilbert wants to ask if it's bad, thinks he's just gotten used to the smell the days he's been in the small medical tent and it can't smell pleasant.
She hums as she rewraps his leg, oddly gentle this time. He struggles to find something to say and tries not to focus on her hands.
"We're good together, Erzsi," and he doesn't smile when he speaks, looks everywhere but those hands until his eyes catch on her messy hair.
He doesn't quite know what he's hoping for in return, but silence and a small smile aren't it. A nod, maybe, something to tell him she knows how good they are around each other, something to let him know she misses him just as much as he does when she's home with her husband.
He hates that word.
The word he'll never use with her, even if this one somehow ends, even if she finds a way out, because she hates that word just as much as he does and he could never hold her and tie her down like he has.
She kisses him and threads her hand through his hair. It's stiff with something and he wonders if it's blood or mud but she doesn't pull back.
She leaves after the kiss and he just stares, watches her smile once more before slipping out of the tent and he hates himself for not saying something more.
He doubts she would have stayed though. She never does.
..
She isn't sure why, but she cries on the last leg of the journey home, both her and her horse tired.
Next time she says, next time I'll stay.