The thrill of the escape didn't last long.

He held her hand as he led her into the woods, weaving between trees as they moved deeper and deeper into the dark woods and away from the center of town. Still, even when they were far away enough not to be seen or heard by anyone from the village, he held her hand–and she found that she was glad for it. It wasn't that the stranger's hand brought her comfort or even that she was afraid; she didn't worry about getting separated or what would happen if someone caught a glimpse of her running through the woods, but she was glad because if it hadn't been for him dragging her along, she'd have collapsed long ago.

The mud was thick and her bare feet stuck in it, making each step a struggle. The rain was icy cold and the wind swept up underneath the burlap dress that hung on her shoulders, chilling her to the bone. She hadn't quite realized how tired she was either, or how weak she felt from lack of food and water, and it wasn't like she had a destination in mind; and, of course, if she collapsed and died in the middle of the forest, she'd be no worse off than she would've been staying in her cell.

Her heart pounds and her head is dizzy, and she feels like she's having some sort of out-of-body experience–then, before she can even so much as chuckle at her own private joke, the masked man stops abruptly.

Looking around, she wipes the rain from her face and squinted–and when she didn't see anything other than trees around then, she looked to him with a questioning gaze.

"Why–"

"The rain's getting thicker."

She blinks. "So?"

"I can barely see a measure in front of us."

"What's there to see?" she asks, panting as she again pushes the rain from her face. "Besides–"

"Come on!"

He tugs her away from where they'd stood, in the opposite direction and she squints in an effort to see where he's taking her–but still, all she sees are trees. She wants to ask, but she can't quite catch her breath enough to question where he's leading her or why this direction is better than the previous–and then, once again, he stops suddenly and this time, he grins at her.

"We've arrived."

Blinking, her eyes settle on a broken down, dilapidated little cabin that's no more than a mound of rubble of wood and stone, and as she looks to him, he gives her hand another tug and leads her around it.

"The cellar's still in tact," he tells her, finally letting go of her head as he reaches into his pocket, withdrawing a pin and jamming it into the lock. "It's dry… well, mostly." She nods as she watches him, her brows arching up as the lock pops open. "You first."

"How do you know about this cellar?"

The masked man sighs. "I've… stayed here once or twice when–" He stops, sighing in frustration as the rain pours down around him, dropping from his eyelashes, nose and chin. "Can we talk about this at another time?"

He takes her hand again, but this time she pull back, and her feet plant down in the mud as her stomach lurches as she thinks of the dark closet that Leopold used to lock her in. "How do I know that–"

"I'm not going to murder you?" he asks. "Well, I suppose you don't. But if you don't trust me and get into the cellar, someone else will."

"But–"

He shakes his head, pointing up to the sky. "It's nearly daybreak and I'm sure someone's discovered your empty cell by this point." She shifts nervously on her feet, biting down on her lip as she looks to the dark cellar. "How long do you think it'll be before a search party is sent out?"

"I don't know, but–"

He doesn't give her the opportunity to finish. Instead, he tugs on her hand, dragging her toward the cellar and, in spite of her own worries, she finds herself stepping down onto the first step–and as soon as she's down far enough, he pulls the cellar doors closed and darkness surrounds them.

She reaches the last stair and takes a few tentative steps, holding her breath and ignoring the fact that breathing is suddenly difficult for her. She closes her eyes, pinching them shut as she take a few more steps, the sound of the closet door echoing in her ears after Leopold's eerily cool tone tells her to repent. The sound of rustling interrupts her thoughts, and she's glad for it–and then, a moment later, a flame sparks.

Her eyes widen a little as she turns toward the light and she sees the stranger holding a torch of bound up pine branches–and a little grin tugs up at the corner of her mouth when she sees that he's pulled back his hood and removed his mask, revealing a strong but relaxed jaw, glittering blue eyes, and dark blonde hair that curls a bit in the front.

"Where are we?"

"That's a secret."

"Is it?" she asks, her brow arching as she looks around–and then, her breath catches. They're in some sort of lair. She takes a few steps away from the light, looking at a golden brooch pinned to a rope that hangs from the ceiling and a jewel-handled cutlass lies propped up against the wall. "What is this place?"

"Uh, just… a place I come to occasionally and–"

"Where did all of this come from?"

"Here and there," the stranger tells her, shrugging his shoulders a devilish little grin edges over his lips. "You know…"

"I don't, actually," she says, her shoulders squaring as she recognizes a brass box that's passed around at church on Sundays. "I…"

"I'll kindly remind you that I just broke you out of prison," he tells her. "That you were on death row."

She blinks as she looks up at him. "And what does that–"

"Well, from one alleged criminal to another–"

"I'm not a criminal," she tells him, her voice full of indignation as her shoulder square. "I'm–"

"A witch."

At that, she pouts. "And you're a thief."

He shrugs, unbothered by the title. "Well, I'm more than that, but–" He laughs out and shakes his head, and it makes her feel a strange both uneasy and calm. "I've just realized I know so much about you and you know nothing of me."

"How?" she asks, taking a step forward as her eyes narrow with curiosity. "How do you know anything at all about me? Why would you–?"

"Risk everything to break you out?" Her shoulders relax as she remembers that he's on her side, and she nods. "Well, I know that you're innocent."

"Even though I failed every test?"

"Those tests are assinine and…" Shaking his head he sighs. "Those tests can't account for everything."

"Can't they?"

Again, he shakes his head. "I've, uh… I've been watching."

"What?"

"The man who broke into your home–"

Warmth rises up the back of her neck and her eyes wide. "That was–"

"Not me."

"But–"

"I'm not the only thief in Salem."

Her eyes darken and she looks away, remembering the draft she'd felt from beneath Mary-Margaret's door and how she's privately chided the girl for leaving her window open as she reached for the doorknob to the girl's room–and she also remembers the way her heart had practically stopped as she saw a man standing over the girl's bed. "I… don't think he was a thief."

"Each of us has our own agenda."

"And yours?"

"I take what I can and pawn it off in another village, and–"

"What do you do with the money?"

"Whatever I want."

"And what do you want?"

He grins. "Right now, I want to keep your neck intact and–"

"No need to be so graphic."

He blinks. "That was hardly–"

"So, this intruder…"

"Wants a bit more than just some sparkly items that some governor's wife will drool over." He sighs and takes a few steps deeper into the cellar. "You aren't wrong."

"Would he have hurt her?"

"I don't know," he admits. "But he'd been watching the house for awhile and–"

"That explains the missing pitcher."

The man's eyes narrow as he sits down on a little bench. "Pitcher?"

"Two days ago, a porcelain pitcher went missing and–" Her eyes press closed as she remembering Leopold's firm grasp on her arm, his fingers pressing into her skin hard enough to leave bruises beneath her dress as he dragged her up the stairs and told her she was evil. "We didn't know what happened to it. It was just… gone."

He hesitates for a moment, and she watches as he draws in a breath. "He blamed you."

She feels her brows arch and her eyes widen. "How–"

"I told you. I was watching."

"Oh," she murmurs, her eyes casting down as her cheeks flush, wondering what exactly he saw, but too afraid to ask. "I didn't–"

"That was the point," he interjects. "For no one to know."

She nods, and suddenly, her chest feels tight, and she can't bring herself to look at him. She's embarrassed, mostly, she realizes, and though it's stupid, she prided herself on her secrets–prided herself on never looking weak to anyone and going through life with an air of importance and power. But this stranger knew the truth. He'd seen things he wasn't meant to see, and he knew how vulnerable she was–and she hated that.

"I'm Robin, by the way," he tells her, his voice softer as he stands up and moves slowly toward her. "I was… I was at the trial, too. I know that you're innocent and, what's worse, I know that you were framed. Your husband knows it, too."

At that, she looks up. "How could–"

"He saw the intruder."

"He said he didn't. He told everyone–" Her voice cracks as tears fill her eyes, and Leopold's testimony echos in her ears. "He said–"

"He lied."

"And… and… Mary-Margaret."

"I think… I think she thinks she's telling the truth, and I think she wants to please her father."

"She always does."

"She's a child."

Regina shrugs. "She knows more than she lets on. She sees it all and… looks the other way."

"She's a child, Regina."

She looks up at sound of her name, and nods. "So, that's… that's why you broke me out?"

Robin reaches for her, gently taking her arm and leading her to the bench–and it's not until she sits down that she remembers how tired and cold she is. "I know people," he tells her. "People in other villages, people at other settlements. I know Natives and–"

"What?"

"They'll help you."

"Oh," she murmurs. "I… I can't imagine…"

"We'll stay here until dark. No one will look here."

"Not even with the open lock."

"No," he murmurs. "Our tracks will have faded from the rain and so will our scent, and…" Robin chuckles softly. "If you were here, it'd only make sense that the owner was harboring you."

Regina's head tips to the side as he sits down beside her, again smiling at her in a way that makes his blue eyes sparkle. "Someone owns this… pile of rubble and…"

"Gold."

"Gold," she repeat. "You mean…"

"The man who sentenced you owns this property. It was his first home before… well… before he rose in power and status, and before he moved into the village."

"I see."

"And you know how these angry mobs are… always looking for any connection, any reason to accuse."

Nodding, she grins. "That's true."

"So, we'll be safe here until night falls, then we'll be on our way, and you'll be a free woman."

"Free…"

"Not trapped in a marriage to a cruel man. Not trapped under his watch or the watch of the church. You'll be free to… do as you please and…"

"And practice witchcraft?"

He grins. "Well, if that's what you choose–"

"It's not all cauldrons and sacrificing and–"

"So, it's true."

She hesitates, biting down on her lip. "You didn't anticipate being trapped with a real, live witch, did you?"

"That's actually exactly what I anticipated."

Her cheeks flush and suddenly, she's glad for the dark–and then, when he sinks down beside her and drapes his arm over her shoulders, she can't help but turn into his embrace and let him hold her, suddenly very aware of how cold she is. He'd been wearing layers, and he'd peeled the first one off, revealing a thick woolen cloak that's mostly dry. She edges closer as his arms wrap around her, his hands rubbing over her back in an effort to warm her up. Her eyes close and she cuddles closer, feeling safer than she should in his hold, and as she feels herself floating toward sleep, he shifts to blow out the pine needle torch, sending the cellar back into darkness–and her last thoughts before giving into her exhaustion is that, for the first time, she's confined to a dark, small space, yet she feels completely at ease.