Chapter 5 Nothing To Forget #2
Senga occasionally wondered how many people in the Highlands were just like that merchant’s wife and children, and had escaped from Laird Murray and now hungered for revenge. Perhaps she was about to be one of them.
This could be a trick, just like that. But if it was a trick and Noah was alive, he would come to find her. If it was not a trick and he was dead, she could honor him by escaping, if she could.
I still have one card left to play, Senga thought blearily.
There was a small, half-forgotten side door, set deep into the side of the Keep.
It was kept locked and choked by ivy and foliage on the other side.
Senga had found the key, and Noah had snuck away to clear about the creeping plants and vines keeping it shut.
Perhaps Laird Murray had had the door locked up again.
He said that Noah hadn’t told him everything, so perhaps Noah had been able to keep back this tidbit.
But then again, perhaps he hadn’t. She owed it to him to try, though.
As silently as she could, Senga slipped away from the stables, never once looking back.
Senga jerked awake, heart pounding. She’d dreamt about that day again. Her dreams were always the same, always just as detailed as when it had all happened the first time. In the first few weeks and months after she’d left Keep Murray, she dreamt of what had happened every night.
When she had reached the safety of the convent, she had allowed herself to dream that maybe, just maybe, it had all been a trick, and Noah was alive.
But if he had been alive, why hadn’t he come for her?
Her dreams had devolved into nightmares, where her father caught her and dragged her back to the Keep, showing her Noah’s mutilated corpse hanging from the Keep walls.
Those dreams had been vivid, with imagery that was hard to shake. She couldn’t forget, not even now.
Swallowing thickly, Senga threw back her blankets and climbed out of bed. There was work to do, and work would keep her mind blank. That was what she needed, a nice, blank mind. She needed not to think.
And then, just as Senga was splashing icy water on her face, a horse whinnied in terror outside.
Drying off her face with a scrap of cloth, Senga stood on her tiptoes and peered out of the window. There, far below, a scrawny stable lad was hauling on a short rope attached to a horse’s bridle. The horse was rearing, iron-clad hooves striking out at the air, narrowly missing the boy’s head.
The stable lad swore loud enough for it to reach Senga’s ears—she was still getting used to the rougher language that was common outside the convent—and reached to his belt, unhooking a whip.
He delivered a snapping blow to the horse’s side, which, of course, only made the creature whinny louder and fight harder to get away.
It was obvious the lad had no experience with untamed horses.
But when she got a better look at the horse, Senga’s eyes widened.
Bluebell, she thought, in a rush of panic and anger, and raced towards the door.
For once, for once, Senga was able to navigate the complex halls of Grahame Keep right away.
Dawn had barely arrived, and the Keep was still waking up.
Servants moved groggily along the hallways, yawning as they swept up old rushes and laid fresh ones.
In the feasting room, the table was already being laid for breakfast.
Senga’s stomach rumbled, reminding her that it was high time for food, but she ignored it, putting on a burst of speed that took her into the courtyard.
There was the stable lad, yanking on the rope as if he could propel the horse along by sheer brute force.
Even from where she stood, Senga could see Bluebell’s eyes rolling in fear and pain, bloodied foam around her mouth.
The horse seemed reluctant to put her nearside front foot down, which hinted at a more complex cause than mere stubbornness.
However, the stable lad was lifting his whip in the air for yet another crack, and Senga realized with a sinking heart that she wasn’t going to reach him in time.
“Wait!” she cried. “Don’t do it!”
He heard her; she was sure of that. The lad’s gaze flicked over his shoulder towards her, but he tightened his jaw and pretended not to have heard.
The whip cracked out a second before Senga thumped into the stable lad’s side.
She shoved him, hard, thinking of nothing beyond preventing that whip from landing.
Her shove was a good one, and her momentum sent him sprawling onto the cobbles.
Bluebell’s nostrils flared. She reared up with a scream, hooves striking out in random directions, but mainly towards its tormentor.
Except, of course, its tormentor was now lying flat on the cobbles, disoriented and bruised, and Senga stood in his place.
A hoof shot out towards Senga’s face, but before she could throw herself aside or even put her hands to shield herself, a strong arm wrapped around her waist and hauled her away.
The iron-tipped hoof whipped past her head.
The breeze stirred her hair.
Senga landed with a painful thump on the cobbles, weighed down with whoever had saved her. Fighting to sit upright, she squinted up into the weak dawn light, and her eyes widened when she saw who was looking down at her.
“Noah,” Senga gasped.