Chapter One #3
Ann, my sweetest of sisters, accepted her drink from Angus with a shy smile.
Angus, all easy laughter and bright red-lit hair, was clearly enjoying himself as he served our ale.
He topped up Kade’s cup, then replenished his own with a generous serving that threatened to overflow.
Angus watched Ann take a tiny sip from her goblet, and, as much as I would have liked to retreat to the quiet of my chambers, I resolved then to stay and make sure she was well chaperoned.
The combination of free-flowing ale, Angus’s overeager manner and his hawk-eyed attention of my vulnerable sister were enough to keep me in place, firmly at her side.
And all the while, as colorful conversation filled the large yet still-cozy hall, as people drifted and mingled, Kade Mackenzie’s cool predatory stare seemed to fix itself on me all too often, making me feel uneasy and restless.
The ale did nothing to calm my nerves and seemed to stretch the minutes into long, hazy hours.
After drinking almost a full goblet of the sweet ale, in fact, I began to feel woozy and decided to avail myself of the inviting courtyard at the far end of the hall.
Leaving Ann in Clementine’s care, I walked the long length of the hall, feeling heated and flushed, and reveling in the cool touch of the night air as soon as I reached it.
I closed the door behind me to distance myself, just for a few minutes, from the noisy gathering.
No one had followed me. I had, for once, escaped the notice of my father’s guards.
At this realization, I followed a lit pathway that led beckoningly into a tiny rose garden, enclosed by small trees and trellises.
Intrigued and invigorated by my momentary freedom, I wandered just a few steps farther—and a few more—to find a secluded bench.
Delighted with my find, I sat. I knew I shouldn’t be alone in a dark, isolated place such as this, but my newfound despair—and anger—had undermined the forced habits of my upbringing.
Just for a few minutes, I wanted to pretend I was free to make my own choices, to fantasize about being treated with respect, or even love.
And to appreciate the very simple pleasure of being alone.
The late-summer perfume of the roses filled the air with their heady scent, and I savored the peaceful moment. The past few weeks had been filled with turmoil and sadness, and I was grateful for the window of solace this little haven provided.
But then, without warning, a brisk, high gust of wind blew all the candles out.
The darkness was sudden and startling.
Flickering stars overhead were shadowed by bulky black clouds, and the moon was hidden. I had only the distant torchlight of the manor to guide me back. I stood, feeling unsteady not only from the lingering effects of the ale but also the stark isolation.
As my eyes adjusted infinitesimally to the darkness, I guessed at my return route along the meandering path back to the manor.
I took a step, holding my hands out in front of me and feeling somewhat ridiculous.
I laughed lightly at my predicament, wondering at my own impetuousness.
The sound of my own laughter lingered with me briefly; it was a sound I hadn’t heard in some time.
If I’d once been prone to bouts of adventurousness as a child, that tendency had been decisively eradicated from my nature by my father’s tyranny.
If he could have seen me now, I had no doubt I’d be beaten yet again.
So there was a small, defiant satisfaction to this seclusion.
But some subtle intuition brought my laughter to an abrupt end. A chill raised the hairs on the back of my neck in a sudden realization: someone was here with me. My senses instantly sharpened.
The fall of a heavy footstep.
The dark outline of a tall figure.
A man, certainly.
A very large one, at that.
My heart thumped edgily and I took a step in an unintentional direction, as though my legs meant to flee whether I wanted to or not.
But the darkness, the uneven surface of the ground and my own layered imbalance caught me off guard and I almost stumbled but for the hand that reached out to steady me.
The ironlike bonds of that grasp were dizzying in the promise of strength that lurked underneath the gentle, guiding touch. And the scent of him, like wood and leather and smoke, so foreign to me. So very, entirely masculine.
“I’ll not hurt you,” he said softly, and in the tones of his voice I detected truth, a sense of honor, a genuine attempt to reassure. His words dampened my fear. I wasn’t at all sure why, but I believed them.
He steadied me completely, and I was surprised to find that his protective hold felt more inviting than threatening, especially in this total darkness. An anchor, sure and steady, in the tumultuous night.
I could acknowledge that a small part of me was enjoying this wild, illicit encounter. I was not afraid, reassured as I had been by his voice. And I was drawn, inexplicably, to that spiced, enticing scent of him.