as she
pleased and she’d never be forced to answer to anyone but her own heart.
Although the thought of freedom brought a tingling
sensation that spread throughout her body, her heart felt empty. Void. And she
felt severely lacking.
It was enough to break a weaker woman’s heart. But
Lady Arline refused to be weak. There wasn’t a man in all this world worthy of
her heart, let alone one worthy of breaking it.
He turned to face her again. “I’ll no hear any
complainin’ from ye. Ye’ll do as I say, when I say it. Ye’ll stay in yer room
unless I give ye permission to leave,” he began listing his rules, ticking them
off one by one. “Do no’ ever question me or any decision I make fer ye’ll
suffer fer it, that I promise.”
He came to stand before her again. This time, he
lowered his face only inches from hers. It took every ounce of courage she had
to look him in the eye.
“Lady Arline, ye will heed me warnin’. Ye do as I
say, and ye may just get out of this marriage alive.”
He quit her chamber then, without so much as a by
your leave. His warning hung the air, long after he left, like damp, heavy fog.
Though a fire burned in the fireplace, the air still felt chilled, cold, filled
with his inescapable warning.
Now she knew the secret that lay hidden in his
dark eyes: sheer unadulterated hatred. And all of it reserved for her.
With her arms and hands still trembling, she
walked to her closet, found the trunk that held her writing materials, her
embroidery, and art supplies. On shaking knees, she rummaged through until she
found a piece of charcoal she used for sketching.
Quietly, she closed the lid and scooted across the
wood floor to the back of the closet. She drew a short line on the wall. One
day down. With a heavy sense of dread, she slid the trunk across the floor
to hide the mark that had begun her countdown to freedom.
Taking in steady breaths she hoped would calm her
nerves, she left the closet and climbed into her bed, drawing the covers up to
her chin. A hundred blankets would not be enough to quell the chill she felt.
Earlier, before speaking with her husband, she had
been worried over things that now seemed mundane by comparison. Less than an
hour ago, she had been nervously pacing her room, hopeful that she would be
able to please her husband and begin to build a future with him.
She cursed under her breath; angry with her heart
for allowing even a glimmer of hope for the life she so desperately wanted. A
husband who would care about her feelings, a husband she could admire and
respect. She wanted children. Lots of children. Arline longed for a home filled
with love, laughter, bairns …peace.
She would survive the next year. She would not let
Laird Blackthorn of Ayrshire win.
Two
The cursed dreams were always the same, varying
only in intensity and their ability to completely unsettle Lady Arline’s
nerves. She hated these dreams filled with a faceless man on horseback who was
coming to rescue her, to whisk her away from Laird Blackthorn.
Though she could never see his face, something in
her heart told her he was a fine looking man. The dream would not allow her to
see him clearly. It was like trying to hold fog in the palm of your hand. You
mayhap could feel the damp, wet air, but you could not hold on to it.
The faceless hero of her dreams would soothe away
her fears with tender kisses and the touch of his gentle hands. He would mend
her, put her back to rights, and give her a life filled with love, laughter,
and hope.
That was how she felt in the deep, dark of night,
in those traitorous dreams.
During the day, however, when she had better
control of her faculties, she thought differently. She knew that in reality, no
such man existed.
Four and twenty years of age, her hopes of a happy
life had been repeatedly quashed, with the multiple failed marriages her father
had arranged. No longer did she yearn for that happy life, filled with a
husband’s love and too many