I’ll have to tell them eventually as I’ll need their help, but I don’t want to scare them. And I don’t have the tolerance or knowledge to explain things I’m not even sure about myself. I’ll have to think of a way that won’t alarm them. But there’s only one thought in my head right now. Getting Kate back.
I push through the wind to the north-facing window and stand before it. ‘I will bring her back!’ I shout into the darkness.
I do this because I know Rhauk will be listening.
Kate
Even before I open my eyes I can tell it’s morning as the sun is bright, though weak with the chill of late autumn. There is a strong taste of salt in the air, the sound of crashing waves loud in my head. If only last night had been a dream – a nightmare. I could live with that. But as I force my eyes to reluctantly open, I see I’m not in the tower at Thorntyne Keep and Jarrod is nowhere to be seen.
Of course it wasn’t a dream. Who was I kidding? Scratches from last night’s battle with the crow are raised and red on the skin of my arm and on one side of my face. There’s blood on the front of my nightgown. Jarrod’s.
The room is quite beautiful really. The bed is covered in white satin. There are deep blue drapes at the windows, a wall-size tapestry of a hunting scene – horses, hounds and a black knight in full mail riding proudly on the back of a massive black stallion. It almost covers the entire opposite stone wall. There is a square of carpet on the floor beside a magnificent four-poster bed and a matching table with stool beneath the vivid tapestry. A ceramic washing bowl and urn adorn the table top.
I run to the window to see if there is any way I can climb down or jump. But it’s a straight drop, about three storeys high, over a jagged cliff face. The ocean, deep blue-green, smashes against sharp rocks below.
I sense Rhauk. The perception deep in my stomach scares me. Why am I so aware of him like this? Instinctively I understand that he knows I’ve woken and that he too is aware of me. Shivers break across my skin that have nothing to do with the fact that I’m only wearing a nightgown on a chilly autumn morning.
I spin around at the sound of his footsteps on the smooth timber floor. He has two pewter chalices in his hands. He sips from one, a drop of ruby red liquid hangs for a moment on his bottom lip, the other he extends to me, his voice sickeningly smug. ‘A celebration.’
Frowning, puzzled, I cross my arms over my chest. ‘Go to hell.’
His eyebrows lift as he draws near enough so that I can accept his offer of wine, and smell his pungent breath. ‘Not without you, my dear.’
Air forces itself out of my lungs; his determination is so steely. For a flash of a second I recall the pigman and his not-so-warm greeting on finding out Jarrod was a relative of Lord Richard’s. Pretending acceptance, I take the pewter chalice, draw in a mouthful of Rhauk’s sweet red wine, and spit it back in his face.
For a flash of a second Rhauk looks surprised and angry. I think he’s going to hit me, which doesn’t particularly worry me at this moment. I’m so worked up I’ll just hit him straight back, where it hurts, as hard as I can.
But he doesn’t react predictably at all. Instead he laughs, deep from his chest, pulls out a square of black satin from his tunic, and wipes his face without shaking the smirk. ‘We will make a formidable pair, you and I, my Lady.’
‘I want no part of your schemes. I won’t stay at Blacklands. Whatever you do to me, I’ll find a way to deceive you.’
‘No doubt you would.’
For a second his acknowledgment throws me. Is he acceding defeat? I doubt it. Obviously he has something devious planned. He walks across the room, places his pewter chalice on the table, studies the ceramic urn with such concentration you would think it was a photograph of his mother, then his penetrating eyes slide sideways. ‘There is only one way that Jarrod will stop me from generating my very clever curse.’
Sceptical, I agree to listen. ‘Go on.’
‘It’s simple really. A small swap.’
Dread tightens the air passages to my lungs. ‘What sort of swap?’
A cunning smile forms slowly on his determined face. ‘You, for the curse.’
‘No.’
‘A little more thought on it, I think, my pretty.’ ‘I don’t have to think about it. And don’t call me that.’
He scoffs, amused. ‘I will call you whatever I want. You have no say in it. You belong to me now.’
He moves closer, runs an ice-cold finger down the side of my face. I yank my head backwards. ‘Stay away from me.’
‘Oh I will, for now. You see, I will have to get over my disappointment. At first sight, I swore you were a virgin. Just like my Eloise was.’