If only her mother could be with her to see her happiness. A solitary tear sprang into her eye.
The thoughts came unbidden, swift and sharp, and her throat tightened.
A soft tap sounded at the door.
Selene started, her heart giving a small leap. Assuming Elsie or Maureen had forgotten something, she hurried across the chamber and pulled it open.
A young lad stood there, awkward and uncertain, twisting his cap in his hands. His smile was thin and wan, his eyes darting briefly past her shoulder before returning to her face.
“Jamie?” she said, recalling the name.
“Aye,” he replied quickly. “That is me name.”
She looked him up and down, taking in the britches and waistcoat worn by the grooms – though they sat ill upon his slight frame – and then her gaze fell to his hands. They were grimy, dark with filth, as though he had been mucking out a stable and come straight to her door without stopping to wash. A faint unease stirred within her. Surely, he was not working in the kitchen with hands like that.
“What is it, lad?” Her voice sharpened with disquiet, despite herself.
“’Tis a message from the other ladies.” He twisted his cap again in those dirty hands. “They asked me tae come fer ye. They’re waiting outside the postern gate fer ye.” He hesitated, then added, “They said tae tell ye they have a surprise fer ye there.”
Selene blinked at him, taken aback. The postern gate? A surprise?
Her brows knit as she searched his face, a chill of uncertainty creeping into her chest. Why would Elsie and Maureen summon her away now, of all moments, when she was almost due in the chapel?
Still, she smiled. Perhaps it was some small, girlish whim, a last-minute delight meant to make the day even more memorable.
“A surprise?” she repeated lightly.
“Aye, me lady,” Jamie said, nodding a little too quickly.
Selene hesitated, her fingers curling briefly around the edge of the door. Somewhere deep within her, a quiet voice urged caution – but it was quickly drowned beneath the heady rush of anticipation and trust in the belief that nothing ill could touch her on that, of all mornings.
Of course, Elsie and Maureen would have something special up their sleeves. They were incapable of restraint when it came to celebrations, and this was no ordinary day. She recalled their foray beyond the gate only days before, when they had laughed like schoolgirls while gathering ivy and holly for the betrothal feast, cheeks pink with cold and mischief. No doubt this was more of the same – a final surprise before the solemnity of vows and blessings.
She retrieved her fur-lined cloak from its peg and fastened it around her shoulders before hurrying after the young groom. He walked at a brisk pace, long strides carrying him ahead so swiftly that she was nearly forced into a trot to keep up with him.
They did not pass through the kitchen as she had expected. Instead, he led her into the courtyard and veered toward the narrow path beside the small herb garden that served the kitchens. The path itself had been cleared of snow, the stones damp and dark beneath her boots. But when Jamie opened the postern gate and gestured her through, she stepped into pure white, the snow soft and deep around her feet.
The cold bit sharply through the thin soles of her shoes.
She glanced about, her smile faltering as she searched for familiar faces. There was no sign of Elsie or Maureen, no laughter, no flutter of skirts. The space beyond the gate lay eerily still.
She turned, a question already upon her lips.
“Jamie?” she began.
The gate stood ajar, creaking faintly in the wind, but the boy had vanished as though he had never been there at all. A chill crept along her spine, colder than the winter air. Her gaze dropped to the ground, and it was only then that the truth struck her with sudden, sickening clarity.
There were no footprints outside the gate.
Elsie and Maureen had not been here after all.
Before she could draw breath or turn and run back through the gate, rough hands seized her from behind. She gasped, the sound cut short as a coarse cloth was clamped over her mouth, the stench of sweat and horse filling her senses. She fought wildly, arms flailing, but she was lifted bodily from the ground, her feet kicking uselessly in the air.
In a blur of motion, she was carried toward the woods and thrown across a saddle, her stomach jolting painfully against the leather. Strong hands held her fast as the horse surged forward. Her cry came out muffled and broken, lost beneath the pounding of hooves.
Selene’s heart was thundering as hard as the horse galloping beneath her. Terror flooded her veins, icy and paralyzing. She had been tricked. Lured like a fool from safety on the very morning of her wedding.
They rode hard, plunging through the trees, branches clawing at her cloak, snow spraying up around them. She struggled with every ounce of strength she possessed, twisting and kicking, but there were too many of them. Rough voices barked orders, hands tightened their grip, and the forest closed in, dark and merciless.
