On the road, she would lose herself. But she would lose other things as well—the first lesson of traveling was to surrender the idea of possessions.
What you own is not who you are, her da used to say. If you possess nothing, then nothing possesses you.
Her eyes welled. She wanted that freedom again. Needed it to bandage her shattered soul. Yet there was one treasure she had to keep safe, and she’d come here to the place where Thomas had declared his love and asked her to marry him.
The rush of the stream told her she’d arrived. In the silvery light, she examined various hiding places, a poignant certainty filling her when she ran her fingertips over the ancient bark. Thomas had made love to her against this tree, whispering his adoration as she writhed in bliss against the sun-warmed trunk.
Taking the oilskin pouch from her pocket, she removed the paper one last time and reread it through blurry eyes. Then she refolded it, pressed it to her lips, and sealed it in the waterproof casing. Ascending the tree, she hid the pouch in a hollow obscured by branches.
“I know you’re here.” The predator hunted her in the darkness. “Come out, or I’ll drag you out by the hair!”
Quickly, she descended. A cloud shifted, and as the moon caressed her face, she felt power quicken inside her. For the first time, she was unafraid to meet her destiny. He caught her by the edge of the stream, wrapping her hair around his fist, yanking her against him. He clamped a beefy hand over her mouth, his voice pouring into her ear like poison.
“He’s gone. I killed him. Now it’s just you and me, Rose.”
“Wake up, Gigi. Wake up.”
Gigi bolted upright, her mouth open mid-scream. It took her an instant to recognize Owen’s worried face. He was standing next to her bed.
“Wh-what happened?” she said shakily.
“I couldn’t sleep and heard you shouting. You were having a nightmare.” Owen raked a hand through his shaggy hair. “I thought my dreams were bad, but you…you were screaming bloody murder.”
Murder. That’s what I saw. But it was no dream.
“You are going to think I’m mad,” Gigi said hoarsely.
Owen’s mouth twisted. “Given the madhouse I reside in, I am hardly going to cast stones.”
“I didn’t have a dream. It was a vision…like the kind Xenia was having.”
Owen’s gaze was searching. “About Mulligan and Rosalinda, you mean?”
“Yes. And I need you to help me with something. Please.”
“All right.”
“Get dressed, and I’ll meet you downstairs in ten minutes.”
Owen cocked his head. “Where are we going?”
“I’ll explain on the way.”
Sunrise was painting the sky as Gigi and her brother rode to the woods. Tying up their horses, they headed for the stream, leaving footprints in the frost. The giant yew stood by the water as it had for centuries. As it had when Rose had come looking for it. Gigi surveyed the tree, looking for the hidden hollow.
“I think it’s behind those branches up there.” She pointed at a spot about sixteen feet off the ground. “I’m going to need a boost up.”
She removed her velvet mantle, beneath which she wore an outfit suitable for climbing. Owen helped her onto his shoulders. She touched the lowest branch. After testing its strength, she pulled herself onto it, using it to access the next branch, and so on until she arrived at her destination. Pushing aside the dense, evergreen needles, she found the hollow she’d seen in the vision. She reached inside, feeling around in the darkness, her pulse speeding up when her fingers closed around a packet.
“I found it,” she called breathlessly. “The pouch Rosalinda left—it’s still here.”
“Splendid,” Owen returned. “Will you come down before I have to explain to everyone how you broke your neck?”
Tucking the pouch in her pocket, she descended nimbly. With Owen peering over her shoulder, she opened the oilskin envelope and pulled out a fragile, yellowed piece of paper. Her breath snagged as she read the faded but visible script.
“Oh my stars,” she breathed.
Owen’s brows pinched together. “Mulligan and Rose were married?”
