But still, it didn’t sound quite right to her. Her instincts nudged at her, warning her that there was something amiss. The way Effie looked at her, though, softened something in her. This girl had been so kind to her, treated her with so much sweetnessand care in the time since she had been in this place. She would never do anything to cause her harm, she was sure of it.
“I’ll be out in a moment,” she replied. Effie perked up at once.
“Let me lay out some riding clothes for you.”
She headed to the bedchambers, and, sure enough, when Amelia got there, clothes fit for a morning ride had been laid out on the bed. She slipped them on, a heavy burgundy cloak that settled around her shoulders like a strong embrace, and headed outside to greet Fern.
The air was cold, biting at her skin, but she ignored it. Colin, as Effie had suggested, was already waiting for her. Fern pawed at the ground and let out a slight snort in greeting as Amelia planted a hand on her neck, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath her fingers.
“I can take it from here,” she told Colin, once he had helped her onto the horse. And, just like that, she was off.
She had to admit, there was a freedom to feeling the wind in her hair like this, the throb of excitement that coursed through her when she was on horseback. It was more than just the action of it, the feel of the hooves thundering across the ground and taking her wherever she wanted to go; it was knowing that Arran was the one who had gifted her such freedom, by showing her how to ride. He didn’t want to control or contain her. He wanted her to feel the wind in her hair like this.
She guided Fern towards the forest, marking out the path as best she could remember to the pond where they had ridden on their first outing together. She could still remember how it had felt then, how she had doubted him, even still. It hadn’t been until that evening, when he had taken her into his arms for the first time and shown her a pleasure that she had never imagined possible, that she had truly understood how deep her need for him went.
As she slowed Fern, her ears pricked up. There was little sound in the forest, only the wind rustling through the trees, but that was almost it. No animals moving, no twigs snapping, nothing. Had Arran and Gregory made such quick work of the prey here already? Or…?
Once she reached the pond, she leapt from Fern’s back, planting a hand against her haunch to still her. The horse let out a long sigh, her hooves stilling at last.
“Arran?”
Amelia called out into the quiet, then held her breath, waiting for a response. None came. She frowned. Where was he? If he were here, why would he have made her wait? She could not make sense of it. How would he have even passed on a message to Effie to tell her to follow after him, now that she thought of it?
A cold shiver rushed down her spine. Something was wrong, something was very, very wrong.
“Arran!”
She called out again, praying she would hear his warm tones reaching out through the quiet to find her, but there was nothing. Nothing but that stillness, that seemed to cling to every inch of her in that moment, as she longed to hear his voice. She took a deep breath and let it out again, a long, slow movement intended to calm her pulsing nerves.
Nothing came back. She resolved to leave. She would not stand around and wait out here for too long. She could only imagine the kind of animals who could have pounced on her, when she was vulnerable like this, how easy it would have been for her to get hurt.
Just as she turned to reach for the reins once more, she heard something. A footstep—a growl. She tried to turn, but before she could, she felt hands gripping her shoulders, and then, a rough blackness covering her face before everything vanished into panic.
Amelia came to with a sharp breath, snapping upright on the bed she had been brought to. She glanced around, trying her best to remember where she was and what had happened.Please, let it all have been a bad dream…
But then, she saw the two men standing over her, and whatever hope she’d been clinging to that this was just a misunderstanding fell apart entirely. Her breath caught in her throat, sickness twisting her stomach.
Donald MacAllan stood next to his advisor, a stern expression on his face as he gazed down at her. She went to leap up, but he lifted a hand, stopping her in her tracks.
“Stay, lass,” he murmured, and a furrow knitted his brow. “Ye’ll be safer here than with that brute, Aitken.”
“Let me go!” she demanded, mustering up every inch of strength she had in her, trying, as hard as she could, to control her breathing and manage her panic. She knew that letting the fear get the better of her would sentence her to whatever fate they had already chosen for her, and she couldn’t allow that to happen. Whatever it was, she wanted no part of it.
The two men exchanged a look. The advisor dropped his tone and spoke to his Laird.
“She could be… hypnotized by him, in some way,” he explained quietly. “Who knows what he’s subjected her to, in order to make sure she stays as his wife.”
“Please, just let me out of here,” Amelia begged. She couldn’t stand the thought of them talking about Arran like that; as though he were nothing more than some kind of monster. He was her husband. More than that, he had cared for her, shownher a grace and gentleness that she would never have imagined him capable of.
Donald reached for her face, cupping her cheek with a gentleness that made her stomach turn. She tore herself away from him. What did they think they were doing? Why were they treating her this way? He frowned when she drew herself away from him, like he had been expecting her to simply fall into his arms at the barest touch.
“We can only apologize for the rough treatment, Amelia,” the advisor cut in. “But we could not wait any longer. With your virtue still intact, you’ll be able to become Lady MacAllan, as you should have all those months ago.”
She could feel the sting of bile in her throat, the mere thought sending shivers down her spine. No. There was no way he could mean this. No way he could really intend to see it through; she was a married woman. Arran had paid her father for her hand in marriage, was that not enough?
“I don’t want to be your wife,” she protested, mustering up all the certainty she could. “I’m spoken for. I have a husband, and I’d like to get back to him before you?—”
“And you’ll see your sisters again,” The advisor cut in. “That’s what you wanted, isn’t it? That’s what you told her?”
