The last thing she heard clearly was Duncan’s voice again, directed at Malcolm.
“Blackford,” he said. “To the castle.”
CHAPTER 3
“Oh, good. You’re awake. Thank the Lord for that.”
It was a woman’s voice, who seemed to be standing over Charity. Her English carried the same thick accent Charity had heard in the woods, though she spoke more carefully.
Charity tried to sit up, patting around to make sense of things. It was the second time now that she was waking up in a strange place, not knowing anything about it.
“No,” the woman said quickly, putting a firm hand on Charity’s shoulder. “You should not be doing that yet; you’ll only make yourself sick again. Just breathe, and let your head settle.”
Charity’s heart began to hammer anyway, and she pushed weakly at the woman’s hand.
“Where am I?” Charity demanded.
The woman’s expression softened, but she didn’t look frightened, only patient, as if she had expected this exact reaction.
“You’re in Blackford Castle,” she said, speaking slowly, as though Charity might not understand. “And I’m Mrs. Sinclair. I’m the housekeeper.”
“Blackford,” she repeated, and the word felt so strange in her mouth. “Castle.”
There was a brief recollection of her hearing those words right before she had blacked out, and the memory of it was slowly returning to her.
“Yes, you were found in the woods, and you were unwell, and the duke brought you here so you wouldn’t freeze where you lay.”
Charity’s stomach rolled again, and she pressed a hand to her abdomen.
“The duke,” she repeated. “The man… Duncan.”
Even though her memory was hazy, she could not forget meeting that man. He had left a strong impression on her, and now it made sense that he was a duke. His disposition certainly seemed to suggest that he was someone of great importance, though that was not what had struck her. What had struck out was just how much of a visceral reaction that he had managed to elicit from her.
It had never happened before, and a part of her was curious to know if it would happen again, if she was to see him.
“Aye. His Grace.”
“I must return to my sisters,” Charity said, feeling the sense return to her slowly.
Mrs. Sinclair held up her hands slightly, ready to ward off any attempts at an escape.
“I know you’re frightened, and you’re right to be frightened, because you don’t know what’s happened to you. But you are safe in this room, and no one is going to hurt you while you’re here.”
It was meant to be reassuring, but she did not feel that way. Her gaze flicked past her, taking in more of the room in quick, anxious fragments.
Then she saw Malcolm. That was his name, correct? She thought a bit harder and then confirmed to herself that it was indeed Malcolm.
He stood a bit farther back, near the door, as if he’d been placed there to guard it. His bow was gone, but his posture was alert.
“You were there!” Charity pointed to him instantly, as though she had just discovered some vital piece of information.
Malcolm shifted uncomfortably.
“You shot an arrow into a tree beside my head, and you frightened me half to death.”
Malcolm grimaced, and Mrs. Sinclair leaned in slightly, “Your throat will be sore if you keep raising your voice, and you’ll make yourself dizzy again. Please, drink some water.”
Charity wanted to refuse on principle, but her mouth was dry, and she could taste bile at the back of her throat. So, she ended up accepting the cup Mrs. Sinclair offered, took a careful sip, and immediately felt a small relief.
