I cannae sleep now,she thought, with remarkable clarity.We arenae going to bed yet. There’s the dancing to come next. The cèilidh! I cannae wait to dance. Evander and I have practiseda new dance, a jig, and we’re going to perform in front of everyone. He said that his wedding gift to me would be to make sure he was step-perfect, so that he didnae step on me toes in front of everyone.
He’s waiting for me. I have to go down. I have to go now.
And yet she could hardly move. In the next eye-blink, she had sunk into a padded chair, the heat from the fire prickling uncomfortably, yet she couldn’t summon the strength to move.
Something is wrong. Something is wrong.
Her lips parted, but she couldn’t draw breath to scream. Somehow, she only managed to produce a pathetic, warbling sort of gurgle.
Nobody is coming,she realized with a pang.
The door creaked open behind her, just as she formed that thought. Her heart skipped a beat.
“Evander?” she managed, a rasping gasp.
A figure padded around the chair, standing between her and the fire. She stared up at him, fear crystallizing into something new. He was too slim-hipped for Evander, and not tall enough.
He wore a mask, a thick, ugly thing, rough-carved out of what looked like bark. Tufts of hair stuck out around the mask, but in the poor light, it was impossible to tell what color it was. He stared down at her, and through the tiny eye-holes in the mask, she was sure he did not even blink.
Then he nodded, as if reassuring himself of something. Lunging forward, he clapped his palm over her mouth and nose, smothering any attempts to scream.
It wasn’t his palm that pressed against her nose, however, but a wad of wool, scented with something strong, acrid, and oddly familiar. Fear shot through her, and she tried, with all her remaining strength, to struggle.
It was no good. The smell flooded her body, and almost at once, her limbs went limp, her eyes rolling. He withdrew, removing the drugged wool from her face, but of course, the damage was done.
The last thing she saw before she lost consciousness was a rough burlap sack coming toward her face, ready to block out the light. She tried one last time to scream, but the sound barely clawed its way up her throat, let alone out into the open air.
Skye sat bolt upright, her jaw clamped so tightly shut that her teeth ached. She’d been trying to scream, she realized, the sound bubbling on her tongue.
Where am I? Where am I?
Blinking, she glanced around the room, her heart hammering. Gradually, the memory returned.
“The Gristle-Pig,” she whispered.
She was sitting up in the middle of the large bed, the ropes creaking whenever she moved. The blankets and furs which had seemed so cozy when she slipped into bed had now turned hot and sticky, clinging to her skin. Wincing, she shook herself free, blinking around the room.
The fire hadn’t gone out, although it burned lower than before. A single candle burned on the table beside her. Between the candle and the fire, the room contained plenty of light. Enough to banish the shadows.
She let out a long, shuddering breath, squeezing her eyes shut.
I was kidnapped. I was taken from me room on our wedding night. Evander was right. I… I didnae want to go. I didnae leave. I hadnae arranged it.
Raking through her memories, Skye tried to put the pieces together. There had been a cèilidh. She had been looking forward to it. Her mother and Hunter had been at the party, which meant that Creighton would have been there too. Hunter had even walked her down the aisle. They had all given their blessing, and she had not been forced into anything.
So what happened?
Gathering up a handful of the blankets, she pressed them against her face, almost willing the darkness back. There had beeninformationin that dream.
Was it a dream? Or was it a memory? Can I really trust everything I saw?
The logical answer, of course, was no. There might have been extra details in the dream that real life hadn’t contained.
Surely, whoever kidnapped me must have ken me already. A councilman, perhaps. A spurned lover of Evander’s.
No, that didn’t make sense.Evanderandspurned loverwere words that did not fit together in her head, for some reason. No, there was no lover. She was sure of that.
Why am I sure of that?
