Page 25 of The Washwoman at the River’s End

But even my memories can’t distract me from the guard behind me for long.

I feel him with every breath I take.

The dress disappears around the bend, and I close my eyes, waiting for the pain in my sternum to pass. It only takes a few seconds, but it’s enough to ground myself.

With a deep, steadying breath, I whirl around to face him. I square my shoulders, steeling myself to demand he leave. This may be a prison, but it is mine. My river. My glen.

“You—”

“Stand up,” he snaps, interrupting me.

Rage surges through my blood. How dare he come here and order me around like a child. I remain as I am, defiant, and Brennen’s eyes flash with anger.

He stalks forward, grabbing me roughly by the arm and forcing me to rise. His chest presses against mine as he leans down to hiss in my ear. “I dinnae think you understand. You belong to me, now. You’ll obey, or I will make you.”

I do not back down from his fury, instead straightening and crossing my arms. “I belong to no one. I haven’t in a very long time, and the Fates sending you here will not change that now.”

Brennen seethes with rage, his jaw tight and eyes wild. I use his distraction as an opportunity, slipping my other hand into the pocket of his kilt. It’s empty.

“Mallachd ort!” he curses, shoving me back. Pain shoots through my ankle, but I do not show it. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“You searched me for hidden weapons. Seems only fair I should be given the same opportunity,” I say, though it wasn’t a weapon I’d hoped to find in his pocket.

His entire demeanor hardens into suspicion, his eyes narrowed and his chin tilted down. He stalks forward, grabbing me again, rougher this time. “Dinnae test me, lass.” His fingers tighten painfully around my arm. “Keep your bloody hands where I can see them, and walk. As far as that chain will allow.”

He shoves me forward, but I dig my heels in.

“You seem to mistake me for someone who will obey the orders of brutish men,” I say, forcing bravado into my voice. He may be assigned here by the Cutter, but I have no obligation to make it easy for him. My job is to wash the clothes that come down the river, and nothing more.

A muscle jumps in his jaw, his nostrils flaring as his expression turns lethal. “You will do as I say!” he roars, and it takes all my effort not to flinch. “One way or another, I will know how far you can go, so you can walk, or I will drag you to your boundary by that verra chain around your ankle.”

I hold his stare. “You wouldn’t dare.”

Darkness flits through his green eyes, and his fingers curl as if he’s imagining wrapping them around my neck. “Dinnae underestimate what I’ll do when it comes to you. Now walk.”

My eyebrows raise. “Why would you care if I can reach it?”

He pins me with a stare. “Because I dinnae think you are the fool you pretend to be, and I am certain I’m not. If you can reach my tent, you can reach those weapons you were just trying to swipe like some common thief.”

I wave away the accusation. It’s not his sword I want. “I have no interest in your weapons.” I eye the bags resting on the ground once more. He’s already clearly decided he needs to store his supplies out of my reach, but if he does have something I could use for the spell, there must be other ways for me to get it.

“Even if I did,” I continue, “I cannot go beyond the hollow log. Set your things up there.” I say, feigning disinterest as I point to a fallen tree two dragon's lengths away.

He scoffs. “You think I'm just going to take your word for it?”

“Why would I lie?” I ask, silently cursing the Fates for sending this insufferable, stubborn man here.

“Why would you kill?” He almost growls the words. “Now, I’ll not just be believing you. If you truly cannae go past the log, you should have no problem proving it.”

I open my mouth to argue, but before I can say a word, the dàn on his neck illuminates, shimmering faintly. Dread washes over me, so intense, my stomach feels as if it has fallen into my feet. My hands begin to shake as he grabs my shoulder and spins me around, the tip of his sword pressed directly against my spine.

He pushes me forward, and while the sword doesn’t cut through my dress or skin, the pressure of it against my bone stings.

But even worse is the humiliation of it. Each time I think there is nothing left to be taken from me, I’m proved wrong.

This time, as I take the first step forward, it’s my pride.

His blade never leaves my back as I slowly walk toward the log, careful to remain steady so I don’t stumble and fall backward. My chain catches just before it, and pain shoots up my leg. I bend down to grab my ankle, hissing.