Page 6 of The Lady’s Sweet Revenge

Chapter Three

Harlow’s body hurt everywhere, but her head was, by far, the worst. While the muscles in her arms and legs throbbed with overuse, her head pounded so horribly it made her stomach twist. Every time she attempted to open her eyes, the light made the pain worse, which is something she didn’t think was even possible.

She wanted to cry, but it would surely take energy she didn’t have at the moment. Her throat burned from the unshed tears and being sick. Lord, had she just gotten sick in front of the man? Reese.

Strange how things like decorum lost their value in the face of desperation. For she didn’t care one bit that she was a mess, at least she was an alive mess and that was a blessed discovery. So long as she didn’t expire from the sheer pain of her skull splitting in two.

She gave in to fatigue, and allowed herself to rest.

Later, she attempted to open her eyes again and was grateful for the dimness of the room. Even if she didn’t know what room she was in. In fact, she didn’t remember leaving the beach.

It was warm and dark. That was all she could bring herself to care about. Not until large, brown eyes with rough, gray fur around them took up her vision. Just before a giant tongue lurched out and stroked her entire face in one swipe.

She jolted and screamed.

“Belle, stop that,” a man’s voice said sternly. Harlow turned quickly to face him, but learned it had been too quickly when the pain in her head rushed back. She squeezed her eyes closed. “Are ye to be sick again?” the man asked with an edge of worry.

“I—I’m not sure,” she decided it was best to be honest. She lay back and focused on breathing in and out slowly. While she didn’t trust opening her eyes yet, she found her voice, rough as it was. “Where am I?”

“Slains Castle, my home.”

That answer didn’t tell her much. She’d never heard of the place. But she’d deal with that later. “Who are you?”

“Lord Breckenridge, my lady.”

She searched her mind for having heard his name before and eventually recalled him.

“Golden,” she said aloud without noticing. Her head was not up for the task of keeping certain things inside it seemed.

“Golden?”

“Your hair,” she explained as some niggling voice told her she should not. That she should stop talking.

“Aye. I guess so.”

But she knew his hair was blond. That was really all she knew about him. Except that he was completely unsuitable for marriage. Not that he’d asked. Not that many had asked anymore.

“Who are you?” he asked.

She opened her mouth to tell him, but then stopped and just shook her head.

“Good God. Ye’ve lost your memories,” the man, a gentleman, she recalled, said with a Scottish brogue.

She shook her head again and opened her eyes enough to roll them at the man.

“Of course, I know who I am. I just don’t wish to tell you,” she rather snapped, and then thought that was rude as she most likely had this man to thank for saving her.

“Why not?” he asked, and rude or not, she just wanted him to stop asking questions that tasked her sore head.

“It’s not safe,” she said as her energies waned from the conversation. It was frustrating. She was not a weak person. She’d had to keep up with her five older brothers or risk being left behind and ignored. She’d never given up. No matter what they did she managed to do it as well, despite being smaller.

But now she could hardly keep her eyes open.

“Why isn’t it safe?” he asked.

Rather than answer, she closed her eyes and drifted once again.

*