Prince of Ravenscar (Sherbrooke Brides 11)

“That is none of your business.”

She heard him stride from the room.

“Somethin’ not good, I’ll wagers,” said Vic. “Poor little pigeon.” And the two of them left her alone. She heard the door lock.

They believe the prince wants me and not Sophie? Who are these men?

She forced herself to lie quietly for several more minutes until the silence weighed so heavy she couldn’t bear it anymore.

She set the chair very quietly against the wall beneath the window and climbed up. She shoved and pushed, but the window wouldn’t move.

She sneezed, froze, her eyes darting to the door, so afraid she whimpered, deep in her throat. But they didn’t come back.

What to do?

She fetched the chamber pot, prayed, and slammed it against the dirty glass. It sounded like a cannon firing. The glass shattered, shards flying everywhere.

She didn’t hear any shouts, any running feet.

She dug out shards of glass from the window frame, cut herself, but it didn’t matter. Once the window opening was clear, she jumped. She was praying hard when she managed to grab the outside of the window frame and hoist herself through the opening.

Hurry, hurry.

The opening was narrow. No, no, she could do this, because she wasn’t wearing any petticoats. She jerked and heaved, and at last her hips went through. She fell headfirst but managed to turn before she landed on the ground below. She hit hard on her shoulder and grunted.

She didn’t even consider being hurt. She jumped up and ran toward the thick forest, never looking over her shoulder, concentrating only on reaching the trees. She stopped once under cover of the maples, breathing fast and hard. Which way to go?

She didn’t realize it was raining until drops splatted on her face through the leaves, heavy, hard rain. Within seconds, she was wet to her skin. Who cared? She ran. She pushed her sodden hair off her face but didn’t slow. It was a pity there was no sun to give her any clues as to where she was. She shivered, stopped for a moment, crouched down, and listened. She could see through the waving tree branches back across the open clearing to where she’d been held—a dilapidated old cottage, set by itself in a small clearing, smoke belching from its stone chimney.

There was still no sound coming from the cottage. The rainfall was heavy, so perhaps they hadn’t heard the glass shattering. Could she possibly be so lucky?

No, she couldn’t.

She heard a yell. They’d discovered she’d escaped. She turned and ran to her left, weaving between the trees, ducking the branches. She stumbled over some tree roots and went down to her hands and knees. Head down and panting like a dog, she stayed where she was until she could breathe more easily again. Then she jumped to her feet and ran.

She ran until she was hugging her side, the pain was so great. She didn’t know if she could keep going, but she did, even though she feared her body was going to rattle apart, that or the ghastly pain in her side would make her heart stop beating and she’d be dead and nothing would matter anymore.

She heard several gunshots and more men’s shouts.

Surely they didn’t know which way she’d run.

The rain was coming down even harder, slashing through the thick tree branches with their spring leaves, and she shuddered with the numbing cold.

She crept behind a huge oak tree, went down on her haunches, and pressed herself against the trunk. She had to determine where they were. She tried not to pant, to breathe lightly, and she listened.

She heard crashing feet off to her left. How close? Then she realized they were coming toward her. No, that wasn’t possible, her luck couldn’t be that rotten.

Well, yes, it could.

She waited, still breathing so hard and fast it hurt her stomach. The pain in her side lessened a bit, but it still pulled and throbbed. She knew the longer she remained motionless, straining to hear, the more her arms and legs would cramp up. And the longer she stayed motionless, the more she knew the fear would grind her down, the fear would settle into her very bones. She couldn’t let it. She wasn’t helpless, she wasn’t.

She jumped to her feet, staggered because she was so cold, and realized the last thing she should do now was run—they’d somehow been able to follow her through the forest because they’d seen signs of her mad passage. So be it. She began to walk, making her way very slowly, even though her legs cramped with cold. She tried to move silently, tried not to leave a trail.

She changed her direction several times, zigzagging until she stopped dead in her tracks—the trees were beginning to thin. No choice, she had to keep going.

In another twenty yards she stood at the edge of the forest and looked at the open expanse in front of her. Directly ahead, not fifty feet distant, was the channel, a thick curtain of rain blending with the gray turbulent water, making the world look like an endless filthy gray curtain.

She swore the rain slackened. Was that a sliver of light on the horizon, the sun trying to show through? She slapped her arms, trying to keep the numbness from turning her into a block of ice. Which way to go? She stared up the coast and down, but she didn’t see anything familiar. No village, no houses, not a single cow, nothing. She couldn’t remain in the cover of trees. No, she had to find her way down to the beach. She’d be safer there than running in the open.