Page 48 of The Secret of the Three Fates
Surely someone heard the shot.
Someone would come.
In the shallows, I gave one final tug, dragging us another six inches toward land, when my body finally succumbed to the cold. I collapsed upon my back, water up to my ears with Ruan’s head resting on my chest where the pain still seared through me. Our bodies were held together by his weight and that damned ring of Mr. Owen’s pressed hard into my flesh. I could feel it digging into my belly.
Perhaps Mr. Owen had been right about the ring after all.
CHAPTERTWENTYNot Quite the End
THEnext thing I recalled I was lying in a strange bed with crisp white linens beneath me and a cool breeze kissing the exposed parts of my body. I’d flung the covers off at some point in the night and was lying there in an uncomfortably stiff nightdress, staring at the ceiling like a startled starfish.
Where was Iand more importantly, how did I get here?
The air was sweet with the first blush of fall as I struggled to remembersomethingfrom the night before. I’d been upset, I recalled that much, and had spoken to the duke. After that it grew cloudy. I’d gone to find Ruan and then… then my memories belonged to someone else, and I was grasping for them through frost-covered glass. Well. If I couldn’t figure outhowI got here, perhaps I could figure out where exactly I was.
The ceiling overhead was painted with a bizarre nautical battle scene. Legions of sea serpents and harpies, merfolk and men at war with one another. Armies of different species painted lovingly against torrential waves tossing the bodies upon an angry tide. It was a peculiar masterpiece that put me in mind of Burghley House’s Hell staircase—except this room was an ode to Poseidon.
Blood.
Water.
A tinge of a memory rose to the surface, but remained just out of reach, pulled back on that selfsame tide.
Shades of indigo and silver adorned every surface in the room with subtle—and not so subtle—nods to the sea everywhere I turned. It was beautifully disturbing. I turned to get a better look and suddenly yelped. The pain in my chest had grown sharp enough to steal my breath. I groaned, sitting up and shifted the nightgown, noticing an unfamiliar bandage there.
My heart froze as the last few hours flooded back through my consciousness.
Mr. Owen had confessed to murder.
I’d kissed Ruan.
Then the sniper’s shot.
Ruan’s lifeless eyes at the bottom of the lake.
Oh God, where was he?
If I was alive, then surely he must be too. I threw my legs over the edge of the bed, but they wouldn’t hold my weight, and I tumbled back to the mattress with a mocking squeak. Breathing slowly, I tried again to stand, gently pulling myself to my unsteady feet.
He couldn’t be dead. Hecouldn’tbe. And yet I saw the blood blooming in the water. He had been limp in my arms as I pulled us both onto the shore. But with that strange connection between us, wouldn’t Ifeelit if he were gone?
“Miss, you’re awake!”
I turned to the sound, nearly falling back onto the overstuffed mattress for a second time. A young maid stood in the doorway with a pile of clean linens clasped to her chest. She was a round-faced thing, probably no more than eighteen, if that. Small, winsome, and terribly happy to see me up and about.
A sentiment I did not share.
“Welcome to Hawick House, miss.” She smiled, revealing deep dimples in each of her cheeks.
“Hawick Hou—” That’s right. I’d nearly forgotten in all the excitement—but Mr. Owenwasthe Viscount of Hawick. This washishouse.
“Yes, miss. The young master said you were to have the best room and be treated as mistress here once you awoke. He was very worried for you.”
My mind remained sluggish from my recent ordeal. “Has Mr. Owen been freed yet? Is he here too?”
She didn’t understand.
I grunted, raking the hand on my uninjured side through my clean, vaguely damp curls. “Lord Hawick… Where is he?”
