Rosamund
I woke to the rattling of wood beneath me and a damp rag pressing against my tongue.
For a moment, I didn’t know where I was. I lay still, letting my eyes adjust to the semi-dark moving enclosure until my mind began offering fragments of memories. Trees. Darkness. The face of a woman hidden in shadow. The ground rushing up to meet me. They came in jagged pieces, like broken glass that refused to fit together.
Then everything came back at once.
The mill. The forest. The path that led nowhere. The woman turning on me. My fist connecting with her jaw. The rock splitting the skin at her temple. Running, and then something slamming into my back with a force that no human body could produce, and a cold so deep it had swallowed me from the inside out.
I gasped and tried to sit up. My skull cracked against a low wooden ceiling I hadn’t noticed in the darkness. Pain burst across my forehead, and I fell back, eyes watering, biting down on the rag to keep from crying out.
The space was cramped and suffocating, and the realisation of just how tightly I was enclosed sent panic surging through my chest. I tried to reach for the roof, but my wrists were bound behind my back with rope that bit into my skin.
A thick strip of fabric was tied across my mouth. I was lying on my side in the back of what seemed to be a covered cart, a heavy blanket thrown over me, blurring my vision.
Every bump in the road sent pain jolting through my shoulders.
Don’t panic, Rosamund. Think.
The light filtering through the blanket was pale grey, which meant it was still morning. I’d left Wellspring at four. How long had I been unconscious? An hour? Two?
I closed my eyes and listened past the rattling of the cart, focusing on the rhythm of hooves striking earth. One beat, then another, then a pause. No second set falling between the gaps. It means it was one horse and a single driver. The woman was alone.
I pulled against the ropes, but they held fast.
Fear crept into my chest. I couldn’t loosen the ropes. I couldn’t scream through the gag. How was I supposed to escape?
But just as the thought finished, the cart hit a rut, and my legs shifted, going almost midair before landing back on the wood, making a lot of sound.
I could make noise.
I drew my knees up and kicked the side of the cart, and the wood creaked. I kicked harder, then dragged my boots against the floor, creating a grinding, scratching sound. If anyone were on this road, they would hear it.
The cart slowed and stopped.
I held my breath as footsteps shuffled toward me. The sound of a lid lifting, and then the blanket was ripped away. Sharp light hit my eyes, causing me to blink rapidly, and when my vision cleared, the woman was standing over me.
Her face was covered, not like the Duke’s mask but with a piece of cloth from her nose to her chin. Only her eyes were visible. Dried blood still crusted at her temple where I’d hit her.
She leaned close until her face was inches from mine.
"Make another sound," she said quietly, "and I will finish what I started right here on this road. Nod if you understand."
I held her gaze and refused to nod. The only time I planned on giving up was when I lay cold in death, and since I wasn’t dead yet...
Annoyance flickered across her face.
She scoffed, threw the blanket over me again, closed the lid, and walked away. I heard her climb back onto the driver’s seat and click her tongue at the horse. The cart lurched forward.
I waited, counting to sixty, then resumed kicking the side of the cart, harder than before, setting up a rhythm that rang through the morning air.
The cart stopped again, and I braced myself to attack her. This time, if she leans toward me, I would try to hit her with my forehead.
As I waited for footsteps, another voice reached me, deeper than hers.
"Good morning. Is everything alright? I saw you stop and thought your cart might have trouble."
It was a man’s voice, and by the politeness in his tone, a refined one.
"I’m fine, thank you," the woman replied, her words clipped. "Just resting the horse."
"These roads can be dangerous for a woman travelling alone. Are you heading far?"
"To the market in Ashford."
Ashford! Fear gripped me. Had someone noticed I was hearing voices and wanted to seal my fate, like Lady Catherine’s, by sending me to the sanatorium?
"Ashford?" The man sounded surprised. "That’s another ten miles. Are you sure you don’t need..."
With the desperation humming inside me now, I mustered all the strength I had and kicked the cart.
The man trailed off, and I kicked harder.
"What was that?" he asked.
"Rabbits." The woman’s voice had tightened. "I’m taking them to sell at the market."
"Rabbits," the man repeated. He didn’t sound convinced.
I kicked again, shaking my body as much as I could, and the cart rattled.
"Lively ones," the man said with a small laugh. "I’m actually in need of a rabbit for supper tonight. Would you mind if I had a look? I could buy one off you and save you the weight."
"That won’t be necessary. They’re all spoken for."
"Even so, I’d like to take a look."
"My good sir, I really must..."
Urgent footsteps moved through the grass toward the back of the cart.
"Sir, you must not!" the woman said in a shrill tone, but by then I heard the latch rattle, and then the creak of the cart’s back panel as it swung open.
The blanket pulled away, exposing me to the light again.
I blinked, trying to clear my vision. The man standing at the back of the cart was a gentleman; that much was clear from his riding clothes. Dark-haired, hazel eyes, with a sword at his hip. His gaze moved from my bound wrists to the gag across my mouth, stopping at the bruises darkening on my throat.
The pleasantness vanished from his face. What replaced it was a cold fury that transformed him entirely.
He drew his sword and turned.
The woman was already reaching beneath her cloak. She pulled out a dagger and lunged. He met her blade with his, steel shrieking against steel as they clashed twice before he drove her backwards with a strike that knocked the dagger from her hand.
It clattered to the ground. The woman looked at it, then at him, then at me again, and, without warning, turned and ran into the forest.
She moved between the trees with a speed that made the man hesitate, his sword raised, eyes tracking her until the forest swallowed her whole and there was nothing left but the sound of branches snapping in the distance.
He didn’t chase her. Instead, he turned back to me and climbed into the cart, sheathing his sword. His hands moved to the gag first, then worked on the ropes at my wrists and feet.
"Are you hurt?" he asked. "Can you breathe?"
I sucked in air and nodded. "Yes. I think so."
As the ropes fell away, I sat up, rubbing my wrists, wincing at the blisters already forming on my skin.
He jumped down and picked up the fallen dagger, turning it over in his hands before tucking it into his belt. "What happened to you?"
"I was tricked," I said, still breathing hard. "That woman lured me out with a letter promising to help me escape, and then she attacked me."
"Escape?" He arched a brow. "From where?"
I looked back down the road toward the direction we’d come from, wondering how far we were from Wellspring.
"It doesn’t matter now." I managed a small smile. "You saved my life, sir, and I’m grateful."
He opened his mouth to respond when the thunder of hooves cut him off.
Riders appeared on the road coming towards us. There were four men on horseback, and at their centre, riding without a saddle, his coat unbuttoned, his gloves missing, and his mask catching the morning light, was the Duke of Wellspring.
I scrambled to the corner of the cart to jump down when Nevan pulled his horse to a halt beside me, breathing hard. His gaze settled on me for a moment, then moved to the man beside me.
Something flashed in the man’s eyes, and I saw him reach quietly for his sword.
Nevan raised his hand, signalling the men who had come with him.
"Seize him."
"Nevan," I called out, stumbling forward. "Please wait."
"Didn’t you hear me?" he growled at his men, pointing to the man. "I said seize him."
Nevan’s men dismounted and approached the man. By this time, the man had unsheathed his sword, set it down slowly, then raised his hands and let them take his arms without resistance. But his eyes were locked on the Duke and didn’t waver.
Nevan swung down from his horse and crossed to where I stood. He reached for my face, his bare fingers tilting my chin upward, examining the bruises on my throat. His touch was ice cold, and his hands were trembling.
"Who did this to you?" He jerked his head toward the man. "Is it him?"
I caught his eyes behind the mask. They were burning with a fear that frightened me more than the woman on the road ever could.
"It wasn’t him," I whispered. "That man saved my life."