Taken by the Border Rebel

Author:Blythe Gifford [Gifford, Blythe]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781472003683
Publisher: Harlequin (UK) Limited
Published: 2013-11-11T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

Stella did not sleep that night.

Or, at least, she thought it was night. He had left the lit candle behind, but the flickering shadows terrified her as much as the darkness.

The gap where the well cover did not shield the opening yawned like a monster’s maw. The few moments she drifted into dreams, they were of a dragon, emerging from the shaft to clasp her ankle and drag her towards the well, closer, closer …

This time there would be no escape.

She told herself the well was safely covered. That a sturdy wooden barrier stood between her and the deep, dark shaft that ended in the cold of underground water. But that thought, repeated over and over, was only the weak voice of reason.

No match for the remembered scream. No comfort to the soul of the little girl who had fallen down a well shaft so long ago.

And all the assurance she had developed since, all the reassurance that God had saved her, rang hollow. Saved, perhaps, but in error. Only temporarily. The well would have her at last.

There is nothing special about you, Stella Storwick.

That was only the wish of a mother and father, of parents with only one child.

She pressed her back against the wall, as if by pressing hard enough, she would force the wall to hold her safe. Far enough from the well so that she could not touch it, even by accident. Finally, afraid to move, afraid she might trip or fall or somehow end up in that damp darkness again, she slumped down to the ground and curled into a ball, legs and feet tucked underneath her, just beyond reach of death.

Alone in the dark with nothing but doubts.

The creek of the iron yett as it swung open was part of her dream at first, sounding like the scrape of iron on stone as they had tried to reach her, frantically. A voice—was it her mother’s? Her mother had wept and prayed.

This voice did not. This was a voice she could not dream.

‘Rob Brunson, are you daft?’ The Warrior Woman’s voice.

A woman’s hands, small and gentle, settled around her shoulders.

‘I was thinking to be sure she didn’t escape again and bring the Storwicks across the border to murder us in our beds.’ Implacable words. Did she hear regret beneath them?

She opened her eyes to see Cate’s brown ones, feeling the woman take her measure. This was one who had no love for the Storwicks. For good reason.

Stella struggled to hide the night’s fear behind her pride. Too late. Cate had glimpsed it. And now, something else coloured her expression. Understanding.

She put a shoulder under Stella’s arm. ‘Stand. I will help you.’

She struggled to stand upright, keeping her eyes averted from the big round hole in the middle of the floor and from Rob Brunson. She had begged him, like the basest coward. How could she face him now?

Yet now, as daylight filtered into the room, fear eased its grip and she risked a glance, first, at the well.

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