Chapter Five

Chapter Five

“Good morn to you, Marguerite.” Her mother’s sister, Lady Beatrice, opened the shutters, revealing the morning sunlight. The matron was plump with blond hair the same color as her own. A silver cross nestled between her large breasts, likely to draw attention to them. “You’d best hurry to say farewell to your father. He’ll be leaving for England within the hour.”

Marguerite sat up, murmuring a polite response, while her mind wandered back to the nightmare from last night. Beneath the coverlet, her hands were clenched, her heartbeat unsteady. Although it was only a dream, there was enough reality to frighten her. In her vision, she’d been with Callum, kissing him deeply. He’d laid her back upon the grass, and she’d welcomed him into her arms.

Only to have him seized by her father’s men and killed for touching her.

Fear took command of her, for she knew it could easily happen if she were not careful. It was dangerous to meet with him or let her defenses weaken. Callum was a man her father would never approve of. Wild and fierce, he was a fighter who had survived a torturous life. And yet, she could not deny the desire he’d awakened inside her. She wanted desperately to see him again, but now she questioned whether or not to go.

“I’ve brought the silk and samite for you, along with the earl’s measurements,” her aunt continued. “You can begin sewing this afternoon.”

“Sewing?” She’d missed the first part of the conversation, and frowned at the sight of the blue material.

“For his wedding tunic,” Lady Beatrice reminded her. “Your father wishes your husband to see your accomplishments, and what better way than for you to make the earl some new garments, embroidered by your hand?” The matron sent her a bright smile. “He’ll be proud to wear something made by his bride.” She began setting out lengths of silk upon the small table near the window. “If you work each day, you’ll finish by the time he arrives from England. The Duc did not wish you to be bored in his absence.”

Normally, spending several hours sewing would have been a pleasant way to spend the day. Today, however, it made her want to cry out with frustration. She suspected Beatrice had done this in an attempt to keep her confined in her room.

But she had other plans for this morn.

Marguerite allowed Lady Beatrice to help her get dressed while she eyed the outside sun with longing. “I will do as my father commands, of course,” she lied. “But after he leaves, I was planning to ride.”

“That will not be permitted,” Beatrice said, shaking her head. “We have our orders that you are to be kept safely inside the castle.”

“Like a prisoner?” Marguerite mused.

Her aunt’s face clouded with confusion. “It’s for your safety, Marguerite. We wouldn’t want you to be lost or worse, be abducted by a Scot like you were last time.” She shivered, gripping her arms. “I can only imagine what you must have endured.”

Marguerite said nothing, recognizing that Beatrice would never understand. She moved to touch the fabric, examining the tight weave. Though it was a saffron-colored gown she wore on ordinary days, it was costly. The price of the silk might have fed the MacKinloch Clan for a year, which was sobering.

She’d never stopped to think of how her father’s wealth surrounded every part of her life whereas Callum’s family struggled for their food and shelter. During the battle a few months ago, their fortress at Glen Arrin had burned. Had they managed to rebuild their homes? How many had died?

Though she had dwelled with them for only a short time before Lord Cairnross and Lord Harkirk had attacked, she’d been accepted as one of them. Nairna and Laren had worked alongside her, almost like sisters. And the freedom had been like nothing she'd ever experienced. Here, she could hardly walk below stairs without a man guarding her. It was stifling, living this way.

Her aunt began chattering once again, but Marguerite didn’t hear the words. Her mind was consumed with how to find a way out of the castle for a few hours, in order to meet with Callum. Her best opportunity would come as soon as the Duc departed.

“Come, Marguerite,” her aunt insisted. “Your father will be waiting below stairs. He’ll want you to wish him safe journey.”

She took Beatrice’s hand and followed her, casting another look at the blue silk and samite. Somehow, she had to make her escape.

She came on foot. Through the trees, Marguerite’s saffron gown bloomed like a golden flower caught within the forest. Callum stood waiting for her, near his tethered horse Goliath. Upon his shoulder, he carried his bow and quiver of arrows to protect them from any harm.

The sight of her made his pulse quicken, and he was torn between wanting to steal her away and discovering how to win her heart. She’d kept her promise to return, but he hardly knew what she thought of him.

Ever since the first moment he’d seen her, he’d felt the invisible pull binding him to her. There was nothing he wouldn’t do for Marguerite if it kept her safe and made her happy.

Though her fine gown marked her as a duke’s daughter, when he looked upon her face, he saw the woman who had saved him from death. She was a quiet beauty that he couldn’t relinquish.

When she reached his side, he repressed the urge to pull her into an embrace. His hand clenched around the bow, and he nodded in greeting.

Marguerite offered a hesitant smile. “Good morn to you.”

Callum gestured toward his fire, motioning the question of whether she had broken her fast. She saw the remains of the boar meat he’d taken and shook her head. “I’ve eaten already.”

She twisted her hands together, reaching for the silver chain around her throat. When she pulled it free, he saw the pendant hidden beneath the silk gown, nestled between her breasts. She’d kept it.

In her eyes, he saw the nervousness, but he made an effort not to frighten her. After so many months, they were strangers again. It would take time before she learned to trust him.

He beckoned to her to come closer, and he introduced her to his black stallion. Marguerite reached out to touch Goliath, and the horse nuzzled her hand. “He’s a handsome creature.” Her eyes met his, and a flush of shyness came over her cheeks. Murmuring to the animal, she stroked his head and distracted herself with getting acquainted.

Marguerite appeared flustered, as if she didn’t know what to say or do. Moving between them, Callum took her hand in his. She looked scared, and it wasn’t surprising. He’d removed her from the castle, bringing her out here alone. He had to do something to make her relax, to understand that nothing had changed between them.

Taking her hand, he lifted it to his own hair and drew it downward in a petting motion. A smile flickered at her mouth. “You’re not a horse, Callum.” But the tension evaporated, and she let out a half-laugh when he nuzzled her hand. With his hands upon her waist, he lifted her on to the horse, swinging up behind her.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

He pointed beyond the trees, north of the castle. Far away where none of her father’s men could find them.

Marguerite started to protest, but he ignored her, leading the animal through the trees to the meadow beyond. He held her securely against him as he quickened the pace, letting the animal take them away.

In the open clearing, he urged the horse faster, holding her tight as he let Goliath run. The stallion loved nothing better than to go fast, the landscape blurring around them. He guided them over the small hills, until they reached a small, silvery loch. His horse was glad to stop for a drink, and Callum lifted Marguerite down while Goliath took his fill.

“For a moment, I was afraid you were trying to steal me away to Glen Arrin,” she breathed, a furtive smile upon her lips.

Would you want me to? he wondered.

Unlike most men, he had no words to speak words of flattery or words to tell her his thoughts. He had to rely on his actions to show her what he wanted.

With his hands resting upon her waist, he tried to let her see the thoughts within him.

If I could, I’d bring you back with me.

His hands moved up her arms, like a lover’s. Her skin prickled with goose flesh, but she remained utterly motionless, her blue eyes caught up in his. “I don’t know what to say to you,” she whispered.

His answer was to touch a finger to her lips. Say nothing at all. He took her hands and brought them to his chest. Furtively, she rested her fingers upon his heartbeat.

“I think your heart is beating as fast as mine is,” she admitted, raising her hands to his shoulders. Her touch explored him, moving down his arms, and then up again. He didn’t move at all, thankful that she’d read his thoughts. But he wanted her hands upon his bare skin.

“I shouldn’t be here right now,” she murmured, “but I don’t care.”

Neither did he. Her father was gone, and they had a few hours before the others would come to search for her. By then, he would bring her safely home again.

Marguerite’s hands moved up his neck, and then her hands threaded into his hair. The sensation of her touch brought him closer to temptation. He wanted to kiss her again, to taste the sweetness of her mouth and give in to his own desires. The blinding pleasure of her hands was pushing him closer to the edge. But then, with a mischievous smile, she petted him, as she had done earlier to his horse.

His answer was to seize her waist and claim the kiss he wanted. He took command of her mouth, stealing her breath, and giving her no chance to escape him. She didn’t understand the power she held over him, and his hands moved into her own hair, tearing the veil aside until he could slide his fingers into the silken length.

Don’t play games with me.

Her lips were swollen, her breathing tremulous. But she understood now, that he wasn’t one of her father’s men who would defer to flirtation or small touches.

Her face was pale, but there was no fear—only an answering desire. He hadn’t brought her here for teasing. But neither would he harm her.

Taking her hand in his, he led Marguerite to sit upon a boulder overlooking the loch. The late morning sun had risen higher, casting its warmth. “It’s beautiful here,” she offered. Drawing her knees beneath her gown, she stared out at the silvery water. “There was a lake near my father’s castle in Avignois,” she admitted. “When I was a little girl, I used to watch my sisters swim. I was too frightened to join them.”

He sent her a questioning look, and she added, “I never learned how.”

But he saw the interest in her eyes. Bending down, she removed her shoes and dangled her bare feet into the water. “It’s not as cold as I thought it would be.”

Callum watched her, wondering if she would trust him. They were alone, with no one to intrude. Stripping off his tunic, he waded into the water, never minding that his trews would get wet. He came before her, the water reaching just above his knees and held out his hand.

“I can’t go into the water,” she said. “My gown would be soaked.”

He didn’t pressure her but tilted his head in an invitation to join him. Wariness lined her face, as if she didn’t trust him.

“I’m not certain it would be a good idea. I really am a terrible coward.” She tried to smile, but beneath it, he saw a hint of fear. Possibly fear of the water, but it might be a fear of getting closer to him. Especially after the kiss he’d stolen.

He sent her a slow, sinful smile. Come to me, Marguerite. If you dare.

She gathered her skirts and stood up, eyeing him with wariness. Callum dipped his hand in the water and flicked a splash of water at her. Marguerite let out a light shriek, laughing as the cold droplets rolled down her throat beneath her gown. “Don’t. Really, I shouldn’t.”

He reached into the water and cupped both hands full. Eying her with wickedness, he led the threat hover between them.

“You wouldn’t dare.”

In answer, he sloshed the water toward her, angling it so that it just missed her gown.

She leaped back with her skirts still clutched in her hands. “Enough. I surrender.” But her eyes were laughing.

He emerged from the loch dripping wet, and came to stand before her. Her gaze moved over his bare skin, and there was interest in her eyes. She’d seen him unclothed before, and sensual memories invaded his mind, as he recalled how she'd bathed him.

He brought his wet hands to the jeweled girdle at her waist. She stared back at him, covering his hands with her own while he unfastened it.

Trust me.

Her face paled, but he dropped the girdle upon the grass, waiting for her to make the choice.

“If I were still a little girl, it wouldn’t matter, would it? I could try to swim if I wanted to.”

Callum nodded in reply, moving his hands to loosen the surcoat she wore.

“M-My father never allowed me to try swimming. He told me I wasn’t strong enough, that I might drown.” In her eyes, he saw the war of feelings, as if she were torn with indecision. He drew his hands up her nape, and she shivered before him. With his thumb, he brushed gently against her mouth, as if to tempt her.

“He will be gone for the next fortnight,” she continued, turning her back to him. “To bring back the man who will become my husband.”

Her confession fired up Callum’s jealousy, darkening his mood. He’d come here to fight for her, to show her another fate if she wanted it. He wasn’t about to stand aside and let her wed someone else. Not if he could convince her otherwise.

She drew her hair over one shoulder, baring her throat to him. “Will you help me take this gown off?”

His answer was to rest his hands upon her skin, letting her feel the warmth of him. Slowly he unlaced the saffron surcoat, and helped her lift it away. The gown beneath it was tightly fitted to her arms, and he rested his hands upon her shoulders, awaiting permission. Goose flesh rose upon her nape, and she murmured, “May I borrow your blade?”

Confused, he stepped back and handed it to her. Marguerite took the knife and used it to tear out the stitches that held her sleeves in place. “I didn’t bring scissors, as I sometimes do. But now we can remove it.”

When he hesitated, she raised her arms. “Go on,” she whispered. “But leave my chemise.”

He knelt at her feet, gathering the hem of the gown. As he raised it high, his hands grazed her waist, and over the curve of her breasts. The linen chemise was soft, barely covering her flesh, and he gritted his teeth against the urges rising within him. When she was free of the garment, he couldn’t stop the urge to touch her. While his hands encircled her waist, resting below her breasts, he brought his mouth to the silver chain resting upon her nape. His lips edged the chain, and he drew it out with his fingers, moving the pendant beneath the chemise to nestle against her bare breasts.

A sigh escaped Marguerite, and it was all he could do not to drag her to him, stripping away the last barrier between them. His mind tormented him with visions of claiming her, using his mouth and tongue to awaken her own passion.

She turned to face him, her body shielded by the linen. With her palms upon his chest, his heartbeat quickened. “Teach me to swim, Callum.”

She was playing a dangerous game. Marguerite saw the play of emotions across Callum’s face, and she worried that she’d gone too far. Though perhaps he’d brought her here to enjoy time together in a beautiful place, she had dared to reveal more of herself to him by shedding the outer gowns. Her bare arms attracted his notice, although her chemise covered her body.

He took her hand and led her into the water. It was cold but not unbearably so. With every step, the water grew deeper. Past her calves, to her thighs, and finally, her waist. Her chemise floated within the water, and though Callum continued to walk at her side, she could feel the strain in his demeanor.

He looked like a man who was fighting against himself, and the darkness in his eyes tempted her instead of making her fear him. Already he’d given her a glimpse of the physical heat that was hers for the asking. His kiss had been savage, unrelenting. And he tempted her in a way that no man ever had.

Her hands grew wet, but he didn’t let go. And once the water covered her breasts, she gasped at the sudden drop in temperature.

“This is far enough.” She crossed her arms over her chest, for her breasts puckered against her chemise. Against the thin linen, she worried that he might see too much.

You could have refused to swim, she reminded herself. This was your doing.

Callum drew her to face him, and she saw the water grazing his muscled chest. The fierce desire to touch this man, to be consumed by him, was rising within her. No longer did it seem that they were worlds apart. There was only this moment between them, and the unnamed feelings.

He reached down and picked her up, cradling her in his arms. His hands rested against the back of her knees, and a violent shiver came over her. When he laid her back in the water, she was barely aware of him straightening her limbs. His dark eyes held her captive as his hands rested beneath her spine.

She was floating on the water, not understanding how. Her chemise was soaked, and it clung to her body. No doubt he could see the darker nipples beneath the linen, and he made no effort to hide his gaze. His eyes passed over her, like a man who couldn’t stop himself. He adjusted his grip to hold her with one arm, while the other traced the curve of her cheek, moving down her throat. The contrast between the heat of his hands and the freezing water held her locked in place.

Every part of her wanted him to go further, to move his hands over her aching breasts and touch her where no man ever had.

The ripples of water held her suspended, and she fought the urge to hold on to Callum’s arms. Slowly, he moved to stand behind her, until he dropped his hands away. She was floating with nothing to hold her above the water. Panic filled her, and she tried to sit up, flailing in the water until he caught her, guiding her torso back to the surface. Once again, he straightened her body, adjusting her position until her hands were outstretched, her legs straight.

He held the back of her head, standing behind her once more. His arms rested beneath her shoulders, and she was intensely aware of his molded strength. He was an archer, a man who could command the bow and send an arrow flying with one pull on the taut string. Those same strong arms held her gently but with the quiet reassurance of a powerful stature.

Marguerite lifted her eyes to his, and from her position, he appeared upside down. His steady gaze reminded her that he wasn’t going to let anything happen to her. I’ll keep you safe, his eyes seemed to say.

She watched him, wanting more than his hands upon the back of her head.

“Kiss me,” she whispered.

Instead of bringing her back up to stand before him, Callum bent down to her lips. From the upside-down position, her mouth tantalized him, her cool lips surrendering. Whether she knew it or not, her plea fired the desires he’d tried to hold back. At the sight of her slender body, revealed to him through the thin white linen, it was a good thing he was standing in cold water. The curve and dusky tint of her breasts aroused him like hot oil upon fire.

He kissed her gently, then slid his tongue across the opening of her mouth.

Marguerite couldn’t stop her intake of breath, and when her mouth parted, he invaded her with his tongue. The sensation turned her soft in his arms, her hands reaching for him. He held her in the water, and the kiss became the prelude of every way he wanted to know her.

Her tongue slid against his in a caress, and he took her deeper, letting the kiss turn hotter. He burned for her, body and soul. The water lapped against her skin the way he wanted to touch every inch of her. She reached up to his neck, holding on for balance while her eyes closed.

I want to be on top of you, your skin beneath mine.

His hands came under her knees, catching her before she could slide under. Against her breasts, the wet fabric of her chemise clung to her nipples, making them tight and hard. He imagined moving his mouth down to taste her, swirling his tongue of her until she moaned with need.

She held on to him, turning in the water with her arms around his neck. The water was too deep for her to stand, so she moved her body against his, her cool skin pressing upon him. Instinct made him want to lift her hips, wrapping her slender legs around his waist until he could penetrate her in one stroke.

She was watching him with sudden awareness, her mouth softening as she studied him. “Callum?” she whispered. It was both a question and a plea.

He couldn’t. Not now, not when she didn’t know what she asked of him.

Instead, he strode back into shallow water, bringing her back until she stood waist-high in the depths. He broke away from the kiss, and dove away from her, his body slicing through the water in smooth strokes.

The physical exertion was what he needed right now, the driving need to punish himself. She was innocent and didn’t understand what he wanted from her.

His arms broke through the water, swimming hard as if to run away from the man he was. You’re unworthy, the voice taunted. She’s far too good for you.

He swam endless laps, the water so cold it numbed him from inside. When at last he returned to her, Marguerite stood upon the shore, shivering. On her face, he saw worry.

“Did I do something wrong?” she called out.

He strode through the water, heedless of the droplets rolling down him. No, this was his fault. His feet sank into the sand as he walked closer.

She didn’t understand the effect she had upon him, but he wanted to reassure her that he’d regained his grip on sanity. When he stood before her, he reached out to a wet lock of her hair and smoothed it over one ear. He let his eyes speak for him, while his palm rested against her cheek.

It’s not your fault. Never yours.

She watched him, her blue eyes worried, but her hand reached up to cover his. “I know it’s cold,” she murmured, “but will you take me back into the water? Just for a little while?”

Callum eyed her, and though it was freezing, he acquiesced. He strode into the loch, and led her with him. When Marguerite reached the deeper water, he moved her to her stomach. His arms balanced beneath her breasts and legs, lifting her to the top of the water.

“Don’t let me fall,” she warned.

He shook his head, and she tilted her head to look at him. The feeling of her slender body in his arms was a gift, and he tightened his hold to reassure her.

Never.

Callum adjusted the position of her body, holding her with one arm while he showed her how to move her arms. Marguerite tried to swim as he had but didn’t know how to kick her legs.

He reached out to her thighs, opening them slightly as he guided her legs up and down in a fluttering motion. Her skin was cool and firm in his hands. But when he reached to guide her other leg, her face went down into the water. Instantly, he lifted her up, and she coughed, holding him tight as she stood up.

“I-I’m sorry,” she apologized. “I should have been moving my arms, but when my face went under, I was too frightened.”

He smoothed back the hair that had escaped from her braid, his hands upon her cheeks. Don’t be afraid.

Her answer was to cling to him, resting her cheek against his chest. He embraced her, and the ache inside him spread deeper.

“I don’t know what’s happening between us,” she whispered. “And I know I shouldn’t come to you, when I’m betrothed to someone else. But I had to.”

In her voice, he heard the traces of guilt, as if she knew she was betraying her family. He rested his forehead against hers, while both of them were shivering.

Nothing mattered anymore. Not his clan, far away to the northeast. Not the stranger she was supposed to marry. Only this moment.

“Could you build a fire?” she asked. He nodded and led her out of the water to sit upon the large boulder. He gathered wood to make a fire, steeling himself against the bitter wind. Marguerite was shivering hard, but he built up the tinder and struck flint until he had a small blaze going. Once he beckoned to her, she huddled as close to it as she dared.

“Swimming was harder than I thought it would be,” she admitted, resting her chin upon her knees. “But thank you for trying to teach me.”

For a time, she simply sat with him, and it didn’t matter that neither of them spoke. The quiet time together felt right. When she sent him a glance, she flushed, as if remembering the kiss they’d shared. She took her hair over one shoulder, wringing out the water, finger combing it to dry.

The motion caught his attention, and the longing to keep her with him, to see her in intimate moments like these, was all-encompassing.

He lost himself in thought, wondering how to make her stay for a little while longer. His hands dug into the damp sand when she knelt by the fire, lifting the wet chemise away from her skin while trying to dry it.

He picked up a fallen stick, intending to toss it into the flames, but he traced it through the dirt, still watching over her. Marguerite frowned, and then she studied him with interest.

“Do you know how to write?”

The idea hadn’t occurred to him. He shook his head, but then, a sudden flash of inspiration gripped him. Though he couldn’t read or write, she could.

And if she could teach him, it would give him a way to talk to her. The idea exploded within his mind with the fierce desire to make his thoughts known, to break free of his silent prison.

Callum held out the stick to her, waiting in the hopes that he was right.

His hand closed over hers, and he guided the stick back down to the dirt. Marguerite knelt and he pointed to her, then to the ground.

Teach me what you know.

She began to write curved markings, eyeing him with uncertainty. “It’s my name,” she said. “Marguerite.”

Callum caught her hand and took the stick from her. Then he pressed her hand upon his and struggled to trace over the letters she’d printed. He couldn’t quite duplicate the lines, but it was close.

“You want me to teach you how?” she murmured.

Yes. She couldn’t know how hungry he was for words, for a way to express the thoughts inside him. If she could teach him anything at all, it would be a gift beyond price.

“Few men can read,” she warned him. “And it takes many years to learn to write. It’s not just the letters.”

He shook his head and forced her hand atop his. I need to learn. He struggled to write her name again, though one of the curving letters that dropped lower eluded him.

“Which language do you wish to write?”

An unexpected laugh broke forth from him. Though he supposed she was serious, he hardly cared at all. Any language was better than the endless silence. Callum pointed to her and then to himself.

“Both?”

He nodded and took the stick back. She adjusted his fingers to help him with the grip. “I can try. But it takes time. More time than we have.”

He didn’t care how long it took. He would practice until his fingers bled, if he had to. Reaching for her hand, he threaded his hands with hers.

But there was a shadow in her mood. “They watch me, Callum. I may not always be allowed to come and see you. “

He drew her up to stand before him, cupping her face in his hands. She covered his fingers with her own, but didn’t pull back. Instead, she closed her eyes, and he rested his forehead upon hers.

“I’ll do what I can to help you,” she promised.

“Where were you?” Lady Beatrice demanded, when Marguerite returned to the castle.

There was no answer she could give. Her hair was still wet, and she knew her gown was bedraggled and damp. Instead, she offered no explanation, walking through the Hall and up the winding stairs to her chamber.

Inside her room, she found pieces of silk cut out and laid upon her bed. Seeing the physical reminder of her impending wedding made her stomach twist. She didn’t want to be given to a man, like an offering. She didn’t want to lie meekly upon her wedding bed, letting a stranger take her virginity.

“You left the castle,” Beatrice accused, closing the door behind her. “Against your father’s orders.”

Marguerite took a comb and struggled to free the tangles from her hair, letting her aunt grumble as much as she liked.

“You seem to believe that you can do as you please,” The matron remarked, lowering the bar across the door. “But you are greatly mistaken. While your father is away, he left me in command of this castle.” Her eyes glittered with fury. “You have no right to defy me, Marguerite.” A tight smile edged her aunt’s face. “And there will be a punishment for your behavior.”

The comb caught in a snarl of her hair, and Marguerite said quietly, “You cannot have me beaten. My father would never permit it.”

“No,” Beatrice acknowledged. “But there are other ways to gain your submission. The Duc has been entirely too yielding when it comes to discipline. You left the safety of Cairnross to go and live with the Scots.” Disgust filled the woman’s face, as if Marguerite had dwelled among rats. “He should have punished you for that. But his heart was always too soft. You will not find the same leniency with me.”

Marguerite rested her hands in her lap, meeting her aunt’s fury with a passive look. She’d never witnessed such a temper from her mother’s sister and half-wondered if there was another reason for it.

“Your door will be guarded,” Beatrice informed her. “You will spend the rest of this day and all day tomorrow sewing. If you try to leave, your guards will receive fifty lashes.”

“Why would you threaten innocent men for my actions?” She couldn’t possibly understand why Beatrice would do such a thing.

“Nothing at all will happen to them, as long as you remain in your chamber.”

Marguerite stared at the matron and a chill faltered within her skin. She didn’t care about her own punishment, but she couldn’t let another man suffer on her behalf. It was clear that her aunt had guessed as much.

“Furthermore, you will not eat for the next day. Your hunger will serve to remind you of your duty.”

It was too much. Marguerite stood up and confronted the woman. “What gives you the right to deny me food? My father will hear of this, if you dare.”

“He may not agree with my methods, but by then, it will be too late, won’t it?” With a dark smile, her aunt departed.

Marguerite ran to the door and opened it, only to find two men armed with spears. They barred her path, and she saw that one of the soldiers was an older man. He wouldn’t survive fifty lashes.

With great reluctance, she closed the door again. And wondered how she would ever get out.