Chapter 3
Within the confines of her chamber, Elizabeth paced like a caged doe. Each step she took was a silent testament to her mounting unease. The absence of knowledge regarding the chaos that unfurled beyond her walls was torture worse than any physical affliction.
With bated breath, she neared the window, her slender fingers trembling as she drew back the heavy drapes. The scene that greeted her was foreboding. Ribbons of smoke danced upwards from the battlefield, their origins and implications shrouded in mystery.
Were the clash of steel and cries of warriors at an end, or had they merely paused? Were her father’s men gathering strength for another onslaught, or had they retreated? Her heart was a drum of anxiety, its rhythm unsteady and fraught with dread.
Yet, amidst the turmoil that swirled within and without, a singular thought pierced the fog of her apprehension—Flynn. The anticipation of his heavy footsteps in the hallway, the sound of his authoritative voice commanding her presence in the dungeons, had not materialized, much to her delight. She couldn’t help but feel a tad grateful for this small mercy as her heart whispered a silent prayer of thanks to whatever deity had stayed his hand.
Elizabeth drew back from the window, the sight of the smoke-laden fields leaving her with more questions than reassurances. Yet, in this moment of solitude and suspense, she could not help but wonder about the nature of the man who had become both her jailer and, strangely, her protector.
She collapsed on her bed, a sudden heaviness dragging her body down. It was as if the weight of her tumultuous thoughts sought to pin her to the very fabric of her confines. She gazed upwards, the ornate patterns of the ceiling weaving themselves into her reverie.
“I’m still alive, for now,” she mumbled to herself. “But for how much longer? I cannot live under such stressful situations. Either Flynn will see me behind iron bars, or he’ll kill me. The question is, though, do I stick around to find out?”
An abrupt click at the door jolted her back to the chilling present. Her heart, a wild creature ensnared in the cage of her ribs, leaped as she sprang from the mattress. The sound, stark and foreboding, heralded footsteps of fate creeping closer.
“Laird O’Kane, I swear I knew nothing of what my father was planning,” Elizabeth started to explain as panic’s icy fingers curled around her, tugging her back into the reality of her dread. “How could I when I’ve been here this whole time?”
She tried to calm her nerves, but a small voice in the back of her head whispered, Is this the moment your freedom will be snatched away? Has he come to drag you into the depths of dungeons?
Yet, the anticipated intrusion never came. The ominous silence that followed was a torment of its own breed as it goaded her curiosity and urged her closer to the source of her fear. Step by hesitant step, Elizabeth approached the door, each movement resonating with the beat of her racing heart. Then, as if conjured from the very fabric of her anxieties, a piece of parchment slid beneath the door. The scraping of the paper across the stone floor was like the popping of lightning between the clouds.
Trepidation and wonder intermingled as she unfurled the note, her eyes scanning the cryptic lines of a map. “What in the world?”
Elizabeth flipped the paper over again and again, expecting some sort of explanation, but there was none given. She swallowed hard as her gaze drifted from the map to the door.
“Is anyone there?” she called out, hoping maybe someone would answer her call. Her voice was a delicate whisper as fear stifled and muted it.
Straining her ears, she tried to listen for footsteps rushing down the hallway, but the only answer she received was the hush of expectations. With courage mined from the depths of her uncertain heart, Elizabeth inched closer to the door. With a timid hand, she reached for the knob to test the lock. Her eyes widened when she found it no longer a barrier but a gateway that swung wide open like an invitation for her release.
Popping her head out, she found the corridor deserted. She craned her neck, trying to get a clear view of the hall from both the left and the right before she noticed a pouch resting at the threshold. She reached down. The sound of coins jingling in the leather pouch sang of freedom that lifted her spirits more than she had expected.
A smile touched her lips. “Thank you, Erin. I promise I’ll not forget your kindness.”
Her heart, now a tempest of hope and fear, pushed her forward. A step into the unknown, a leap towards a destiny unwritten, Elizabeth ventured beyond the safety of her chamber.
Under the dim luminescence of hallway torches, her heart beat a frantic, uneven cadence, mirroring the trepidation and turmoil swirling within her. Each step felt like a precarious dance with fate, her feet barely whispering against the cold stone floor, as if the very act of moving could give away her presence.
Her mind, a cacophony of what-ifs, painted grim portraits of dungeons, deep and despairing, should her venture be discovered. The air seemed to thicken with suspense, straining against the fragile veil of her assumed confidence.
Suddenly, her precarious world tilted as she caught the eye of a passing maid. Time, it seemed, hung suspended like a breath held too long as Elizabeth attempted a nonchalant nod, a feeble masquerade of belonging.
Yet, the maid, with eyes narrowed in suspicion, called out, tethering Elizabeth to her fear with a voice that sliced through the pretense. Panic, swift and ruthless, seized her, and her legs propelled into a desperate sprint, her heart pounding a wild escape rhythm.
Fate, however, played a cruel jest when she collided with Flynn, an obstacle as unexpected as it was solid. Terror, sharp and visceral, clawed at her throat as she scrambled to flee, to disappear into the shadows that had sheltered her so far. But his voice, calling “Hampton” with an urgency that turned the air heavy, halted her as effectively as walls of iron. Ignoring his call, she surged forward, only to be ensnared by his swift pursuit, his arms caging her against the wall.
At that breathless moment, pinned under his gaze, Elizabeth’s world narrowed to the rapid beat of her heart and the heat of his presence, a tableau of fear, defiance, and a flicker of unexpected thrill at his proximity.
“How did ye escape yer room?” Flynn’s voice was a low growl, his breath a whisper against her ear, the demand laced with an edge that hinted at untold consequences.
“The door wasn’t locked,” she replied defiantly, even though her heart raced in her ribcage.
It was a simple truth wrapped in the complexity of their current predicament.
“Ye’re lyin’,” he hissed, the accusation sharp as a blade. “I’ll have ye in the dungeons for this insolence.”
She couldn’t help the scoff that slipped past her lips, a mix of fear and disbelief. “You keep threatening that,” she countered, her gaze unyielding even as it met his stormy eyes. “But I don’t think you’ll do it.”
His laugh was devoid of humor, a dark warning that hung in the air between them. “Dinnae underestimate me, lassie, or I’ll show ye the lengths I can go to.”
In the intensity of the moment, Elizabeth couldn’t help but note Flynn’s strength, the unyielding force with which he pinned her against the wall, a testament to power she both feared and, perplexingly, found exhilarating. She caught his gaze roaming over her, an unintentional yet intimate embrace, sparking a blush that crept unbidden up her cheeks.
The silence of their standoff was broken by the shuffle of servants in the hallway, drawn like moths to the flame of their confrontation. Flynn’s glare, swift and menacing, sent them away, as if they were mere leaves caught in a storm.
Turning back to her, he said in a menacingly calm voice, “Ye will tell me how ye escaped yer room if it’s the last thing ye do.”
Before she could muster a retort, the world tilted on its axis as Flynn hoisted her over his shoulder as if she weighed nothing.
“Put me down!” she demanded, her voice a mix of indignation and disbelief as they stormed past her old room. “Where are you taking me? To the dungeons?”
There was a tremor in her voice, not of fear but of a burgeoning realization of the depth of their predicament.
“To me room,” he stated flatly, the tone of his voice brooking no argument. “Ye will not leave until ye confess how and who helped ye escape. And that is me promise to ye.”
Her resolve hardened as she spotted Erin’s terrified face in a doorway. No threat or confinement would pry the truth of Erin’s involvement from her lips, not when her silence was the shield that could protect her friend from Flynn’s wrath.
I won’t say a word, Elizabeth vowed silently even as his laughter, both cruel and oddly exhilarating, echoed through the empty hallway.