Chapter One
The chill blast of air that cut through Bronwyn’s thin nightrail penetrated her pain and fever induced stupor sufficiently to heighten her awareness of her surroundings. Both of her eyes were swollen nearly shut, however, and it took an effort to pry her eyelids up enough to see anything.
She wasn’t certain when she’d succeeded. It was dark, too dark to see much. After a few moments, though, she realized light filtered from the sky above from a sliver of moon and a million stars and she saw just enough of her surroundings to realize that they were on the ramparts of the castle.
“She was melancholy over the loss of my son … our son,” William muttered, correcting himself. “I should have realized how despondent she was, especially after the mid-wife told her it was unlikely she would conceive again, but....”
Sudden fear added to the chill gripping Bronwyn from the constant battering of the frigid wind that whipped her thin nightrail around her, and confusion. The fear was instinctual. In the months since she had been dragged to Raventhorne Keep as Lord William Smythson’s unwilling bride, he had taught her true terror.
His mutterings confused her, though.
Gathering her strength, she lifted her head, peering around them.
They were alone.
Who was he talking to, then?
What was he talking about?
He, more than anyone, should know she was not particularly despondent about losing his child. He could not help but know she loathed and feared him. Moreover, she had not simply ‘lost’ his child. He had beaten it from her when he had flown into one of his terrifying rages a week? Two weeks ago?
“I would have stopped her if I had had any inkling what she was about, locked her in her chambers.”
He stopped, apparently thinking that over and, despite the pain and fever that so filled Bronwyn’s mind that her ability to reason was severely hampered, it dawned on her why he had dragged her from her sickbed.
She was not dying fast enough to suit him. In fact, the healer had informed him only that morning that she was recovering.
He dropped her so abruptly she didn’t have time to cry out before she slammed into the hard stone floor of the battlements. The sharp intake of breath she’d sucked in to scream was forced from her lungs with a harsh grunt at impact. The pain that had been her constant companion since the beating, swelled, overwhelming her mind for many moments. When it began to subside, she realized that William had left her. She could hear the crunch of his boots against the stone as he paced the perimeter of the battlements.
“Here, I think, would be best. The body will be found right away--nothing to break the fall. It should be high enough.”
Grunting with the effort, Bronwyn managed to roll enough to search the ramparts for William. She saw that he was standing with his feet braced wide, his hands on his hips, staring down at the view below the front entrance of the castle.
Terror pushed her pain and fever wracked mind into cognition. He was going to throw her from the castle walls.
Weak as she was, adrenaline surged through her, lending her the strength to begin struggling to her feet. Blackness threatened to engulf her as she managed to get to her knees. She fought it, blinking her eyes to clear her vision as she searched for some avenue of escape.
Ignoring the pain and the threatening blackness, she began to crawl toward the stairs that William had used to reach the ramparts. She was so focused on her attempt she didn’t notice when his fingers tangled in her hair until he snatched her head back so hard a bone in her neck cracked.
“Bitch!” he snarled, twisting his hand in her hair and dragging her off balance. The friction of stone against her bare legs as he began dragging her burned like fire.
Uttering a whimper, Bronwyn reached with both hands to grab his, trying to pry him
The chill blast of air that cut through Bronwyn’s thin nightrail penetrated her pain and fever induced stupor sufficiently to heighten her awareness of her surroundings. Both of her eyes were swollen nearly shut, however, and it took an effort to pry her eyelids up enough to see anything.
She wasn’t certain when she’d succeeded. It was dark, too dark to see much. After a few moments, though, she realized light filtered from the sky above from a sliver of moon and a million stars and she saw just enough of her surroundings to realize that they were on the ramparts of the castle.
“She was melancholy over the loss of my son … our son,” William muttered, correcting himself. “I should have realized how despondent she was, especially after the mid-wife told her it was unlikely she would conceive again, but....”
Sudden fear added to the chill gripping Bronwyn from the constant battering of the frigid wind that whipped her thin nightrail around her, and confusion. The fear was instinctual. In the months since she had been dragged to Raventhorne Keep as Lord William Smythson’s unwilling bride, he had taught her true terror.
His mutterings confused her, though.
Gathering her strength, she lifted her head, peering around them.
They were alone.
Who was he talking to, then?
What was he talking about?
He, more than anyone, should know she was not particularly despondent about losing his child. He could not help but know she loathed and feared him. Moreover, she had not simply ‘lost’ his child. He had beaten it from her when he had flown into one of his terrifying rages a week? Two weeks ago?
“I would have stopped her if I had had any inkling what she was about, locked her in her chambers.”
He stopped, apparently thinking that over and, despite the pain and fever that so filled Bronwyn’s mind that her ability to reason was severely hampered, it dawned on her why he had dragged her from her sickbed.
She was not dying fast enough to suit him. In fact, the healer had informed him only that morning that she was recovering.
He dropped her so abruptly she didn’t have time to cry out before she slammed into the hard stone floor of the battlements. The sharp intake of breath she’d sucked in to scream was forced from her lungs with a harsh grunt at impact. The pain that had been her constant companion since the beating, swelled, overwhelming her mind for many moments. When it began to subside, she realized that William had left her. She could hear the crunch of his boots against the stone as he paced the perimeter of the battlements.
“Here, I think, would be best. The body will be found right away--nothing to break the fall. It should be high enough.”
Grunting with the effort, Bronwyn managed to roll enough to search the ramparts for William. She saw that he was standing with his feet braced wide, his hands on his hips, staring down at the view below the front entrance of the castle.
Terror pushed her pain and fever wracked mind into cognition. He was going to throw her from the castle walls.
Weak as she was, adrenaline surged through her, lending her the strength to begin struggling to her feet. Blackness threatened to engulf her as she managed to get to her knees. She fought it, blinking her eyes to clear her vision as she searched for some avenue of escape.
Ignoring the pain and the threatening blackness, she began to crawl toward the stairs that William had used to reach the ramparts. She was so focused on her attempt she didn’t notice when his fingers tangled in her hair until he snatched her head back so hard a bone in her neck cracked.
“Bitch!” he snarled, twisting his hand in her hair and dragging her off balance. The friction of stone against her bare legs as he began dragging her burned like fire.
Uttering a whimper, Bronwyn reached with both hands to grab his, trying to pry him
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