That and anything else he could give her. Including his life.
The room was tiny and barren, the only window nailed shut with boards. Isabella pressed herself into the corner. She kept her eyes on the door, waiting for it to swing open, for the woman to sweep in with more soup and bread.
But she never did. The door remained shut.
Sometimes Isabella heard voices on the other side. The soft timbre of the woman’s pleas, Lord Livingstone’s deeper replies. Other times footsteps thudded near the threshold, but still, no one entered.
Nighttime fell again. Then daytime. Then nighttime. She curled on the floor and pressed her knees into her chest, hugging them to her, as if she were embracing Father or William or Bridget.
“Bridget, dear, won’t you bring me something wonderful to eat?”
“What should you like, Miss Gresham?”
“I hardly know. I am positively famished after sleeping past breakfast. Do have Cook surprise me, won’t you?”
Hunger gnawed at her insides, like claws ripping and scraping at the empty places in her stomach. She scooted to the bucket they had left, cupped more water to her lips, but even that was nearly gone. Had he brought her here to kill her? Why had he not strangled her in the garden? Would that not have been a kindness?
God, help me.When a thin light of morning streamed through the boards, she pulled herself back to the window. She thrust her fists against the wood, but nothing budged. She lunged her elbow at the center of a board. Not so much as a groan came in response. How did any of this make sense?
Lord Livingstone was supposed to abide at Wetherbell Hall. He was supposed to attend balls and woo ladies and impress matrimonially minded fathers with his wealth and charm.
But he had lied. That much she knew. Had he truly rescued her at Rockingham Hall, as he had pretended? Or hadhebeen the one to orchestrate the attack? Was that the reason the marauders were not yet apprehended? Because after each attack, the men dispersed to hide—not in England, as it had been supposed—but here in this forsaken Scottish highland?
Footsteps thumped. A lock rattled, then the door creaked open and the woman named Cressida slipped inside. “Sit down,” she whispered. “Before he hears you.”
Isabella wilted back into the corner at the woman’s command.
“Robert says I might feed you.” The woman hurried an earthenware bowl into Isabella’s hands then grabbed the bucket and left the room.
Isabella gulped down the cold, chunky liquid. The taste was foreign and dull, but it eased the pangs in her stomach.Thank You, God.By the time she had drained the last drop, Cressida returned with a sloshing bucket of fresh water.
Clutching bandages, she bent next to Isabella and glanced at her torn feet. “May I?”
Isabella nodded.
With cool, careful fingers, the woman peeled off the ripped, bloodied stockings and swished a warm rag across the injuries. She bandaged both feet. “You shall feel better now. There is enough water you might wash.”
“Who are you?”
“I am no one.” The woman spared a glance at the door. “Not anymore.”
“Did he bring you this way too?” Isabella’s mouth dried. “Did he—”
“I must go.” Tragedy loomed in her gaze, distinct enough that it quivered in her voice, like fear or madness or death. “You must be quiet, lest he hear you.”
Isabella clutched the woman’s hand. The fingers were cold and clammy, but for one brief second, they squeezed back. “Please … you must help me.” The plea ached from Isabella’s lips. Desperation flamed in her chest. “Help me get out of here.”
“I cannot.”
“Please …”
“There is no escape. And if you wish help, you must give it to yourself.” Cressida shook herself free of Isabella’s grasp, taking the red-stained stockings with her. She paused at the door, hugging them to her chest.
“Your chance shall come tonight.”
All day long she waited. She paced along the walls of the room, sometimes biting at the thick rope, other times squeezing her eyes shut and murmuring prayers.
When the cracks in the boards turned black, she sank beneath the window and pulled the comb from her hair. She fingered the rusty claws.“What do you do with all these lost treasures you find along the shore?”
