Balfour Forest
Weltworth, Northumberland
May 1812
Something was wrong.
Eliza Ellis tramped down ferns and growth as she hurried for the only place in the world she wanted to be. The only place she knew.
Her short-legged beagle trotted after her, panting as if this were merely another stroll on another late eve.
But it wasn’t.
Tonight was different. Captain was different. Would her father still be home when she returned? How many times had he left her already, all in the space of a fortnight, only to come back with the scent of ale on his breath?
He’d never drunk before.
When the stream came in view, flanked on each side by mossy rocks, she claimed the one she’d always dubbed the Lady’s Throne. She used to sit here with a scepter made of twigs like a queen from Captain’s stories.
What she wouldn’t do for one of them now. To be back in her father’s arms, young again, nestled where his heartbeat thrummed in her ear.
Instead, she was alone. All she could think of was the way he kept looking at her. As if something had changed—only it hadn’t. How could it?
They were safe. They were always safe because they protected themselves. No one could hurt them or frighten them, not if they stayed where the trees were tall and the air was quiet and the world was the woods.
Oh, Captain. What is the matter?She pulled her knees to her chest and hugged them close, lulled by the rush of the stream. If she bent near enough, she could leak her tears into the swirling motion and drop her whisper into the blue-tinted waters.
If only they could whisper back.
But they only carried away her sorrow, as they always did, to some foreign place beyond these trees. Captain said if a person followed this stream, sometime or another it would open into an ocean. What must the ocean look like? Endless water, frothy waves, blue meeting blue. Pirate ships and giant white masts and ghosts of fabricated mermaids. Why couldn’t she have been a mermaid? She might have danced with the fishes and ridden upon the whales and—
A snap.
Eliza swiveled on her rock and reached for her growling dog. “Merrylad, here.” The last thing she needed was her brave little beast raising his hackles against some vicious varmint. “I’ll have none of your barking, hear?”
Another snap. Closer.
Merrylad ripped from her hold and woofed. He braced in front of her, as if he had no desire to sprint away and chase down some frightened hare or white-tailed deer, as was usually his pleasure.
A brush of unease fluttered her chest. She scanned the trees as evening shadows wove around them.
Nothing seemed amiss.
Nothing stirred.
Whatever had disturbed the quiet had apparently scampered up a tree trunk or burrowed into the moist needles and ground.
But the flutter increased until her heartbeat turned into hammering. “Come, Merrylad.” She stood, brushed the residue of moss and dirt from her dress—
Something white flashed to her left.
Merrylad yowled.
A face appeared, half hidden behind a pine tree, close enough that unfamiliar eyes met hers.
No, no.She lurched forward, pumped her legs so fast her muscles began to scream. No one was supposed to be here. Not ever. Captain would die if he knew, but it wasn’t her fault.
Footsteps pounded behind her, closing in quickly, as fast as the evening darkness.
