horse and bolted through the grounds and out the front gate, away from the madness. Her cheeks, wet with tears, grew cold as the wind whipped past and tangled her hair. At a clearing where she frequently found solitude, she pulled on Heather’s reins and jumped from her horse, falling to the ground covered with the leaves of last fall, damp from the evening dew.
Kneeling in the middle of the moonlit forest, Davina sobbed into the leaves. How right her Gypsy dream lover had been! The doom Broderick predicted for her life as a young girl entrenched her. But why was this happening? She only wanted to continue the happy life she had prior to meeting Ian. Why did God wed her to this madman who thrilled at manipulation and control? She only wanted a family and someone to love. Pushing up, she settled her trembling hands upon her belly. Losing her first child grieved her deeply, but in the end, she reasoned, wasn’t not having the child for the best? Davina couldn’t bear to see her own flesh and blood forced to submit to the same fate as she, to this frenzy she endured. Curling her knees to her chest, she pulled her legs close, hugging the baby nestled inside her now. She missed two monthly courses—one before Ian’s punishment and this last month—thus had become with child before she and Ian had separate chambers. What would happen then to this baby if they perceived her a lunatic? Rocking back and forth, her forehead against her knees, she let the river of tears flow.
The crook of her arm touched the dagger in her boot. She held her breath, frozen by an idea that touched her mind. Hiking up the hem of her gown, she pulled the weapon from her boot and sat on her heels. Her heart warred over this decision. I am mad. But what other choice do I have? She squeezed her hands around the hilt of her dagger, the tip of the blade poised over her heart. White-knuckled and trembling, her hands throbbed painfully. Whether she gripped the knife out of fear or for strength was unclear. A soft breeze touched her tear-stained cheeks, cooling her flesh in the evening air. She didn’t want to do this—to take her own life and the life of her unborn child—but how could she face the madness awaiting them both? How could she face the betrayal of her family? Or was this just a coward’s excuse?
She gritted out a cry of frustration and drove the blade into the soft, damp earth, collapsing to the ground. Her body wracked with sobs, and the smell of dirt mixed with the stale, decaying leaves, like a grave. “So close,” she whimpered. “So close to being a widow. So close to freedom.” Over one decision made by the King, all her hopes shattered like icicles against stone. Even this member of her family—her royal cousin—betrayed her; the apparition of James seemed to be sent just for her, just to torment her existence. Davina sobbed deeper as hopelessness engulfed her.
Heather stamped her hooves and tossed her head. Davina darted her gaze around the darkened forest in search of the source of the animal’s agitation. Her stomach lurched in fear.
Oh, God! Have they come for me? She paled. Ian might have come after her…alone.
Cold silence answered her, save for the slight rustle of the trees in the wind. She searched the terrain but saw nothing. After a moment more of silence, she heaved a tentative sigh and relief bathed her. No one came with horses to seize and take her back. Davina rose to her feet, wiping her nose, and crept toward her mount, still darting her eyes around. “There, there,” she soothed, her hand outstretched.
Before she could lay her fingers on Heather’s flank, an unseen force knocked the wind from her lungs, and she thumped her head on the ground. Davina’s face pushed into the leaves, head throbbing, and someone crushed her body. Unable to breathe or think, she struggled to force air back into her lungs as panic set in.
“Relax, lass,” a deep voice whispered against her ear. “Your breath will
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