Breanne tasted blood, but before she could run again, he closed the door and secured it behind him. She was alone in the darkness, imprisoned within the dwelling.
Her teeth chattered, and it was only then that she realised how badly she was shaking. Slowly, she sank against the wall until she was sitting on the ground. Silent tears ran down her face, and she realised just how dangerous Oisin was. He was not a man who would listen to reason. He delighted in hurting her, and marriage to him would be horrifying.
But you’re not going to wed him, she reminded herself.
No one could force the vows from her lips. She might be at the mercy of her mother and a man she despised, but that didn’t mean she was powerless.
She could try to send someone from Clonagh back to Killcobar. Or seek help from the people here. Though she lacked the physical strength, she had intelligence. There had to be a way to free herself from this prison.
She lay down upon the furs, wishing she had not left Alarr. If he were here, he would hold her until she stopped trembling. She would draw strength from him, and he would break down the door, freeing them both. The thoughts brought her comfort, though she knew they were only an illusion.
She loved him, in spite of everything. Though she could not bear to watch him fight Feann, it cut her deeply to be without him. Whether he was dead or whether he had returned to Maerr, the aching emptiness was consuming. She could hardly bear it.
In her heart, she believed that he had kept his vow not to kill Feann. The only question was whether her foster father had granted him the same mercy.
Breanne swiped at the tears, gathering her emotions and pushing back against her fear.
You’re going to escape, she told herself. No matter what happens, you will find a way out.
And once she did, she would find out what had happened to Alarr and learn whether they could be together.
Hours passed, and afternoon faded into evening. Breanne had calmed her terror, forming a plan, despite her earlier fears. A knock sounded at the door, and a woman’s voice said, ‘May I come in?’
Breanne rose to her feet, and an older woman came inside, holding a loaf of bread, a small flagon, and a bundle of clothing. ‘I brought you food and wine.’ The matron set it down, but before she could leave, Breanne ran to the door.
‘Wait. Please.’ She blocked the woman’s exit. ‘I need your help.’
‘I can do nothing,’ she insisted. ‘Do not ask me to let you go. They will hurt my family.’
Breanne didn’t bother to ask who they were. Instead, she said, ‘How many guards are outside this shelter?’
The matron glanced at the doorway as if uncertain whether to answer. But at last, she mumbled, ‘Six.’
Then any attempts to flee would be futile. There was no means of escaping six men. She needed to find a different way, perhaps a hidden way out of the shelter. But there were no windows and no other exits from the dwelling.
She redirected her question. ‘What are they planning to do with me?’
The woman bit her lip, as if wondering whether to answer. She looked down at the bundle of food. ‘They will come for you on the morrow. The priest will hear your vows, and you are to marry Oisin MacLogan.’
So she had only one day left. Breanne sat down with the bread, her mind turning over the problem. She drew up her knees against her chest and closed her eyes. ‘Do I have until sunset for the wedding?’
‘No. They have planned it a few hours after dawn,’ she answered. With a glance at the door, the older woman withdrew a small eating knife from her waist. Without a word, she hid the dagger inside the bundle of clothing. It was an unexpected gift—and a chance to free herself. For a moment, the older woman met her gaze with understanding before she departed.
Breanne didn’t know how she would use the weapon, but it offered a slight glimmer of hope.
You can save yourself, she told herself. Be strong and use your wits.
But even so, she was afraid that her time was running out.
Chapter Twelve
It was late at night when they arrived at Clonagh. Rain pounded against them, soaking Alarr to the skin. The harsh weather offered an advantage, for it meant that no one would leave their shelter unless commanded to do so.
‘Are you certain you won’t remain outside?’ Feann questioned. ‘We need someone beyond the gates.’
‘Let it be one of your men,’ Alarr countered. He had no intention of being left behind—not while Breanne was in danger.
The king eyed him with annoyance but relented after a time. ‘Fine. But you must remain hidden.’
They approached the gate with stealth where one man guarded the entrance with a spear. To his surprise, Feann signalled to the guard. For a brief moment Alarr wondered if the king would betray him. He wouldn’t put it past Feann, for neither of them fully trusted the other. Instead, the king spoke quietly to the soldier, and they were allowed to enter.
‘Let no one see you,’ the guard warned. He pointed towards a grain storage shed. ‘When the next guard comes to take my place, I will come to you.’
The rain continued to pour in punishing sheets, but they made their way to the shed. Though it was cold, Alarr was grateful to be out of the harsh weather. He found a place to sit,
