Page 78 of Wedded to the Sinful Duke

It was obvious. Returning to Silverbrook Manor would take up too much time. He had to get going immediately. Ciara was five days ahead of him, and he needed to ride fast without much rest to catch up with her. He only hoped that he would reach her in time.

Jonathan glared at Lord Hartfield. “You will get me provisions for my journey. It is the least you can do.”

Lord Hartfield nodded immediately, scrambling to his feet and rushing to gather what Jonathan needed. The Duke stood tall,his eyes never leaving the cowardly man. Moments later, a servant returned with a satchel filled with food, water, and other essentials.

Jonathan grabbed the provisions and fixed Lord Hartfield with a menacing stare. “Do not think for a minute that this is over. I’ll be back for you,” he warned, his voice low and dangerous.

Without another word, he mounted his horse, his determination driving him forward. He spurred his horse into a gallop, heading north toward Sheffield.

CHAPTER 37

Ciara sat in the darkness of the tiny cell within the jail coach, her body aching from days of travel. The faint noises of the inn reached her ears, muffled but persistent. From what she could hear, they were about to continue their journey. Suddenly, there was a loud crack, followed by a series of shouts and curses.

“Blast it! The axle’s gone!” a man’s voice yelled, frustration evident in his tone.

“What do you mean, the axle’s gone?” Mother Superior’s sharp voice cut through the air, laced with impatience.

“I mean it’s broken, madam! We can’t go anywhere until it’s fixed,” the coachman replied, sounding exasperated.

Ciara’s heart raced. She strained to hear more, pressing her ear against the cold metal bars. There were more sounds of commotion outside, heavy footsteps, and the scraping ofwood and metal. She thought about calling for help again, in hopes of reaching someone who might dare to help her, but she immediately remembered Mother Superior’s threat. She couldn’t risk receiving even harsher treatment at the nunnery. So, she remained quiet instead, choosing to listen to what was happening outside the carriage.

“How long will it take to fix?” Mother Superior demanded.

“It’s not just a quick fix, madam,” he explained. “We’re in a remote area, far from any blacksmith. It could take days to either find a replacement or make the repairs.”

Mother Superior’s sharp voice cut through the air. “Days? We do not have days! You must find a blacksmith immediately and have him brought here!”

The coachman sighed audibly. “I’ll do what I can, but there’s no guarantee. We’re miles from the nearest town, and there’s no telling how long it will take to get someone here.”

Mother Superior let out an exasperated huff. “Just do it. We cannot afford any further delays.”

The coachman muttered something under his breath then his footsteps faded as he walked away, presumably to start his search for a blacksmith.

Ciara’s heart pounded in her chest. She realized this unexpected delay might be a glimmer of hope. If it took days to repair thecoach, there might be a chance for her to be rescued. She pressed her ear closer to the bars, trying to gather as much information as possible.

That was when the door suddenly burst open, and Mother Superior’s iron grip closed around Ciara’s wrist, dragging her from the suffocating confines of the jail coach. The sudden light and fresh air were a stark contrast to the damp, stale darkness she had been imprisoned in. Ciara stumbled as she was pulled towards the inn, her legs weak and wobbly from days of confinement.

“If you make so much as a sound without my permission, I shall make sure that you spend the rest of your life in solitary confinement,” she hissed. “Am I making myself clear?”

“Y-yes,” Ciara managed to muster as the cold talon of fear gripped her very heart, squeezing harder and harder.

Once inside, the inn’s modest warmth and the murmur of patrons contrasted sharply with the cold severity of Mother Superior. She thrust Ciara into a small, dimly lit room, the door slamming shut behind them. Ciara barely had time to catch her breath before Mother Superior turned to her, eyes blazing with a cruel intensity.

“Listen closely, you wretched girl,” she hissed, her voice low but filled with venom. “You will stay in this room and not make a sound. Do not even think about trying to escape, for the hounds of hell will be upon you faster than you can imagine.”

Ciara’s heart pounded in her chest, the threat echoing in her mind. She nodded meekly, too terrified to speak. Mother Superior sneered then turned on her heel and left the room, locking the door behind her with a resounding click.

Ciara sank to the floor, the reality of her situation pressing down on her. She was trapped, far from anyone who might help her. The inn’s walls seemed to close in around her, and she felt a wave of hopelessness wash over her. But even in her fear and despair, a spark of determination remained.

She couldn’t give up hope. Not yet.

Jonathan rode hard, pushing himself and his horse to the brink. He couldn’t afford to waste any time if he hoped to catch up with Ciara. However, as the sun dipped below the horizon and darkness enveloped the countryside, he knew he had to rest. His horse was lathered in sweat, its steps growing increasingly unsteady.

Reluctantly, Jonathan guided the tired animal to a nearby inn. The establishment was modest with warm light spilling from its windows and the comforting hum of voices from within. He dismounted and handed the reins to the stable boy, his mind racing with worry and urgency.

Inside, the inn was bustling with travelers and locals alike, sharing stories and laughter over mugs of ale. Jonathan approached the innkeeper, a burly man with a friendly face.

“A room for the night, and stable for my horse,” Jonathan requested, his voice taut with exhaustion.

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