Page 5 of How to Heal a Highland Heart
A release of breath left Patience feeling empty and slightly grateful. Then memories surged like a tide once more:Ye’re nae any better than the dirt on the floor.Even the servants ken it.
She squeezed her eyes shut for one moment, willing Silas’s voice to silence.Go back to yer grave.
Jane’s eyes bugged wide. “Pardon?”
“I did nae say anything,” Patience lied, shifting the gowns and turning away to hide the flush of hot mortification that she’d spoken her inner thought aloud.
Jane would think she was touched in the head now, and she would likely gossip. Then everyone would not only call her “Plain Patience” and “Perverted Patience,” they’d call her “Peculiar Patience.” She forced one foot in front of the other to walk out of her bedchamber toward the stairs. As she trod down the steps, passing servants who looked down their noses at her, the last name kept rolling through her mind.Peculiar Patience.Being thought of as mad might not be so horrid. It had to be better than people thinking she was dealing with the Devil.
She exited into the inner courtyard, pleased to find it empty. The sky, glimmering with the burgeoning moon, revealed why no one was afoot. Silas’s people would all be in the great hall for supper. She was not welcome there; she was not one of them. Silas had quite enjoyed ensuring she was ostracized, hated, and slightly feared. He had been so masterful at convincing everyone that she practiced black magic and that he had personally dedicated his life to making her a better person. Public humiliations were a regular part of his “aiding her.” She’d tried to contradict it, but no one had believed her.
Shifting the gowns to a single hand, she grabbed one of the torches flickering by the door and made her way to the fire pit in the center of the courtyard. She dropped the gowns into the pit and set them alight. Heat licked her face as the flames consumed the gowns, and then the fire began to grow hotter and higher, burning away her past.
Sweat trickled down her back, dampened under her arms and breasts, and even the back of her neck where her hair lay heavy. She tugged on the laces of her gown, feeling suffocated. How could she feel unable to breathe when she stood outside? A quick glance around the courtyard confirmed she was alone, and she yanked on the laces until the front of her gown gaped open and the cool air hit her chest. It still wasn’t enough.
Not the burning of the gowns.
Not the little niggle of hope to which she clung.
Perhaps she truly was going mad…
A desperate inhalation left her worse than she’d been a breath before. She kicked off her slippers, grasped her hair, and twined it into a knot. Then she tugged up her skirts and tied them at her thighs, letting the cool air caress her legs.
She needed freedom. At least for a moment. If she was going to survive, if she was going to remain sane, she needed to feel free for one blessed moment in her life.
She took another glance around the firelit courtyard. Still alone. Her heart thundered so hard she thought it might burst.
Ye’re worthless.
“I’m free,” she argued aloud. And she willed it to be so for one heartbeat.Two.She closed her eyes, threw her arms wide, and twirled around, the air washing her anew, cooling her more, saving her. She used to dance when her mother was alive so, so very long ago. In the privacy of her mother’s chamber, that was. To do so elsewhere would have been folly.
“I’m free,” she said again, louder this time. Her twirling grew faster. Her heart beat even harder. Blood rushed through her veins, awakening her body, revitalizing her spirit, singing in her ears, and drowning out Silas’s whispers.
“Is that yer bride?”
The voice, like a clap of thunder, stopped her twirling and her heart. Patience opened her eyes and sucked in a sharp breath. Two men stood almost within arm’s reach of her. Behind the men, more warriors than could quickly be counted were positioned in perfectly formed lines and among the ferocious looking men was a plump man dressed in priest’s robes. Torches flickered to life among the warriors, and one was passed up the lines and handed to a man at the front of the group.
It glowed just brightly enough that the man’s face became clear. And what a face it was—ruggedly, wildly handsome with an inherent strength. Yet it was severe. Narrowed eyes impaled her. Shadows cast by the torchlight shifted across his angular face, highlighting sharp cheekbones. His strong jawline held tense. Quite visibly. His profile, dark against the moonlight, looked perfectly proportioned. He was the most handsome man she’d ever seen. It was unsettling, really, and it made her feel plainer than she already felt.
Still, she found herself unable to look away. His hair appeared to be russet, and it grazed his broad, corded shoulders in waves. He was tall, his legs long and powerful. The large hand that was not holding the torch rested on the hilt of an enormous sword. “Are ye Lady Kincaide?” White teeth flashed in the darkness. Not a smile. No. More like lips curling back from teeth, rather like a wolf. It mesmerized her for a moment. “I’m Blackswell, and these are my men.” He motioned to the man closest to him. “This is William MacLean.” The Savage Slayer’s voice had a warm quality she would never have expected. “Are ye Lady Kincaide?” he asked again, more curt this time.
“Nay.” She didn’t want to be linked with Silas anymore.
He closed the distance between them so fast she gasped. “Where is yer mistress, lass?”
He didn’t sound like a killer, like the Savage Slayer. A warrior, yes, but not a man without emotion. Then again, what did she know.Ye’re stupid.
Shut up.
“What?” The man brought the torch between them, and for one brief moment, she thought she saw his eyes widen, but a blink later, they were narrowed again.
Dear God. Why had she suddenly developed the habit of speaking her inner thoughts aloud? People trulywouldthink she was touched. And if this man thought her mad, life could be worse than it had been. Or…
An idea suddenly struck her. Life could bebetter. Tolerable even, forced as she was bound to be into another unwanted marriage. If her new husband thought her mad, maybe he’d leave her in peace. Or perhaps he’d be wary of her once Silas’s people told him she spoke with the Devil. Or he could put her in the dungeon, but that would hardly matter. She was already caged. It was invisible, but it was there.
She waved her hands on either side of her head, as if swatting at something. “Voices in my ears. They’ll nae quit talking.”
“I see,” the man said. “I’m terribly sorry.”
