Page 134 of The Devil of Clan Sinclair
She tried to raise her hand, but it felt too heavy.
“Don’t worry, my dear,” he said. “We’ll soon have you somewhere you can rest.”
“What am I doing here?” she asked, dizzy again. A sour taste lingered in the back of her throat and her tongue was swollen and dry.
He smiled down at her, turned sideways and spoke to someone, before descending a series of steps with her in his arms. She closed her eyes as the sky vanished and a timbered ceiling appeared.
What was she doing here? She couldn’t remember. The lack of memory frightened her almost as much as he did, crooning to her.
“I’ll take care of you, my dear,” he said. “All you need to do is rest now.”
He turned sideways again and the ceiling changed once more. She moved her head to find it was a room, dominated by a wide bed placed up against a wall. A cabin, she corrected herself. If she was aboard ship, it was a cabin, and the bed was a bunk.
What was she doing aboard ship?
What was she doing with Paul?
Elliot. Where was Elliot?
“What did you do to me?” she asked, not surprised to hear her slurred words. Talking seemed to be a difficult task. Not simply speaking, but forming the words in her mind.
A bottle. A rag. He’d put the rag over her face and she’d smelled something overpoweringly sweet. Simply recalling it made her nauseous.
Chloroform. He’d given her chloroform not once but twice.
“You tried to kill me,” she said as he placed her on the bunk.
“Of course I didn’t,” he said pleasantly. “I merely had to convince you to come with me, my dear.”
She tried to slap his hands away when he started to unfasten the buttons at her neck, but she was so weak she couldn’t stop him. To her horror, he continued all the way down her dress.
“No,” she said.
“Just rest, Virginia,” he said. “I’ve no intention of taking you when you’re unconscious. I want you to know who I am and remember our loving.”
She didn’t want to remember him touching her. She didn’t want to remember anything about him. The words, however, were stuck on her tongue and didn’t escape.
The sour taste was there again, a warning she was going to be ill. Afterward, Paul helped her to sit, placing a cool cloth on her forehead.
She wasn’t going to be grateful to him for anything. Had it not been for him, she wouldn’t be here, nauseous, dizzy, and confused.
Hannah.
The sudden image of her maid was important. She closed her eyes and tried to remember. Hannah had been injured. Paul had struck her.
“Let me go,” she said. “I want to go home.”
“Where is home, my dear? Scotland or London?”
“Scotland.” The answer came so quickly it surprised her. Anywhere Macrath was.
Dear God, where was Elliot?
“Where is my son?”
“Don’t worry about your get, my dear. He’s safe with his father. Maybe he’ll think you’re dead, rather than simply abandoning him.”
She wouldn’t do that. She wouldn’t leave Elliot behind.
