Page 59 of The Lady’s Guide to Deception and Desire
Strange that she hadn’t seen him leave the abbey, nor spotted him making his way down—but the trees upon the other side were also thick. Keeping to their shadows, he could have concealed himself.
With a joyous heart, she crossed the final distance, Pom Pom running at her side.
The light receded and went out completely as she ran up the steps and inside, her voice echoing in the gloomy interior, resounding in the dome above. “Benedict. I’m here.”
Pom Pom growled as the figure slunk behind his mistress, wrapping a hand about her mouth.
A damp cloth covered her nose.
The last Rosamund heard was Pom Pom’s bark, and a long, pitiful whine.
Chapter 21
Rosamund woke to darkness.
No moon, nor stars.
At first, she wondered if she were blindfolded or if a hood had been placed about her head, but her eyes blinked freely and cool air passed over her face.
Wherever she was, it was damp and cold, with a pervading musty smell.
Her shoulders ached. Stretching her fingers, her nails scraped earth. She was sitting on the ground, her back resting against something hard, and her legs bent awkwardly to one side. For some reason, her hands were behind her, bound together.
Wincing, she straightened her legs, only to become aware of how sore her bottom was.
How long had she been sitting like this? Some hours. Beyond that, she couldn’t tell. It might be night or day and she wouldn’t know.
She ought to stand up, if only to restore the flow of blood to her limbs, but she seemed to lack the ability to push herself upright.
Rosamund swallowed, wetting the inside of her mouth. She was thirsty and, annoyingly, needed to pass water.
Someone had left her here, but they’d come back, surely? They hadn’t abandoned her? She endeavoured to ignore the voice in her head that told her perhaps they had.
Fright clutched about her heart, squeezing, crushing.
I don’t want to die. Not like this.
She drew a ragged breath.
Stay calm. When they come, you’ll get free, somehow.
She realized, then, that she hadn’t heard any sound from Pom Pom.
Was he asleep, or was he…?
Rosamund gave an anguished cry. “Pom Pom?” she called through the darkness. “Pom Pom, where are you?”
There was no answering yelp or whine, no bark; not even the scrabbling of paws.
A new emotion replaced fear—a burning indignation rising from her belly. Only someone truly wicked could hurt him, a blameless animal.
The anger gave her strength to push herself onto her knees. Was this a wall behind her? If there were some hook or nail, mightn’t she rub against it with the cord at her wrists?
No sooner had she that thought than she heard footsteps and a dull glow appeared.
Rosamund froze as the illumination grew; her fear returned and she shrank against the wall.
She wasn’t ready.
