Page 32 of Wynter's Bite

When the cup was empty, Mother nodded to a footman, who passed Bethany her cane.

“Your trunks have already been loaded,” Cecily said. “Let’s get you into the carriage. Your father wishes to depart on the hour.”

The footman remained at her side as they walked from the house. Bethany was grateful for that fact as a sudden wave of dizziness nearly made her stumble on her way into the carriage. If not for his steadying hand, she doubtless would have toppled onto the cobblestones.

Mother had not been exaggerating when she spoke of Father’s urgency. He already waited in the bench across from her and Mother and signaled the driver to be off the moment they were seated.

Bethany reached under her seat for a novel she’d stashed there and gasped as her father snatched it out of her hand. “No more reading. That is likely what put you in such a hysterical state. I knew I should have forbidden you that nonsensical tripe in the first place.”

She frowned in wounded disbelief. No more reading? Did he mean for the journey, or ever again? How would she survive without books? Without Justus?

Before she could protest, a sensation of hazy heaviness settled over her like a wool blanket. Bethany recognized the feeling. No wonder her mother had insisted that she finish the tea that had tasted so bitter.

She whipped her head around to face her mother. “You drugged me?” Even as she spoke, her words slurred like a drunkard’s and a heavy drowsiness engulfed her like a shroud.

Cecily nodded. “It was for your own good. Your knee was clearly paining you and we have a long trip.”

Outrage made her quiver in her seat even as lethargy weighted her limbs like lead. “You... had no... right,” she murmured, sleepy from the swaying carriage.

“I’m your mother,” Cecily said, though her cheeks flushed with guilt. “I had every right.”

No longer able to hold up her head, Bethany leaned against the carriage window. Her eyes widened, despite the drowsiness from the drugs. “This isn’t the road we take home. I thought we were returning to London.”

“We are,” her father said gruffly. “You are not.”

Chapter Fourteen

Justus awoke cold and cramped, his stomach roiling with hunger. His bloodthirst hadn’t been this intense since he was a youngling. And why has he so damned cold and uncomfortable? Foreboding filled him, urging him to keep his eyes shut, but he opened them anyway— and immediately regretted doing so.

The sight of the damp stone walls and thick steel bars of Rochester’s prison cells was like a blow to the stomach, assaulting him with memories of every tragic catastrophic event that transpired last night. Being intercepted on his way to Bethany, when he’d been so close he could smell her. Cecil and Benson arresting him, saying she’d done the unthinkable. And that she was betrothed to another.

Gavin’s sorrowful, but stern face as he ordered him locked away to await his trial. Right before he told Cecil and Benson to minimize the damage.

“Bethany,” Justus croaked past dry lips. For all he knew, Gavin could have had her killed by now.

He roared and struggled against his shackles. Chunks of stone chipped off the wall from where the chains struck. But the shackles held as they’d been crafted to do. If only he’d fed last night before going to Bethany’s home. If only he could feed now! After missing only three meals, he’d already begun to weaken. At full strength, he may have been able to at least pry the shackles from the wall. Even then, such would take time.

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