’Twas the worst night of Ceara’s life. She glanced toward Edward at intervals and feared it would not hold that status for long. His expression had remained stern and his commands to his fellows were terse. He was rough with her in a way that did not bode well for her future.
Once he secured her legacy, she would die.
But what could she do? Her dagger was lost, her arms were bound to her sides and she was silenced by a filthy rag. Once they had journeyed a distance from Kilderrick and reached three ponies tethered in the forest, she had been compelled to walk while the men rode. One companion, after a quiet consultation that she had not been able to overhear, had ridden on ahead of them, urging his pony to race. Edward and his remaining comrade rode ponies at a slower pace, while Ceara s
