CHAPTER EIGHTSheena passed an unhappy and restless night.
She tried hard to close her mind to her thoughts and the thumping of her heart, but after a while she realised that sleep was impossible and that her violent hatred of the Duc precluded all else.
As the dawn broke, pale and golden, and the first rays of light shone through the sides of the heavy curtains covering her windows, she rose from her bed and walked across the room. She drew back the curtains and stood taking in deep breaths of warm air, wishing that instead she was being buffeted by the sharp strong winds blowing across the North Sea.
That was just what she needed, she thought, the stimulating austerity and positiveness of Scotland. France made her feel weak and at the mercy of emotions she had never experienced before.
