Scarlett’s breath misted in the cold air as she sat by the fountain, her thoughts tangled between longing and pride. The moon had climbed higher, turning the water silver. She barely noticed the faint crunch of boots until the sound grew closer.
She turned, half expecting a guard on rounds or a servant sent to fetch her in from the chill, but what stepped from the shadows was neither.
“Master Little?”
He looked nothing like the man she remembered. His face was thinner now, his eyes wild, hair hanging damp against his temples. The grin that spread across his face wasn’t friendly; it was stretched too wide, and his teeth glinted in the dark.
“Aye,” he said softly, stepping forward. “Ye remember me, then.”
Two men followed close behind him, broad-shouldered, cloaked, and grim. Scarlett’s pulse began to hammer in her throat. “What are ye…?”
Before she could finish, one of the men lunged forward and caught her by the arms. Her sketchbook fell from her lap, charcoal scattering across the path.
“Let me go!” she cried, twisting hard, but the man’s grip tightened cruelly. “Release me, ye fools! Do ye ken who I am?”
“Enough,” Mack snapped. “Do as I said.”
Scarlett’s voice rose, panic cutting through her fury. “Ye’ll answer for this! If Robert…”
The rest of her words drowned in a muffled gasp as a cloth pressed to her mouth. The smell hit her instantly. Her limbs thrashed once, twice, then the world tilted. Stars burst behind her eyes before everything slipped into darkness.
When she woke, her mouth was dry, and her head spun as though the ground itself had turned upside down. Cold air bit at her skin. She blinked slowly, trying to make sense of the blur around her.
Trees loomed above, their branches cutting through a thin veil of moonlight. The smell of damp earth and rotting leaves filled her lungs.
She tried to move, but pain flared in her wrists. The rope bound her hands tight enough to cut the skin. Her ankles were tied too.
Panic clawed at her throat. She forced it down.
Think, Scarlett. Think like Robert.
When she lifted her head, she saw Mack crouched beside a dying fire, muttering to himself. The blade of a dagger caught the light as he turned it over in his hands.
“Mack,” she rasped. “Ye daenae have to do this.”
He turned sharply. The moonlight revealed the madness in his eyes, raw and fevered.
“Daenae have to?” he repeated, laughing once, the sound jagged. “I’ve nae choice, lass. It’s too late for that.”
Scarlett’s stomach twisted. “What is it ye want? Coin? Freedom? I’ll help ye if I can?—”
He barked a laugh, shaking his head. “Coin? Freedom? Ye think this is about coin? This is about him.”
She swallowed hard. “Robert?”
Mack’s face contorted, grief and rage tangling into something ugly. “He took everything from me. Everything. Ye think I daenae ken what he’s done? He stole me post, me home… and then he took ye.”
Scarlett flinched. “He took me?”
“Aye,” Mack hissed. “Ye were meant to be mine. Ye smiled at me once, ye remember? In the stables. I’d have given ye the world if he hadn’t come.”
Her pulse thundered. “Ye’re mad.”
He grinned wider. “Mad? Nay. Just awake. He walks about like some noble saint, and everyone bows to him. But I ken what he really is—a man who takes, who ruins.” His voice cracked. “Well, now, he’ll lose something too.”
Scarlett forced her breathing to steady. “Listen to me. Ye’re angry, I understand that. But if ye harm me, Robert will?—”
Mack’s laughter was manic, cutting her off. “Aye, he’ll come. That’s the plan. He’ll come, and he’ll find ye gone, and he’ll ken what it feels like to lose the one thing he cannae control.”
