William Dodd had been the only one who had survived the fire. She wished he had perished on many a day, but none more than now that he was close to getting what he wanted. He nearly had his way with her that night when he and his friends had cornered her at the feast.And now? Will he finally have me, even after six years?
She turned her head and looked out the window, away from the pain that mingled with her hair on the bed. How was her life once again falling to pieces?Have I not already lost all that I had?
There was only one other man she had ever wished dead, as much as William Dodd. The man who had set the fire at the feast. She hadn't any evidence of what he had done or why. She could only recall the torch at his feet as the flames licked at her dress. He's stood there with his mask, staring at her.Why hadn't he done anything to help either of us?Her father had died, saving her life. But that man had stood there watching before she'd blacked out.
Shaking her head, Charlotte shook off the thoughts and turned her focus to the problem at hand. She needed to escape. Marrying William Dodd would be a fate worse than death. Looking back at the window, she made up her mind. She needed to run, soon. Come hell or high water, William Dodd would never have his way with her.
Pushing herself up from the bed, Charlotte walked over to the desk and retrieved the bin she used for the snippets of cotton, recalling a happier time when her parents were alive. They'd loved her with every fiber of their beings. No girl alive could ever have been loved more than she had been. And now?
Now she was left alone to pick up the shattered pieces of her life. The last strands of hope she'd held onto were now being thrown into a bin. Discarded and forgotten, like all her dreams.
Sinking to her knees beside the bed, Charlotte sobbed hopelessly into the mattress.What am I going to do now? I'm alone in the world.She sniffed a few times, drying her eyes and recalling the words her father had said to her as a little girl.
There may come a day when you have no one else to rely on but yourself. Your mother and I will always do our best to be there, but you need to make sure that you look out for yourself.
Taking a deep breath, Charlotte hugged her knees to her chest. That's exactly what she would do now. She would find a way out of this mess. She turned her head to look out the window.I'll find a way out of this mess if it's the last thing I do.
CHAPTER TWO
Splashing the cool water over his face, Owen pulled the robes over his chest and straightened the sash. He hated the dark brown clothes that they'd given him to wear. But wear them, he did. His face was rugged and tired as he caught a glimpse of himself in the simple mirror adorning his dresser. Nightmares of flames and screams had kept him up all night. They seemed to worsen the more he tried to outrun his past. It was the nightmares that prompted him to act and seek resolution.
Placing the pouch of coins in his pocket, Owen patted them down and headed for the door. He only had a little time until his uncle returned to the monastery grounds, so he rushed to the door of the small chamber where he slept.
His scout was more than likely still waiting for him in the woods, hopefully, this time bearing answers. Being a monk was proving to be far more challenging than Owen had anticipated. He was hardly ever alone and always needed to work.
The monks at Lanercost Monastery worked harder than any laborers he knew. Even the workers at the castle back home didn't have to contend with as many chores as he did. He grumbled under his breath and ensured everything was in order before leaving. The bed was tidy, and all his things had been packed into the single cupboard.
Hurrying, Owen quickly slipped into the corridor and made his way down the hall. Time was of the essence as he pressed on, his sandals slapping against the cold stone floor. He glimpsed at the dark sky, the sun lost between the stars.
Perfect, they all went tae bed, and there is nae on—
"Brother Owen," an elderly monk called to his back.Damn it!"Where are you headed in such a rush?"
Thinking as fast as he could, Owen used his chance to slip behind a statue in the wall, pulling his hood over his head. His heart beat in his throat as he pressed himself against the stones.Maybe he will think it was another man.
"Brother Owen," the monk repeated as he drew nearer at a steady and even pace. His hands were tucked into the sleeves of his robe, and a wooden cross hung from his neck.
"Please, nae now, please, nae now," he whispered to himself and shut his eyes.
"Brother Owen," the monk said in a firmer tone, stopping in front of the statue with one eyebrow raised.
Seeing that his fate had been sealed, he lowered his hood and slunk back into the light. "Apologies, brother Thomas. I didnae see ye there."
"Is that so?" the man said with a knowing glance. "Because it looked to me as though you were very aware of my presence," he gestured to the corridor with its paintings and statues of saints and monks. "One would even say you were trying to hide from me."
"I would never hide from ye, brother Thomas," Owen grinned sheepishly, feeling like a fool at his failed attempts to hide. Brother Thomas had the habit of sneaking up on a person at the best of times, even more so when you were trying to hide.It's like the man kens whenever I'm out.
"Then why hiding behind the statue of Saint Francis of Assisi with your hood over your face? Looking for peace, perhaps? He was one of the world's greatest peacemakers." The older man dipped his hands back into the sleeves of his robe, waiting for an answer.
"Um… nae," Owen searched his mind for a suitable response. "I-I was just chasing a spider. I ken how much ye hate the little beasts. And brother Angus, too. The creature was larger than me hand." He held up his hand with his fingers stretched wide to illustrate his point. "The hood was because…"
"Yes?"
"I had tae sneeze an’ I didnae want the spider tae flee," he thought through his lie with regret. "On account of the noise, ye see. I was hoping the fabric of the hood would divert some of the noise."
"Very thoughtful of you. Though, I was under the impression that spiders werenae particularly sensitive to sound," Brother Thomas asked with a heavy note of sarcasm in his voice. Owen had become known around the monastery for his strange behavior. This fact made the older monk keep an even closer eye on him.
"Och, aye," Owen rubbed the back of his neck, feeling the weight of his foolish lies. "Now, if ye would excuse me, brother Thomas. I-I need to take care of me needs, I drunk too much ale as of this morn," he bowed and turned to leave as quickly as he could.
