“I’m afraid,” she admitted.
“Of course you are. Fear means you’re sane.” Mrs. Griffiths pulled her close. “But my darling girl, sometimes the only way out of hell is to walk through fire. These men, they’re your fire. They might burn you, but they might also lead you to freedom.”
Megan buried her face in the old woman’s shoulder, breathing in the familiar scent of lavender and lye soap. Mrs. Griffiths had been the closest thing to a mother she’d had since she was taken. The thought of her dying, of never seeing her again?—
“Will you really leave tomorrow?” she asked.
“At first light. The Earl is days away still in London. I’ll sneak away.
None of the other staff are likely to notice once those men take you.” Mrs. Griffiths pulled back, looking Megan in the eyes. “And when they come for you, be ready. Have a saddlebag packed. Warm clothes, it’s winter. And boots. Go with them. Don’t hesitate. Don’t look back. Just run.”
“The other servants?—”
“Will be fine. The Earl can’t punish everyone. He needs staff too badly.” But Megan heard the uncertainty in her voice. They both knew Penharrow’s cruelty had no limits.
“I don’t want anyone else to die for me,” Megan said.
“Then don’t let their deaths be in vain. Daniel died trying to get you help. Let these men succeed where he failed.” Mrs. Griffiths gripped her hands tightly. “Promise me. Promise me you’ll go if the chance comes.”
Megan looked at the old woman, truly looked at her. She saw the exhaustion, the pain, the resignation of someone who knew death was coming. But she also saw hope, fierce and bright, burning in those tired eyes.
“I promise,” Megan whispered. “If they come, I’ll go. But I’ll never forget you.”
Mrs. Griffiths smiled, tears streaming down her wrinkled face. “Good girl. My brave, beautiful girl.” She pulled Megan into one last embrace. “I’ll pray for you. Every night until I die, I’ll pray you found your freedom.”
After Mrs. Griffiths left, Megan stood at her barred window, looking out at the dark forest beyond the gardens. Somewhere out there, two men were planning her rescue. Strangers who knew nothing about her except what an old housekeeper had told them.
Hope warred with terror in her chest. What if this was real? What if, after fourteen years of captivity, she could actually be free?
But what kind of freedom waited for her? She had no money, no family she could remember, no skills. She couldn’t read or write. She was damaged goods. A woman who’d been a monster’s plaything. What man would want her as anything other than what she’d been to Penharrow?
Unless that’s what they wanted. Unless thisrescuewas only a prettier word for theft. Perhaps they’d seen her, desired her, and decided to take her for themselves.
Megan pressed her forehead against the cold glass, fighting down panic. She couldn’t think like this. Couldn’t let fear paralyze her the way it had for so many years.
Mrs. Griffiths was right. Staying guaranteed continued suffering. Going meant risk, but also possibility. The men might be cruel. They might use her. They might kill her.
But they also might help her.
Or she could escape them too if only she was outside these walls.
And God help her, after the last five years of hell, the possibility of freedom was worth the risk.
As Mrs. Griffth instructed, she packed a satchel withnothing but warm clothes and got her sturdy winter boots out. She didn’t want anything else from this room. She would have a fresh start.
Megan returned to her bed and lay down fully clothed, staring at the ceiling. She wouldn’t sleep tonight. Couldn’t sleep, not with hope and terror warring in her chest.
If they came—when they came—she would be ready.
Ready to run.
Ready to fight for her freedom.
Ready to risk everything for the chance to finally, finally be free.
CHAPTER 4
“Ready?” Webb asked as it grew closer to dawn. They’d decided to wait so that part of their escape would be as the dawn broke and they could push the horses to run faster. It would be too dangerous in the dark.
