Her heart sped in terror. She’d had a dream, a dream of a man digging in the woods, fingers muddy, nails broken, frantic and agitated.
But then she’d felt large hands on her wrists, restraining her; she was at the asylum. The guard was shaking her, trying to tie her arms. She’d fought, hitting out at him, but it wasn’t a guard – it was Lucas.
When the first dream had come to her at the asylum, she’d screamed out in the night, falling to the floor and flailing in terror. She’d felt ashamed, and the doctors had advised tying her to the bed. They’d said it was to prevent any harm coming to her.
At first, Mrs Tadlow had undone the ropes at dusk and then blamed the hungry rats.
So they’d used metal cuffs instead that bit into her wrists and caused blood to run down her arms. She’d stayed awake all night, listening to others scream, and then slept all day.
A year she’d been restrained, every night, until a new doctor had arrived and disagreed with their use. He’d fed the noisy patients laudanum instead, preferring a quiet life. But Rosalind had already learned from the cuffs to keep silent at night. She’d never told Benedict about those.
“We will soon stop that shivering and get you warm,” Lucas whispered, his arm squeezing her close.
She couldn’t tell him that it wasn’t the cold. It was fear and anger and shame and…a realisation.
Love could not mend everything. She’d been wrong.
Lucas had been wrong too: the past did matter – it tainted and twisted the present and the future. Love only made it more complicated.
God, she’d made him bleed.
Who would want a woman who woke screaming? A woman who couldn’t bear to be held in the dark? A banshee, he’d said. A witch. She would never be able to hide what she was… If Lucas was found out to have a wife that had spent five years in an asylum, they would be social pariahs. She’d be returned there. Lucas would be prevented from practising medicine. He’d come to hate her.
A soft breath of mint caressed her ear. This could never be. It should never have happened. Now it would end.
With lips raw from biting, she lightly touched Lucas’s hand. She loved this man with every fibre of her being, but he’d seen enough madness and bloodshed in his lifetime. And that is why she would let him go, to find a nice gentle wife, to have childr– Oh God!
Fear tore at her. She didn’t know if the curse was hereditary, but she couldn’t, wouldn’t pass this on to a babe.
She pulled his arm tighter. This was her one last night of warmth, one last night to be cherished, one wonderful night she would always remember. Her body had stopped trembling but her very soul felt frozen. It would never be warm again.
