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The thought of him dragging her to her parents’ bed made her nauseous. But they were in too precarious a position to struggle. He turned her about, put his arm around her and started walking her down the stairs.

“This is far too slow,” he said, laughing quietly to himself.

She cried out as he picked her up by the waist like a sack of grain. She dangled against his side as he began to take the stairs faster and faster. She hung out over the edge, with the darkness and the torches whirling around her. She couldn’t scream or cry, couldn’t breathe from fear until they were closer to the ground.

He stumbled when they reached level ground, and Elizabeth fell and rolled away from him. Her breath came in gasps; she realized her face was wet with tears she didn’t remember shedding. She stared up at him, not concealing her fury and her fear.

Bannaster frowned as he looked down at her. “I was very careful not to drop you. Why are you on the ground? Come, let’s get up, girl, so we don’t frighten the soldiers.”

He reached for her, and she had no choice but to take his hand and allow herself to be pulled up. When he opened the door at the base of the tower, she ducked past him, between the soldiers, and started to run.

“What fun!” he called. “A chase!”

He might have been drunk, but he was fast. She couldn’t quite get away from him. Though she led him through maze-like corridors, she never lost him. The occasional servant pressed himself against the wall as she flew past, but she didn’t stop. But why didn’t he pass out?

Whenever he got close, he laughed like it was a childhood game; to her it was a childhood nightmare come back to life. Before her betrothal, there had always been men visiting Alderley, pushing themselves or their young sons on her, making her feel hunted. She had stopped sleeping from the nightmares; her appetite had faded, until finally her parents had taken her away⁠—

To John’s family castle, the first place she remembered feeling at peace. The betrothal had protected her, made her feel safe again, but all of that was gone. Would she ever in her life be able to stop running?

The need for John was like a sudden, vivid ache in her chest, but she did not lead the viscount to him. John would protect her even if it got him imprisoned or killed.

And she didn’t want him dead.

At last her lungs could no longer bear the strain. She couldn’t stop alone in a corridor, knowing what would happen. She could only go to the great hall in hopes that Bannaster could be distracted.

She ran beneath an arched doorway and to the hearth in the great hall. Soldiers were dancing with maidservants to the music of a pipe and lute. Milburn was playing Tables, moving his pieces on the board; he looked up and frowned at her. She could only imagine what she looked like. Her face was hot with perspiration, and she wished she could pull the wimple from her hair and toss it into the fire.

Though her breathing was unsteady, she tried to walk instead of run across the room, but the muscles in her legs were shaky. John was there; he had been seated beside Philip on a bench, but he had risen to his feet at the sight of her. His brows drew together ominously, and his hand went to the dagger at his waist.

Nay, she had not meant to involve him—what had she been thinking? She shook her head frantically at him, and was grateful when Philip grabbed his arm from behind.

“Anne!” Bannaster shouted her name. “You’ve had your fun.”

He was right behind her. He whirled her about, pulled her to him, and kissed her. Though the soldiers cheered, even Elizabeth heard the unnatural silence that descended on the rest of the great hall.

The viscount lifted his head and looked about, his drunken smile uncertain. “Who stopped the music? I wanted to dance with Anne.”

“Fire!” a voice shrieked.

Bannaster let go of her immediately, turning about, and Elizabeth did the same. She saw no evidence of fire—but Adalia, the one who had shouted, was motioning frantically to the kitchens.

Everywhere people started running—many of the soldiers fled for the great double doors to the outside, but her own people, bless them, went running for buckets. Bannaster, probably fearful that his hoped-for home would not be ruined, followed everyone toward the kitchens.

Elizabeth would have also, but someone caught her from behind. She cried out instinctively.

“’Tis me!” John said.

With a shudder, she threw her arms around him. He picked her right up off the floor and held her.

“Did he hurt you?” John said against her ear.

“Nay, I am just frightened, and so weary from leading him about the castle. Even drunk, he can run!”

John put her down, and she awkwardly stepped away from him. “Is there truly a fire?” she asked, suddenly shy about the way she’d reacted to him. Surely she was so frightened that anyone but Bannaster would have served the same purpose.

“I doubt it,” he said. “But we’ll go see.”

There were shouts coming from the kitchen, and only the smallest wisp of smoke. Bannaster stood in the doorway, looking at the confusion within, and just before Elizabeth and John got there, a bucket of water drenched him.