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Chapter 1
Winter 1741
Blake heard a clink of metal as he tried to move his hands. Right, he was shackled. He’d almost forgotten. His head lolled forward as if it was too heavy for his neck to hold upright. He opened his eyelids and saw his bare chest was covered in dirt and blood. Slash marks and burns dotted his flesh, and his breeches were likewise torn and frayed. At least they were still keeping him modest.
“Passed out again, mate?” A hoarse, accented voice made Blake’s head snap up.
A huge, broad-shouldered man, over six feet tall, stood before him. His long hair was dirty and covered with blood, his clothing filthy and in disarray. He held a small hammer and a rusty nail in his hands.
“I need you awake,” the man growled between his brown, crooked teeth. “So you can tell me what you know about them shadows. Otherwise…” He looked appreciatively at his nail and shrugged his enormous shoulders. The action brought the nail and hammer into the thin line of light cracking through the veiled window, making the instruments glint ominously.
Blake felt sweat running down his forehead and the back of his neck. The sight of that rusty nail alone would make Blake blab all the secrets in the world, even if he hadn’t already endured hours of torture.
The trouble was, Blake had no idea what the foul-smelling ruffian wanted from him. He was prattling on about some covert group of criminals called The Shadows. Blathering on about how nobody knew who their leader was and where they were based. And somehow, he thought that Blake had answers to these questions.
Well, Blake didn’t.
He’d tried pleading ignorance. He’d tried professing innocence, denying any knowledge of The Shadows and anything related to them, but it hadn’t done any good. In fact, it only made things worse, since his captors enjoyed making him cry and beg. The nail and hammer were only the latest additions to other cruel implements the thugs had used on Blake’s body. He’d already been starved and showered with ice-cold water. There were three or four bandits, and they came in one after another, each with his own ideas of torture.
Blake had quickly learned that keeping silent was the only way to lessen the abuse inflicted by his tormentors. That knowledge, however, didn’t prevent his limbs from trembling and his throat from making small, pathetic mewling sounds in terror. He shut his eyes tightly, so he wouldn’t see his knees shaking in trepidation.
“You’re not speaking again,” the thug continued his monologue. “Which means only one thing.”
He advanced on Blake, kneeled in front of him, and Blake felt the nail being placed right below his kneecap. Blake tried to pull his leg away with a whimper, but he was shackled to the floor by the ankle, and the movement only caused him pain. He gritted his teeth and started breathing frantically in panic.
“The Shadows, mate.”
Blake opened his eyes and saw the thug looking up at him. Then he suggestively placed the hammer to the bud of the nail and raised his eyebrows.
“No?” The thug lifted the hammer, preparing for the swing, not taking his eyes off Blake.
“No!”
Blake awakened from sleep with a start. Cold sweat ran from his forehead and temples and down his face. He was breathing heavily as if he’d run for miles. His hand immediately moved and caressed his numb knee. He looked around the dark room. The sounds of the waves crashing against the outer walls soothed his raw nerves. He was lying on the floor, his limbs swaying intact with the ship.
It was just a dream. He was safe.
Blake ran his hand over his sweaty forehead, then scrubbed his palm down his face. As he moved his hand even lower, he encountered the old chain around his neck. He tugged on it until he reached a small locket pendant. He opened the locket and peered inside.
Blake couldn’t see well in almost complete darkness, but he didn’t have to. He knew what he’d find there. A portrait of a beautiful young lady, his wife.
If it were light enough, he’d see her innocent face staring directly at him. He’d see her golden locks collected at the top of her head in a neat chignon, her lush mouth in a sensual pout.
Blake closed the locket and held it protectively in his tight fist, clutching it to his chest. He’d be back soon. He’d be reunited with his beautiful Annalise, and everything would be all right once again.
* * *
Annalise sat on the bed in her white chemise, staring into the fire. The flames danced in the hearth, licking at the walls, crackling softly, and bathing the room with a faint glow. A light smile played about her lips. It was the day of her betrothal ball. The second one in her lifetime and, she hoped, the last. The thought of going through it all again—the wedding, the wedding night—made her shiver.
“Are you cold, my lady?” her lady’s maid, Ruth, called out and moved to stand beside her. “Here, we better clothe you quick.” The maid handed Annalise her stockings, and she diligently put them on. The white silk was cool against her warm skin, but the sensation was not unpleasant. She took the garter from her maid’s hands, wrapped it above her knee, and tied it in a knot.
Ruth had dressed Annalise for her first betrothal ball too. She was also the one who’d readied her for her wedding day and wedding night.
Goosebumps crept up her hands as Annalise remembered her first betrothal ball and how excited she was that day. Hopping as if on clouds, happy, starry-eyed, young, and oh, so naïve. She shook her head at the memories.
This time would be different. At the very least, she knew what waited for her on her wedding night. And this time she knew the man she was marrying.
Kensington was a nice, reliable gentleman. She had known him her entire life, and he’d always been there for her. He was her friend. After the previous disaster of a marriage, this was exactly what she needed.
