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Blood.
I wonder whose it is.
I keep my gaze on my reflection as I pull the rest of the pins out of my hair and drop them along the marble counter, long blond hair caught in some. I think about the scene at the church. Think about where our men went during the attack. My brother had sent a dozen guards at least, but no one lifted a finger against the intruders.
It feels better to have the pins out of my hair, but the headache wasn’t from the tight chignon. It’s everything else that’s happened. And as I finger-comb my rebellious hair, I wonder what I’ll do. How I’m going to get out of this. Get back to Emma.
It's with her in mind that I return to the bedroom, where I try not to look at the dandelions. I close my eyes against the vision that comes. The same one that had my knees buckle at the church.
I try the windows, both of which are locked, along with the doors that lead out to the balcony. I’m on the backside of the house, and the view from here is something else. Blue ocean as far as the eye can see. Blue sky meeting it. Not a single cloud. I bet the stars shine bright here at night.
I walk back into the room, to the bed, and slip off my shoes to stand in stockings that have ripped in the chaos of the day. I slide my hand along my thigh beneath the dress to the small dagger strapped there. It was a birthday gift a few years ago. A pretty, small, opal-handled dagger. An antique, according to my father. Whenever I go out, I take a small pistol in my purse and strap the dagger to my thigh. In the car, when the man with the scarred face had grabbed my leg, I’d been grateful it was the one without the dagger or I’m sure he’d have taken it. I haven’t ever had to use either weapon. I’ve always had guards around me. But a lot of good they did me today.
Taking the dagger out of its sheath, I lie down on the bed and tuck it under the pillow. I keep my hand wrapped around it, pull the ratty blanket over myself, and close my eyes while I wait for my captor to return. I’m sure he’ll look through my clutch and find the pistol. He won’t be expecting another weapon. I wonder if he’d think me too squeamish to use a dagger. I hope he tests me.
