The ride back was silent.
Uncle Jarren didn't speak a word to her.
Yeren.
He had gotten her into trouble. She should have known better than to follow him out of the hall without a female escort.
And where was he now? Probably laughing at her wherever he is.
Her Uncle slid into the house without a word to her or his son.
For some reason, her blood ran cold. The carriage rider rode the carriage away. She watched him, wishing she was inside.
Arlan waited for her silently, refusing to meet her gaze.
They walked into the house together. Even the woods around them stood eeriely silent.
The moon smiled down at them, distant yet as close as the winds that caressed their skins.
It wasn't Margaret that awaited her at the bottom of the stairs - it was another lady, one she hadn't seen before.
A wisp of the woman's hair slipped out of the cap at her forehead.
Brown. Her hair was brown.
The maid smiled at her - a thin and watery imitation of a smile, rather.
