Caralee stared at Donovan, her emerald eyes wide with confusion and disbelief, the dim twilight catching glimmers of worry reflected in his anxious gaze. His words echoed oddly in her mind, distant yet sharply painful, each syllable carving deeper into the confusion that enveloped her.
"My father has become strange lately. Ever since you began your charge with us, he has become increasingly secluded. Locking himself away, withdrawing into the solitude of his library. He speaks to no one, not even to my mother."
Caralee nodded slowly, recalling the stern lord's recent detachment but never daring to question or consider its source. It was not her place, nor did she possess the right to pry into the affairs of those who had provided her shelter and livelihood.
Donovan continued, his voice trembling slightly, strained with a tension she had never seen before. "I overheard my father discussing you with another man," Donovan murmured, his voice scarcely louder than a breath.
Caralee's brow furrowed. Why would Lord Crossoux ever concern himself with someone as insignificant as her? She was a mere servant, a shadow, easily overlooked.
"My father received a visitor last night, I would not think anything of it, except like I said, his odd behavior as of late. So, I know it may not have been proper, but I took a special interest in their communication." Donovan continued, glancing anxiously around as though fearful the trees themselves might overhear.
"A stranger with eyes colder than winter ice. I had never seen him before, but his presence filled me with dread. From my hiding place, I overheard this man demanding that you be handed over to him, threatening terrible consequences should my father refuse."
A chill surged through Caralee's blood. Her heart quickened painfully against her ribs. Why would someone threaten the Lord to obtain her—a girl with no connections, no family, no history of any consequence?
"I did not remain long enough to hear my father's final answer," Donovan confessed, desperation seeping through his words. "I feared what I might learn. I fled to summon you immediately, to steal you away before that sinister figure had the opportunity to lay claim to you."
Donovan's expression shifted into mild disgust before it hardened into determination, his voice turning fierce with urgency. "Caralee, you must run, far and fast. Hide yourself from everyone. Do not stop until you are certain you are safe. In two weeks time, meet me at the inn on the edge of town. By then, I will uncover more information. Whatever transpires, I swear upon my life, I will not allow that creature to lay a hand on you."
Before she could fully comprehend his words, Donovan moved swiftly, taking sacks from his horse and securing them hurriedly onto her mare. Her thoughts whirled chaotically as he lifted her into the saddle, his strong arms lingering, reluctant to let go. Without warning, his lips captured hers, first gently, a farewell steeped in familiar courtesy. Then, as if some internal barrier shattered, his kisses deepened, urgent, fervent—each one a desperate plea, conveying the stark reality of danger.
The intensity of his embrace shook Caralee profoundly, forcing her to understand the gravity of his fear. Donovan had always been measured, reserved; now he trembled with raw emotion. Her heart raced wildly, confusion blending with anxiety. Suddenly, she found herself galloping away into the shadowed uncertainty, the world dissolving behind her as she fled into the night, her only guide— a dimly lit road beneath the vast expanse of darkening sky.
***
Fourteen endless days had passed, yet every detail of their hurried parting remained vivid and torturous within her memory. Now, the narrow road stretched ahead, cloaked in twilight as she cautiously approached the inn. Lanterns outside the rustic building flickered softly, guiding her weary steps.
"Please, God, let him be here," she prayed fervently, desperation bleeding into her thoughts. The faintest possibility that Donovan awaited inside was the single hope sustaining her. Hunger gnawed at her stomach mercilessly, thirst scratching at her throat, each step bringing greater dizziness and exhaustion.
The bustling inn emanated warmth and liveliness, laughter mingling with the rhythmic clinking of glasses and hearty voices within. Caralee moved quietly to the stables, soothing her tired mare, gently securing her with a discarded piece of rope. Compassion softened her gaze as she offered the weary animal handfuls of sweet-smelling hay. "Alright," she whispered softly, gently stroking the mare's silken mane. "Wish me luck."
Gathering her courage, she walked purposefully toward the inn's entrance, her heart thundering painfully within her chest. Entering discreetly, her presence remained, for the most part, unnoticed— initially. Inconsequential, amid the revelry of drunken patrons and boisterous laughter. The room, filled mostly with men, exuded an intimidating aura; a place not suited for a young woman alone.
Caralee quickly located a small, empty table near the back corner, her heart sinking as she scanned the room desperately, finding no sign of Donovan's familiar figure. Anxiety clenched at her throat, fear curling tightly in her chest. The innkeeper watched her suspiciously, his narrowed eyes appraising the trouble a lone woman might bring. But after seeing her sit quietly, he turned back to his tasks.
Seconds ticked slowly, each beat of the wall clock echoing painfully, amplifying her dread. Every moment without Donovan heightened her fear. Terrifying thoughts invaded her mind—could this have been some cruel ruse? Perhaps Donovan wanted nothing more than to rid himself of the burden she represented. Her insecurities whispered bitter doubts, taunting her heart cruelly.
The Inn's tavern door creaked and the metallic screech of aged hinges slowly opened, breaking her troubled reverie. Cara's pulse quickened painfully as her eyes shot toward the entrance, breath catching tightly in her throat.
But the figure that slipped silently inside was not Donovan. Instead, it was a small, peculiar man. His steps made no sound, his presence scarcely disturbing the air. His movements were unnaturally smooth, almost spectral, as he glided across the tavern floor, his eyes black, piercing the dimness with startling clarity. Even more disturbing, nobody else reacted to his entrance, as if nobody had seen or heard it— at all.
Those dark eyes scanned the room methodically until they locked onto her trembling form. Caralee's heart froze mid-beat, fear crystallizing within her chest. His gaze was inescapable, penetrating—she felt utterly exposed beneath its cold, calculating scrutiny.
For the first time since her escape, Caralee realized that the danger Donovan had feared was frighteningly real—and had assuredly, impossibly, just found her.