How to Lose a Bride in One Night (Forgotten Princesses #3)(5)

Everything came back in a rush then. She stopped herself just short of opening her eyes. She tensed and then quickly forced the tension back out, purging it from every limb as she concentrated on lying perfectly still. On not opening her eyes.

A soft breeze swam over her. The hem of her nightgown fluttered at her calves and she knew she was outside. Still near the water. She could hear the waves lapping the sides of the barge.

Cool hands held her. He was taking her somewhere. She knew without opening her eyes that it was Bloodsworth. Her husband. Her murderer. He thought he had killed her back in their cabin. Smothered her with a pillow. So where was he taking her now?

It was safe to assume he would finish his gruesome task once he realized she was still alive. She hung limply in his arms, not daring to so much as lift her chest to breathe. Her life depended on his belief that he held a corpse.

He came to a halt. It felt windier, standing in one place—wherever that was—no longer swaying with his movements. He adjusted her in his arms with the barest grunt. The moments stretched. The silence deafening. It took everything in her to play dead, to feign that she wasn’t aware of his body holding her so closely, of the hands gripping her—the same ones that had held a pillow over her face just moments ago.

Then she was lowered unceremoniously, dropped to the hard deck. Her head hit with a hard thump, her neck snapping back sharply, but she schooled her features into a blank mask and bit the inside of her cheek to keep from crying out. The wind buffeted her, playing with the hem of her night rail.

His voice rolled over her, his tones as crisp and familiar as ever. “Well, we can’t forget this, can we?”

He seized her hand, grabbing her ring finger tightly. His fingers pulled on the wedding band he had slid on only hours before. His grip was hard and merciless, twisting her finger in an unnatural direction in his effort to reclaim his family heirloom. “Don’t want to give it up, do you, wife?”

She prayed the ring would just slide free and rid her of this agony. At last it slid off her finger.

The soles of Bloodsworth’s boots scraped over the deck. She sensed him standing above her. His voice rang out in satisfaction. “There we go. Saved you from that nasty bit of rubbish.”

She envisioned him standing over her and addressing his precious family ring. She was “that nasty bit of rubbish.” How could she have ever thought he cared for her? She should have known her bridal settlement was the only thing that attracted his suit. And perhaps she had known that, but she thought he at least liked her. Enough to keep her around. Enough not to kill her.

His arms came around her again. He hefted her up with a grunt. “Little cow, I’m thinking you’ll sink straight to the bottom. Farewell, wife.” The last word was uttered with such scathing scorn she marveled that he had stomached marrying her at all. The entire ceremony must have revolted him.

And then she was falling through air.

Plunging deep into the abyss. Water rushed up all around her, enveloping her. She gasped at the sudden cold, swallowing a mouthful of briny water for the effort.

She swam to the surface, breaking free with a ragged gasp. Dragging a deep breath into her aching lungs, she tossed her head left and right against the swiftly moving waters, trying to clear the tangle of hair from her eyes.

The view had been deceptive from her window. The river had looked calm. Peaceful. But now a captive of its freezing depths, the current sucked at her, carrying her away from her wedding barge.

She squinted against the dark night, marking the dark looming shape of the barge, a hulking beast hunched over the waters that crept slowly away from her.

She detected Bloodsworth’s dark figure at the railing, his face a shadowy smudge on the night. She watched as he turned and disappeared back into the bowels of the barge, free of a wife. Free of her.

Swallowing back her terror, she kicked, grateful at least that she could swim. The shore didn’t look too far. Struggling to ignore the incessant ache in her ribs where Bloodsworth had struck her, she worked her arms and legs, only to discover that the shore was much farther than it looked, and the current was determined to keep her from it.

Choking, she strained to keep her head above the slapping waves. Her strong leg worked three times as hard and yet it wasn’t enough. Her exhaustion grew, dragging her down. The current slapped at her face, continuing to pull at her, tugging her along. She went under again and again, popping back up only to suck in a wet breath.

Jagged shapes emerged in the water, first only a few and then more, increasing in frequency. Rocks. She jerked to avoid them, but there were too many. Her foot scraped something sharp and jagged. She cried out and choked on water.

Suddenly pain slammed into her lame leg, spinning her. She quickly became confused, no longer sure what direction was up. Lancing pain shot up her limb, settling deep into her bone, reverberating to every nerve in her body.

She tried to kick her way to the surface, but one strong leg wasn’t enough to help her. Agony screamed through her lame leg, telling her something was wrong. Dreadfully wrong. She couldn’t force it to move.

Gray edged at her vision, closing in. She couldn’t do it anymore. Couldn’t fight. Bloodsworth had succeeded after all.

She wasn’t going to make it out of this river alive.



Owen squinted against the afternoon’s gray sky, swaying loosely in his saddle as his mount meandered along the road. Never mind that it was overcast. The day was too bright for him. The consequences of last night’s binge with a bottle of brandy still bore its effects. Thousands of tiny hammers beat inside his head.