Page 99 of Waking Roslyn

Our lovely moment was interrupted by the sound of horse hooves.

I immediately stiffened and pulled back, tilting my ear toward the sound. John and I both looked to each other and then moved to the window, drawing back the curtains.

I watched the single rider approach, confused when I did not recognize him. Who would be showing up at this early hour if they were not known to my family?

The man slid from the horse, and I noticed that the satchel slung across his body was one commonly carried by messengers. He walked close enough to the house that we could not see him from the window, but we heard the door creak on its hinges, and a few moments later, he appeared again, jogging down the steps and climbing back onto his horse.

I turned to John, a question on my face. He ran his hands through his hair and pulled his shoulders back before taking several steps away from me and tilting his head toward the open door. “I believe you are about to receive a letter.”

Sure enough, a few moments later, the butler stepped quietly into the room. “My lady,” he said with a bow. “This arrived for you.” He crossed to where I stood frozen to the spot and handed it to me.

“Did the messenger say anything?”

The butler shook his head. “Only that you needed to receive this right away.”

“Thank you.”

He nodded and excused himself.

I stared down at the folded missive. There was no name on the outside, and the wax that held it together was not imprinted with a seal. Before I could summon the courage to open it, John’s hand gently took it from my fingers.

He carefully opened it and unfolded it, looking at it front and back.

“What does it say?” I asked.

He shrugged and gave me a self-deprecating smile. “Can’t read, my lady. I only wanted to be sure it was not coated in some foreign substance.” He handed it back to me.

My weak reply was simply “Oh,” because someone might be trying to kill me.

I looked down at the short note, and my heart sank.

Lady Roslyn,

I fear it is not safe for you here. I must advise you to run. I’m sorry.

22

Roslyn

I wanted to leave that very moment, but my mother clung to me. “I won’t stop you from going, Rosie. I want you to feel safe, but please, for my sake, stay and eat. It’s your birthday. I have breakfast all planned to celebrate.”

My chin pulled back. It was my birthday. I’d forgotten.

“Then I can help you pack,” my mother continued, a desperate quality to her voice that made my heart ache as she begged, “Just give me a little more…time.”

Though everything inside me writhed at the thought of delaying my departure, I could not tell my mother no. She so desperately wanted to keep me with her, and I desperately wished that I could stay. I loved my home and I loved my parents, yet I could not love being here when it felt like death was stalking every step I took. Still, I could spare an hour or two. And who was to say that I would not be in just as much jeopardy on the road as I would be in this house? I swallowed at that thought. Would I ever, ever feel safe again?

As we sat down to eat, she did her best to smile throughout, but her eyes kept getting misty. “We never found time for you to play for me, dear. I’ve missed hearing you plucking away at your harp.” Her brow furrowed a bit. “I’m surprised you haven’t spent any time with it.”

I smiled sadly. “Unfortunately, I didn’t have access to a harp at Lisette’s home.”

Her shoulders fell a little. “I suppose not.”

“And the one at Winberg Castle belongs to the duchess, and I dared not touch it.”

Her face fell. “Have you played at all since you left?”

I shook my head. Just one more thing that I’d lost.