Untamed {Mature Reading}

Chapter IX

Bianca was at a loss with what to do. She had considered venturing down into the stables, or maybe even help out in the kitchen with Ms Lowe and the girls. But she could not muster the will power for either.

She needed to be alone with her thoughts, to gather them and collect them. She needed to pray.

She was in half a mind to do it there in the all by the warmth of the fire, but Callum's earlier words still lingered in her ear.

With careful steps, she left the great hall, keeping her head down as she tried to navigate her way out of the castle. It wasn't so bad as before. Maybe it was because there has been an unspoken agreement that Bianca would not attempt to run away, or maybe it was purely logic that she had nowhere to go and would only be signing her own death warrant should she venture too far.

Or, maybe it was the simple fact that Callum had found something far more interesting to play with and that Bianca was now just another maid to do the soon-to-be Lady Lockhart's bidding.

Regardless, she kept her head down as she continued on her way, hoping to draw as little attention to herself as possible.

Bianca found herself slipping out the front gates, trying not to look at those who were working around her. There seemed to be life within the cold, remote castle. As if people fought to keep some humanity while their Laird was anything but humane.

Burly men were carrying large sacks towards Ms Lowe's kitchen while maids hung out bedsheets and children ran around them, chased after a large shaggy dog.

The sight could have been easily mistaken for Bianca's village. Enough so that longing ached in her chest. Perhaps in time the pain would dull and she would grow used to the hollowness inside of her. Or perhaps she was destined to bear the burden of their loss for the rest of her life, to carry on the memory of Aoife the milk maiden, or Colm the baker or even little Rowan who was just a babe when he and his family were slaughtered. Bianca could still remember the night he was born, pump and pink as she blessed him with a long and healthy life.

Prayers did not do them any good, did they? She could hear Callum's earlier taunts from when they first had met. They way he scoffed at her being a priestess.

They had not done her people any good, that she could admit. What was gods and prayers when the savage cut of a blade wielded more power?

The wind stirred, pulling Bianca out of her thoughts. A shiver ran through her body as she looked about her, noting that she has left the castle grounds and was met with the bottom of a large hill. She hugged herself close, wishing for a cloak, her hair whipping in the biting wind.

A part of her longed to turn back, but what was there for her? A cold castle and and even colder captor?

Despite everything, of what she knew she had to do, the urge to run whispered in her ear. With was seductive, soft and suggestive the way she imagined a lover's voice to be.

Her nails bit into the soft, yielding earth as she began to half walk, half climb up the rocky hill. The way her fingers sank into the soft earth seemed to ground her, connect her to the land. Bianca eyes closed as she moved, the cold kiss of wind mingled with the softest spell of rain, brushed against her face.

Her dress made it hard, the muscles in her legs protesting the farther she walked. Her lungs burned with every breath she took, but there was a strange sense of satisfaction to be had, like the pain was a reminder, a silent offering to the gods and those she lost.

The air seemed to still when she finally made it to the top.

But what she saw took her breath away.