Free A Promise Given by Samantha James Page A

through the door. They stopped short when they saw
her father sitting at the table. Sabrina moved toward them, her gaze mutely
questioning.
    A spasm of pain crossed Alasdair's face. Wordlessly he held out something in
his hand.
    It was Margaret's mantle, sodden and dripping. She swallowed. "Wh- what is
this?"
    Alasdair's voice was very quiet. “We found it near the loch to the east of
the keep. It lay upon the rocks near the shore."
    The loch? A horrible fear choked her. Her gaze drifted to Ian. His features
were lined and drawn. They confirmed her worst suspicion. Blackness rimmed her
vision, but she did not lose consciousness—if only she could!
    Papa had pushed himself upright. "Nay," he cried. "Nay, it cannot be…
Margaret! My child!"
    Alasdair shook his head. "I'm very sorry, but it appears Margaret has
drowned." There was a world of silence. "She is dead, my lord."
Chapter 6
    « ^ »
    Two days later they knew it for certain. One of Margaret's slippers washed up
upon the shore of the loch. Only then did Papa allow a funeral mass to be said
for his beloved Margaret.
    At mass the next day, Sabrina stood in the kirk, still and pale. Ian and
Alasdair were on the other side of the aisle. Papa stood next to her.
    Though she was wrenched with grief inside, there were no tears. Certainly she
and Margaret had never been close; Margaret had always hidden her feelings
behind a facade of cool serenity. But Margaret was her only sister and now she
was gone.
    The mass ended. Father Stewart came forward to offer solace. As he laid a
hand upon Papa's shoulder, Papa began to weep. The sound tore into Sabrina's
heart like a dagger twisting and turning.
    Sabrina longed to comfort him, to offer what solace she could. Yet for what
purpose? He would only turn from her, for as always he wanted nothing from her…
Bitterness welled up in her breast. Why? her heart cried out. Why couldn't he
love her as he loved Margaret? Why couldn't he love her just a little? No doubt
he wished it was her and not Margaret who had died…
    Her breath came fast, then slow. In that moment Sabrina hated herself. Such
thoughts were wicked… as she was wicked. Papa had always said so. And now she
knew for certain it was true.
    Bile stung her throat. Her insides twisted into a sick, ugly knot. Blindly
she began to move through the maze of people gathered in the kirk toward the
entrance—most who had come for the wedding had stayed for the funeral. Outside,
the day was warm and cloudless. Her steps carried her forward, faster and
faster. Before she knew it, she was running—she knew not where nor did she care.
Branches stung her cheeks, but she cared not; neither did she hear the shout of
her name or the footsteps pounding behind her.
    She ran until her lungs burned with fire and she could run no more.
Exhausted, she sank to her knees. Her stomach was churning. Specks of black and
gray floated before her eyes. Unable to stop herself, she began to retch
violently.
    She was only dimly aware of someone kneeling beside her, a strong arm sliding
about her shoulders, of gentle fingers pulling her hair back.
    Her head was still spinning as she saw that it was Ian. He guided her to a
fallen log and helped her sit. The stream was nearby. Dimly she heard him dip a
cloth into the rushing waters. He returned and sat beside her. He then proceeded
to wipe her face and neck. Sabrina turned into the damp coolness gratefully, too
weak to thank him.
    When he had finished, she forced her eyes open. She braced herself inwardly,
for she was certain he might laugh, that he would taunt her anew for her
weakness. But he merely stared at her, his expression unreadable. Though she
longed to escape, her strength had deserted her.
    She averted her face. "You may leave now."
    "You are unwell."
    Sabrina's throat worked convulsively. "God's blood! Can no one do as I
ask?"
    "You should not be alone, Sabrina."
    She began to rock back and forth. Guilt rode