“Everything’s fine. There was...an accident, that’s all. Nothing you need to worry about.”
“Is Ethan in there?”
“Isla,” Ryder’s tone sharpened. “Please. I can handle it.”
Isla took a step backwards, stunned by Ryder’s sudden switch in temperament. She’d thought they were friends, and his sudden harshness stung. She turned away quickly so that he wouldn’t see the hurt in her expression.
At the top of the staircase she glanced back over her shoulder, but Ryder was already gone, the door closed. Straining her ears she could make out the chink of glass, no doubt being swept away, and lower still- a sound she recognised, but dismissed as impossible. It couldn’t be, could it?
Her blood stilled in her veins, as the sound carried under the closed door to her ears. Stifled and suppressed, yes, and dulled by distance...but there was no mistaking the uneven gasps for breath, and low mutterings choked off by wracking sobs. Ethan was crying.
*
The rain had stopped, but the wind howled across the open grounds, rushing up to the walls of the castle and beating against them like an invader demanding entry. Isla braced herself against the onslaught, her head bent low, her hair tucked inside the hood of her coat. Stray strands escaped, streaks of blonde whipping wildly across her face.
She pushed on, not knowing where she was heading, not caring. All she knew was that she couldn’t stay in Rosehill a minute longer. Sure, she could have blocked out the muffled sobbing, closed a heavy door or two, turned her attention to yet another disused, unappreciated antique. But the anguish she’d overheard in those brief moments, wasn’t something she could as easily dismiss.
She’d heard men cry before, she’d comforted housemates at uni through break-ups and exam failures, had held a friend’s hand through a funeral. But what she’d heard just now, from behind Ethan MacRae’s door, was incomparable to any of that. His tears had held pure, unfettered agony. An unimaginable torment, repressed she was sure because he knew she was there listening. How much worse would it have been if she wasn’t?
Isla’s own eyes filled at the thought. She tipped her head back, blinking up at the heavy, grey sky, refusing to let the tears fall.
Beneath her feet, the ground changed from the firm, shifting gravel of the driveway to the soft, rain-slicked grass of Rosehill’s neglected lawns. Ahead, lay the dense cluster of trees marking the edge of Rose Wood- the sprawling woodland belonging to the Rosehill estate. According to Ryder, in the not-too-distant past, the family would have held shooting parties and hunts in there, killing for sport, just because they could. She fought back a shudder and marched on, her only aim to put as much distance as she could between herself and the oppressive castle walls...and the sound of Ethan crying.
Isla paused at the tree line. It was darker than she’d expected, the canopy of gnarled, bare branches obliterating what little light remained of the day. A single droplet of rain fell onto the toe of her leather boot. She frowned down at it, and then up at the sky, which was rapidly changing from dove to charcoal.
She stepped between the trees, onto a carpet of mulch and leaves, penetrated only by knotted tree roots. Without their leaves, the ancient beech trees would provide limited protection, if the heavens did open, but it would be better than nothing, and better than being inside Rosehill.
Isla walked quickly, trying to occupy her mind with the plotting of a safe passageway between the thick, heavily grooved tree trunks, and maze of gnarled roots stretching across her path. The more concentration she gave to her current surroundings, the less likely her mind was to wander back to the castle, and what might be happening in Ethan MacRae’s bedroom right now.
Would Ryder comfort him? Or was sweeping up broken glass the extent of his support?
The thought of anyone crying like that, without someone to hold them made Isla’s heart hurt. That it was Ethan, forced her to stop a moment, and take a shaky breath. Should she have argued with Ryder? Insisted to be allowed in to see him? Pushed past him? The idea was ridiculous, of course. Ryder was twice her size. And anyway, what exactly would she have done, even if he had relented? Ethan was infinitely more likely to chase Isla out of there himself than to allow her to wipe away his tears.
Isla jerked her head, as if she could shake the image from her mind, and leave it there on the woodland floor. From the corner of her eye, she caught sight of something between the trees- a flash of colour among the grey. Flowers? She moved closer.
At the foot of an old beech tree, lay a carpet of roses in various states of decay. Their pale stems and papery petals overlapping. A handful of the flowers still held their colour- splashes of vivid red against the smooth, silver bark.
Why were they there?
Isla crouched down and lifted the freshest flower from the dirt. She smoothed her thumb across the velvet petals and held it to her nose. Someone had cut these flowers, and brought them here - individually, it seemed - over a long period.
Isla gasped. Ethan. It had to be. But for what reason?
She placed the rose back among the others and stood up. Stepping back from the tree she felt a sudden jolt of déjà vu. A ripple of recognition shuddered through her. The funeral. The one she’d just been thinking about. Her friend’s ex had died, and he’d felt awkward about going alone, so Isla had driven him there, and been his shoulder to cry on. But it wasn’t his quiet tears she was remembering. It was the flowers...and the grave. Isla took a step backwards, and then another.
That wasn’t possible though, was it? This was a woodland, not a cemetery. Besides, who had died?
Isla shivered and turned away from the heap of decaying roses. Suddenly the lonely rooms of the castle didn’t seem so bad.
She quickened her pace, moving back through the trees, the way she’d come. Or was it? The sky had grown darker overhead, and it was impossible to tell one gnarled trunk from another. Still, she was sure she wasn’t far now-
“Argh!” Isla found herself sprawled on the cold, wet ground, with no idea how she’d got there.
A tree root? She pushed herself onto her knees, wincing at the sting of her palms, and squinted around for the cause of her fall, but there was nothing she could see that would have brought her down so suddenly, and violently.
She tried to stand, but her foot was caught on something behind her. Isla yanked it and pain seared across her ankle.
“Shit!” She twisted around, sitting down heavily onto the ground, and ran her hands across the surface of the decaying leaves, but whatever had caught her, was hidden below their surface. She shuffled through the mud, grateful no one else was around to witness her embarrassment and reached towards her trapped foot. It was probably just a bramble or-
“Ouch!” Isla yanked her hand away instinctively, and a droplet of blood fell from the end of her finger onto the rotting leaves.
“What the hell?”
She tried again, slower this time, parting the leaves around her boot with care. That’s when she felt it: the cold, narrow wire, encircling her ankle like a cuff.
Panicked she yanked her foot backwards and felt it tighten further around the soft leather of her boot. If she’d been wearing anything else, the sharp wire would be pressing against her skin already. An image sprung into her mind, of glassy eyes and bloodied paws. Oh god.
Isla’s pulse raced and her mind whirred. She was trapped, that much was obvious, but what was less obvious was how she was going to escape.
She’d left the castle with only her coat. Her phone sat beside the candelabra, abandoned at the sound of Ethan’s unearthly moan. No one knew where she was. How long would it be until they noticed she was missing? She didn’t even know what time it was. Her only indicator was the changing shadows across the woodland floor. Panic flared in her chest, and Isla opened her mouth, ready to scream.
Snap.
The sound was unmistakable. A twig cracking underfoot. Isla pressed her mouth shut. She should call out, she knew. Logically, whoever was there,
among the trees, could help her, free her...maybe it was the person who had laid the trap she was now caught in. But who was that, exactly? And what kind of person laid traps on someone else’s land, and left the spoils to waste?
The hairs on Isla’s neck prickled, and an uneasy feeling settled in her gut.
If she wanted to attract attention, all she had to do was yell. She could sense a presence in the trees with her. She was certain that whoever it was, couldn’t be far away, but her body refused to cooperate, and Isla sat frozen in the shadow of a great, wide beech, her lips as tightly closed as if sewn together. Stars danced in her peripheral vision, and she realised that she was scarcely breathing, and likely to pass out if she didn’t start soon. She strained her ears for another sound of movement, another hint that someone was nearby. But all was quiet. For better or for worse, she was alone.
Isla gulped air greedily and scrabbled at the ground, dirt clogging her nails. There had to be a way to get out of this thing. Had to be. But with every slight movement, the wire tightened fractionally, the leather of her boot creaking in protest. Oh god.
She was trapped. Really, truly, trapped. Like a wounded animal sprawled across the ground, her only hope now was that whoever eventually found her, would take pity and set her free.
Eighteen
The damp ground had soaked Isla’s trousers through to her skin. She shivered, pressing her back into the mossy trunk. Even her coat was sodden, thanks to the near-constant drizzle of rain that had started not long after she’d fallen.
How long had she been out here? It felt like a lifetime, but in reality, she had no clue. All Isla knew was that she’d had plenty of time to regret not calling out when she’d thought there was someone nearby. No matter who had snapped that twig underfoot, it would have been better than this.
Strangely, she didn’t feel cold anymore, but she couldn’t stop shivering, and her muscles ached from the effort. Surely they would have noticed she was missing by now? Isla clenched her jaw to keep her teeth from chattering. In the silence that followed she thought she heard something- a rustle of wet leaves, heavy footsteps on the soft ground. She waited, listening, but the only sound was her own harsh, uneven breathing. Suddenly exhausted, Isla closed her eyes.
*
“Isla?” She recognised Ethan’s voice instantly, but it was dark now, and she couldn’t make him out. She couldn’t even see her hand in front of her face.
A sudden flare of light illuminated the space in front of her. Isla scrunched up her eyes against the brightness until gradually they adjusted. Ethan stood before her. There was something different about his appearance, that she couldn’t put her finger on until he held the candelabra up to his face. His scars were gone, his complexion smooth, his eyes were focused...on her.
“You found me,” she murmured in amazement.
Ethan looked pained. Isla lifted a hand towards his face, touching the side of it lightly with her fingertips. He startled beneath her touch but didn’t pull away. She smoothed her thumb across his cheekbone. His skin was soft and warm. When she took her hand away, a dark smear marred his pale skin.
Isla frowned. “Are you hurt?”
Concern creased Ethan’s brow, but he didn’t answer. Instead, he turned away. “We should hurry before she gets any worse.”
Hands clasped around Isla’s calf, and she jerked in surprise.
“Easy,” Ethan’s voice murmured close to her ear. “Hold still, and we’ll have you freed in no time, right, Ryder?”
Ryder was here too? Isla blinked sleepily in the darkness. She didn’t hear Ryder’s reply but felt a gentle tugging on her leg.
“Ouch,” she said automatically, though it didn’t hurt, not really. Everything felt soft and foggy like her entire body had been to the dentist, even her brain. Her eyelids were heavy, and the shapes she could make out through her damp lashes made little sense. Better to keep them closed…
“Stay with us, Isla.” That was Ryder now. “You need to talk to her. If she falls unconscious…” his sentence hung unfinished.
“I dinnae ken what to say.” Isla had never heard Ethan sound so uncertain.
“Anything will do. Just keep her awake, and talking if you can.”
“Aye, right. Isla? Can you hear me?” Ethan’s voice came from right beside her now.
Isla nodded, sleepily.
“What are you doing out here in the wood?”
Wood? Isla forced her eyes open, and the blurred shapes she’d mistaken for furniture morphed into tree trunks and branches. The candelabra- a torch, resting on the ground beside her, its beam illuminated Ryder who knelt at her feet. Ethan crouched in shadow at her side. Isla tried to remember how she’d got there, but her mind was a blur. She remembered feeling sad, but not why. She remembered Ethan’s face tilting towards hers…
“You were going to kiss me,” she blurted.
The hands around her ankle stilled.
Ethan coughed. “Isla, I-”
“But you didn’t,” she mumbled.
There was a pause. “No.”
The gentle tugging sensation on her left foot resumed. There was a sudden exclamation of surprise from Ryder, and squelch of wet leaves, and Isla realised that her foot was no longer inside her boot. She wiggled her toes gratefully.
“Why didn’t you?” She turned back to Ethan, but he was turned away from her, his face cast in shadow.
“I’m sorry,” he said finally, turning back to her.
Isla frowned. He was sorry he hadn’t? Or he was sorry he’d thought about it at all? His expression was anguished, and she suddenly remembered the mournful cries from beneath his door.
“You were crying,” she said.
A sharp intake of breath, and then silence. Isla’s eyelids fluttered against her will.
“Ethan,” it was Ryder’s voice, a note of warning.
“I was,” he admitted finally.
“What happened?” She forced her eyes open, wanting to see Ethan’s face when he answered, but the branches of the ancient beech shrouded them both in darkness below the moonless sky.
“Memories,” Ethan answered.
Something was pulling at Isla’s foot again, and she yanked it away in irritation.
“Don’t-! Don’t move. Ethan...” Ryder lowered his voice so that Isla couldn’t quite make out the rest of his words.
Ethan muttered something in reply that she didn’t understand.
“But I thought they were illegal?” Ryder said.
“They are.” Ethan’s voice was grim.
Isla let her eyelids fall closed again. She could have sworn she heard Ryder say something about wire cutters. Then someone gripped her calf firmly between their hands.
“Ethan, wait-” Ryder protested.
“There isnae time.”
Her leg was yanked swiftly, and Ethan let out a chorus of low expletives.
“Are you okay?” Ryder’s voice was low and anxious.
Isla didn’t know if the question was aimed at her, but she couldn’t have answered even if it was. An unbearable sleepiness had fallen over her, like a shroud. She was dimly aware of being lifted off the ground before she was rocked gently into sleep.
*
Ethan heard Ryder lowering Isla with a rustle of fabric, and then the scrape of the chaise legs against the floor, as Ryder dragged it across the study.
“I’ll get the fire going,” Ryder said. “You take off her clothes.”
“I- what?”
“She can’t stay in those wet things, Ethan.”
“I know, but-”
“And of the two of us, better it’s you that undresses her.”
“Because at least I can’t see?” Ethan snapped.
“That wasn’t what I meant at all,” Ryder said quietly.
Ethan crossed the room slowly. He found the back of the sofa with his hands and then knelt beside it. He swallowed hard and reached out tentatively. His hands found her arm first, thank god, and he began peeling Isla’s
damp coat from her body. She stirred, murmuring something he couldn’t make out.
Her shirt felt relatively dry, but there was no way she could stay in her trousers, already they were soaking the fabric of the chaise longue beneath her legs.
Ethan steeled himself and found the buttons on her waistband. He froze. He couldn’t do this. Isla shivered, her body vibrating beneath his hands, and without thinking, Ethan unfastened her trousers, and peeled them from her legs before he lost his nerve. God, if the old Ethan could see him now- dithering beside a beautiful woman, filled with anxiety rather than lust...he wouldn’t even recognise himself.
Not that he’d been entirely unaware of Isla’s shape as he’d undressed her, but he was trying not to dwell on the shape of her thighs, or the softness of her bare skin beneath his hands.
“Have we got a blanket?” he asked gruffly.
“Here-” Ryder passed him something thick, and scratchy.
Ethan draped it over Isla, tucking it up around her chin. Her breath huffed against his hands, and he consoled himself that at least she was alive. Half-frozen, and probably traumatised, but breathing. No thanks to him.
He heard the gentle thump of another log being added to the fire, and a smoky smell filled the room.
“That should do it,” Ryder said.
Ethan rocked back onto his heels and ran a hand through his hair exasperatedly. “Why isn’t she waking up?”
“She will. What’s that on your face?”
“Dirt, I think, from when she...touched me.”
“No, not that.” Ryder stepped closer. “Ethan, are you bleeding?”
“Oh, that. The trap caught my hand. I think I pulled my stitches.”
He’d pulled them almost immediately after Ryder had done them, but Ethan wasn’t about to admit that. Tonight’s damage was just the icing on the cake. At this rate, he’d be lucky to have a hand left to play the piano with. Not that he intended to ever again.
“Let me see.” Ryder’s voice was firm.
Ethan squeezed his palm shut, knowing what Ryder’s reaction would be.
“I’m fine. Can we just focus on Isla?”
Out of Sight Page 13