Mark of the Damned | 18+

Come Away to the Water

Mark of the Damned is a registered work and its copyright is enforceable by law. Any attempt to exploit my work(s) for profit is illegal and will result in immediate legal action.

Note: This is a standalone story, but was written as a tie-in / origin story to The Playlist series. Enjoy!

© Myranda Rae 2023. All Rights Reserved.

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Come Away to the Water by Maroon 5

I won't do it.

Call me selfish or cold-hearted, call me uncaring and callous. I won't do it. I cannot.

Viscount O'Clery is rich, owning half of the homes in Wicklow, but he's nearly forty-five! I won't marry him. His thin greasy hair is always slicked to his head and his wispy mustache is unkept, often hanging over his lips. I can't imagine his narrow, slimy lips being my very first kiss.

Sneaking into the barn, I pull the smallest saddle into Clover's stall. I'm already stealing my father's fastest horse, I shouldn't take one of the better saddles, too.

Clicking my tongue, I pull her out into the misty early morning air. "Come on, girl."

Mounting the tight, uncomfortable saddle, I quietly steer her toward the fields. I can't risk anyone seeing me. The roads are too dangerous until I get far enough away from anyone acquainted with my family.

Father says it's my duty as a daughter. I need to help my family. I have to marry the Viscount so that my younger sisters will find themselves in a more advantageous position when it comes time for them to marry. I tried. I really did. I plastered a fake smile on my face and went to his manor for a meal.

In the brief moment we were alone, he pinned me against the wall with his boney, cold hand on my neck. He told me he couldn't wait to fill my cunt. He wanted children immediately. At least five of them, all boys.

I'm not educated on reproduction and childbearing, not really, but I know what every woman knows. Still, I don't believe I can control whether or not we have sons. If it had been up to them, my parents would not have had only four daughters.

The way his tongue swiped over his thin lips, the smell of his skin. I couldn't bear it. The mere thought of it, three weeks later, has a nauseous pit forming in my stomach.

I can't marry him.

So, I'm running away.

It will take at least two days on horseback to get to the harbor in Dublin. I'm not sure what I will do when I get there but I don't have time to think, I need to go now.

The tall, wet grass whips at my ankles as Clover runs toward my salvation. It's as if even she knows the dire circumstances of our departure. She's running fast and quiet, understanding that my life depends on it. All my future happiness is wrapped up in this escape.

I've never made this trip on my own. As it stands I've only been to Dublin twice. The fear that I'll lose my way keeps my body uncomfortably rigid. My muscles tense, in a constant state of high alert.

As the sun rises behind the thick clouds, I can see the muddy road that will take me to Greystones. If I make it there, I can relax.

Adjusting my hood and tucking my head down, I urge Clover on. We're still far too close to home. The chimneys of the houses we pass spill smoke into the sky, and people are waking up. Any one of them could see me. My father and the Viscount won't take my departure lightly. I expect the search will be extensive.