Mark of the Damned | 18+

Come Away to the Water

I want to disappear like the morning fog. No traces left behind. One minute I was home in my bed then I was gone, never to be seen again. Leave no leads to follow. That is the only way I truly escape.

"Run, Clover, go!" I beg her.

Mud from the road splashes up against us, covering my legs and skirt. I haven't had time to care about the chill and dampness in the air. The mud and wet haze seep into my clothes, freezing me down to the bone.

Pressing forward, I ignore everything but the long road ahead. If I focus, even for a moment, on the brittle cold in my fingers and how difficult it's becoming to hold the reins, I will be able to think of nothing else.

As the hours pass, the saddle digs into my thighs, chaffing and bruising. Shifting uncomfortably, I push through. Each step brings me closer to freedom, closer to a life of possibilities. I'm heading toward a real future. I have the chance to be more than Ferris Dubhghall's daughter or Seamus O'Cleary's wife.

Maybe I can sail to the Americas.

Thoughts of the adventures to come keep me company as we walk until dark. Silly, childish ideas of travel and excitement fill my head. Daydreams about a life filled with passion and romance.

A marriage for love is rare but I long for it. I imagine any life, no matter the circumstances, would feel worthwhile with true love.

Under the cover of darkness, I pull Clover from the road, hiding in the thicket. Bringing hay was not an option so we share apples and carrots in the scratchy brush.

The ground is cold and the night is full of sounds that make it impossible to sleep. Birds and small animals, the wind whistling through the leaves, the occasional snap of a twig, everything is frightening. Pulling my shaw around my face, I nestle into the mud, exhausted but too restless to drift off.

The sound of hooves against the ground wakes me just before dawn. My body aches and moans from cold and a night on rocky ground. Peering out from my hidden place in the leaves, I listen for any noise. The rider passed by quickly, leaving me alone again.

For a moment, my heart stopped beating. I was sure that I was caught. That my father had managed to find me even with my lead and faster horse.

Unable to shake the nervous feeling, I pull Clover out of the brush and start our journey before the sun. The better part of the morning is spent looking over my shoulder. Each person that passes by on the trail seems menacing. They're all plotting against me. Paranoia has settled into my chest, weighing heavily on my lungs.

The closer I get to Dublin, the busier the road becomes. People are coming and going in both directions on the narrow path. With my hood up and my head tucked down, I keep myself covered from passersby.

My breath catches in my throat as galloping hooves thunder down the road toward me.

"Clover, go," I force her forward.

My heart pounds in my chest as I push her as fast as she can run. I'm filled with dread as the city comes into view. I'm so close to freedom that I can almost taste it. If I can make it there, I can hide, get lost in the crowds. But I have to make it there first.

The rider approaches, his horse gaining on us with ease.

Fear bubbles up in my throat and I start to scream as I'm sure he's about to reach out and grab me.

"Get the fuck out of the way, lass," he snarls as he passes by me, his horse kicking mud across my face.

I shrink back, my cheeks heating with embarrassment as I slow Clover down to a trot.