her chances with the wild animals that lurked in the woods.
She was gathering her courage, deciding death would be preferable to a life of servitude to the mysterious Lord Rayven, when she felt her father's hand close around her arm.
"Rayven paid me a handsome sum for ye," McLeod said, his mild tone at odds with his vice-like grip.
"Ye'll stay with him so long as he wants ye, and do whatever he asks without question. Do ye ken my meaning?"
"Aye, father."
McLeod nodded. A short time later, he parked the wagon in front of the castle. "Go on, girl."
Rhianna slid a glance at her father, trying not to hate him for what he was doing, trying to feel some sense of satisfaction in knowing that the money her father had received would buy food for her mother and younger sisters.
"There was no other way, lass," Vincent McLeod said in gruff apology.
Rhianna nodded. Most likely, she would never see her father again. She had lived in Millbrae Valley all her life. She was not ignorant of the tales told of Castle Rayven's dark lord.
"Good-bye, Da."
"Good-bye, lass." McLeod met her gaze briefly, then looked away. He knew some would condemn him for selling his own flesh and blood, but she would be better off with Rayven. At least she would have enough to eat. "Ye've always made me proud, Rhianna," he said brusquely. "Go on with ye now."
Blinking back tears, Rhianna alighted from the wagon. Squaring her shoulders, she walked up the narrow stone steps to the wide double doors, took a deep breath, and lifted the heavy brass knocker.
Moments later, the door creaked open, and Rhianna found herself staring into a pair of hooded brown eyes.
"Miss McLeod, I presume."
"Y... yes," she stammered, startled that the stranger knew her name, that he had been expecting her.
How had he known she was coming?
"I am Bevins."
The man stepped back, gesturing for her to enter. He was a tall man, with wavy gray hair, a rather sharp nose, and thin lips. He wore a pair of tan trousers, a white shirt, and a dark tweed jacket. He looked as if he was at least as old as her father.
Feeling abandoned and very much alone, Rhianna stepped over the threshold. The entry way was cold and dark. She shivered as Bevins closed the heavy door behind her.
"I have a bath prepared for you, miss."
"Thank you."
"This way."
Pulse racing with apprehension, she followed him down a long narrow hallway, up a steep flight of stairs, into a large room that was lit by a single fat white candle.
"You will find the tub in there," Bevins said, pointing to a door across the room. "Please leave your clothes out here, on the floor. I have been instructed to burn them."
"Burn them! But they're all I have."
"No doubt Lord Rayven will provide you with suitable attire, miss. There are clean sheets on the bed.
The bellpull is there, should you have need of me during the night."
Too stunned to speak, Rhianna nodded.
"Good night, miss. Sleep well."
She waited until he left the room, then went to the door and closed it. Undressing, she dropped her clothes on the floor, then went into the other room. The light from a dozen candles revealed a large tub of hot water, a bar of scented soap, and a length of heavy toweling.
She stared at the steaming water. Never in all her life had she had a bath drawn for her and her alone. At home, baths were infrequent. In the summer, she bathed in the river. Only in the winter did they bathe indoors, and then she had to wait her turn. Usually, by the time she got in, the water was cool. And dirty.
She stepped carefully into the tub and sat down, a contented sigh escaping her lips as the blissfully hot water closed around her. Perhaps living here would not be so bad. The two rooms she had been given were larger than the hut she shared with her parents and sisters.
She washed her hair three times, her body twice, and still she sat in the water, basking in its warmth, until the water grew cool.
Stepping out of the tub, she dried off, then wrapped herself in the towel and went into the bedroom. The first thing she noticed was that her clothes were gone. And then she saw the nightgown. It lay on the bed like a splash of white paint against the blue coverlet. Unable to resist, she ran her hand over the