I Thee Wed by Amanda Quick

the far end of the wall. Music and voices drifted up through the night from the ballroom. As she moved farther along the battlements, the sounds of intoxicated revelry receded.
    At the end of the south wall, she turned and walked toward the east. The balm of the cool, crisp night cleared her mind of the residual effects of the tea, but it did nothing to lessen the foreboding sensation.
    Bloody premonitions. She certainly could not stay out here all night just because she was feeling a bit uneasy.
    Determinedly she started back along the battlements. When she reached the door that opened onto the corridor, she used both hands to haul on the ancient iron latch.
    She finally got the heavy door ajar. She stepped into the dark shadows of the corridor. Instantly the dark premonition of impending disaster grew more powerful. She was about to force herself to walk toward the door of her bedchamber when she caught the echo of footsteps on stone.
    Someone was coming up the spiral staircase at the far end of the hall.
    Dread prickled through her. There was no reason for a servant to come into this wing tonight. No reason for anyone except herself to be here at this hour.
    She no longer questioned the urgency that flashed through her. She simply knew with absolute certainty that she could not risk going back to her own bedchamber. Whoever was coming up the stairs might well be headed toward that room.
    Frantically she weighed her options. Then she leaped for the nearest door. The knob twisted easily in her damp palm. She slipped inside the empty, unused chamber and eased the door closed behind her.
    She put her ear against the wooden panels and listened. Her breathing sounded very loud in her own ears.
    The footsteps came to a halt. She heard the sound of iron keys rattling on a ring. There was a scraping of metal on metal as one of the keys was fitted into the lock of her bedchamber door.
    She closed her eyes and struggled to breathe quietly.
    There was a soft Curse when the first key failed to unlock the door. She heard another key slide into the lock. Someone had got hold of the housekeeper’s key ring, she thought. Whoever he was, he apparently intended to try all of the keys until he found the one that fit her door.
    Another key slid into the lock. Another muffled curse. A man’s voice, she decided. He was growing impatient.
    Then she heard the unmistakable sound of her bedchamber door opening. She shivered.
The intruder was inside her room
. If she had not gone out onto the battlements a few minutes ago, she would have been trapped, perhaps helplessly asleep, in her bed.
    “What’s this?” Chilton Crane’s voice, raised in anger, boomed through the open door. It was loud in the empty hall. “Hiding under the bed, you clever little tart?”
    A burgeoning rage dampened some of the fear that had been gnawing at Emma.
The Bastard
. Obviously she had not hit him nearly hard enough yesterday. It was apity that Edison had prevented her from pushing him down the staircase.
    “So you’re not under the bed, eh? Then it will no doubt be the wardrobe. It won’t do you any good, my dear Miss Greyson. I know you’re here, somewhere—” He broke off. “Who goes there?”
    Ice formed in Emma’s stomach. There was someone else in the hall outside her room. She had been concentrating so fiercely on listening to Crane that she had not heard the second set of footsteps.
    Neither, apparently, had Crane.
    “I say,” Chilton blustered. “What are you doing here? What’s this all about?”
    There was no response but when Chilton spoke again there was panic in his voice.
    “No, wait. For God’s sake, put away that pistol. You cannot do this. What are you—”
    The muffled explosion of a pistol cut off Crane’s protest. A second later a dull thud marked the sound of a body hitting the floor.
    Inside the dark, empty room, Emma closed her eyes and tried not to breathe.
    After what felt like an infinity, she heard the door of her