Sweet Bondage by Dorothy Vernon

‘Angus, who is Fiona?’
    â€˜Miss Fiona? A distant relative, a kind of niece the old Laird and his lady were fond of. I suppose you might say that she took the place of the daughter they never had and so she practically grew up at Glenross.’
    â€˜Is that so,’ Gemma replied thoughtfully with a speedy and quite distinct lightening of her heart.
    She carried the tray through into the main room where Maxwell was, with Angus walking on ahead to open doors for her.
    â€˜Ah, that looks good,’ Maxwell said, rousing himself from his inertia. The tautness was still on his features, betraying his inner pain, which in turn burned her heart like a stabbing flame. In her imagination she took his face in her hands and smoothed the strain and anguish away with her caring fingers, giving him back his tranquillity and calm. She ached for him, for what he was suffering now, and she admired him for the measures he had taken to protect his brother from further disillusionment, even though it was causing her considerable distress.
    At the moment Ian was apparently heavily sedated, but when he came fully round, if he ever did, Glenda should be there to give him the impetus to pull through. But if she couldn’t make Maxwell believe that she wasn’t Glenda, when Ian opened his eyes from his drugged semi-comatose condition it wouldn’t be upon Glenda’s lovely face they rested; he would find himself looking at a complete stranger. It was obvious to her that Maxwell intended to keep her a prisoner until he could take her to Ian’s bedside, which would be whenever Ian was well enough to receive her. The truth would then come out and Maxwell would never forgive himself for making such an appalling mistake.
    She had to get away, for both Ian’s and Maxwell’s sakes as well as her own. She had to talk to Glenda and make her see reason. If the case was put to her fairly, without undue emotional pressure, surely even Glenda wouldn’t be so hard-hearted as to deny Ian a few more weeks, or months, of thinking they were still engaged and going to be married. It wouldn’t hurt her to wait until he was strong enough to be told the truth. And then, when he could take it, she could break it very gently to him that she couldn’t go through with the wedding. The fact that her love hadn’t proved strong enough meant that Ian was better off without her, and because he was Maxwell’s brother he must have some of his strength of character; he would accept this when he was well enough and his mind was reasoning properly.
    But how was she to get away? Then she remembered her first idea of taking the boat if the opportunity arose. Dare she, knowing nothing at all about boats, even if she could manage to sneak out and make her way down to the landing stage where Angus would have moored it without being observed? Did she really have a choice?
    She contained herself until the tea had been drunk and a portion of the cake eaten, then loaded the crockery back onto the tray and took it through to the kitchen. That had got her out of the room, but to get her sheepskin coat out of the cloaks’ cupboard in the hall meant having to pass the door again. Maxwell was like a cat, alert to her every movement, and fetching it would be a risk. But she decided it would be a greater risk to her health to contemplate taking the boat out without its protective warmth.
    The hall floor, made up of hand-hewn planks, was partially covered with rugs. She could use them as stepping stones to muffle the sound of her footsteps. Just the same, she took the precaution of removing her boots and carrying them. The cloaks’ cupboard was situated to the right of the main door. The pale, wintry sunshine filtered through the two small-paned windows set on either side of the door, glancing off the beamed ceiling and the somber brown walls hung with tapestries and hunting trophies. A moose’s head looked down at her in stern