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caused the
stupid little punt to sway wildly and the other in an attempt to halt her
escape. When yelling for her to stop didn’t work, the enormous driver lumbered
after her.
    He caught her. He caught her before she made it five steps
down the beach. He wrapped his arms around her waist and hauled her back to the
boat. He tried to angle her back in but she kicked and flailed. Finally, her
captor grasped one ankle and then the other. Between the two of them, they
forced her into that death trap.
    Mercilessly the McCloud wound a coil of rope around her
feet. “Stupid girl.”
    To her horror, he set her on the damp bottom of the boat and
lashed her to the seat for good measure. She struggled against these bonds but
it was hopeless. She was well and truly tied.
    To a boat. A tiny, flimsy, rocking boat.
    Blinding horror whipped through her.
    Again, the driver pushed the boat into the water. It wobbled
and bobbed alarmingly.
    Violet screamed into the gag. Tears tracked her cheeks. She
couldn’t catch her breath. This was her worst nightmare—worse than the worst.
To be in a boat—on the water—was bad enough. But to be tied, helpless, unable
to try to save herself should the vessel capsize, was appalling.
    A clammy fist clenched her heart. She was going to die. In a
frenzy, she fought against her bonds.
    “Hold still.”
    She barely heard the gruff voice at the end of the boat. Barely
felt the smooth, rhythmic glide as he began to row to the far shore. She was
tangled in a memory, one she never let herself remember. And now it overcame
her. Strangled her.
    A girl—a stupid girl—walking on the ice.
    A boy calls from the shore. She turns. Smiles. Waves.
    A sharp crack echoes.
    Shock washes over his features, even as the ice gives way
beneath her.
    And darkness. A wet, cold, airless eternity of hell. Of
panic. Of horror.
    A certainty of death.
    With a whimper, Violet closed her eyes and let the darkness
take her again.

Chapter Three
     
    Aw, hell. She’d fainted.
    Ewan glared at the girl, a limp mass, her head lolling to
one side. For a moment he hated himself. He should have known the water would
still terrify her. Perhaps in his heart of hearts, he had. Maybe that was why
he’d decided to bring her to the Cloud. To assure she wouldn’t escape his
clutches, certainly, but he had wanted to torment her as well.
    And torment her, he had.
    So much, she’d fainted. The short ride from the shore to the
island had frightened her to the extent that she’d succumbed to the vapors.
    He felt like a worm.
    But at least she was no longer rocking the boat.
    He reached the dock and tied up as quickly as he could,
hoping to get her to the keep and start a fire before she roused. Balancing
against the sway of the boat, he lifted her into his arms. Then, splashing
through the lapping waves, he carried her along the shore and up the stone
stairs to his castle.
    She looked so frail in his arms. So pale and wan.
    He hardened his heart.
    This was Violet.
    The girl who’d had his mother dismissed without references.
The girl who had, on a whim, unhinged his life. They had very nearly starved to
death that first winter. And if Ewan hadn’t turned to the streets to make a
living, they would have. Still, his mother hadn’t survived their desperation
long. She’d succumbed to the ague within a year, leaving Ewan without a
farthing to his name, and a sickly babe to raise.
    He’d been thirteen.
    Oh, how he had plotted and dreamed of revenge.
    For years, he’d dreamed of something like this.
    That he now held Violet prisoner here in the Cloud—the keep
that had been his very first victory—was sublime.
    Though if she expired on him, that would probably ruin the
delicious irony. And she was terribly cold. And shivering. And her lips were
blue. He hurried his pace.
    He used the brass key around his neck to open the door to
the castle, carried Violet inside and laid her on a divan in the great room.
Because her arms were bound behind her back