If it is not

Mist playing in the air, I sit silently, the sound of whispering wind broken only by the scuffling and shuffling of my horse’s hooves as he shifts uneasily.  A long dirt track leads all the way from here to London, stretching for miles through the tunnel of trees, I can see neither its beginning nor its end. But here, it is punctuated by a great stone wall with a wrought iron gate, which stands open always. A majestic house stands proudly nearby, just a mile or two off the road out of sight, but I know it is there. This wall marks the beginning of his land, the owner of that house. I have been waiting for this.

I lean sleepily against the wall, it may be his wall but it is my ally, it shields me perfectly. My brother’s breeches are loose and heavy, his hat slipping down over my eyes. A distant rumble and I jolt awake. I steady myself, heart pounding, one hand reaching into my coat to feel for my revolver. My mouth is dry, my breathing shallow, my mind in a million places at once but at the same time, strangely focussed. The trundling wheels of the carriage are getting closer, inside, the man I loathe more than any other. The man who wanted me as his own, to add to his vast collection of possessions, to show off at parties as if I were a collection of fine silverware or an oriental vase. The man whom I refused and then fled from. The man who killed my love, out of jealousy, because I was the one thing he wanted that he could not have. Now there is nothing left for me, I do not care if I risk my life, yet I have no intention of taking his. He has something of mine that is precious only to me, and I want that, nothing else.

Steeling myself, I take a deep breath and snap the reins. Suddenly thundering hooves – a great black shape rears up in front of me. My horse stumbles, I tumble, falling to the ground as he gallops into the dense wood. It is dark. I feel myself being picked from the ground and I know it is over.

The carriage rumbles on.

I awaken, silky blackness all around me, I am lying on the ground. My breeches and coat have been removed, my brother’s undershirt scratches against my bruised skin. Disorientated I turn my head, a sharp pain makes me wince. An owl hoots and I realise I am still outside. I wonder if it was him who left me here, maybe I should feel lucky to be alive, but I do not. A hand reaches through the darkness and grasps my shoulder – I scream but another clasps my mouth shut. A familiar voice whispers in my ear, “Hush, my love”. My heart stops, I can’t breathe, my eyes are wide as I struggle to turn.

His brown eyes melt into mine and I feel his embrace once more. If this is a dream I don’t care if it is my last. And if it is not....

Writing prompt image from: http://creativewritingink.co.uk/writing-exercises/