Faux historical romance about a woman who is a captive and a man who is more than what is first apparent ...
She stalked across the courtyard, her skirts dragging across the floor and sending up a cloud of dust around her. Her brow was furrowed in an unhappy frown and her hands were clenched. Those who did not know Lady Ana may have suspected that she had argued with her father, husband or whichever other male in her life had control over her. They may have thought she had been denied a new gown, or a trip to the market. They may even have suspected that a suitor had been rejected by her family. However, all of these suspicions by weary travellers who were taking in the Lady Ana as she prowled the courtyard would have been wrong. Her grievances lay deeper, and were far more insurmountable, than that of young gentlemen or dresses. obooko.
She turned sharply on her heel and stared up at the fourth window on the eighth, and highest, level of the castle behind her. Her cage, as she called it, was lit by a candle standing in the window. This meant that her father was inside. She hesitated a moment, and decided that he could wait a few moments before she joined him. They were going to be imprisoned within the castle for many months to come, so ten minutes wait could surely not be too much of an annoyance to him.
There was a chill in the air, a sharp chill which even the heavy cloak covering her could not dispel. It was one of the many small signs which had appeared over the past few days signalling the beginning of winter. Around her the few who had awoken this early had wrapped up tightly in layers of anything they could find - blankets, scarves, cloaks, even sackcloth in one case. She didn't pull her cloak tighter around her, even though she could feel herself begin to shiver. She didn't want to show any weakness to the enemy - even if that weakness were one everyone suffered from.