Read Borrowed Dreams (Scottish Dream Trilogy) for Free Online

her on the
brick hearth of the small fireplace. They were no more than a few things
Ohenewaa had been able to hide in the sleeves of her ragged shift. A few
stones, the crumbled broken bark of a tree, some dried leaves, a small satchel
with a few strands of hair. The old woman poured a few drops of water onto the
hearth and placed a small piece of bread as an offering next to the charms. She
had much for which to give thanks, and she knew the spirits were listening as
she knelt by the makeshift altar.
    Reaching into the hearth, Ohenewaa
took a fistful of warm ashes and spread them on her face and hands and arms.
The ancient chant started low in her chest. Rocking back and forth where she
sat, she thanked the Supreme Being, Onyame, for her deliverance from Jasper
Hyde. She chanted her gratitude for having the shackles once again removed from
her hands and feet and neck.
    What was to become of her was still
a mystery. She had been delivered to the office of the lawyer, Sir Oliver Birch, in the early afternoon. The tall Englishman had the name of a tree, she thought. Perhaps
he had a soul, as well.
    The lawyer had looked in on her a
little later and had explained that the lady at the wharf had already signed
the papers freeing her. A free woman, he had said. The words were difficult to
comprehend fully. A free woman.
    But the lawyer had also said that
this same woman, Lady Wentworth, would be pleased if Ohenewaa would accompany
her to her country estate in Hertfordshire. The lawyer had explained that there
were many freed slaves who lived and worked at Melbury Hall, and Lady Wentworth
thought that Ohenewaa might know some of them from her years in Jamaica.
    Ohenewaa remembered the name
Wentworth very well. She remembered clearly the people’s celebration when news
of Squire Wentworth’s death reached the sugar plantations in Jamaica. But that was before Jasper Hyde’s iron fist had closed around their throats.
    At the sound of a knock on the
door, she ceased her chanting. The door slowly opened, and a young woman’s face
appeared, peering in with uncertainty. “May I come in?”
    The blue eyes were large and
curious, taking in the articles on the hearth. They turned soft and the lips
thinned when she looked at the ragged shift and the blanket covering Ohenewaa.
Neither bit of cloth did much to hide the ugly bruises around her collar or her
wrists.
    “I’m Violet,” the young woman said
softly, opening the door a little. Ohenewaa could see the woman was holding a
tray in her arms, but she did not enter immediately. “I’m Lady Wentworth’s
personal maid. She sent me here to see to your needs until we are ready to
leave for Melbury Hall tomorrow morning. May I come in?”
    Ohenewaa studied the young woman’s
pretty dress, no doubt a hand-me-down from her lady’s wardrobe. The old woman
nodded slowly, but did not rise.
    “They told me there was some water
and bread left here, but I brought you some hot food. My lady said that—good as
he is—we shouldn’t put too much faith in an old bachelor like Sir Oliver. ” She
placed the tray she was carrying on the table beside the narrow bed and glanced
around. A pitcher of water and a washbasin were on a small chest by the foot of
the bed.
    “I am sorry not to have thought of
bringing you a dress to change into. But I’ll leave you my cloak, and we’ll be
at Melbury Hall by tomorrow afternoon. Once we get there, Lady Wentworth—and
Mrs. Page and Amina, of course—will see to it that you have everything you
need.”
    The girl rubbed her hands up and down
her arms. “Would you mind if I added some more wood to the fire? ’Tis really
quite cold in here.”
    Ohenewaa was surprised that the
servant asked. The girl was waiting for permission from an old slave.
    “Do as you please.”
    Rubbing the chafed skin on her
wrists, Ohenewaa pushed herself to her feet and went to sit on the edge of the
bed. The young woman walked cautiously—perhaps even respectfully,