Page 1 of The Condemned (Echoes from the Past #6)

She came to with a hard jolt. Uncontrollable coughing wracked her body and her eyes streamed as she gulped air, but it didn’t seem to fill her burning lungs.

She was shaking with cold, and her clothes were wet and smelled of seawater.

She tried to move, but her knees slammed into something hard and unyielding, so she held out her hands and tried to straighten her arms, but her palms met with solid wood.

She was trapped in a wooden box. A coffin.

Her chest heaved with panic as the reality of her situation began to sink in.

She beat her hands against the lid and screamed for help, but her voice echoed dully, the eerie silence beyond broken only by what might have been the crashing of waves or the flapping of wings.

Unbearable anxiety built inside her, rushing at her like an incoming tide, each wave coming harder and faster, and reaching further inland.

She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see, and couldn’t make any sense of what was happening.

Her jumbled thoughts scurried like mice, bumping into each other and scrambling in blind panic.

And then the pain came, sharp and visceral, a pain that threatened to tear her apart.

She wrapped her arms around her belly and rested her forehead against the rough wood of the coffin.

She was so weak, and so tired. She knew it wouldn’t be long now, and she was glad of it.

She was ready. Whoever had done this had sentenced her to death, but perhaps the judgment had come down long before that.

She’d gone against the teachings of the Church and the laws of man and attempted to thwart the natural order of things.

She had no one to blame, for she’d condemned herself, and her child with her.

Death would be a welcome release, and as she shivered in its cold embrace, she threw her head back and let out one final cry of anguish.

A wonderful peace suddenly stole over her, taking away the pain and the unspeakable terror of those final moments. A welcoming white light enveloped her, and she felt as if she were being cradled in loving arms. They wouldn’t let her fall.

“I’ve got you,” Walker’s voice said softly. “You can let go now. I’ve got you both.” Somewhere, in the deep recesses of her mind, she heard the haunting notes of his death song—but no, this was her own death song, her final act.

She was nearly gone by the time the infant slithered from her body, its nose pressing against the back of her thighs and its hands balled into fists.

Its tiny feet rested against her bottom, but she couldn’t feel the connection.

The child whimpered once, and again, and then grew silent as the sodden wool of her skirts smothered it as effectively as a feather pillow.

Waves crashed against the shore, and a hunter’s moon rose slowly and majestically above the dusky expanse of the sea.

A broken mast rose out of the water, its tattered sails hanging on by lengths of torn rigging, and chucks of broken wood floated toward the shore, along with an odd assortment of household items. A man’s body lay face down in the sand, his dark hair plastered to his head.

It had been the first to wash up, but it wouldn’t be the last.