How stupid she’d been. Bryan was ten years older than her tender age of nearly sixteen that summer. Celia recognized now the whole affair was borne of immature infatuation on her part. She allowed him to take advantage, and Bryan relished the opportunity to take her innocence. She’d been a silly, headstrong girl caught up in her first romantic crush and she’d paid a dear price for her naivety.

She’d been so caught up in Bryan’s affections. Eagerly agreeing when he said they must keep their relationship a secret or else he’d lose his employment. She accepted everything he’d said she must do. Believed the bounder’s promise that they would be together forever. Believed him when he whispered if she would let him kiss her, touch her, it would prove how much she loved him.

She allowed him liberties, even when her inner voice screamed she should rethink matters. She let him talk her into meeting him in the stables that night. Eager to see the surprise he said was special and only for her. She’d gone willingly. Gave in without a peep, until it all went too far. When she attempted pushing him away, he simply laughed and captured her hands in one of his. He continued as he pleased until she cried out in muffled pain from behind the hand clasped over her mouth.

Only then did Bryan stop.

Withdrawing abruptly from Celia, he reached down between his legs. He began working himself with his own hand until a groan echoed in the secluded, darkened stall.

When Bryan collapsed against her with a huff of satisfaction, his hand still clamped over her mouth, a splash of hot liquid landed on Celia’s thigh.

When he finally leaned away from her, the face Celia once thought so handsome, with his blue eyes and shock of reddish blonde hair, was now that of a stranger.

“You better keep your bloody mouth shut about this if you know what’s good for you,” he’d sneered at her, his Irish heritage evident in the dismissive lilt of his voice. “I’ll not go swinging from the hangman’s noose just because a toff’s whore daughter couldn’t keep her legs from spreading. So, you keep that maw shut, or I’ll do it for ya.”

And with that, he hopped up to his feet. While Celia lay sprawled in the musty straw lost in a state of dazed, pained confusion, Bryan shoved his cock back into the confines of his trousers. “Clean yourself up and get back to your room before someone comes looking for you.”

She never saw Bryan again after that night. Descending into a state of melancholy, Celia discovered hiding the bruises on her upper arms from her mother difficult but not impossible. But there was no concealing the nightmares she suffered for months afterward. She began insisting on a lamp being lit during the night, even when her older brother, Tristan, teased her about being afraid of the dark and how she was too old for such childishness.