Anna woke up. Where was she? The room was unfamiliar. A big fire in the ornamental fire place was heating a room filled with antique furniture. Tapestries covered a rough stone wall. A storm was howling. Panic seemed to build a brick load on her chest. What happened?
She sat up and the whole room started to spin at once. Closing her eyes she sank back in the bed. A huge bed. A four poster. Opening her eyes again she started to survey. A bed covered with fine linen embroideries and lace lining it. Blankets of the softest wool. A fur over her legs.
She was shot wasn't she? The man who was supposed to marry her cousin had killed all the tourists she had been guiding through the country. He had said he was after their family fortune and then had shot her in her belly and left her to die.
Slowly she lifted the bed covers. She was dressed in a thin white nightgown. The lace and satin ribbons not intervening with a view of her nipples or her belly. Her hands moved over the thin fabric. No pain. No blood. No wound. Slowly she hitched the gown up and watched her naked self. Where she had been torn to ribbons now only unblemished soft skin remained.
Had all been a nightmare? But if so where was she now?
Slowly Anna sat up again in the bed. Again the room started to spin but she just sat there and willed it to stop. She felt so faint. As if she just had recovered from a severe flu attack and had not eaten in days.