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She stepped up on the platform and placed her hand on the heavy, wooden pillory. It looked ancient and worn, as though it had been spirited away from the square of some medieval town and deposited here centuries later. ‘I don’t know about this.’ ‘I know it looks scary,’ said Britt. ‘But honestly, I think this is the home stretch.’ Abby shook her head. ‘What would you do?’ ‘I would trust.’ There was that word again. She had trusted Damian — or rather, she’d suspended mistrust — and in return she’d discovered a great many things about herself. ‘What do you want me to do?’ Abby took a deep breath and placed her neck in the large, leather-wrapped central well and her wrists in the smaller depressions on either side. Britt closed the pillory and threw a latch, locking the halves together. The snap punctuated the sudden feeling of vulnerability. Britt rubbed her fingertips against Abby’s cheek. ‘You’ll be fine.’ Britt moved out of sight behind Abby. She manoeuvred Abby’s ankles into a.

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