Chapter 3Jane woke, then wished she hadn’t. Her head throbbed, aching like it had been overrun by an entire phalanx of wedding guests.
Wedding!
No wonder she felt ill.
She unburied her face enough from the pillow to inspect her environs. The first thing she spotted was a bottle of aspirin and a glass of water on the rustic night table. She took two and considered a third. Maybe later.
Bless the holy ghost of foresight that had her put it there.
Then she looked a little farther afield and saw her dress hanging from a hook on the back of the door. Except the door didn’t have delicate wood-carved panels. It looked like a battered old wooden door—stout, but from another century. The room was low-ceilinged and part of it sloped even lower. Two small gable windows let in the first light of
