out of the mud and tossed over a massive shoulder like a bundle of old rags.
The wolf!
In terror, she kicked and pounded at his back.
A hard, stinging slap to her behind made her go still, but terror still choked her. What would he do to her?
At the portal gate, he virtually dropped her. “Through.”
This was no time to argue. Claire scuttled through then turned to watch him crawl through after her. The tight squeeze didn’t ease her fear. Two of the castle servants stood nearby bearing torches, but they wouldn’t help her. They were staring at her as if she were a monster at a fair.
His squire—her guard—came through after de Lisle and gave her a disgusted look. Would he be beaten, too?
Claire straightened her spine and tried to pretend that she wasn’t mud-covered, stinking, and terrified.
De Lisle seized her arm and dragged her toward the hall. She didn’t protest. She was potently aware that he could crush her flesh down to the bone. It was dawning on her, moreover, that she’d failed. She might have to
marry
this man, the one with midnight in his soul.
He stopped, and they weren’t at the hall yet.
Looking around wildly, Claire saw that they were by the well. Was he going to drown her?
“Josce, pull up some water.”
She stared at him, nearly beyond rational thought. “What are you going to do?”
“Clean you up, you stupid woman.”
“I’ll bathe—”
“You’re too filthy for a bath. And after chasing you, so am I.” He took the bucket from his squire and poured water over her.
She cried out in the icy deluge, but when she tried to run, he grabbed her hair. In moments another bucketful sluiced over her and her teeth started to chatter.
“No more,” she gasped. “I’m sorry.”
“This isn’t punishment.” He turned her roughly, shaking his head. “Go on, then. Your women should be ready by now. Don’t touch anything until you’re stripped and washed.”
Claire was almost too dazed to make sense of his words, but she grasped that she had a reprieve. She fled for the safety of the hall.
Prissy was waiting for her, still half asleep, but awake enough to shriek at the sight. “Lady Claire! What now?”
She was hustled to the kitchen and a tub. Claire had to accept that stripping off her ruined clothes and sinking into the warm, herb-scented water was not the most terrible thing that had happened to her in her life.
But as she scrubbed she cried.
She cried because she’d failed and she knew he’d never give her another chance to escape.
She also cried from fear because he’d implied that punishment was still to come. In her gentle father’s house, punishment was rare and mild. She’d heard stories, though, and the thought of that blow to her behind combined with his wide leather belt set her to trembling.
It was fear that kept her in the water long after it had cooled. In the end, Prissy held out a towel. “Come on, Lady Claire. You’ll wrinkle like a summer apple if you stay in there much longer!”
Claire had to stand into the large, warm drying cloth. Too soon, she was in a clean shift. “I only need a blanket to wrap round me while I go to my room, Prissy.”
The maid gave her a strange look. “If you want, lady. But he’s waiting to speak to you.”
“Now?” It came out as a squeak, so she cleared her throat and repeated it. “Now?”
“Yes, now. And if you ask me, he’s the patience of a saint. You running out like that. I don’t know what you were thinking of…”
Claire let the lecture wash over her.
Now.
He was waiting for her now, doubtless growing angrier by the moment.
“Hurry up, Prissy!”
The maid had brought some of her best garments—a fine, cream linen kirtle and a pale green tunic worked in cream and pink flowers. Claire was too weary and frightened to protest. And in truth perhaps a bit of prettiness might be wise. It might weaken his rage.
She was seriously regretting her hair.
It took all Claire’s courage to enter the
The wolf!
In terror, she kicked and pounded at his back.
A hard, stinging slap to her behind made her go still, but terror still choked her. What would he do to her?
At the portal gate, he virtually dropped her. “Through.”
This was no time to argue. Claire scuttled through then turned to watch him crawl through after her. The tight squeeze didn’t ease her fear. Two of the castle servants stood nearby bearing torches, but they wouldn’t help her. They were staring at her as if she were a monster at a fair.
His squire—her guard—came through after de Lisle and gave her a disgusted look. Would he be beaten, too?
Claire straightened her spine and tried to pretend that she wasn’t mud-covered, stinking, and terrified.
De Lisle seized her arm and dragged her toward the hall. She didn’t protest. She was potently aware that he could crush her flesh down to the bone. It was dawning on her, moreover, that she’d failed. She might have to
marry
this man, the one with midnight in his soul.
He stopped, and they weren’t at the hall yet.
Looking around wildly, Claire saw that they were by the well. Was he going to drown her?
“Josce, pull up some water.”
She stared at him, nearly beyond rational thought. “What are you going to do?”
“Clean you up, you stupid woman.”
“I’ll bathe—”
“You’re too filthy for a bath. And after chasing you, so am I.” He took the bucket from his squire and poured water over her.
She cried out in the icy deluge, but when she tried to run, he grabbed her hair. In moments another bucketful sluiced over her and her teeth started to chatter.
“No more,” she gasped. “I’m sorry.”
“This isn’t punishment.” He turned her roughly, shaking his head. “Go on, then. Your women should be ready by now. Don’t touch anything until you’re stripped and washed.”
Claire was almost too dazed to make sense of his words, but she grasped that she had a reprieve. She fled for the safety of the hall.
Prissy was waiting for her, still half asleep, but awake enough to shriek at the sight. “Lady Claire! What now?”
She was hustled to the kitchen and a tub. Claire had to accept that stripping off her ruined clothes and sinking into the warm, herb-scented water was not the most terrible thing that had happened to her in her life.
But as she scrubbed she cried.
She cried because she’d failed and she knew he’d never give her another chance to escape.
She also cried from fear because he’d implied that punishment was still to come. In her gentle father’s house, punishment was rare and mild. She’d heard stories, though, and the thought of that blow to her behind combined with his wide leather belt set her to trembling.
It was fear that kept her in the water long after it had cooled. In the end, Prissy held out a towel. “Come on, Lady Claire. You’ll wrinkle like a summer apple if you stay in there much longer!”
Claire had to stand into the large, warm drying cloth. Too soon, she was in a clean shift. “I only need a blanket to wrap round me while I go to my room, Prissy.”
The maid gave her a strange look. “If you want, lady. But he’s waiting to speak to you.”
“Now?” It came out as a squeak, so she cleared her throat and repeated it. “Now?”
“Yes, now. And if you ask me, he’s the patience of a saint. You running out like that. I don’t know what you were thinking of…”
Claire let the lecture wash over her.
Now.
He was waiting for her now, doubtless growing angrier by the moment.
“Hurry up, Prissy!”
The maid had brought some of her best garments—a fine, cream linen kirtle and a pale green tunic worked in cream and pink flowers. Claire was too weary and frightened to protest. And in truth perhaps a bit of prettiness might be wise. It might weaken his rage.
She was seriously regretting her hair.
It took all Claire’s courage to enter the
Similar Books
