And she was in pain. She had no idea this spot near her neck was so sensitive, or maybe any spot on her body would feel the same if it were ripped apart.
“Yes,” but she stayed where she was. She knew its capabilities, and she could not allow herself to be distracted by pain while she dealt with this monster. She also needed the man to lower his guard, for she had a plan already in mind.
“Here you are, my dear.” Balloch handed her a cup brimming with the rich dark fluid. He moved behind her, ignoring her wariness, and removed her cloak once more. After throwing it aside, he pulled back the edge of her gown to inspect the damage. The skin seemed to be back in the right place, but when he wiped the wound with a clean kerchief from his sleeve, blood quickly refilled the marks from his teeth.
Kenna tried not to wince during his half-hearted ministrations, then remembered to drink.
“I’ve never had distilled wine. Aunt Agatha said it was the blood of the devil and if I ever drank any, she would have to beat it out of me.”
As he came back to stand in front of her, Kenna could tell he was intrigued by her little story. He seemed to relax a bit.
“Take heart, Kenna. This may be easier than you expect. Drink up and you may not remember any of it come morning.”
So she pretended to sip, and sip, and sip.
“It feels overwarm,” she mumbled into the cup. She tipped the liquid against her lips yet again, but swallowed nothing.
“I will open another window.”
And while he did so, she poured her drink into the ewer on a chest near her elbow. Before he turned back, she tipped the cup to her lips as if draining it.
He seemed very pleased indeed, but the fact that he could act as if he had not nearly ripped out her throat chilled what was left of her blood. He acted as if conversing with a woman whose clothes were wet with the stuff was not new to him. Then it occurred to her that it probably wasn’t. She remembered the marks on the woman’s arms when they were gathered in the dungeon. Small half moon shaped sores had been obvious, but she had assumed it was from some tool of torture or bites from some animal skulking through their cells. When she looked up at Balloch and saw the flash of teeth, she recognized both.
He brought the brandy forward and filled her cup until it spilled over her fingers.
“Apologies. Drink it down so its not wasted.”
Kenna took another mouthful. She watched him nervously. If she were too calm now, after just being attacked by him, he would be suspicious. “I would rather be able to see you better. Would you light another candle?”
Balloch was happy to comply while he waited for the drink to take effect.
He watched her walk steadily to the window and look down again, then back at him to make sure he was not planning another attack. He chuckled and turned his back to light another candle.
As soon as his back was turned, she poured her drink into the sea. She lifted the cup slowly and tipped it slower yet as she felt his eyes on her. She let the remaining drops trickle down the side of her mouth, then wiped them off with the back of her hand. She smiled faintly, narrowed her eyes at him, then acted like she’d remembered something that made her frown.
“Come. Take off that gown and I will find you some nightclothes.”
“Nay,” she said, then shook her head like a child. “You will bite me again.”
“Does your shoulder still pain you? Come, hand me your cup. A little more wine will wash it all away.”
“Nay. I will be sick again.”
“Nonsense, this is medicine.” Balloch took her cup from her and returned it half full. “There, now. Just a little more.” He moved away to the trunk and lifted off the ewer and bowl.
Kenna watched nervously, hoping he would not hear or smell her little secret in the container in his hands. She exhaled when he placed it on the table and went back to rifle through the chest. While his head was down, she sidled closer to the window and threw the brandy out. Luckily it flew silently and cleanly through the opening, but she dropped the cup.
Balloch turned with a man’s leine in his hands. He looked at the cup on the floor and then back at Kenna and grinned. “And you spilled not a drop.”
She shook her head, pretended to stumble, then put her hand to her mouth.
“Distract yourself. Here, let us take that gown off.”
He tossed the leine over his elbow and reached out to lift her gown.
“Nay,” she cried as she took a wobbly step backward. “Ye’ll have to turn yer back.” She pointed to the window.
He walked toward the dark line of glazed windows and turned his back to her but kept his eyes on her reflection. Again, she wobbled as she tugged the skirt up and over her head. She cried out when she pealed the sticky cloth away from her wound, then dropped the gown to the floor.
