“There are a thousand men in this colony with brawn. They all want to run into the woods and come back clutching five hundred beaver pelts. None is distinguishable from the next. It is the women here—the very, very few women—who are desirable. And do you know what that means?” Marthe shook her head. “You are in a position to take advantage of that scarcity. You may trade on it.”
“What do I have to trade?” she asked.
Lafredière smiled. Then he reached out and picked a hair from her bodice, a stray she had not noticed when she had combed and plaited and prepared herself for her visit. He held it between his fingers for a moment, then let it drop to the floor.
“What about a kiss?”
Marthe felt a wave of sickness come over her, worse than she had felt since she had fallen pregnant. She tried to stand up. The governor grabbed her arm and pulled her down.
“Don’t run away. You came here for my counsel,” he reminded her.
“Forgive me, but—”
“Listen to me,” he cut her off. “Ask yourself what a kiss is worth. You give it freely to your husband at night, don’t you?” She did not answer. She felt the skin under his grip start to burn and glanced at the door, measuring her escape. “I would shower you in silver and gold, for a kiss.”
“No.” Marthe tried to pull away. His hand tightened on her arm, and she could not stop herself from whimpering from the sharp pain of the cinch. He leaned in towards her, his lips parted. She could smell brandy on his breath. She flinched and turned away, bracing for the feeling of his mouth on hers. Then at the last moment, he bowed his head and kissed the top of her breast.
“Silver and gold,” he murmured, tracing his lips along the top of her bodice. His hand pinned her in place so that she could not move. The sour smell of his breath was so overpowering she wanted to gag. She knew she should scream for the servant, but if she came now Marthe would be humiliated. Maybe even ruined, like her sister. Poor Élisabeth, forever wringing her hands and muttering her prayers. Marthe could feel the governor’s spittle on her breasts and the bile rose in her throat. No, she would not be ruined. She gathered all her strength and jerked herself away.
She ran for the door but Lafredière was too quick. He blocked her path and slammed her against the wall. In an instant his hands were around her neck, his one eye bulging as he glared at her, beady as a falcon’s.
He began to squeeze.
Marthe could not draw breath. She felt the child inside her flutter. She tried to scream but her voice came out as a squawk.
“You won’t earn a sol that way,” he snarled, lifting one hand from her neck to slap her into silence. The reprieve from the chokehold was enough to allow her to gasp. She drew in one long, ragged breath. But before she could call for help, his hands were wrapped around her throat again.
Suddenly the servant walked in, holding a decanter of brandy. Her face was blank.
“Your drink, my lord.”
Lafredière released Marthe and she stumbled towards the door, her hands hovering like a halo around her throat. She could hear Lafredière shouting but she didn’t look back. She reached the door and yanked it open. The hinges screeched. She tumbled outside and was struck by a blast of cold air. She ran across the fort’s crumbling compound. When she was safely through the gate, she collapsed against the palisade, trying to catch her breath. She’d started to pray, when a hand on her back made her jump.
It was the servant, with her cloak in her hand.
“You forgot this,” she said.
Marthe grabbed it. She could barely speak. “What… what in Our Lady’s name…?”
“I tried to warn you,” she said.
“You did not,” Marthe rasped.
“You knew well enough what sort of man he is. Everyone does.” Marthe clutched the cloak to her chest and reached up to touch her swollen neck. “You got off lightly,” the servant muttered. “He’s done far worse to others.”
“Worse?”
The servant nodded, her lips pursed. Marthe noticed the lines around her eyes.
“Why do you stay in his household?”
“I’m married to one of his men.”
Marthe looked at the servant. Had she come on a bride ship just like her? For all their talk of choices, she realized how easy it was to make a bad one. And once made, how difficult it was to undo. She put her cloak around her shoulders and tied it so that the crimson thumbprints on her neck could not be seen.
“I am sorry for you. Maybe you can run away, like the Panis did?”
The servant snorted. “You may believe they ran away, if it makes you feel better.”
