‘Is that violation what twisted you, dearest one?’
‘Yes. I was pure of heart and body, and they ripped away my innocence.’ He had never believed her lie, but he liked to imagine the violence. It was how she held him in carnal bondage.
‘I am in need, dearest one,’ he said. ‘On your knees.’
She stared at the wall while Sir Henry inflicted himself on her body, and the whore watched. He had never offered her the dignity of marriage, but she had no need of it. As his mistress, her hold over him was stronger. He was her puppet to manage. But occasionally, she let him play at being her master.
A laugh swelled in her throat, which she had to stifle lest he hear. Instead, she grinned at the wall, imagining all the awful indignities she would heap on that red whore to work off her rage. His icy fingers grabbed the back of her neck and squeezed hard enough to hurt, nails digging in. It meant nothing. She often imagined herself a great spider spinning a web of lies to catch foolish men and hold them fast. The thought of them helpless as she sucked them dry brought a sickly sweet bile of joy bubbling into her throat.
Sir Henry Harclaw had the ear of the King of England, but if he ever lost his influence, he was easily replaced. Already, she was the darling of the court, with wealthy admirers fawning over her. How she had been wasted on Scotland.
Jasper Glendenning, Caolan Bannerman and Peyton Strachan would pay for the death of her dear brother, Robert. They would suffer for taking Fellscarp - her birthright - andfor sending her into exile. They would curse the day they ever crossed Elene Strachan.
