“You were told not to speak to me so harshly, were you not?”
“Yes, Your Grace,” I whisper, filled with shame, my eyes downcast.
“I do not wish us to have to deal with matters such as these in the future, so you must learn when I give you a warning, it is to be obeyed.”
“I know that now,” I say, cringing as my throat constricts. “I shall not speak so again, I assure you, Your Grace.”
“I am most pleased to hear it, my lady, but you still must endure the consequences of your actions.”
I raise my gaze to him, mournfully searching his face. His is as resigned and stoic as I feared.
“Come now, wife. Show that your words are not hollow and obey me.”
How words could be both soft and stern in equal measure is beyond me, but I open my mouth and stick out my tongue. It feels most unladylike and undignified, but His Grace moves swiftly and when the clothespin is fastened to the tender skin, I am not thinking about how I look any longer.
The pain is immediate as the sharp teeth clamp onto my tongue.
“Oh! It’s h-horrid! Please take it off, Your Grace!” I beg, but with the clothespin firmly attached, I can hardly make sense of my own words.
Whether he can discern my plea or no, the duke shakes his head, takes me firmly by the shoulders, and leads me to the corner of the wall. He moves me until I am standing so near it, I can see the smallest detail of the wallpaper.
Then he releases me and his footsteps recede.
In panic, I turn to look at him. “Your Grace, you cannot just leave me like this. It hurts so much, my lord!” By the time I am done, my face burns with humiliation. Even knowing what I intend to say, my ears cannot discern my own words.
“Nay, my lady. You will turn back around as I had you and stay exactly thus until I give you leave to do otherwise.” His expression makes it quite clear he will not tolerate contradiction.
I turn to face the wall as he instructs, my eyes and throat burning with the threat of tears.
Chapter Ten
Duke Gregor
When I feel it is time to allow my lady wife out of isolation, my eyes and ears discern her submission. Her body has gentled, from the lowering of her head and her shoulders. Her gaze has been upon the floor during most of her sentence, and she began crying softly almost immediately upon her confinement. She is much chastened, and hopefully ready to speak.
“Come to me, my lady.”
She startles at the sound of my voice then slowly obeys. I do not hurry her. She needs to do this in her own time.
When at last I glimpse her sweet face, her cheeks are streaked with tears, and her nose appears reddened by her distress. My heart yearns to comfort her, but the time is not yet right.
“Come to me, Freya.”
Her eyes leap to my face, and after a soft, ladylike sniffle, she begins to move toward me, her slippers whispering across the hard floor. She stops just out of reach of the bed bench upon which I sit.
“Come closer, my dear.”
Her eyes flare with emotion, and she hesitates, but only for a moment, then steps closer, and closer still, until she is just in front of me.
“What a good lass,” I say, and the effect of my words is immediate upon her countenance.
Her cheeks fill with color, making her even more of a beauty than she already is. Her eyes widen ever so slightly before darkening with emotion. Not for the first time, I wonder if she has any idea how much she manages to enchant me.
“Stick out your tongue, my lady.”
This time, Her Grace honors me by obeying immediately. I am not certain if she has learned her lesson, or merely hopes for the removal of her punishment.
“This will hurt,” I warn before I reach for the clothespin.
