“Margaret, wait—”
“Just remember,” she said, pausing at the door, “thou art not alone in thy suffering. And suffering need not be eternal.”
With that cryptic message, she was gone, leaving me with a mind full of questions and the first genuine spark of hope since Papa had been taken.
I sat motionless for a long time after she left, digesting everything I’d learned. Eldagh…a place where women could own property, run businesses, live without the domination of a husband or father. It sounded like a fairy tale, too good to be true.
And yet, Margaret had no reason to lie. Her daughter had escaped there, was raising her son there, free from the horrors she’d endured in this house.
The chain clinked as I shifted on the bed. I understood Margaret better now. The haunted look in her eyes, the resignation in her shoulders. Her daughter had been Gaspard’s victim long before I arrived, and she had watched her daughter suffer the same fate, and had somehow found the strength to help her escape.
Now I understood why she cleaned me with such gentle hands after Gaspard’s assault. Why she risked bringing me tonics for pain and sleep. She saw in me her daughter, another young woman trapped in a nightmare not of her own making.
My fingers traced the cold metal of the collar. Eldagh waited somewhere beyond these walls, beyond the Forbidden Forest that had claimed Papa. If I could somehow escape, find my way there...
But first, I had to survive Gaspard’s return. And to do that, I needed more than just hope. I needed a plan.
The frantic knocking startled me from uneasy dreams. Not the methodical turn of the key I’d grown accustomed to, but urgent, desperate rapping that sent my heart racing before I was fully awake. Dawn had barely broken, the room still wrapped in gray shadows as Margaret burst through the door, her face pale and hair escaping its usually tidy bun. One look at her wide eyes told me everything before she even opened her mouth.
He was coming back.
“They’ve been spotted,” she gasped, rushing to the wardrobe. “Less than a mile out. The hunting party. Master Gaspard.” Her hands shook as she yanked open the drawer where she’d stored the leather contraption designed to silence me. “We must prepare thee quickly.”
Ice flooded my veins. Three days. He’d promised three days, possibly four. This was only the morning of the third. Had I truly lost track of time in this windowless prison? Or had the huntbeen more successful than anticipated, sending him home early with fresh trophies to mount and a captive bride to claim?
“Are you certain?” I asked, voice raspy from disuse. My hand rose instinctively to my throat, feeling the raw skin beneath the iron collar. “Perhaps it’s another hunting party.”
Margaret shook her head, pulling the gag from its drawer. The leather straps dangled from her fingers like dead snakes. “Master’s hound leads them. I would know that beast anywhere.” She approached me, apology written across her face. “We must. He’ll check first thing.”
I nodded, swallowing hard against the rising panic. Two days hadn’t been enough. I had no plan, no means of escape, nothing but the knowledge that somewhere beyond these walls, beyond the Forbidden Forest, existed a place where women could be free. Fat lot of good that did me now.
“Do what you must,” I whispered, closing my eyes.
Her fingers were gentle as they positioned the wooden ball in front of my mouth. I opened obediently, fighting every instinct that screamed at me to keep my jaws clamped shut. The smooth, lacquered wood slid between my teeth, larger than I remembered, forcing my jaw wide. The leather straps followed, tightening around my head with practiced efficiency.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured, checking that the buckles were secure without being cruel. “So sorry.”
I couldn’t respond, could only make a muffled sound of acknowledgment. The weight of the collar, the pressure of the gag, I felt like a beast being prepared for slaughter. Perhaps I was.
Margaret stepped back, assessing her work with sorrowful eyes. “Do as he asks when he returns,” she said, voice urgent. “Don’t fight him. Bad things befall the good people in this town who tried to change things.” Her voice dropped lower. “Like thy father.”
My whole body went rigid. What did she mean? What did she know about Papa?
She must have seen the question in my eyes because she hesitated, glancing nervously at the door before leaning closer. “He never had a chance, thy father. Not at that drawing.” Her eyes held mine, making sure I understood. “Not when he stood between Master Gaspard and what he wanted.”
The revelation hit me hard. Not random chance. Not fate. Not the forest’s choice. My father had been deliberately selected. Murdered.
I made a desperate sound behind the gag, my eyes wide with horror and dawning comprehension. Memories flashed through my mind. Papa’s late arrival at the sacrifice, his resigned expression when our family crest was drawn, the meaningful final words he’d spoken to me before the draw happened. He’d known. Somehow, he’d known what was coming.
Margaret nodded, reading the understanding in my face. “I’ve said too much already, but thou deserves to know the truth.” She glanced again toward the door, listening for approaching footsteps. “Master Gaspard has wanted thee for years. Thy father refused to give permission for courtship, knowing the kind of man Master is.”
My hands flew to the gag, fingers scrabbling at the buckles, desperate to ask how, to demand answers. Margaret gently pulled my hands away, holding them between her own.
“They made a false crest,” she whispered hurriedly, eyes never leaving mine. “Painted it to match thine, coated the back with honey to make Father Simon’s fingers stick to it when he reached into the bag.” Her voice broke slightly. “This isn’t the first time they’ve done this. Not the first family to lose someone who stood in Master Gaspard’s way.”
My tears came hot and fast now, streaming down my cheeks and soaking into the leather straps. Papa hadn’t been taken bychance. He’d been murdered by Gaspard and Father Simon, sacrificed not to the forest but to a man’s obsessive desire. The beast hadn’t chosen him. Vile men had, men with power and no conscience to temper it.
A noise from downstairs made Margaret jump. “He’s nearly here. I must go.” She squeezed my hands once more. “Remember, do as he says. Live. Find thy moment when it comes.”
