“My beautiful prize,” he said, his voice carrying the false warmth of a winter sun. “Hast thou missed thy master?”
I kept my gaze lowered, giving the barest nod required to avoid punishment. The chain around my neck clinked softly with the movement.
He strode into the room, dropping a leather sack at the foot of the bed. Something solid inside it thudded against the floor. “A successful hunt,” he announced, as if I’d asked. “Three stags and a wild boar. The finest kills in years.” His chest puffed with pride. “The other men wanted to stay another day, but I told them my duties at home couldn’t wait.”
Duties. As if raping me was some noble responsibility he carried.
He circled the bed like a predator, trailing his fingers over the rumpled sheets. “I dreamt of thee each night away,” he continued. “Of thy skin beneath my hands, thy voice muffled by my gag.” His eyes raked over me, lingering on the places wherethe dress clung tightest. “I told myself, why waste another day in the woods when my bride-to-be waits for me here?”
Bride-to-be. The words turned my stomach. The private ceremony Father Simon had arranged would bind me to this monster in the eyes of God and man. Unless I acted first.
I shifted slightly, feeling the reassuring pressure of the knife against my lower back. One chance. That’s all I would need. One moment when his guard was down.
“Thou art quiet today,” he remarked, though the gag made speech impossible. “Learning thy place at last? Good.” He reached out, running his thumb along my jaw where the leather strap cut into my skin. “A woman’s silence is her finest quality.”
His hands moved to the back of my head, fingers working at the buckles of the gag. The relief when it finally slid from my mouth was instantaneous, my jaw aching as I closed it for the first time in hours. I ran my tongue over cracked lips, tasting blood where the wood had rubbed them raw.
“Thank you,” I whispered, the words automatic, meaningless.
“Such manners,” he mocked, setting the gag aside. His fingers moved to my throat next, to the iron collar that had become my constant companion. “This too shall come off... for now.”
The key appeared in his hand, small and silver, dangling from a chain around his neck. He leaned close as he worked at the lock, his breath hot against my cheek. I could feel the knife at my back, just inches from my fingertips. If I moved quickly...
The collar fell away with a heavy clank, and for one breathless moment, freedom seemed within reach. But before I could move, before my hand could find the hilt of Papa’s knife, Gaspard’s fingers circled my wrists in a grip that would surely leave new bruises.
“Now,” he said, his voice dropping to that register that signaled his arousal, “let us celebrate my return properly.”
With a single violent motion, he shoved me backward onto the bed, pinning my arms above my head. I struggled instinctively, but he outweighed me by at least a hundred pounds, all of it hard muscle from years of hunting. My movements only seemed to excite him more.
“I love it when thou fights,” he groaned, transferring both my wrists to one large hand while the other reached for something beside the bed. “It makes the taming so much sweeter.”
Rope. He’d prepared rope. How had I not noticed it earlier? The rough hemp bit into my skin as he bound my wrists to the headboard, tying knots that would be impossible to loosen without help. I pulled against the restraints anyway, panic rising in my throat when they held fast.
The knife. I couldn’t reach the knife.
My plan collapsed like a house built on sand. I was tied, helpless, the weapon that was supposed to be my salvation now pressed uselessly against my back, hidden beneath layers of fabric and completely out of reach.
Gaspard sat back, admiring his handiwork. “Much better,” he said, running his hands up my arms, over the rope that bound me, and back down to my breasts. “Now thou art truly mine to enjoy.”
His fingers worked at the fastenings of the green dress, not bothering with gentleness. The fabric tore in fewer places, but it still revealed more of my skin for his hungry gaze. I closed my eyes, unable to bear the sight of his face contorted with lust.
“Look at me,” he commanded, squeezing my breast hard enough to make me gasp. “I want to see thy eyes when I claim thee.”
Reluctantly, I opened my eyes. His were dilated, the pupils expanding until only a thin ring of cold blue remained. One hand continued to maul my exposed flesh while the other moved to the fastening of his breeches.
“I have made a decision,” he announced, as if discussing the weather rather than my violation. “It’s time to begin breeding thee.”
The words hit me like a physical blow. “What?”
His smile was all teeth, predatory and possessive. “Why waste time? Thou art young, fertile. I want sons. Strong boys to carry my name, to learn the hunt.”
“No,” I gasped, renewing my struggle against the ropes. “Please, Gaspard. Not... not before we’re wed.” I hated myself for the plea, for playing into his fantasy that our marriage would somehow legitimize his ownership of me. But I needed time. Time to escape, time to find another way.
“Already thinking like a proper wife,” he said approvingly, freeing himself from his breeches. “Concerned with propriety.” His hand moved to grip himself, his manhood disappearing entirely within his fist as he stroked it. “But thou needn’t worry about such things. We’ll be wed tomorrow. No one will ever know our son was conceived a day early.”
I stared at the ceiling, unable to look at him touching himself. Something strange occurred to me in that moment. Something I hadn’t had the presence of mind to notice before. His member never caused me pain during his assaults. It was always his hands that left bruises, his fingers that hurt and tore. His manhood was unremarkable, almost small, lost in his grip. Another example of his obsession with possession rather than pleasure.
The working women often spoke of reaching their own ecstacy. Another lie they fibbed about. Probably to get young women into their husband’s beds easier. This must be my punishment for listening with burning ears rather than walking away.
