On the edge of sleep, the foggy mist in her brain parted and she saw herself sitting in a room on the floor, on a barren bedroll. Other children different ages were with her. She was young—mayhap eleven or twelve. They all wore tattered clothes that hung on their unwashed bodies.
A chill filled Louisa’s chest as she remembered the confusion swimming in her head, the loneliness that consumed her, and especially the fear of her dire situation.
From the other room a child screamed as a man’s strong voice boomed so loud it shook the walls. She—and the others—tried to cover their ears, but to no avail. The beatings of the child still echoed through the house like a soulful mourn.
Anger filled Louisa. Why didn’t anyone stop this madman? But… she was a little older than the others, so perhaps she should set an example.
Finding courage she didn’t think she possessed, she jumped to her feet and ran to the other room. A large, burly man stood with his back to her, his hand raised over his head as he held a whip. On the floor, a boy—perhaps in his sixth or seventh year—lay without a shirt. His bareback marked horribly with bloody wounds.
“Stop this instant,” she shouted.
Slowly, the man turned and faced her. Shadows danced across his evil expression, but his bushy eyebrows were dominant, as was his large nose and wart on his cheek. The word—warlock—passed through her mind. Or was this man Satan himself?
The lad lay whimpering, his body shaking uncontrollably. Her heart broke for the helpless child, and she fell beside him, carefully gathering him in her arms.
“Look what you have done,” she snapped at the man, meeting his glare head-on.
The man snickered. “When did ye decide to play Mother Hen?”
“When I could not stand hearing his cries any longer.”
“This is not yer business.”
“Why are you whipping him? What did he do to you?”
The man belched a laugh and his alcoholic breath filled the air. “He did not bring me what I asked for.”
“He’s new. You cannot blame him for not knowing how to steal. In fact, I shall teach him. But for the love of God, stop beating him!”
He shook his head, his smile widening. “And what if ye cannot teach the fool? What if ye fail?”
“Then…” Panic filled her and she gazed down into the lad’s teary eyes. “Then I shall take his punishment.”
“No,” the boy whispered as more tears fell.
The man grasped her arm and yanked her to her feet. His dark glare pierced right through her. “Ye ready to take on such a challenge?”
“Indeed, I am.” She lifted her stubborn chin.
“Ye have a week to train him. That’s all.”
Nodding, she pulled away from the man and helped the boy off the floor and back to his bedroll. “What is your name?”
“D—D—David,” he muttered.
Gasping, Louisa was brought back to the present and jumped out of bed. Her body shook from the recent memory. David. The boy who tried to pick Trevor’s pocket was named David. And…shetrained him.
She groaned and covered her face with her hands. Her eyes stung with tears and dread filled her chest. She had been the burly man’s best thief. None of the other children could measure up to her. She made Macgregor a lot of money.
Macgregor!
That was the person who’d been whipping David.
Oh, how horrible. She must tell Trevor.
But she couldn’t.
She shook her head, arguing with herself. She must tell him what she remembered. She didn’t want him to accuse her of lying to him. If he turned her out on the street then she wouldaccept her fate. But she could not lie to the man she had fallen in love with.
