Page 39 of The Taking of House Westwood

Chapter Fifteen

Sophie heard the thump of the door opening to the servants’ quarters. Like much else at Westwood Manor, she’d come to dread that sound. She shivered, lying on her side, nearly naked but for a brief smock that barely reached the tops of her thighs. The guards had been cruel, leaving her hands bound in front of her, the cuffs locked to a length of chain that prevented her from bringing her hands down to the level of her head. Her ankles, similarly locked, prevented her from leaving the bed, but did allow her some leeway for turning. Her cuffed arms ensured lying on her front would be nearly impossible, and her back still ached so badly that the mere thought of lying on that flesh made her tremble.

The heartless bitch had been merciless in her retribution. Sophie had screamed out her agony as she hung from the gibbet like so much game, the Lady whipping her back raw. The guards had fondled her as usual, one of them leaving her with a parting, painful twist of a swollen nipple.

What would be happening to her next? She wondered if now, in the dead of night it was to finally happen. She’d been braced for it, trying to prepare herself for the horror. Indeed, her depraved treatment at the hands of Miriam and her cruel friend Countess Holstenborg had seemingly inured her to further travails. She expected nothing less than the worst.

But she would survive it. She would survive it even if she had to retreat to the tiny shelter deep within her mind. A place to cry the terror and pain away. A place where an imaginary Owen could hold her, somewhere she’d be protected, loved. It was the one part of her that couldn’t be reached. It would be enough.

It had to be.

The bolt of her door was thrown, and she raised her head, reflexively trying to bring her knees up into a fetal position. Her body began to tremble.

Oh Gods, I’m not ready!

No matter how often she’d played out how this might go, she knew she wasn’t really prepared to endure it.

A tall figure dressed in head to toe black emerged through the doorway, a heavy hood completely shrouding the face. The figure closed and locked the door before turning back toward her.

Sophie’s heartbeat pounded in her ears. If only she could get free! She’d fight. Fight until he had to kill her. She would not cooperate in this; to do so would smack of … participation.

“Go away,” she croaked. “Can’t you see I can’t take anymore? Leave me alone.”

The figure pulled the hood back. Unruly sandy hair, smooth brown eyes.

She was confused. This wasn’t one of the guards.

“I’ve come to take you back. Sophie, it’s me.” The voice was a familiar one — from her dreams.

She felt the tears welling in her burning eyes. “Ow-Owen?”

He smiled at her, his eyes filled with concern — and something else. “I’ve missed you, Sophie.”

“How? Is that really you?” The tears came then, sobs threatening to erupt up from the depths. It was him! Here for her. To take her home. To be with her. Love her.

His eyes were bright. “Shh, it’s all right, Sophie. We’re safe for the moment. They think I’m … inspecting you.”

“Inspecting me?”

He looked away a moment, fingering the dark cloth of his robes. “That’s how we got in. We made ourselves appear as Mendicants.”

“We must get away from here, Owen.” She swallowed, wishing her mouth wasn’t so dry. “She’s evil.”

Kneeling at the side of the bed, his eyes took in her whole body. What she saw in those brown depths sent a spark of unease fluttering through her belly. Or was it more than that?

“We need to wait here until we get the signal. We’ve got a plan for getting you out.”

She felt the tension wash from her body immediately. Saved!

“Get me out of these,” Sophie said, rattling her chains.

For a moment, he said nothing, but his avid gaze didn’t leave her, the flash in his eyes unmistakable.

“Owen, I mean it. I’ve got to get loose.”

His shook his head, dispelling that look from his eyes.”Of course, here.”

He reached into his robe and retrieved a battered metal key. Within moments he had the cuffs free.

---