Page 32 of The Taking of House Westwood

Arnaud cuffed her across the cheek, the hot flash of pain stunning her into silence, her ear ringing. She spit at him, but he was crouched too far back for her to hit him with it.

The Lady appeared in her vision, dropping to one knee directly in front of Sophie. The Lady grasped Sophie by the hair, hauling her head up, scalp burning. She stared into Sophie’s eyes a moment, the dancing, malevolent joy in them plain to see. But the hard line of her jaw betrayed the anger there too, just under the surface of her beautiful, cruel face.

“Let — me go,” Sophie grunted. It felt like her hair was being wrenched from her scalp, the pain worsening by the second.

The Lady slapped Sophie’s face, hard. Sophie gasped, grunting at the sting of the blow. She struggling vainly against the grip, and opened her mouth to yell. How she hated the cruel woman!

The Lady slapped her across the other side of her face, even harder this time, the crack ringing out across the empty field and stars bursting behind Sophie’s eyes. She tried to shake her head to clear her vision, but the Lady’s grip held her fast.

“Have you had enough, girl?”

Sophie felt the fist in her hair twist and she screamed at the searing pain. She was sure several strands had ripped from her scalp. “Yes, I’ll stop! Please, no!”

She started crying, ashamed and hating herself at the same time. The pain was what made her cry, but she knew the Lady would think it was from fear. The agony in her scalp was overwhelming, and she wanted to do anything, anything at all, to make it stop.

“Well then,” the Lady said, drawing near until their noses almost touched, her breath warm on Sophie’s tear-stained cheek. “I think it’s time we teach servants what happens to them when they disobey.”

Chapter Eleven

House Westwood

“The men are inside, Marshal,” Taidon said, keeping his voice low. “But we don’t have much time. They can’t stay under the humbrae for long.”

Valery paced in the shadows just beyond the road, keeping eyes on the entrance to the manor. The road, lined with guttering torches to light the way, led straight up to the open manor entrance. Guards, perhaps fifty yards from where Valery and Taidon stood, were posted to either side of the maw of the open portcullis. The steel of the guards’ halberds glinted with torchlight.

Rather than watching the road, the guards seemed more intent on what was happening in the courtyard inside. A young woman, totally naked, was stretched up on her toes, her arms lashed overhead to the arm of a wooden gibbet. Her head hung between her arms, her long wet hair covering her face. She stirred, turning a bit, exposing more of her back. She’d been given a serious whipping. Welts and stripes of crimson were ribboned across her flesh, some of the marks wrapping around the ribcage on one side.

The whipping did not discomfit Valery; he’d given the same to his devoted Rayja many times before. What nearly stopped him in his tracks though was the beauty of the girl. Her curves, her lustrous hair, the aching vulnerability of her physique called to him in much the same way Rayja’s had the first time he’d spotted her naked, terrified form on the auction block in Druas.

He regarded humans as little more than food generally, but his body servant Rayja had awakened something in him. Perhaps there was more to the species than he’d always thought? The idea disturbed and fascinated him all at once. Now, this was another human, this whipped girl, who seemed to call to something within him (the iron bar of his erection the most obvious manifestation of it).

Some younger members of his race sometimes talked about a mystical connection that was present with certain humans, but the older, more experienced among the nocturne dismissed such an idea as mere agitation by ignorant, impetuous youngsters.

“Taidon, tell the—”

He saw a woman approach the nude captive.

“Is that her, Taidon?” Valery’s voice growled.

“It is, Marshal.”

The woman was striking, a blood red dress flowing around her willowy form. A high collar emphasized the graceful neck. Her hand stroked the tracery across the captive’s back, and the nude woman jerked. Valery could well imagine the gasp of pain such touch would elicit on raw, newly whipped flesh. He’d enjoyed the tactile pleasure of it often enough with his own body slave.

“Marshal, we should strike now.” Taidon’s voice was urgent, excitement just under the surface.

Valery scanned the manor’s defenses. Dozens of soldiers, each of them armed with crossbows, were arrayed on the battlements above.

“Not yet, Taidon. We stick to the plan.”

Valery was not about to needlessly sacrifice any of his men with an all-out assault if he could avoid it.

“Smash and grab only then,” Taidon muttered, not quite able to wash the disappointment from his voice.

Valery cracked a smile, the enamel of his teeth gleaming in the low light. “Cheer up, Lieutenant. If we succeed, maybe we’ll have more than one pheasant to bring in from the hunt.”

“You mean—”

“If we can do it, take any captives that present themselves. We’ll be traveling slower on the return trip, since we won’t be able to go near the roads. A few extra ‘companions’ on our journey won’t matter.”

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