Page 8 of The Cruelty of Thorns

“I will be back within the hour,” she said as she let herself out, closing the door softly behind her.

Well, that was certainly odd. With nothing more to distract me, I set about finishing my meal, realizing that I was indeed famished. The bread was newly baked, the pork well-seasoned and flavorful, and the fruit juicy and obviously freshly picked, possibly from the potted trees below. I poured the last of the wine and carried my glass back to the window, where I watched a stooped old man come through the iron gates with a large basket of cut roses. He headed across the courtyard and ducked into a door below me.

I turned away, bored, and wondered what to do with myself. While I was still young enough to enjoy a life of leisure apart from my schooling, I was not a layabout. My father insisted everyone in his household be up early to start the day. The only reason to stay in one’s room was illness, and I had never suffered as such, so being confined to a bedroom went against my upbringing. Was I supposed to just sit here and wait to be summoned by the Contessa?

Despite Rosetta’s warning, I considered leaving the room and finding my own way out. Yes, I was somewhere outside the city and wasn’t sure how I would get past the gate I had come through last night, but I realized I wanted to go home. The fact that I was dressed in someone else’s underthings with no shoes put a damper on my enthusiasm for the plan, but it didn’t make me any less determined to leave. I resolved to bide my time and wait for Rosetta to return, then entreat her to help me get out of here. As enamored as I was with her mistress’s company, I had a life of my own to live. For all I knew, the Contessa had already forgotten about me. A woman like that no doubt had her pick of lovers and wasn’t likely to miss me.

As promised, Rosetta returned within the hour with a large urn of hot water and towels. She poured the water into the basin located on a stand next to the wardrobe and handed me the towels and a cake of soap. While I stripped off my shurt and prepared to wash up, she gathered the remains of my meal and made as if to leave.

“Hold on,’ I called to her.

She turned and regarded me expectantly, her eyes dropping to my bare chest, where the evidence of last night’s encounter with the Contessa was on full display. “Yes?”

“I can’t stay here. Will you help me?”

“Help you what?”

“Find my clothes and get out of here. Don’t get me wrong; I appreciate the Contessa’s hospitality, but I have a life of my own and people who will be expecting me.”

She seemed to consider my request. “These people, will they come looking for you?”

Her question took me by surprise. The truth was, with the exception of a couple of summer trips to the country to visit one of my uncles, I had never spent the night away from home before. Even with my frequent trysts with maidens in the city, I had always managed to sneak home before dawn to be there when the maid came to wake me. I was an only child and fair to say the pride of my parents, who both doted on me. They would notice if I was gone and were no doubt starting to wonder at my absence today.

“Probably,” I replied. “My father would be sending messages to my friends by now wanting to know why I was not at home.”

She frowned at me. “That is indeed troublesome. I will be sure to let my mistress know.”

“While I appreciate that, can you just help me get out of here?”

She lowered her eyes and shook her head. “I cannot. Perhaps if you explained your predicament to my mistress, she might reconsider.”

“Reconsider what?”

“I must go now.” She ducked out the door before I could stop her, though this time I noted with alarm the sound of a key turning in the lock.

“Wait!” I called and ran across the room to the door. When I tried to open it, I discovered it wouldn’t budge. I couldn’t believe she had actually locked me in.

What had I gotten myself into?

CHAPTER 6

MYRA

Revisiting old wounds

TUESDAY WAS THE first of the month, when I usually got my stipend from the small trust account my father had left me. I liked to treat myself on those days, which for me usually meant a new book or journal, so after grabbing dinner alone at the college cafeteria, I headed off campus to my favorite of the two bookstores nearby.

This time of day most people were home eating dinner with their families, so I was the only customer in the store. I wandered up and down the aisles looking for something new to grab my attention, finally settling on two books, one the latest by my favorite contemporary author and another a ghost story that looked promising. I then headed over to the stationary section to look at the journals. I needed a new one for the stories and poetry I wrote, preferably something with a gothic feel. There were several with roses and crows featured, and having found two I really liked, decided to splurge and get them both. I also bought a new pen and a packet of paper for my notebook.

The sun had set when I left the store and since it was a nice evening for a stroll, I decided to walk to the bakery down the block to pick up a pastry for dessert. I was standing on the corner waiting for the light to change when I got that same feeling of being watched I’d experienced in the quad the evening before. I looked around, at first seeing nothing to explain my uneasiness, then I spotted him outside a small café across the street.

The man in my drawing.

The man who had barely left my thoughts since that first encounter Friday night.

Once again he was dressed in a dark suit that set off his lustrous golden brown hair and pale complexion, and once again his intense gaze was focused right on me. I was tempted to turn around to see if there was someone behind me he could be interested in, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away from his. It was as though an electrical current passed between us, a sensation that sent tingles rippling across my flesh. I felt a warmth spread throughout my abdomen and down below, to that private place I had never allowed anyone to touch, and without conscious thought I squeezed my thighs together, amplifying the sensation before biting my lip to keep from gasping aloud. How could just the sight of someone affect me like this?

The light changed and the few people waiting pushed past me to cross the street, but I couldn’t get my feet to move. I could barely remember how to breathe. Finally, it was the man who broke contact, turning and walking the other way down the street. I inhaled and clenched my fist around the bag from the bookstore, wanting something real to hang onto.

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