Page 33 of A Wicked Earl's Widow
They reached the cabin and tears pricked the back of her eyes. The recurring nightmare. Oh, God.Her father pulled her off the horse, grabbed her wrists, and pulled her inside. Mama lay curled on the bed, her ankles and wrists bound, a handkerchief stuffed in her mouth. Holding back a sob, she noted her mother’s hair had turned completely gray and the lines on her face had deepened and new wrinkles appeared. Her cheek was swollen and bruised. But she was alive.
“Mama, oh Mama.”
Her mother’s eyes grew wide, tears shining as she shook her head.
“Isn’t this nice? My two favorite girls together again.” He bent over his wife, kissed her forehead, and pushed her off the bed. She landed with a hardthumpon her side and a cry of pain.
She rushed to her mother’s side. When Eliza touched her mother’s hip, the older woman gave her a determined look and an almost imperceptible shake of the head. Eliza understood. Backing away, she sank onto one of the chairs. Her mother would not play the role of a victim. Not today.
“What, no tearful reunion? We can change that soon enough.” He took off his coat and laid it carefully over the other chair. “I’m a bit tired. Your mother was escorted here under the cover of darkness so I rose quite early this morning.”
He went to a corner behind the door and retrieved more rope. With a sinking heart, Eliza saw their last hope of escape disappear.Breathe in…and out. In…and out.If she lost her wits, their chance of survival would disappear as well. And they would survive, by God. He would not win.
“I apologize for not playing the host, but I do need a nap,” he said, his tone conversational as if discussing which parlor game to play after supper. He seized her wrists, tied them together, and tied her ankles to the chair legs. Pulling a handkerchief from his pocket, he held it out. “Open up, my dear. I need utter silence while I sleep.”
Eliza stared at him, her mouth clamped tight. He laughed, walked over to his wife, and kicked her in the stomach. He pulled his foot back and aimed for her head.
“No!”
He nodded. “That’s my girl. Now let’s try this again.” He stood in front of her again. “Open wide,” he taunted and shoved the cloth into her mouth. A corner of it lay on the back of her tongue and she thought she would choke. But it dampened and the gagging ceased.
Landonshire removed his cravat and pistol and placed them both on the table. Then he untied his shirt, kicked off his boots, and lay on the bed. Within a minute, his light snore floated across the room. Eliza and her mother locked eyes, and one lone tear slip down the bruised cheek.
The sun could not be seen from inside the cabin, so they had no idea how much time had passed. He woke with a snort and a snarl, looking around the room confused. A smile curled his lips as he remembered where he was.
“Anyone hungry? No? I have some bread and cheese and a flask of wine.” He retrieved the saddle bag from beside the bed. Rummaging through it, he pulled out bread and cheese wrapped in brown paper and a flat metal container. He took a bite of cheese and chewed slowly.
“Oh my love, I bet you haven’t eaten since supper last night. That’s too bad.” He tore off a chunk of the bread. “Youhavebecome a little thick in the middle.”
He finished off the bread and wrapped the rest of the cheese in the butcher paper. “Now, shall we get straight to business?”
He stood and tied the strings of his shirt together. Then he retrieved a leather glove from his coat. Pulling it over his hand, he clutched the hair on the top of his wife’s head and lifted her half off the ground. With his gloved hand, he punched her in the side of the face.
“What, no sound? Ah, playing the martyr for our daughter. The maternal sacrifice is endearing.” His next blow came to the stomach and he grinned as a low muffled moan escaped. “You see, Eliza, the key to persuasion is making sure that your opponent never loses consciousness. I’ve grown quite skilled at this. I can judge by the eyes if it’s close, so you allow a little time for recuperation.” He released her hair and she crumpled to the ground.
“Not everyone has the same tolerance for pain. Others acquire it along the way. You, for example, were never able to withstand much. While your mother has become very tolerant of it.” He leaned over and backhanded his wife, her head thumping against the floorboards.
Eliza struggled, pulling at the bindings. Her stomach roiled, If she vomited with the cloth in her mouth, she would surely choke. Every muscle in her body tensed as her father inflicted blow after blow. Her nightmare had become reality. She blinked, fighting the tears, knowing her mother would sacrifice herself to save her daughter.
And then he began to sing. The words of Amazing Grace echoed against the timber walls. He’d lost his mind. Oh, no. If he were insane, there would be no escape. Perhaps he’d only brought her here to kill them both.
He untied her ankles and removed the handkerchief from her mouth. Eliza gasped, sucking in air that made her cough against the dryness of her mouth and throat. A shared look of horror passed between mother and daughter as the grinning demon untied his second captive and pulled off the gag. They all knew Landonshire enjoyed watching them struggle, kick and flail against the beatings. He wanted to hear them beg for mercy.
“So tell me, Eliza, what are your plans for the future?” he asked in a friendly tone. “Are you ready to settle down again?”
She stared at him, her tongue frozen, her mind whirling. What did he want her to say? If she agreed to his demands too soon, they might leave before Nathaniel had time to find them. If she did not, her mother could die.
“What if I refuse to say the words at the wedding?”
“That was anticipated, my dear. Bellum searched out a minister who’s short on brass and practically deaf. Once the contract is signed, he will be witness that you are legally bound.”
“I-I would prefer a younger man,” she croaked out, her throat parched and her tongue thick from the handkerchief.
“Ha! The little whore wants a younger man. I cannot seem to please you.”
He pulled the rocker away from the fireplace and set it next to his wife. He sat down and tipped the chair back on its curved legs and grabbed the heavy iron poker.
“First”—he jabbed the end of the poker into his wife’s thigh—“I give you a young, rich husband.” With the toe of his foot, he pushed at the small circle of blood forming through her dress.
