Page 2 of Claiming Their Slave
“Master, please,” she said, her hands already shaking. But she didn’t know what to say. When he looked at her, he saw a criminal who deserved to endure a life of slavery, despite the fact that her father had been the one to break the law.
But Ava was tired of paying a penance for a father she’d never met. She was sick of wondering if her life would be cut as short as her mother’s. She was outraged that the slave owners in this village routinely bred their slaves to ensure their own children would have plenty of slaves for their households.
“After all I’ve done for you,” he spat. “After how well I’ve treated you. You were born in this house. I am practically your father.”
She drew herself up tall and placed her hands on her hips, giving her master the boldest look she could muster. “You are not my father. I have no father. And I have no mother anymore, thanks to you. When she became ill, you held off on calling a doctor until it was too late. I owe you nothing, and Iwillbe free one day.” Inside, she was trembling, but Ava maintained her brave front and stood her ground as her master rose to his feet.
Run, you fool, she thought. He was an old man, but he wasn’t feeble yet. He was much larger and stronger than her. If he got his hands on her, there was no telling what he might do. Slaves didn’t challenge their masters and get away with it.
She took a few steps back, preparing to bolt into the hallway and rush downstairs, but he matched her step for step. The floorboards creaked under his feet. Fear clutched her heart. If he caught her, she would endure his punishment, but then she would run away the first moment she could manage, whether she had a bag of supplies packed or had to hurry across the meadow with nothing but the clothes on her back.
Her mother used to tell her the institution of slavery had made the village a darker place than it had once been. The hearts of men had withered, and their shrinking hearts would only grow crueler with the passing of time. The merciless gleam in her master’s eyes only reinforced all her mother had told her, and a chill went down her spine.
“Come here, slave.”
Pulse pounding in her ears, Ava turned and fled into the hallway, then finally reached the steps. She heard the thumping of her master’s feet on the staircase. He was close behind her.
“Stop! I swear, you will sorely regret this disobedience!”
She might regret it, but she would always regret her hesitation and cowardice more. She should’ve left the village a long time ago, rather than playing at running away, staring across the meadow and keeping the bag under her bed stocked with fresh supplies, yet never daring to set foot on the path to freedom. All because she feared the monsters in the forest that she’d never actually seen.
She reached the entryway of the house and yanked the front door open, only to collide with a huge solid body. The man, who reeked of alcohol, growled and grasped her upper arms, his fingers digging painfully into her flesh. She struggled to escape his hold, but his grip only tightened. Peering up, she gasped to find Monrock, her master’s eldest son, had captured her.
“Please please pleaselet me go,” she whispered quickly.
For a time, when they were both children, he had been like a playmate to her. Until one day when his father decreed they were no longer allowed to play together, and she hadn’t even been allowed to speak to him for years. The time she’d ended up in the stocks had been because his father had caught her trying to talk to Monrock, not long after her mother had passed away and she’d been so dreadfully sad and lonely that she’d risked it.
Monrock’s eyes narrowed and he squeezed her arms harder, making her gasp in pain. Her heart sank. He wouldn’t help her. If anything, he would make her suffering worse. Though he’d been kind as a child, somewhere along the way he’d turned into a darker version of his father. She had no difficulty believing his slaves had had good reason to run away, and she hoped they survived in the woods and managed to find another village to call home.
“What’s going on, Father?” he said, peering over Ava’s head.
“She was indeed planning to run away. I found a bag packed with stolen supplies underneath her bed.” The old man’s breath came in ragged gasps for a long moment, before he took some deep inhales and more calmly said, “I wonder if she was preparing to run off at the same time as your slaves, Monrock, on purpose. Perhaps she knew of their plans all along and had intended to join them soon after their escape.”
The fear churning through her amplified, her blood running cold and her insides quaking. “No, that’s not true. I had no knowledge of your slaves planning to run away, Monrock. I swear it.” She twisted in his hold, but to no avail. He wouldn’t let her go. At this point, she would be lucky to avoid the public whipping post. It was Monrock’s favorite place to punish his errant slaves. She grew even colder and trembled in his bruising grip.
“Thomas was in the market earlier, inquiring about a slave to purchase. Perhaps you should put her up on the auction block and let the rich old man bid on her. With the profits, you could buy a dozen new loyal slaves to replace this bitch.”
His words gutted her.
Thomas was an Elder who was above the law in every way. Many of his slaves had mysteriously disappeared over the years, and it was rumored he’d beaten them to death. He also employed the whipping post more than any master in the village and had a reputation for impregnating his female slaves, then selling the children—his own flesh and blood—once they were old enough to leave their mothers.
Ava couldn’t imagine a fate worse than belonging to Thomas.
All her bravery fled and she stilled in Monrock’s arms. “Please, I’ll do anything. Don’t put me on the auction block. I’ll atone for what I’ve done. I promise.” She really should have run when she’d had the chance.
Surely, the monsters in the village were worse than those in the forest.
Her master yanked on her hair, forcing her head back. He put his mouth to her ear, his foul breath nearly making her gag. “I am not in a forgiving mood today, Ava. You will be sold to the highest bidder, and Thomas will likely be your new master before the day is over.”
“You’ll get a fine price for her, Father, as she’s never been bred.” One of Monrock’s hands loosened on her arm and he traced her breast with his fingers, his gaze one of pure malice.
Not for the first time, she wondered what had made Monrock so hard and merciless, when as a young child he’d been nothing but kind to her. Was it his mother dying in childbirth, when he was but eight years old? Was it his strict upbringing? Or was it something else that had happened to him that she wasn’t aware of? Maybe she was naïve, but she liked to think all men came into the world as a pure slate, but sometimes their hearts were darkened by horrible events that left a mark on them for life. But what did it matter now? There didn’t appear to be a speck of goodness left in Monrock.
Her master released her hair and ventured back in the house, while she waited on the doorstep, still a captive of the man who’d once been her friend. Her heart ached, remembering what he’d once been. They used to stare at the field of daisies together and exchange stories about the monsters that lived within the forest. He used to sneak her sweetcakes in the middle of day, when his father was busy selling his woodcarvings and cured meat in the market. Once, he’d brought her a bouquet of daisies, the largest ones that grew further out, having snuck into the field in the dimness of the early morning to gather a bunch of her favorite flowers.
Before he hardened, and before both of their mothers died, she used to think her future wouldn’t be so horrible. She used to dream that one day he’d offer to buy her from his father, or perhaps he’d inherit her when his father passed away, and then he would take her as one of his wives. It wasn’t common for a slave to be taken as a wife, but sometimes the Elders approved such a union—as long as they were given a handsome bribe.
But now the thought of becoming one of Monrock’s wives made her stomach roil. He had two wives, and she’d glimpsed both of them sporting bruises on their faces when they ventured to the village well. He didn’t treat his wives much more kindly than he treated his slaves.
