Page 7 of Tangwystle
I knew he wrote harsh contracts, because I’d known the servant before Gretel. She’d worked for the Clinemell families for fifteen years and didn’t have a coin to her name. But she left when it expired, telling me she’d rather risk the outside world than another moment with Clinemell.
I think that’s why I always sensed trouble when I first met Gretel. Too sweet, with her curls and her soft curves. No wonder Clinemell spanked her.
I managed to pull Gretel into the kitchen, and she must have recognized a change.
“Tangwystle,” she moaned, blinking.
I placed her in the pantry.
My intentions weren’t cruel. My muscles already shook from hauling her up the riverbank, and the pantry was the one place I knew no man in Blackwell Manor would wander.
Blood soaked into a bag of flour, and I quickly found blankets, creating a nest as best I could. I stoked the fire in the kitchen, hoping the warmth would seep into the pantry. Her dress disintegrated as I undressed her.
She winced, her eyes never opening, her brow wrinkling as I washed the blood off her back.
Her tiny waist and back made her look so delicate. The whip marks, which I somehow just knew them to be, marred what should’ve been smooth, golden skin.
Master Blackwell kept a hoard of tonics and magical balms. Items infused by skilled magicians. I carefully placed the balm on her back, hoping it would heal the wounds.
I’m not sure if they ever fully did.
I sat up with her most of the night. I cooked Blackwell’s meal and took out a plate for Boswell, who preferred staying in the stable. The place hadn’t had any dogs or horses in years, but I think Boswell never liked taking his meals in the kitchen. Or maybe he didn’t like eating with me. We had a good working relationship, but that was the extent of it.
Gretel slept through most of the night. I sat by her side, monitoring her breathing. In and out. Her back muscles rippled, and at times she’d whimper in her sleep.
I dozed at one point because the next thing I knew, my eyes opened to find pretty green eyes staring at me.
“It’s dark in here,” she mumbled.
I’d brought in a lantern, but otherwise she was right.
“It’s the pantry,” I snapped, rubbing at my face and praying her back was better.
“Oh.” She tucked her hands under her cheek, her eyes falling shut again. But at least the small interaction meant she was alive.
I crawled out of the pantry, made breakfast, and washed the linen. Boswell and Master Blackwell never knew who else slept in the manor for those few days. I made her take some broth that night, and when I went to take the bowl, watching her eyes fall shut yet again, I tried to leave.
“No, stay.”
It was the weak voice she used that made me do as she asked. Or at least that’s what I’ve always told myself. It tugged at my heart. And it had to be strange, sleeping in the dark, cold pantry. I’d brought in more blankets, but one could hardly declare the place cozy.
I set the bowl and spoon beside me on the ground. The floor was hard against my back, a thin pillow the only thing cushioning my head.
She continued to make little whimpers in her sleep. They weren’t the deep breaths of sleep or the sharp intake of a troubled air full of lungs. When her face scrunched together, I realized it was due to nightmares.
I’d never encountered something as violent as being whipped. It doesn’t take much to understand nightmares, though. Not when you’re deemed useless thanks to your lack of magic and inferiority as a woman.
“It will be okay,” I lied to her, whispering in the dark. She made a little moan back. I shuffled on the floor, my shoulder justbrushing against her arm because I was still worried any sort of contact would cause her injury to flare.
The next day she had broth both for breakfast and dinner. And when I tried to leave, there was another pathetic, “No, stay.”
So I did.
But this time I rolled onto my side. With the lantern out, my eyes adjusted to the darkness.
How could I manage to find her so beautiful even when lying on the floor?
I’d washed her neck earlier, smoothing back her blonde curls. Her pert nose twitched as she slept on her stomach, her chest flat against the blanket upon the ground.
