“I am not your slave,” she repeated stubbornly, hand smarting from the sting of the brand. “Wolfhere freed me.”
He shook his head as a wise father considers his child’s foolishness. “Wolfhere? Wolfhere wants you for his own reasons. Don’t think Wolfhere took you except to use you himself.”
“Not in that way.” Then, horrified she had spoken of such a thing when they were alone, she tried again to bolt.
He was too fast for her, and his grip was strong as he took hold of her arms and pulled her against him. “In what way, Liath? No, not in that way. He and his kind have other plans for you, no doubt.”
“What do you know of Wolfhere and his kind?” Ai, Lady, what if Hugh truly knew something and could tell her? How much would she be willing to give him in return?
But he only sighed deeply and kissed her on the forehead. She shuddered, paralyzed by the sick, helpless fear in her belly. He did not let go of her. “I will be honest with you, Liath, as I have always been honest with you. I only suspect Wolfhere works in league with other unknown people. He was thrown out of court for something, some act, some opinion, and it is well known he has mastered the art of seeing through fire and stone. Surely he must have other skills, or be in league with those who do. I know your father was murdered, and I know he was trying to hide you, his most precious treasure. Therefore, someone else must be looking for you. Does that not follow? If they are willing to murder your father, how can you expect kindness from them? You will wish most devoutly, my beauty, that you were back in my bed if they get hold of you, as they will, if you don’t come back to me. I can protect you.”
“I don’t want your protection.” Twisting, she tried to spin out of his grasp, but he was too strong. And she was too weak.
“You are bound to me,” he whispered. “You will always be bound to me. No matter where you run, I will always find you. You will always come back to me.”
She glimpsed a figure in the gloom, a servingman out in the night, perhaps walking to the privies. “I beg you, friend!” she called out to him, her voice ragged with fear.
Hugh wrenched her arm tightly up against her back, trapping her. The servingman turned, his face indistinguishable in the darkness—but her position was silhouetted plainly by the fire.
“How fare you, friend?” the man asked. “Need you help?”
“Please—” Liath began, but Hugh pressed his free hand to her throat and suddenly she could not speak.
“Nay, brother,” answered Hugh sternly. “We need no help here. You may move on.”
Whether because he recognized the voice of a nobleman, the robes of a churchman, or was simply obedient to a tone in Hugh’s voice which he could not resist, the man turned away and vanished on his errand, abandoning her.
“No,” she whispered, finding her voice again when Hugh lowered his hand.
“Yes.” Hugh smiled. “You are mine, Liath. You will love me in the end.”
“I love someone else,” she said hoarsely. The feather, still hidden, burned like a hot coal against her free hand. “I love another man.”
She only knew how gentle he had been before because he now went white with rage and shook her viciously. “Who? Who is it?”
Unable to help herself, she began to weep. “Ai, Lady, he’s dead.”
“Any man you love will die, for I proclaim it so. I will make it so. Love no one, love only me, and you will be safe.”
“I will never love you. I hate you.”
“Hate is only the other face of love, my beauty. You cannot hate what you cannot also love. My beautiful Liath. How I love the sound of your name on my lips.”
She believed him. That was the worst of it. He spoke so persuasively, and his voice was so soft—except she knew what he was, she had seen that glimpse of it when she made him angry.
“I will always treat you well,” he said as if he had heard her thoughts, “as long as you obey me.”
She began again to cry. Seeing her reduced to weeping in front of him, her fear and weakness revealed utterly, he let go of her. Like a rabbit miraculously released from the clutches of a hawk, she ran.
“Where will you go?” he called after her, mocking her as she ran. “You will never escape me, Liath. Never.”
She ran to the stables where so many animals and stablehands crammed in together that breath and sweat made the air almost warm. But she would never be warm again.
3
ANNA shivered as wind wailed through the trees. Snowflakes spun down; a thin dusting made the ground bright, and the wind shuddered branches of trees and shook snow from them in sudden waterfalls of white.
