Chapter 2
POV - Sorsha
Taking a deep breath and gathering my courage—aided by the small fire that kindled constantly in the pit of my stomach—I narrowed my eyes in disdain.
“Yes, I bought food,” I admitted. “I work hard and need food, unlike you, who laze around all day and spend the night drinking.”
My voice rose in volume and outrage.
I knew I would be punished for these words, but I also knew he wouldn’t beat me up—because the last time he did, I was unable to work for a week, and they had to.
My father looked at Ryan and said, “I told you.”
“You did. Spot on as usual,” he grinned at my father before looking up at me. “Women have to be kept on a tight leash.”
With that, he reached back toward the window and pulled something from the sill. Slowly getting to his feet, he stood in front of me, slapping the whip into his other palm lightly.
I remembered that whip.
One day, it was gone, and I thought my mother destroyed it—but apparently not. She must have hidden it.
I grabbed the whip from his unsuspecting hands and took a few steps backward.
“If you’re going to whip me, you better whip me to death—because I promise you, I will not work, even if you hit me once. Understood, brother?” I hissed.
Ryan lunged at me furiously, but I smacked the whip across his hands, and he howled like a baby.
This was just a short recourse.
I was no match for two grown men, and ultimately, they would make me submit and punish me.
Regardless, I had to make a stand—or lose all self-respect.
With a growl, my father jumped to his feet, and before I knew it, he had me by the throat, my feet dangling in the air.
Ryan grabbed the whip from my hands and lashed it across my face.
The pain and lack of air made me struggle even more, kicking out at Ryan. When his eyes went wide, I knew I’d landed a solid kick between his legs.
He dropped like a bucket of shit, and my father’s hands loosened as he let me go.
Following Ryan to the ground, my knees taking the brunt of the landing, I wrung for air, my throat achy and sore.
He’d done this before—and it had taken a day before I could swallow food without pain. The backhand came out of nowhere and took me by surprise.
“You can spend the night out here, ungrateful little bitch. Kicking your brother in the gonads is below the belt,” my father snarled as he helped Ryan up.
I couldn’t even hate them; it took too much effort. They were ignorant and lazy, depending on women who, to my mind, were the real backbone of families.
My cheek and nose were burning like fire, probably from the lash, but without a mirror, I couldn’t see.
I’d slept outside many times, sharing Mabel’s lean-to. The fresh straw I bought recently would make a comfortable bed, but first, I needed cold water.
Taking the path to the brook that passed the edge of our property, I slid down the short embankment and submerged my face, sipping water slowly. My throat rebelled with every swallowing action, but the cold water eased the burn on my cheek and nose.
I had slipped up tonight. I should have said I was tired and hungry, but I was glad I ate the whole loaf by myself.
Once back in the lean-to, I bunched up the hay and made a comfortable bed for myself, falling asleep to Mabel’s nickers.
----
The next day, I took my time, leading Mabel down the path so she could drink fresh water before filling a bucket for her trough. It was still early, and after checking that no one was in sight, I quickly took my dress off.
Unearthing the soap and small towel I’d hidden, I waded to the deepest part of the brook—just to my knees—sat down and washed. Then I lay flat and washed my hair as best I could.
Yesterday, standing so close to Sully had me feeling grimy and dirty, the smell of fertilizer lingering on my clothes. I’d felt acutely embarrassed, because although he worked physically hard and I could smell sweat, it wasn’t a sour smell.
Grabbing my dress, I washed it carefully. This dress had once belonged to my mother—and it was the last one. My father would have a conniption if he had to buy me a new one.
Waiting for the water to calm around me, my gaze slid over my body.
Everything about me was skinny and unattractive, but without regular meals, that wouldn’t change.
The ends of my long hair needed a cut, but the scissors in the house were too blunt, and spending a penny to sharpen them was out of the question.
I looked at my reflection, but immediately got up. What was the point?
Wrapping the towel around me—which barely covered the essentials—I laid the dress on a rock to dry, sat down beside it, and hoped no one would walk past.
Usually, I did this at night, but I wasn’t going to work today. That meant I wouldn’t be offered food either, but I didn’t care. I wanted a day to rest.
I lazily watched Mabel crop the grass growing on the embankment and dozed for what felt like hours. When the sun was almost overhead, I checked to see if the dress was dry, and as it was, I carefully peeled it off the rock and dressed.
I hid the towel and soap, petted Mabel, and slowly made my way back to the house. It was inordinately quiet as I pulled open the back door—the screech sounded louder in the silence.
No snores, and the place was completely empty. Where the hell were they? It was almost lunchtime, and perhaps they’d gone to buy food.
Not being one to miss an opportunity, I quickly searched through the place in the hopes of finding my papers.
Underneath my father’s bed, I hit paydirt.
I couldn’t read, but I could recognize my name, and after checking the papers three times, I realized mine wasn’t amongst them.
What had he done with mine?
Destroyed it?
Fire curled in the pit of my stomach, and I made a snap decision.
There were three lots of papers, and one of them must be my mother’s. How would the guards at the Bridge toll know if it was mine or my mother’s?
Grabbing them, I rushed outside and hid them behind the loose brick on the side of the house.
I’d needed someone to help me identify which one was my mother’s, but April, who owned the small bakery, could surely read—and I had seen the pity in her eyes every time I bought bread.
Grabbing the old cushion my father liked to sit on, I cheekily sat on the porch and waited for their return.
An hour later, the two walked up, all smiles, with packages in their hands. Both wore new clothes and boots, and I immediately felt uneasy.
I could smell the fresh bread, and my stomach grumbled noisily.
“What did you do?” I asked with narrowed eyes.
“Hungry, sister?” Ryan threw a package at me, and I almost salivated as the smell hit me. Sesame rolls.
“Where did you get the money from?” I asked.
“Don’t you worry about that,” my father smiled, showing all his teeth and making me even more wary. He walked over and dropped a package in my lap. “Here’s a new dress.”
My mouth fell open in surprise. “What?”
Ryan bit into his bread roll and said, “The dress you’re wearing has so many holes it’s not appropriate for you to walk around in.”
I knew that, and even though all I wanted to do was sink my teeth into the bun, I questioned again.
“Tell me now where you got the money from,” I insisted.
Strutting like peacocks, the two exchanged smiles before turning to me.
“You’re going to get married.”
I opened and closed my mouth like a fish several times, unable to speak or even make sense of what he’d just said.
Scrambling to my feet in stunned disbelief, I shouted, “What? Who?” Shaking my head wildly, I gritted out, “No, no. I’m leaving. You can go to hell.”
But they expected my reaction, and in the space of a few minutes, I was tied to a chair, watching Ryan devour my roll.
“I don’t know why you’re complaining,” my father said mildly. “We were going to sell you, but the magistrate told us that we’d make more money by marrying you off.”
“To whom?” I asked, panic-stricken.
Arms akimbo, he stopped, a frown creasing his forehead as he tried to remember the name.
“What was the man’s name?” he asked Ryan, who had just stuffed the remnants of my bun down his throat.
“Mmm, Callum something,” Ryan mumbled.
“Yes, that’s it. Callum was prepared to pay us double if we agreed to a marriage. Of course, Mabel and the cart, too.”
My heart dropped, and one phrase kept running through my mind: From the frying pan into the fire.
But something didn’t add up.
A man was prepared to spend money to marry me? Including Mabel and the cart? Once I was married, I’d have no rights, and it sounded like the man intended for me to work for him, and I’d be trapped the same way I was now.
He could have achieved the same result by buying me.
And then a horrible thought struck me.
Marriage meant intimacy, and I was a full-blown virgin.
Whoever this was wanted a legitimate heir, and a slave couldn’t provide that.