Charlotte knew well that he was right. She would bolt if she ever got the chance. "The sewing will be done before the end of the day," she gritted her teeth and bent to his will, knowing there was no other way out.
"It had better be," Alexander smirked as she passed him on the way to the desk atop which the mountains of clothes sat waiting for her. Her room was set up with a simple bed and a single table and chair for all the sewing and mending needed. The curtains were removed from the room, saying she didn't deserve the luxury of a good night's sleep. But she knew this was not the reason: her mother had jumped off that window and he wanted to torture her by ensuring she would never forget it.
She made the mistake of rolling her eyes at his threat.Damn it, Charlotte!
As quick as a flash, Alexander slapped her again, sending her reeling back onto her bed, narrowly missing the mirror.
This time, she cried out in pain as her side connected with the wooden frame of the bed, digging into her ribs with a red-hot shock.
He was on her before she could move, with his one hand clutching her hair, taking the stands between his fingers. "You still haven't learned your lesson, little pup," his sour breath growled in her ear as he grossly caressed her cheek.
"I'll show you exactly what will happen when you talk to me like that."
Charlotte opened her eyes to see the flash of a blade as her uncle held a sharp dirk to her face. He'd always prized the Scottish blade, bragging of the men who'd met their ends at its tip. It gleamed in the light. "Please," she whispered, nudging away as he grasped her hair.
"Oh?" he said with a menacing laugh. "We have changed our tune, have we?" "You deserve this, you little wench," he hissed in her ear as the blade drew near, his nasty breath making her sick to her stomach.
Charlotte took a deep breath, squeezing her eyes shut as her skin began to perspire.
In one swift move, Alexander lifted the blade and sliced her hair, releasing her from his grip as she crumpled onto the bed.
Panicking, Charlotte gripped the back of her head, crying out as she felt for her hair. There was nothing left but uneven tufts that hung down her neck. "What did you do that for?" she sobbed. "That was the last piece of my mother I had left."
Pulling his face in disgust, he flung the hair beside her on the bed. "Don't talk to me about your mother," he spat in anger. "She was just as useless a wretch as you are today. Good for nothing and no one. Why that simple brother of mine ever chose to make her his wife, I'll never know."
Tears stained the mattress as Charlotte tried to clutch her hair, the golden strands slipping through her fingers like sand. She pulled herself up and crouched on the bed with her legs foldedbeneath her lap.Mama…she sobbed uncontrollably, gripping her hair in her fists and trying her best to hang onto the last remnants that she had.
"Besides," Alexander mused after watching her for a while. "I had to do it; your future husband prefers girls with shorter hair."
Her head shot up in shock as she stared at him.Did I hear him right?She knew her uncle wanted to marry her off, but she always hoped the day would not come.
"This way, you don't want to look like that insipid woman my brother had the nerve to marry."
"Yousold me?" Charlotte hissed, feeling her blood boil.
"It was time, dear niece. I cannot take care of you forever."
"Who is the man?" she tried her best to remain calm as her hands began to tremble.
Alexander smiled at her with one corner of his mouth raised. "I have it on good authority that you know the man."
Charlotte frowned as her mind searched for a clue. There weren't any potential suitors that she could think of. It wasn't like her uncle ever let her leave the castle to meet anyone new.
"He made your acquaintance six years ago in the Musgrave Castle," Alexander watched Charlotte's face carefully as he spoke, wanting to inflict as much pain as he could with his words. "On that joyous night of the fire when my brother died."
Her body ran cold as all the blood drained from her face. There were only a few men she had met that night. And three of them had died.It can't possibly be…
"Yes. He said you would be shocked to learn that it was him. Apparently, you gave him the slip at the feast. He'd asked for a dance, but you refused like the little chit that you are. It's only fitting that you should marry him now. You've always been a rude little wench."
"What is his name?"
"William Dodd."
The name echoed in her mind like an avalanche of dread. She knew the name all too well. He hadn't asked her for a dance. In fact, he'd used an entirely different approach to try to have his way with her. She could still feel the fabric of her dress ripping under his fingers. Her insides trembled at the memory of what he'd tried to do to her, along with the other men.
"Prepare yourself, little wench. For, in a few days, your new husband will be here to collect you." He turned to leave before pausing at the door. "Make sure you clean up this mess," he nodded to the hair on the bed and left, shutting the door behind him with a final click of the key.
Charlotte stared at the strands as unbelief and fear took hold of her soul.
