Drool running down my chin, I sucked up and down.
Iloathedthis man. How could I ever have thought he had a genuine interest in me?
It was not long until Gideon came in my mouth and almost on instinct I swallowed, intrigued despite myself by the strange salty-sweet taste.
The sensation of his sharp pull on my hair was strange too, almost pleasurable in its pain, and I wondered that I could use this to my advantage, for all his anger seemed to be gone.
"I—am a little tired," I lied, and was relieved when Gideon allowed me to go to my room without objection.
Once there, I pointed the compass out the window at the Rock with trembling fingers.
Exactly south-west of us.
If I kept this with me, I could find my way no matter how foggy it got on the moors.
So anxious was I to leave this house of horrors, that I determined to escape the very next day.
But Gideon never gave me an opportunity. It was particularly chill weather, with tiny shards of snow that burned like ice, and I jangled with nervous energy as he wrote letters, consulted his reference books, and insisted I tell him what he should buy to outfit the nursery.
And at night, he appeared in my room. I performed the same thing on his prick as I had before, and to my surprise he slept in my bed the whole of the night, even wrapping an arm around my swollen waist and pulling me closer.
"I have killed many people," he said, the hairs on my neck standing up as we lay there together. "I am a poisoner by trade, but there is nothing for you to fear in that. I am Nightshade ofGrayspires Manor. I know you don’t yet love Grayspires, but you will. You are going to present me with a fine healthy baby and we will keep going until I have many fine sons and daughters to fill this house."
My heart contracted within me, and for a moment I felt bleak despair that I should never escape his control.
But the next day, after a kiss on my trembling lips, he left after breakfast for his workshop.
And I could bear to wait no longer. I went quickly to my clothes and put on as many layers as I could and my warmest cloak.
I was in a fever of impatience lest the servants notice there was anything amiss, but I was able to achieve the door without being stopped.
And then it was a matter of acting like I wasn’t doing anything wrong, crossing the border to the moors, and leaving Grayspires without looking back.
There was a lingering, patchy fog on the fields that I hoped would obscure my escape, while my compass would help guide me unerringly to the Rock.
And then what would I find?
I had to hope I had interpreted Bartholomew’s message correctly.
It was even colder than I thought, but resolutely I wrapped my scarf tighter and began to follow the compass.
Strange, eerie noises intruded as I trudged over hills and around icy streams.
He would not check for me. . .he would note nothing amiss until much later. . .
I kept going, although I soon lost any natural sense of where I was, and had to rely only on the compass to guide me.
Sometimes I had to veer far around a stream until I found a safe place to cross, my face frozen even behind my thick scarf.
How far had I gone? All I knew for sure was I was still heading south-west.
Thicker fog rolled in, coating the bare branches of moor-trees with dripping gray clouds.
Then I heard it. The sound of hooves pounding the ground, reverberating through the soggy fields.
My husband was on the hunt.
The noise sped my steps, drove me onward.
