She had been stolen and deceived in the most infamous way, and I had no regrets. Regrets were for men with tiny pricks. And now that I had her money, there was nothing that should have stopped me from moving on, finding another woman’s hole to fuck. There were no shortage of sweet cunts open to me.
At first, it was only the thought of her pregnancy that bothered me. That wasmine. Unlike my father, I fiercely wanted a baby. I wanted an heir, a child who I would never abandon. That I would raise to unimaginable heights. They would have every luxury at my disposal. It would in all ways be the opposite of my father's approach.
And then, somehow, my bratty mouthy wife had become indispensable to me too.
What had I done?
Even my workshop with its neat rows of herbs and potions and drinks that could send a man into a living coma or kill discreetly, with just a touch, just a drop, haunted me.
Because it had almost been the means of killing my wife and child.
How strange to think initially I had only considered Deliverance as a wet hole, a meek and biddable little thing I would pay minimal attention to.
Now I recognized in her a will almost as strong as my own.
Ada had been something I picked up along the way, the wife of an alderman who was thirsty for my cock and easy to smuggle away in a carriage.
She had touched my prick but never mydamn soul.
But I could not get it out of my head—the way Deliverance had looked at me when I first brought her as a bride to Grayspires. Such excitement to be the lady of the house. It had amused me at the time.
But now, I wanted nothing more than to have her be mistress of Grayspires.
My home gave me no pleasure now. And the servants lined upto obey their Master only made me remember Bartholomew's insolence.
How dare he hide my wife! How dare hetouchmy wife!
Scarlet rage blinded my vision as I threw my glass of vermouth into the fireplace, sending blue and white and angry yellow flames to lick the shards.
I spent the next few days in a drunken, blurred stupor.
When I got up on the third day I rode into the village and went to the tavern. Asked for the prettiest woman servant, theripestslut there.
Then I took her up to a room at the inn and fucked her, pulling down her barmaid's garb to suckle on her heavy breasts, the large round nipples.
But while she had her plump lips over my prick, I was still thinking about my wife, and when I was ball's deep in the next woman I thought again about my wife.
I left with my balls drained, but still feeling unsatisfied and twitchy. That hadn’t cleared my head at all. There was no godsdamn fun in cheating if my wife didn’t know about it. And cheating made her run away. That pissed me off.
Unless Deliverance left the safety of St. Mary's, she might be lost to me forever, because this woman was stubborn as hell. I bribed some of the Abbey servants to be my eyes and ears, make sure Bartholomew was keeping to his lifelong celibacy vows. I didn’t trust any man’s vows around my tempting wife.
I began to drink again, heavily, to prowl along the fence line of the monastery, more wraith than man, to watch jealously for any sight of Deliverance.
And so when I first saw Ada again back at Grayspires, I thought it was merely a product of my diseased and alcohol-soaked mind.
It was a grotesque parody of her old face, framed by the window as snow fell around her. She seemed to melt into dripping liquid, her poisoned skin flayed open so I could see the bone beneath.
Surely this must be a specter sent to haunt and rebuke me?
Who else but a creature of the devil would be there to laugh at my degradation and failure? My hand was shaking as I pointed.
"Begone!" I croaked.
Her eyes flashed at me with their old fire.
And she refused to leave.
It was not until I had stumbled from my chair, flinging the glass from my hands as I cursed at her, that the face disappeared.
