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Up until now they had just been talking about me like I wasn’t even there, but now Moncrieff focused his beady blue eyes on me.
“Well, girl! What have you got to say for yourself?” he demanded. “What happened to you in that house? Did you let some strange man put his cock in your pussy? The pussy you’re supposed to be saving for me?”
I would normally have been cowed by the way he was looming over me and half-shouting. (I learned later that this was his normal tone of voice—he was going deaf but didn’t want to admit it.) But after going through such a stressful couple of days, I was too tired to be careful about what I said.
“Are you asking me if I was raped?” I demanded bluntly.
“I’m asking if you let some other man use my pussy,” he snapped back.
“Your pussy?” I looked at him incredulously. “Are you serious?”
“Of course, I’m serious! Your body belongs to me now and you might as well get used to it!”
His words made me angry.
“We’re not married, er, Joined yet,” I pointed out. “You don’t own me.” I didn’t like the idea of losing my bodily autonomy to this nasty old man. In fact, I didn’t like anything about him.
But I should have been more careful with my words. Suddenly his big-knuckled hand flew out and backhanded me hard. I fell to the floor, clutching my hurt cheek which felt bruised and tender.
“I own you and I’ll do whatever the hell I want with you. Now answer me, girl!” he roared, looming over me. “Did you give away your treasure?”
“My what?” I shook my head, not comprehending.
“Your virginity!” Moncrieff roared in my face.
I scrambled to my feet, wrapping my arms around myself protectively as I backed away from him.
“No,” I said flatly, lying with a straight face. “No, my brothers protected me. They…they kept me safe from Don Diego’s men.”
Moncrieff narrowed his eyes and studied me, as if trying to see if I was lying.
“Well, Garen will be back soon and then we’ll see,” he snapped at last. “Crenshella!” he bellowed and a little old lady with a wrinkled face and bright, raisin eyes appeared seemingly from nowhere.
“Yes, Master Moncrieff?” she said, bobbing a little curtsy.
“This is my latest bride. Put her in the usual room,” Moncrieff said. “Garen will be coming to check her soon so be certain she’s ready.”
“Yes, Master Moncrieff,” the old lady said again. Then she took me by the arm and said, “Come on, dearie—let me show you to your room.”
I went with her, still rubbing my cheek and wondering what in the world Moncrieff had meant when he said I was his “latest bride.” I thought about asking the older woman who was guiding me, but I wasn’t sure if she would answer.
She led me to a room on the second floor of the mansion and I saw that it looked like a princess room you might give a little girl. There was a four-poster bed with a pink and white coverlet and a lace canopy and a window seat with a pink cushion on it. On one wall was a bookcase filled with childhood classics like The Big Book of FairyTales and the complete Anne of Green Gables series.
“There now—isn’t this a nice room?” Crenshella said to me as she showed me around the pink and white interior. “It has everything a young girl like you could need.”
“I’m not that young—I’m eighteen,” I pointed out. The room seemed like it was meant for someone much younger than me.
“Oh really? Well then, you’ll be one of the Master’s older brides then,” she said, smiling.
“Wait…what?” I looked at her uncertainly. “What does that mean? Are there other brides here?” I looked around, wondering if Moncrieff had some kind of a harem situation going on.
“Oh my, no!” Crenshella tittered at the idea of there being more wives. “The Master only has one bride at a time. It’s just that none of the others could give him a living heir. I know he’s hoping you can do better—what with your Royal Were DNA,” she added.
“None of the others? How many were there?” I asked.
“Oh, let me see…there was Drusilla, and then Madison—she was a headstrong one, she certainly was. And then Bethany and Becky—I get those two mixed up because they both had B names, you know. And then, right before you, there was Kathy. Such a sweet little thing! It was so sad when she died trying to give the Master his heir—and her baby died with her.” She pulled a tissue out of her sleeve and used it to blot her eyes.
“What happened to the other ones? The ones that didn’t die?” I demanded. Was Moncrieff marrying and divorcing wives all the time because he couldn’t get them pregnant or what?
