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I fought back tears and stared up at him, even as my cheek stung.
He slapped me again—his palm this time—leaving an imprint on my cheek as my head whiplashed the other direction and I let out a cry of pain.
He was trying to break me, and succeeding.
He stepped into the room, not nearly done with his punishment.
“Father!” I yelled, lifting my palms in front of my face to defend myself.
His hands gripped my wrists, eyes widening with crazed fury. He looked more like the boar in the woods than a man. “What is this? Skinned hands? Have you been gallivanting through those fucking trees again?!”
I shook my head, trying to think of a lie.
I had no time.
His fist lashed out and caught me in the stomach, punching me where a bruise wouldn’t be seen.
Doubling over, I coughed and wretched, grabbing my belly, which only moments before had felt so warm and lovely.
My arms curled over the back of my head as I bowed forward on my knees, submitting to him, begging for him to stop.
“You know what I’ve told you about going into those woods. You’re asking for unseen horrors to take you, and I won’t have it! Not from the Heiress of Wilford. What would the townspeople think if they knew what you were up to in there? They would punish you as a sorceress—and you’d deserve it!”
I seethed, snarling like a wolf as I glared up at him. “W-Whatever horrors lie in those woods can’t be half as terrible as the horrors in this household!”
He scoffed incredulously. It made me angrier than the pain and my poor lot in life.
All this because a useless doctor, who banked his successes on the Lord’s word, had failed at his duty. I was taking Doctor Ashby’s punishment from my father, because Sir Thomas couldn’t well attack another well-respected man in town.
His boot lifted from the ground, the point of it tilting my chin. His arms were folded over his chest, a look of sheer hate and authority etched on his cruel features.
He put the sole of his boot on my face, crunching my nose. Pushed me back as my face contorted. As if he wanted me to lick his boot.
My father had always gotten a twisted sense of satisfaction from this. He was savage, in all the wrong ways. Hell, Father’s vile treatment of me was probably half the reason I rebelled and sought similar features in other men—albeit ones who pined for me rather than punishing me over nothing. Men who couldn’t keep their hands off to rip my clothes off, rather than being unable to keep their hands off to beat me senseless.
My father’s boot peeled off my face, back a few inches. I stared at the grooves under his outsole, expected him to kick me and knock me out. I balled my scraped hands into fists at the floor, preparing for the worst of it—
“Sir Thomas!” a voice cried from down the hall.
A flurry of shuffling feet whistled through the corridor and had my father spinning around.
“What is it, Emma? Can’t you see I’m busy?”
The handmaid stood in the doorway, hands clasped in front of her. She eyed me with a flash of pity, brows curling helplessly, before locking eyes with Father.
Emma curtsied and bowed her head, her drab black hair falling off her shoulders. “It’s your brother-in-law, my lord. Sir Gregory has arrived.”
“Already?”
Emma nodded diligently. “He’s in the courtyard as we speak, sir, handing his steed to the stableboy.”
Father grunted. He uncrossed his arms and spat down at me, “Stay out of sight, girl. Understand?”
I understood. His temperament had gotten the better of him. Now I was bruised and shouldn’t show my face.
Before I could say anything in response, he streamed past Emma without a second thought for my wellbeing or a second glance in my direction.
Once he was gone down the hall, Emma hurried into the room, crouching to help me up. “Oh, you poor thing.”
