Page 33 of Bittersweet & Strange

“Please,” I say weakly. “Don’t.”

He ignores me and carries me straight into the bathroom, where the tub, a stone basin large enough to resemble a small pool awaits. He turns on the water, then settles onto the edge and keeps me against his chest while I remain completely still in his arms. I’m too tired, too emotionally drained, and too filled with fear to fight him. He’s probably going to drown me, and right now, I’d be completely okay with that.

I almost fall asleep with my head resting against his chest before the blanket wrapped around me is suddenly pulled away. My eyes snap open as he lowers me carefully into the warm water. I immediately brace myself for his hands to close around my shoulders and shove my head under the water.

Several moments pass, and he doesn’t.

“You’re more delicate than I thought you’d be,” he says gently.

I don’t know what to say to that.

“The tears are endless.”

“Endless…” I repeat in disbelief. “I believe mine is a customary reaction to rape.”

“Perhaps,” he says dismissively. “I wouldn’t know.”

I palm my eyes, trying to figure out how everything in my life managed to go so wrong so quickly. When no answer comes to me, I duck beneath the water and rinse the sweat from my hair. By the time I emerge, he’s still sitting there with his body half turned toward me, one forearm resting casually on his knee. He looks completely at ease. For him, this is no different from any other evening.

I reach for the bar of soap resting on the edge of the bath. I begin scrubbing my skin, even though I did this not an hour before, trying to wash away his touch. I take extra care between my legs, and only when I feel the faintest semblance of being clean do I slowly rise to my feet.

The water helped. I do feel better.

He holds a towel out to me, and I eye it with mistrust. When it becomes clear that he’s not going to use it to hurt me, I allow him to drape it over my shoulders.

For a brief moment, we’re standing face-to-face, but after everything he’s done, all I want is space. My bed. My real bed. The one at home that’s in desperate need of more straw.

Home.

I feel like my heart is breaking.

I turn away from him and step carefully out of the bath.

I find sleeping clothes tucked neatly inside the armoire, a pair of soft pants and a long-sleeved shirt that feels like fresh cotton against my fingertips.

I get dressed even though I know he’s watching me. The thought of climbing into that massive, impossibly soft bed leaves me feeling strangely depressed. Instead, I lower myself onto the floor in front of the fire, pull my knees toward my chest, and lose myself in the rhythmic movement of the flames as they twist and dance over the burning logs.

I cry.

Even if I broke my word and tried to escape, the mountain would kill me long before I ever found my way home. The storm broke on my way up here. Now it’s raging. I doubt I’d make it much farther than the garden before the cold, the snow, or the darkness swallowed me whole. I could take Bramble with me. He’s tied—

I gasp so suddenly that my breath catches in my throat.

“My horse!” I twist around to face him. “I left him ti—”

“He’s in my stables.”

I blink, trying to process his words. “When—”

“Once your father left on mine, I put yours where he could recover. He is quite safe.”

The fact that I managed to forget about Bramble until this very moment says more about the amount of stress I’m under than anything else. I roll back over and turn my attention to the fire again, watching the light flicker across the stone hearth. At least Bramble is safe. I can hold on to that much.

“Thank you,” I say quietly.

The sound of the lock clicking into place behind me makes me wonder whether he heard me at all.

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