Iron Butterflies by Andre Norton

Author:Andre Norton
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Open Road Media

Chapter 12

So assured and brutal was his manner that fear itself brought me out of the role of half-conscious invalid I had hoped to play. There was that in his haste to get this done which was a strong warning. He had forced the pen into my fingers well enough, but he could not make me trace a single letter.

“What is this?” I managed to get out the question, refusing to be overpowered by his force.

The Baron’s face flushed, it was plain that he was prepared to allow no counter to his own will. His hand raised to strike, open palmed, against my face, bruising my lips against my teeth, sending a sharp lash of pain through my head. I was so startled at his blow that I gasped for breath. Never in all my life had I met with such usage as this.

He loomed over me until his anger-reddened face was only inches away from mine and the wine stench of his breath was strong. The hand which had thrust that pen into my fingers tightened its grip now about my fingers. Spatters of ink flew across the coverlet as he deliberately brought his strength to bear in a white-hot circle of pain about my flesh.

“Damn you!” There was a fleck of white spittle at one corner of his mouth. “If it is necessary to teach you who is master—then that I shall be very pleased to do—”

There was something in his eyes then from which, in spite of my attempt to hold courage about me as a cloak, I shrank. He must have guessed my fear, for he laughed coarsely.

My hand prisoner in his hold was brought up again to the paper.

“Sign—!”

There was no help against his forceful cruelty. I did not expect that Truda would dare stand up to him, and the other two were his allies. I looked down at the paper as he still loomed over me, his will a tangible weight on me.

The document was in legal terms, that much I saw. What did its words bind me to? Yet I knew that I had no chance at all against him. He applied more pressure to my wrist until tears of pain came into my eyes.

“If you break my bones”—again I found a small rag of courage left—”then I shall not be able to do what you will.”

He grunted, but his grasp loosened. Even through his mastery of me, the sense of that must have made him think again. That I had gained anything was false. So, because there was no other way out, I scrawled my name near illegibly at the foot of the paper. The Baron dropped his hold upon my half-numb hand and jerked up the document to near eye level, holding it so close to his face that I wondered if he had some weakness of sight.

Then he gave a sharp exclamation and rounded on me. His eyes were more than cruel—they could have looked out of the face of some medieval torturer who enjoyed his work.

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