The Fall of Lady Westwood: (The Chronicles of Muurland — Book #1) by Evans Trent

Author:Evans, Trent [Evans, Trent]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Epic Fantasy BDSM Erotica
Publisher: Shadow Moon Press
Published: 2012-04-10T07:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eight

House Westwood

Sophie awoke to the sound of the lock turning.

She never in her wildest dreams imagined such an innocuous thing would elicit such dread — and something else. She could hear it as if time had slowed to a crawl: the tumblers moving, the barely audible scree of metal on metal. Then the air pressure in the dark cell that passed for her sleeping quarters changed; a rush of cooler, fresh air to mix with the humid closeness that had surrounded her all night.

“Up, girl. We’ve work to do today.”

She’d come to hate his voice, the overseer. She hated his whip more, but his voice every morning was the first confirmation to her that this really wasn’t just a nightmare.

This existence, this horror, was actually happening.

He kicked at her bunk. “I said, up. Don’t make me get you up.”

How she’d like to claw out his eyes, shove that hated whip down his throat.

She stumbled out onto the cold stone floor, her toes curling. Her wrists were sweaty and itchy under the leather of the cuffs, and she tried in vain to scratch under them, even with her wrists bound together in front of her. The overseer grabbed her by her bare upper arm, and marched her down the narrow central corridor of the servant’s quarters. She could hear some of the other servants still sleeping soundly through the barred windows of their cell doors.

It was early. It was always early.

Arnaud, the overseer, seemed to take great delight in rousing her first, so that Sophie would know the others still slept peacefully while she began her daily toil.

He dragged her through the common dining area and out into the chill morning air of the yard. She felt her breasts moving under the threadbare mockery of her sleeveless shift as he dragged her stumbling form along at a brisk pace. She was thankful she’d not been hobbled, which would have made keeping up with his long strides all but impossible.

She shuddered at the bite of the cold, and he chuckled. “Buck up, girl, you’ll have something to warm you up soon.” His grin was crooked, cruel eyes peering at her from dark, sunken hollows, his black hair was cropped close to his skull. She thought he might once have been a handsome man, but the ravages of time and the corruption of his soul seemed to her to have twisted his features; it had wrung out any warmth, leaving only cold, hard edges.

Peering up at the battlements above, she could see the occasional guard leaning over the stone of the inner rampart, looking down upon them. The sun had only just risen, the grass of the inner courtyard still laced with tendrils of smoky mists. She heard the neighing and grunting of the horses from the stable block, wondering who could be stirring them this early.

Arnaud stopped by the well, pointed to the trough set out nearby. “Get in, girl. Mistress wants you cleaned up.” He unlocked her hands but left the leather cuffs on her wrists.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.