I grab it first and, without pausing to think, bring it down against the side of his head. It slips from my hand as it makes contact with his cheekbone. As he roars with pain and reels to the side I leap for the door.

There are lights on in the house now. People are awake.

“Oh no you don’t.”

The air is squeezed from my lungs as one arm grips me around the stomach and the other around the throat, and I am pulled back into the hut. Isaac lifts me as though I’m weightless, and then spins me around before forcing me against the back wall, facing the rough wood. One by one, he grabs hold of leather bonds and uses them to attach first my left wrist, then my right wrist to the metal hoops in the corners of the ceiling.

“Isaac, stop! Stop!” I pull at the restraints but they are bound too tightly – leather cuffs buckled around my wrists with strong, brass clasps and attached to the metal hoops. My ankles are strapped, too. I am spread-eagled against the back wall of the hut, my face pressed against the cold wood.

“You stupid bitch.” He touches the side of his head. There’s a dark mass in his hairline. He scratches at it, digging in his nails until the blood runs free again and dribbles down the side of his face. He swipes at it with his palm then slowly, deliberately, wipes his hand over my face. My nostrils are flooded with the scent of iron and salt.

“You had to make this difficult, didn’t you?” he says as he steps out of my line of sight, and I hear what sounds like a metal box being dragged across the floor. “Ah, well.” He sighs deeply. “It looks like we’ll have to do this the hard way.”

I hear the crack of the whip before I feel it. At first there is nothing – no discomfort, just the sharp sensation of being slapped on the back – then the burn bites at my skin and I howl with pain.

He cracks the whip again.

I screw my eyes tightly shut, curl my toes and clench my fists. To begin with, I count the strokes – one, two, three, four, five – and then I focus on the candle, flickering violently on the table whenever he raises the whip in the air.

Chapter 38

Chapter 38

There’s a creak as the hut door opens, followed by the low rumble of a man clearing his throat. I don’t turn my head to see who it is; I don’t even open my eyes. I stay where I am, huddled in a heap on the floor, pressed against the back wall. My wrists have been released from the leather bonds, but they burn as if I’m still tied up.

“Is she good?” the man asks as an icy blast of air hits me.