Deed to Damnation

Bullet

The room that Gwen was given was at the end of yet another long hallway. To her, it seemed like there was no end to this strange place in the middle of nowhere. She was convinced if she decided to run, she would never be able to find her way out anyway.
"I'll be right outside, ma'am." Joseph assured her.
In other words, he's my guard for the night, she thought to herself as she entered the bedchamber. It was no surprise when she heard the lock latch behind her as she looked around the room with its same high ceilings and more detailed beams. A large wooden bed with goose down pillows waited for her, along with a thin woven summer blanket tucked in neatly. A decanter of water and a bottle of wine sat atop the mantle over a stone fireplace along with another delicate goblet. She wanted neither of those things. And although the room was somewhat inviting with its rugged, wilderness feel, Gwen knew there would be no sleep for her tonight.
She sat on the edge of the bed and let herself break down. Fear was not a strong enough word to describe what she was feeling and neither was disgust when she caught a glimpse of herself in the standing mirror propped in the corner near the private washroom. To her, she felt like she resembled a hag. She looked almost withered, like a summer rose with no sun in her red, flour splotched dress. The dark circles under her eyes were becoming more apparent, an almost immediate symptom in her times of high stress.
Walking to the wash basin, she poured the water from a clay pitcher into it and splashed her face. The small mirror over the vanity offered no comfort either but a clean, cotton house robe caught her attention as it hung on the back of the door. Immediately, she stripped off the crimson dress and all of its crinolines. Not only because it was dirty but because somehow she blamed part of her misfortune on it. Tim would have called her ridiculous and maybe that was true. But it had been Liza's and look what happened to her. There was a reason red was associated with sin and the devil. That was true too.
Keeping on her modest petticoat, she pulled the soft robe around her. The garment cloaked her tiny frame like a blanket and it soothed her somewhat. When she became irrationally fearful on some nights, she always wrapped herself in the big, knitted blanket she kept at the foot of her bed at home. This was an adequate substitute.
Turning the oil lamp brighter she washed her face and used a carved wooden paddle brush to work through the knots in her hair. Someone had seen to it that she had simple comforts like that and small scented soaps to clean up with.
Could it be that all this really was a plan to simply scare her husband enough to stay far away from Delarue and his dark dealings? That she didn't know. What she did know was that Tim had been hell bent on taking down Henry. For months, it had been almost an obsession and it had started to affect their marriage. But then one day, not too long ago, he had stopped even talking about it. Why Delarue had decided to strike now instead of when Tim was actively pursuing him, was a mystery.
Maybe it was stress that caused her sudden extreme drowsiness but her wakefulness didn't last long. When she drifted off to sleep, sitting straight up against the headboard, the last thing she remembered thinking about was what Tim was doing and how distraught he must be.

The early summer sun warmed the bedroom as it streamed through the large paned windows of Gwen's temporary jail. She woke with a start, seeing the chamber door wide open and the cursed red dress missing. It startled her to realize someone had entered and she hadn't even heard them come in.
Her hands moved below the blankets, ensuring that she was still in her lacy petticoat. Had she been drugged, she wondered? Her head felt fine and it seemed no one had bothered with her and had let her sleep undisturbed.
Quietly, she slid from the bed and moved towards the exit cautiously, listening for any sounds or voices coming from the adjacent rooms down the long hallway. She heard nothing but caught the scent of cooking breakfast. The smell of eggs and frying bacon made her stomach growl hungrily. The meal she was offered last night went untouched after the brief exchange with Delarue and she was weak with lack of food
"I know you're awake." A voice called from the dining room.
It was Delarue and her throat clicked when she swallowed hard. She didn't want to see him but he had promised her answers first thing in the morning. And since there was nowhere to go, she slowly crept down the hall until he came into view.
He sat in the same seat from the night before and was writing in a ledger. He closed the book and gazed up when she appeared, amused at how she was hugging the oversized robe to her body as if that was going to make a difference later.
"Sit." He ordered.
His tone was not stern but she knew it was a command and she promptly sat, looking down on the perfectly cooked yolks of her fried eggs that stared up at her like yellow eyes. The aroma of strong, hot coffee drifted to her nose and she inhaled its rich scent.
"No matter where I choose to hitch my horse, I always make sure I have someone who knows how to cook on my team." He told her. "Joseph knows his way around a skillet. You should eat before it gets cold. You need your strength."
Gwen managed a small bite and when she looked up, he was smiling at her and despite its brilliance, she shivered inwardly. She noticed he was back to wearing the clothes of a man who was used to the wilderness and all the perils of living in it. He was an enigma; polished like a gem or as rugged and unforgiving as the territory he built this place in. She much preferred the cleaned up version. At least then she could pretend he wasn't the monster she knew him to be.
"You said you would elaborate on what my husband did to you to warrant a kidnapping." She said bravely.
"And don't forget about dear, innocent Liza." He added slyly. "When you're done."
She looked at the hot breakfast and back to him.
"Are you trying to drug me?" She dared.
This time, he returned her question with a low chuckle.
"Mrs. Drake, I'm sure that if said boo to you too loudly, it would have the same effect as a double helping of laudanum. So, no. I'm not drugging you. Quite the opposite. I need you to be clear so that you remember absolutely every detail I'm about to give you."
She looked at him skeptically but started eating anyway. The sooner she finished the better because his dragging it out was maddening. Unfortunately, as soon as she took the last bite, placing the napkin on the empty plate, she wished she hadn't eaten so quickly.
"Let's go have that discussion." Henry growled. "I'm sure you'll find it very enlightening but sadly, not enjoyable."
It was then that the demon she knew was in him erupted to the surface as he reached out and snatched her by the front of the robe, pulling her up and into him as if she was nothing but a rag doll.
Henry's eyes bore into hers that had become so wide they seemed to swallow her delicate face. A sound escaped her, a mix of a whimper and gasp of shock as his strong arm encircled her tiny waist and he carried her like an armload of wood into the great room.
He was amused by her struggles. She was just a waif of a thing and her fighting against him felt like nothing more than a chicken being carried to the chopping block for slaughter. Except she wasn't to be beheaded. She was going to be a reminder to her husband about how to respect unwritten and unseen boundaries when dealing with a man like himself.
It seemed only a second or two had passed before Gwen found herself stripped of the soft cotton robe and her hands bound with the end of the rope that hung ominously from the high rafter above. Obviously, this criminal was experienced in putting women in distress by the quick work he made of her and the look of dark satisfaction on his face as he stood back and admired what he had done.
He pulled the slack rope slowly, tightening it until Gwen's arms strained upward, elongating her small frame and leaving her feet barely touching the ground. Her shoulders groaned under the strain and her wrists burned from the biting strands of the tether.
How she didn't faint dead away shocked her but she was glad she didn't because Delarue grabbed her jaw and squeezed, pointing to a bucket on the floor near his feet.
"If you faint like the silly damsel I've seen you to be, you'll be getting a cold, wet wake-up call." He threatened. "I told you. I want you lucid when we have this chat you've been waiting to hear."
When he released her face with an abrupt shove, he was shocked at what she did next. There were no tears, no pleas for mercy or even questions of why this was happening. Timid little Gwen Drake began spitting like a feral cat caught in a snare and kicking her legs despite the brutal grind of the rope that was turning her slender wrists raw. Spittle flew from her snarling lips and from between her seething, bared teeth, peppering him in warm droplets.
"There is some of Liza in you, sweet Gwen." He purred, despite having to wipe his face with his forearm. "Except her tiger came out between the sheets, not hanging from my rafters. Although, knowing her, she may have liked it if I had gotten to enjoy her a little longer than I did."
"Raping pig!" Gwen hissed. "You destroyed her and took her from me!"
Henry was no longer amused.
"Well then I think we should start our conversation with her." He stated calmly, a small grin crossing his face. "Your sister was a willing participant in our trysts. She reciprocated quite vigorously I might add."
"Liar!" She cried.
"I'm many things." He answered, his voice as smooth as butter. "I'm a killer. I'm a heathen and I take what I want without a second thought. And yes, Gwen, I have corrupted women on a whim. But I'm no liar and your sister had quite a lusty appetite."
He stalked closer and as he moved in, Gwen strained in her bonds, pulling back as far as the rope allowed. She flinched and felt her stomach roll with sudden nausea as he brushed her cheek gently with the back of his hand.
"Tell me. Are you as hungry for what I had to offer her? Does Tim get the same kind of attention she showed me?"
He was horrible! Smearing her sister was just a mean taunt meant to get a rise out of her.
"And I should believe you? Why? I saw her come home, her clothing torn! She was crying..."
His gaze made her stop speaking as his eyes moved over her and he licked his lips absently. She could feel what he was thinking by the look of him and it put the fear of god into her.
Henry saw the shift in her half brave demeanor and he knew that she understood what was in his mind. Gwen Drake was by no means his type. She was attractive in a china doll kind of way, with porcelain skin and large azure eyes. She was too petite and slender for a man with his tastes though, but she did look delicious in her suffering, a deviant proclivity he leaned towards for as far back as he could remember. He enjoyed how the lacy petticoat draped her stretched body and how her small breasts and dark nipples were sensually evident beneath the light material. It was all he could do to not tear it from her and bask in her helplessness. Slowly, he ran his open palms down her extended rib cage, feeling her shudder at his touch.
"Liza shook too." He whispered against her neck. "It wasn't fear that made her tremble in my hands though."
His words made the first salty tears rim her eyes and fall to the floor.
"Oh. No tears yet, Mrs. Drake. We've only just begun. Save them for later when they count for something. And just for the record, crying doesn't move me." He informed her coldly.
He continued.
"I can understand why you would think a woman like Liza wouldn't lie with a scoundrel like myself, although your opinions of me are just as worthless as your old man, but I know things about her that will prove that Liza was a willing conquest."
He had stopped touching her, purposely avoiding anywhere obscenely intimate, but for Gwen, it felt like an assault. No man had ever touched any part of her besides her husband and she was helpless to stop it. Even the feel of his finger as he traced it down her spine sent a jolt of humiliation through her that made her stomach turn.
"For instance, Liza has a scar on her inner thigh in the shape of a horseshoe." He revealed, walking behind her and out of view.
She could hear him though, throwing another piece of wood on the fire. It was July and the room was starting to bake uncomfortably. But there was no heat that could warm the icy chill that was radiating on the inside of her.
"You probably saw that when you..when you.." she began.
But Delarue went on.
"When I spread her legs and fucked her? Or when she let me taste her for the very first time? An easy deduction I suppose. But I know how she got that scar, Gwen."
He couldn't see but her eyes bugged at the statement. She had done it! She had pushed Liza off of a fence post when they were playing as children. She remembered being envious of how well her sister could balance so she shoved her. Liza had tumbled to the side, catching her leg on the wooden slat and gauging flap of skin that had healed in the shape of a horseshoe. And when he revealed that exact same story, Gwen was stunned.
"What? Do you think she told me this story as she was protecting her virtue from me? No, Mrs. Drake. I can assure you she didn't." He drawled.
Liza had lied? But why? No one would have ever known if she hadn't dragged herself home that day, carrying one shoe and her crinolines shredded to ribbons. Her questioning thoughts were answered quickly.
"It just so happens that one day I was fucking her against that large, old pine right where the creek divides. Do you know where that is?"
She did know. It was where Liza liked to go and read.
"Your sister loved having a go in the great outdoors and I was happy to oblige. And what do you know? Here comes Jeff Daly who works at the mill. When he came to hunt, he saw a lot more than just pheasant. As it turns out, innocent Liza's reputation was very important to her while my reputation spoke for itself. She ran to save herself and it's a shame because I really liked fucking her. Better to get ahead of the rumors than to take responsibility, huh Gwen?"
It was crushing. The image of Liza tearing her crinolines and rubbing pine needles through her hair was heartbreaking but it also brought outrage. She had left her to care for everything; their parents, the home and everything that came with it. It was a complete betrayal and it left her with a jumble of emotions on top of the peril she was in now.
"I'm going to throw up." She groaned.
He came back around to face her. She was pale and her knees seemed to be buckling. Henry smirked.
"Have at it." He said nonchalantly. "I kinda want to douse you with that bucket anyway. That lacy thing you're wearing would be practically see through. You will look absolutely tantalizing."
The statement quelled her nausea like a magic potion.
"Which brings me to why you're here. I'm sure you're dying to know." He added.
Brushing her hair away from her face, Henry tilted her chin up, forcing excruciating eye contact.
"Your husband paid my wife a visit over the winter. Did you know that?" He asked.
Gwen was speechless, still reeling from Liza's betrayal and lies. All she could do was shake her head no. This past winter was a challenge to her relationship, with Tim retreating into his obsession over taking Delarue down. She never asked questions, not wanting to even breach the subject. A mere mention of it would send him into a tirade that would continue until she wanted to hide from him.
"Not surprising." Henry retorted. "He came there with intentions and one of them was to convince her that I killed her loser father."
She knew that part. Tim had been adamant about that.
"Did you?" She asked.
"About as much as I raped your sister." He snarled.
Gwen could feel Delarue's anger rising as continued speaking, the toxic energy cutting the air like a blade.
"And then something happened, something that was even worse than a man trying to turn a wife against her husband. The second reason he went there is the reason why you're here."
Gwen let out a pitiful groan. She wouldn't be able to bear hearing that her husband had bedded this man's wife. Liza's betrayal hurt but Tim's would outright destroy her.
"I don't want to know anymore!" She cried.
"I'm sorry. I truly am." He purred softly. "But your husband put his filthy mouth on my wife's lips and that is both fortunate and unfortunate for you sadly. Fortunate because that was all he did until Ireland stopped it. All of it. And unfortunate because there's still a price to be paid."
He walked behind her again leaving her numb. The sound of scraping metal didn't even reach through the fog that clouded her mind. It was all too much. Suddenly, he was before her again holding a flask. He took a long draw from it and held it up to her dry mouth.
"Drink it. It's not poison and it's not a drug obviously. You'll thank me." He instructed.
When she hesitated, he gave her a quick but to the point slap to her tear stained cheek and she opened her mouth. Pressing it to her parted lips he poured her more than a mouthful. It spilled from the sides of her mouth and down her neck. How it burned! And it made her cough and sputter as the fiery liquid went down her throat.
"I'm very possessive of my things, Mrs. Drake." He told her. "And when someone comes to take what's mine, there's a problem. I'm greedy. I'm jealous. And the only words I take from that silly book they teach you in your church before I burned it to the ground are an eye for an eye."
"Turn the other cheek!" She yelled loudly.
"Gladly." He replied, giving her a smart slap to the other side of her face. "That's about as good as you're going to get from me. I'm being as soft with you as possible. I don't think you realize how badly I'd like to have you right now and you can thank my wife for my restraint."
Taking a step back, he held something up to her face. It took her a moment to realize it was an iron rod.
"This," he said calmly, "is what your husband's actions almost cost Ireland. So it's only right that I take what's his and stake my claim on it, the same as he tried to do to me. After all, I own that shit hole town and every piece of scat living in it. Including him."
Oh god, he's going to beat me with it, Gwen thought frantically and began pulling on her bindings with all her might. It was to no avail but he surprised her by tossing it back towards the fireplace. She heard it hit, causing the seasoned wood to hiss and pop in the flames.
"But first, before we wrap this little meeting up, there's that eye for an eye thing I told you about." He growled.
Before she could scream or beg or do whatever her mind was telling her to do, he grabbed her jaw and brought his mouth to hers in a kiss so harsh and demanding, it took her breath away. It was overwhelming and she felt as if he were going to devour her whole. When he released her lips they felt swollen and bruised and she had to gasp for air.
Henry smiled wickedly, licking his lips as if he just had just eaten a scrumptious meal.
"You taste like Liza." He taunted.
Without another word, he swooped down and grabbed the hem of her petticoat, tearing it easily all the way up to the fitted waistline leaving Gwen's right leg and hip exposed. She thought for sure she was going to suffer a terrible violation. As if reading her thoughts, he patted her thigh.
"Don't worry." He cooed. "Your husband didn't fuck Ireland. So a kiss for a kiss it is. I don't think you know how fortunate you are, Mrs. Drake. As I told you, I'm no liar and I promised my wife I would stop enjoying other women. I'm a man of my word but it doesn't stop me from wondering if you feel as good as you taste."
Whatever liquor Henry had given her had started to take effect. She had never touched alcohol, not even on special occasions. And being so tiny, it only took that small amount to start making her head feel floaty and strange. She could only whimper when she felt him stroke the soft flesh of her hip.
"Not much meat on those bones, Mrs. Drake. I suggest you start eating more when you're back home." He said.
The next thing she knew was that he had retrieved the metal rod again but this time he was holding it up to her face and it made her recoil in terror. The end of it, the part that was now directly in front of her eyes, was sizzling. The acrid smell of hot metal burned her nostrils and the heat felt like it was scorching her skin without even touching it. That's when she realized it was no ordinary poker. It was a branding iron, his initials forged on the white hot tip.
"I'm really sorry, Gwen." Henry sighed in mock sympathy. "But I thought it was Ireland who needed reminding of who she belonged to. It wasn't. It was the constable of Solstice, your husband, who was the one with the bad memory. So now, every time he looks at you he'll be reminded of my ownership of his shit stain town."
Wrapping one arm around her waist, Henry pushed aside the shredded material that covered his target. He held her tight, the other hand poised to sear his initials in the spot that had been meant for Ireland.
Gwen felt her consciousness slipping away. Her legs felt like tree trunks as they buckled from the trauma. Henry watched as her blue eyes rolled and looked as blank as a dead man's.
He huffed angrily, tossing the branding iron back into the glowing embers and grabbed the bucket. Gwen's shriek pierced the air as the cold water drenched her, effectively jerking her back into her terrible reality. Henry was the first thing that came into focus. He was gazing at her coldly.
"You're really going to hear the sizzle now, Mrs. Drake. But that's on you..."