The Bound - Novella: Hers To Save Part One Read online

  The Bound

  Hers to Save - Part One

  By Michelle Connor

  © 2017 Michelle Connor

  All rights reserved. This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission of the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  DEDICATION

  To Paul Humphrey, for all the adventures we had when we were children.

  PROLOGUE

  Slipping through her wet fingers, the metal cup fell to the stone floor, clanging. She sucked in a sharp, painful breath as it carried on rolling, laying to rest at her father’s feet.

  Stepping forward with quivering limbs, she stretched, picking up the culprit. A shadow looms. Turning, she hunches her shoulders.

  Please, legs, move.

  Spots dancing in her vision as a short breath escapes her trembling lips.

  Hunching until she is small, silent the scream remains, as blackness and pain hold her prisoner against her father’s rage.

  CHAPTER 1

  Sunlight streamed through the tree tops as Aveline walked through the forest. She shuddered as the cold autumn breeze blew under her worn, grey shawl, forcing her to pull it tighter around her shoulders for warmth.

  I really should make myself a new one. The shawl barely covered her shoulders anymore, but she could not bear to replace it. Her mother had made it for her the winter before she died, and it was almost like being held in her embrace once more. Every time she put it on she closed her eyes and imagined her mother's eyes shining down at her.

  Tall, thin, silver birch trees, with mighty oaks scattered among them, surrounded Aveline as she carried a hessian sack filled with firewood slung over her shoulder. Occasionally she bent down to collect some sweet chestnuts, with their gleaming brown shells, which she would roast when her family had little else to eat.Though she stood in a place of beauty, where the fallen leaves shone as if they were forged of gold, her thoughts turned dark.

  Why does this world have to be such a cruel place?

  She did not know if it had always been that way, being only sixteen summers old. She had yet to venture far from her village; the furthest she had been was the surrounding forest where she collected the firewood, and when she could find them, berries and other edible things. She did know however, that the small lonely world she occupied certainly had no kindness in it.

  Most people in the village found the woods creepy and were wary of venturing too far, but to Aveline, they were peaceful. Perhaps old superstitions kept them away. She loved the sweet perfume of the wildflowers she often saw among the tall trees. They came in so many different colours, but the tiny purple flowers were, by far, her favourites.

  The best part though, was the sound of the small creatures and birds that called the place their home. Even the scratching of little rodents against the tree trunks, or their scurrying around searching for food, added to the other sounds to make a tune that was like a peaceful song to her.

  She often saw deer running or grazing among the trees, but even though her family often had little to eat, only the lord of their village was allowed to hunt. The time she got to spend there was a balm to her soul, although she rarely stayed longer than needed to collect the wood for that day—she had learned her lesson the hard way. The threat of a firm whack across her face from her father for taking too much time ensured she did not dare enjoy the peace for long. Remembering the sting from his hand, she automatically put hers to her cheek, wincing. It was not the worst Aveline had ever experienced, but she still remembered the pain.

  She was almost sure her father had not always been so cruel. She remembered a time when he would laugh and often smile, but she was very young then, and the memories had faded over the years, almost to the point she sometimes believed she made them up. Now all she got to see was his anger and disappointment.

  Am I still his daughter, or just another mouth to feed?

  He always liked to remind her about the hours he put in working the corn fields, and how ungrateful she seemed to be - he never even considered the work she did each day. She had been doing the tasks of a mother since she was six, raising her younger brother as best she could. He took after their father in many ways, but lately, especially in his attitude toward her.

  As she drew nearer to the outskirts of her village and the trees began to thin out, letting in more light, she started to shake. It always happened like this. It would take her a few minutes to remember she was strong, and then the shaking would slowly stop.

  A majestic white butterfly landed on a nearby branch, reminding Aveline of her dreams of one day being free and leaving the darkness behind. She still had a spark of light she held onto tightly, and her father could not touch it. She hid it deep among her mother's memories and kept them both safe.

  Her home huddled almost in the center of their small village. Their meagre, cobblestone house was surrounded by other equally small dwellings. The farmers' homes, along with the fields in which her father laboured daily, lay on the outskirts of the village. A few of the farmers even had the luxury of owning some livestock, but her family could very rarely afford the luxury of fresh meat or cheese.

  The walk gave her the time she needed to brace herself, but she always had to pass many other houses and the haughty stares of her neighbours before she came upon her own home. As her household came into view she saw her father waiting in their doorway—he was large enough that he took up the whole space. He was looking at her with his dark brown eyes, which almost looked black with anger.

  She tried not to shy away from him as he moved to let her pass through the old, red door, which barely held on. She did not know if that was from the age and how ill-repaired their home had become, or from the many times her father had slammed it.

  Aveline's younger brother, Ethan, sat on the bare floor of their small living space. He was carving into a piece of oak, bringing to life a little rabbit from within the wood. He had a natural gift and she treasured the collection of small animals he had given her in the past. Hearing her approach, he turned and gave her as much of an indignant look as her father had, with the same grim eyes.

  She bent down to place the firewood in front of their small fireplace. "Where is supper? I work all day and come back to see my ungrateful daughter absent, with no food prepared," her father bellowed.

  The wood tumbled out of her clammy hands, and scrambling to pick up the scattered twigs, she noticed the large muscles in her father's arms flex and his eyebrows lower. Aveline felt even more perturbed as it was always a sign his displeasure was reaching its peak.

  "It will not be long, Father." She scurried off to heat up the vegetable soup she had prepared earlier. They had run out of the dried meat she usually used in the soup, and Aveline very much hoped it would not start yet another altercation.

  Another day in this living hell.

  She did not know whether to miss her mother or envy her because of the peace she must have found.

  This will not always be my life.

  CHAPTER 2

  Aveline looked down at her chapped hands as she felt the sting from the harsh soap she was using. She was kneeling over an old metal tub at the edge of her home as she scrubbed their dirty laundry. Noticing a tear in her father’s work trousers, she let out a heavy sigh.

  His work was demanding on his clothes, but they
never had the coin to buy new ones, so she kept them as well repaired as she could. They had so many patches, she wondered how they held together at all.

  Her one pair of footwear was heavily worn and pinched her toes. Her father still kept a few of her mother's old belongings tucked away, but he refused to let her near any of them. Once or twice when she was alone, Aveline had dared to take them out and try them on. There was one pair of shoes, hardly worn, which fit her perfectly. She knew her mother would have preferred her to wear them rather than keep them as an unusable remembrance.

  She looked down at the darkening purple bruises on her arms and felt a pang of loneliness. Even though the other girls in her village had tried to make friends with her a few times, they had given up a few years ago because of her lack of enthusiasm. Without the distraction of friends, it was a lot easier to get on with her jobs, and try to stay under her father's regard as much as possible, until the day she could leave this place behind for good. But the worst for Aveline was not the lack of friendship, but that the older women in the village, knowing what she was going through, offered looks of pity, but did naught to help.

  Finished with the last of the clothes, Aveline rubbed her chilled, wet hands together before blowing warm air onto them. Once feeling came back into her fingers, she hung the dripping garments out to dry on a sagging line tied between two wooden posts.

  Picking up the empty basket, she went inside to prepare Ethan’s lunch. She passed him a small bowl of warmed up soup, left over from the night before, and a slice of stale bread. It might not be the best, but it would keep the hunger at bay. Their food supplies were almost non-existent.

  As Aveline went to fetch her own, she jumped as a loud clattering came from behind her. Turning, she saw broken brown pieces of her brother's dish scattered across the floor, and the watery remains of his meal seeping into the gaps between the tiles.

  “We had that for supper last night, I'm not eating it again.” Ethan's face flushed as he lifted his chin in the air.

  Aveline put a cool hand against her pounding temple. “That's enough, Ethan. Get your ungrateful backside up and clean up the mess you've made.”

  Wide open eyes stared back at her for a moment before he grabbed a rag and began mopping up the soup.

  “I'm sorry,” Ethan's voice shook, his lower lip trembling.

  Sighing, she reached out and moved a strand of hair away from his face. “You can have mine, but no throwing it this time.”

  “Thank you.” His soft reply broke her heart.

  I hope our father brings home some food, or I will be going to bed hungry again.

  #

  Aveline weaved her way through the village heading home, she received peculiar glances as she ambled past her neighbours. Her heart began to race as a strange feeling took up residence in the pit of her stomach.

  Her anxiety increased the closer she came to her house. Hands shaking, she nearly dropped the heavy bundle of firewood all over the muddy path. She didn’t know what to expect—her father wasn't waiting at the door for her like he usually did.

  She stepped into their small, run-down dwelling, and saw something she had not seen for a long time. Her father sat waiting for her in their small living space, and as he turned her way, she noticed his wide smile and a dimple she did not even know her he had; it made his face seem less harsh than usual.

  Aveline for many years wished to see him happy again, but something did not feel right.

  “I've some news, but first I've got us some fresh meat and cheese to eat for supper.” Gleaming eyes stared at her, showing signs of life instead of the dullness she had become accustomed to.

  Fresh meat and cheese. How? This feast would cost almost a full week's wages.

  Looking around, she noticed her little brother's absence. “Where is Ethan?”

  “He is staying with one of his friends for the night. I wanted to share this information with you alone.”

  She settled down on the cold, stone-tiled floor opposite her father, as he sat on the only seating they owned. The small wooden bench had been repaired too many times and creaked with every move her father made. She tried not to fidget as she sat nibbling on a piece of cheese, awkwardly waiting for her father to speak. She didn't know how much time passed, it could've been minutes or even hours, as her heart raced audibly. Reaching down, she gently rubbed her belly. The food lay heavily in her empty stomach, and Aveline felt the beginning of a mild cramp.

  Shifting forward on the seat, her father tapped the table top once. “I've been presented with a solution to our money troubles. I'll no longer have to work from dawn till dusk just to keep you and your brother fed and clothed.”

  Gripping her legs until her knuckles turned white, her mind was spinning around in circles. She felt dizzy, how could this be possible? But she didn't

  vocalize her question. She released her death grip and sat on her hands to keep them still, as an increasing urge to fidget took over her.

  Her father stared somewhere above her head as he grinned to himself. Blinking, he turned his focus back towards Aveline. “I have sold you to Lord Thomas—he's paid me handsomely for a new wife.”

  He has sold me, he has sold me…

  It was like a loop on repeat in her head. Her body seemed to collapse in on itself. She crossed her arms over her chest, trying to hold herself together.

  “Not only will the money help this family, but our standing in the village will go up…”

  She could not believe it, but with of all the cruelty she endured over the years, she should not be surprised. She had practically been a slave since her mother died, leaving her to raise her younger brother and do everything else required to run their household. She had put up with years of her father's uncontrollable anger and violence, and now her father had sold her to a loathsome old man.

  He might be the lord of their small village, but he was far from kind and fair. Whenever she had seen her “new owner,” he had always been shouting at his much younger wife and belittling her. He was small in height, but still managed to look down his crooked nose at others. Where most of the villagers were underweight, Sir Thomas was stout and plump. Aveline knew he had lost his wife recently and been left to raise his two young sons alone.

  Her arms dropped to her sides as she felt a familiar heaviness, and glanced up to see her father staring at her expectantly, plopping another piece of cheese in his mouth. She forced a brittle smile. “That is great news indeed. If you will please excuse me, Father. I'm feeling rather tired and would like to retire to bed for the evening?” Sitting quietly under her father's intense regard, she waited.

  His lips slowly tipped up at one corner of his mouth. “Yes, yes, of course. Goodnight Aveline. We will discuss this matter more in the morning.”

  Even though his words sounded kind on the surface, she could not help but inwardly cringe at his malicious smile.

  CHAPTER 3

  This is the last cruel thing my father will ever do to me.

  Aveline lay awake on her small straw mattress, trying to breathe slowly and not move. Her father was still awake drinking ale, which he kept hidden under his mattress. Her bed was the furthest away from their small fire, but the thick smoke still made her throat feel hoarse and she had to hold in the urge to cough. The heated stones Aveline had placed at her feet had long since lost their warmth, and her old scratchy blanket did little to keep away the bitter cold as the wind whistled outside and caused the loose tiles on the roof to rattle.

  As her father finally staggered noisily to his bed, she breathed a small sigh of relief. While she waited to make sure he was in a deep enough sleep so she could sneak out undetected, she listened to a family of mice scurrying across the stone-tiled floor. She hated the thought of leaving Ethan behind with their father, even though he had begun to mistreat her just as their father did. But Aveline had raised him almost by herself since their mother had died giving birth to him.

  She did not begrudge her brother their fathe
r's love, although she did not receive any herself. She had an empty feeling deep in the pit of her stomach, which she knew was not from hunger. How does one leave behind a part of themselves and not feel hollow? That was what her brother was for her, and she prayed he would be safe until she could one day return for him.

  Aveline finally heard her father's loud snoring coming from across the room, and she knew now was the time to escape fate's cruel little joke on her. She pulled back her blanket and slowly crept from her straw mattress. She gathered up what little clothes she had nearby and a few small pieces of leftover cheese and salted venison, as well as a small slice of stale bread. She put on her mother's shoes, which caused a small, sad smile to appear on her face.

  He will remember this small act of defiance, and so will I.

  Just as she was leaving, she spotted the little rabbit Ethan had carved and placed it in her pocket.

  Quietly she opened the front door and carefully slid out. She looked back one last time at her old run-down home with its tatty red door.

  She would not miss anything but Ethan from her old life, she thought to herself as she sneaked down their muddy path, feeling a sense of finality. As Aveline crept past the other villagers' dimly lit homes, she was glad that she would not see those people again. They had never stepped in to offer help or support over the years. They often gave her pitying looks, which alone told her they knew at least some of what went on in her homestead. Many times, the bruises she received were in plain sight and could not be missed.

  She had only stayed because of her younger brother, who used to be such a sweet little boy. She remembered a time when he would follow her around whilst she tried to get on with her chores, his little hands holding onto her skirts and refusing to let go. He would laugh and smile at her, and it was only this last summer he had started to withdraw from her.