Outcast (Moonlight Wolves Book 4)

by Jasmine B. Waters

  Ligeia glared, but she did not speak.

  “Only, you have one problem,” Thomas said. “You are too quiet.” He released his grip on her hand and stood up, circling her once again. He snickered as he leaned in and swatted her hard on the behind, smacking her again and again until his palm stung from the force of it.

  “You stupid beast!” Thomas shouted angrily. “Make noise! I want to hear you cry!”

  Ligeia was biting the inside of her mouth to keep from howling with pain, but finally, she relented and released a loud cry of suffering and hurt. Thomas grinned. He smacked her buttocks all the harder until Ligeia collapsed on the soapy floor.

  “You little wench,” Thomas sneered. “Pathetic!” He kicked her roughly in the stomach. This time, Ligeia’s cry of pain was genuine. Tears flooded her eyes, and she sniffled, rolling into a ball and hugging her knees to her chest with both arms. Her cheeks burned with shame as Thomas grinned down at her, evidently enjoying the sight of his betrothed in pain.

  “Leave me alone,” Ligeia hissed.

  Thomas snickered. His boots were filthy with mud, and he smiled at Ligeia, keeping his eyes locked with hers as he strode around the room, covering the floor with mud and dirt.

  “For now,” Thomas said cheerfully. He shoved his hands in his pockets and walked out of the room, humming under his breath.

  Ligeia took a deep breath and hauled herself into a sitting position. Her whole body ached. She hated living with the Whittier family more than she’d ever thought possible. Thomas, the eldest son (and her soon-to-be husband) was a menacing bully who delighted in tormenting everyone around him – even his mother, Joy, who was the only kind person in the household. When Ligeia had first arrived, she had sensed an ally in Joy. But her trust and happiness eroded quickly as soon as she realized that Joy would offer no true protection against Thomas’ constant cruelties.

  The Whittier home was a grand one, the largest in Salem. Ligeia’s father, William, had been very proud when he’d announced to his family that Ligeia would be marrying into wealth. But Ligeia deeply regretted not standing firm or running away. Life in the grand house was horrible, and she spent her days cleaning, cooking, and sometimes watching the younger Whittier children.

  James Whittier, the patriarch of the family, was no better than his son, Thomas. Joy, his wife, and his daughters shrank when he was around. Ligeia was frightened of him, too. James and Thomas were both large, bulky men with shining caps of blond hair and smug, fat cheeks. They looked like overgrown children, and Ligeia grew more horrified with each passing day in the knowledge that she’d soon be having children of her very own.

  Heavy footsteps thudded down the stairs, and Ligeia cringed. ‘Prithee, Thomas, leave me alone,’ she prayed silently as she scrubbed the floor. ‘Do not bother me again today!’

  The footsteps grew nearer. Ligeia kept her head bent over her work, scrubbing hard at the wooden floor until it shone with suds and water.

  “Ligeia.” James’ booming voice made Ligeia cringe. “You work so hard,” he said. He snickered, stepping closer. “Come, take a moment to chat with your father.”

  Ligeia shuddered. The worst part of living as a servant in the Whittier home was having to treat James and Joy like parents.

  “Yes, Father,” Ligeia said obediently. She stood and curtsied, keeping her gaze lowered at the floor.

  “Tell me, are you happy in this godly home?” James snickered. “William seemed to think you would be.”

  “Yes, Father,” Ligeia said. James’ eyes slid from her face to her bosom, and Ligeia was reminded, unpleasantly, of Thomas. ‘All men are disgusting,’ she thought as James ogled her. ‘I hate being subjected to this!’

  “Come here.” James raised his eyebrows and held out his arms.

  Ligeia walked forward stiffly, as if her joints were made of wood. James pulled her into a tight embrace. Ligeia couldn’t decide who was worse: Thomas or his father, James. While Thomas pinched and hit, James was more subtle. He enjoyed holding Ligeia close to his body and refusing to allow her to escape.

  James wrapped his arms around Ligeia’s shoulders and pulled her close. She tried not to gag at his bodily stench. It was raw and musky, like onions and stale urine. She stood stiffly as James stroked her back, sliding his hands down to her bottom and squeezing. Her flesh was still sore from where Thomas had spanked her, and she tried not to shake as James squeezed her buttocks.

  “You’re a good girl,” James said. His breath was even worse than the rest of his malodorous body, and Ligeia shuddered. “A very, very good girl.”

  “Yes, Father,” Ligeia said automatically. She cringed as she felt James’ prick stiffen in his trousers and press against her.

  Voices sounded from below, and Ligeia tried to escape from James’ grip, but he held her all the tighter. Ligeia stifled a groan when she recognized Joy’s light soprano making its way up the stairs.

  “Husband,” Joy said. She was panting. She was extremely overweight, and her face was perpetually red and shiny with perspiration. “I need your help.”

  Finally, James released Ligeia, and she immediately sank into a curtsey for Joy. Joy glanced at her with derision. Ligeia hated the sense of guilt and anger she felt toward Joy. She hated the fact that Joy’s husband treated her like a wanton slut and she was expected to put up with it. But mostly, she hated how Joy grew angry with Ligeia for obeying James.

  “How thee fare, wife?” James asked sarcastically. “Our little wench was just cleaning.” He pointed at the floor. “And doing a very poor job. What is all this mud?”

  Ligeia’s ears burned. She could not tell the truth, that Thomas was responsible for the state of the room. “I will clean it all,” she promised meekly.

  “No supper for you,” James said. He winked, and Ligeia shuddered.

  “Go on,” Joy said. She gestured for Ligeia to kneel and once again begin scrubbing the floor. “Continue your work, wench.”

  Joy and James left the room, talking amicably. Ligeia heaved a sigh and scrubbed with more force than ever before. She deeply wished to run away, but she had no money and no resources in Salem. The other household servants resented her. Ligeia wasn’t bound to servitude for life, and one day they’d be serving her themselves, and she had no companions in the home or in town. Ligeia was rarely allowed to leave the house, and when she was, she often was expected back in a strict timeframe. She’d had no contact with her own family since she’d left; her few letters had gone unanswered. More than once, Ligeia had thought perhaps James, or even Thomas, was responsible for taking the letters and hiding them. But then one day, she’d heard Joy saying how strange it was that Ligeia never received post from her family.

  ‘It’s like they forgot all about me,’ Ligeia thought sadly as she slopped a little more water and lye over the floorboards. ‘It’s like I never even existed.’

  When she thought of her family, she pictured her brothers and sisters as young as they had been when she’d left. But she knew that Abigail was growing up. Maybe Father would find a place for her in Salem, too. Ligeia desperately wished for the opportunity to run away, but no such time ever presented itself.

  Cleaning the floors of the Whittier home took the rest of the day. By the time Ligeia was through, she was exhausted and so hungry that she thought she might faint. She wasn’t looking forward to a cold night, alone in her tiny room, shivering and hungry.

  “Girl!”

  Ligeia’s head snapped up. The cook, Mary, snapped her fingers.

  “Yes?”

  Mary gestured for her to come closer. “Come here, wench,” she said. “You must go to the market and fetch fresh fish.” She stamped her foot in exasperation. “The little wench at the stove forgot it earlier, and Master James will be angry.”

  Ligeia’s heart began to thump, and she nodded eagerly as Mary handed her a fistful of coins.

  “And hurry!” Mary added in a sharp voice. “I can’t have Mistress Joy finding out, or she’ll whip the hide
off my back.”

  Ligeia pulled a cap over her dark hair and took her cloak from the washroom. The chilly air made her blood pump faster through her veins, but she welcomed a change from the dank, stuffy household. The Whittiers lived in close proximity to the market, but Ligeia knew that she had to hurry as it was almost time for the merchants to clear for the day.

  The roads were muddy and slippery from last night’s sleet, and Ligeia stumbled, almost falling once. She pushed her way through the crowded streets, clutching the money tightly in her fist. When she was near a dark alley, she ducked inside and held the money close to her face, counting.

  The cook had given her six shillings. Ligeia trembled, suddenly wishing she’d worn her warmer cloak and her thicker boots. She wouldn’t be able to get very far on six shillings, nor would she even be able to buy much food. Her back ached as she leaned against the brick wall, sobbing.

  Suddenly, a flash of white hair in the street made Ligeia jump. She gasped as she emerged from the alley. Henrik Larsson, the strange man from Ipswich, was standing in the middle of the street, looking down at a piece of parchment.

  “Henrik!” Ligeia cried.

  Henrik looked up, frowning. When he saw Ligeia, he nodded. “Aye,” he said. “‘Tis Ligeia, the Arrowsmith girl.”

  Ligeia lips her lips. They were dry and cracked. “Aye,” she said softly.

  Henrik touched his forehead. “Well, good morrow to you,” he said. He turned around and began walking away from Ligeia.

  “Ho!” Ligeia cried. She ran after Henrik, slipping and skidding on the muddy street. She was panting by the time she caught up with him. For such an old man, he had an interesting and slow way of moving down the street.

  Henrik turned around, a curious smile on his lips. “Yes?”

  “Prithee,” Ligeia begged, “help me.” She began to sob again. Henrik stood there, watching her for a moment with an emotionless look on his haggard face. Then he pulled her close, wrapping her in his cloak.

  “I see you did not heed my warning,” Henrik said, but his voice was kind, “and now, you are suffering. Are you wed?”

  Ligeia shook her head. She wiped her nose on her cloak and sniffled. “No,” she said. “I am not. But I am to wed within the year to Thomas Whittier.”

  Henrik’s expression turned dark. “His cruelty is legendary for such a young man,” he said. “Your father sought to punish you, yes?”

  “I do not know,” Ligeia cried helplessly. “I am a servant, and once I marry Thomas, a servant I will remain!” The sobs began to come in earnest, and she wept openly, burying her face in her hands.

  “There, now, child,” Henrik said. He slid his fingers under Ligeia’s chin and tilted her face up to meet his. “Do not cry.”

  “I cannot help myself,” Ligeia whimpered. “I cannot return to that home!” Her blue eyes flashed with hurt and desperation. “I cannot allow Thomas to beat me!”

  “And beat you he will,” Henrik said. “Child, come closer.”

  Ligeia obeyed.

  “You must escape, yes?”

  Ligeia nodded. “I do not know how,” she said softly. She bit her lip as tears streamed down her face. “I have no money, no friends, nothing!”

  “Nothing but the six shillings in your hand,” Henrik said.

  Ligeia stared at him. “How…how did you know that?”

  Henrik gave a small shrug. “Now, child,” he said firmly, “you do not get to ask the questions right now. Do you want to escape, yes or no?” He sighed. “Time is running out for you, child.”

  Ligeia nodded quickly. “Yes,” she said. “I am well aware.”

  “Are you willing to risk your life?”

  Ligeia nodded. “Yes,” she said. A flash of anxiety bolted through her body.

  “Give me the shillings, child,” Henrik said. He held out his palm.

  Ligeia hesitated. “I…I was supposed to buy fresh fish.”

  Henrik shrugged. “Find a way to obtain it anyway,” he said. “I have no use for greedy children.”

  Ligeia shoved the coins at him. “Here,” she spat.

  “There is a forest at the edge of the village,” Henrik said. “Do you know it?”

  Ligeia nodded. “Yes,” she said.

  “Come tonight at the devil’s hour, three hours past midnight,” Henrik said. His eyes flashed with a bright light, and Ligeia felt hypnotized.

  “At the devil’s hour,” she repeated, her lips barely moving.

  “Yes, child,” Henrik said. He pocketed the coins, then gave her a gentle shove toward the market. “Tonight.”

  The devil’s hour. The devil’s hour, Ligeia thought over and over as she darted through the stalls. Despite the late afternoon hour, the market was more crowded than she’d expected, and she found herself weaving in and out of masses of women and men. When she reached the fish stall, she stood for minutes unnoticed.

  “Good morrow,” Ligeia said loudly, staring at the man in the stall. He ignored her.

  “I said, good morrow!” Ligeia repeated, glaring angrily.

  “May I assist you?” The man leaned in close, and Ligeia pointed to a fillet of salmon. But she realized he was speaking to the woman behind her.

  ‘How queer,’ Ligeia thought. ‘It’s…it’s almost as if I’m invisible!’

  Her hand was shaking as she reached out and plucked a fillet of salmon from the counter. No one said anything. No one reached out to stop her or yelled that she was a thief.

  Ligeia shivered. ‘I do not know what is happening,’ she thought nervously. ‘But tonight, I will be free.’

  Chapter Five

  I had never been more frightened. I was on the verge of running away – an act that would embarrass my family, and perhaps, if I were to be caught, even endanger my life. Life with the Whittier family in Salem was bad enough. I’d rather have killed myself than be captured and forced to return like some kind of runaway slave.

  That was when I knew I had to do everything Henrik ordered. It was very strange to think that my only alliance in the world was a foreign man – maybe even a foreign man who worshipped the devil. It was curious. Even though only six months had passed since I’d left Ipswich, Henrik looked exactly the same, perhaps even younger. His grizzled white hair and face belied the appearance of an old man, but there was something in his eyes – a look that I’ll never forget – that seemed almost youthful.

  Still, foreign or not, Henrik was my only hope to escape a life of abuse and assault at the hands of the men around me. Much as Thomas delighted in telling me of the horror that would come to pass once we were wed, I knew that I wouldn’t be able to escape his father, James, either. They were sadists.

  And I was starting to realize that my family was equally sadistic. How could they have surrendered me to such cruelties without being evil themselves?

  I was starting to realize that no matter how godly the people of Ipswich and Salem thought themselves to be, they were, in truth, the exact opposite.

  The sky darkened as Ligeia ran home from the market, the fish clutched in her hands. She kept glancing down; the dead, glassy eyes reminded her of her own. Whenever she looked in the glass (and often when she was polishing it, by Joy’s order), Ligeia didn’t recognize the woman staring back. Her blue eyes were cold and hard, and her pale face was creased with worry and sadness. ‘Why, I don’t look four and ten at all,’ Ligeia had thought in horror. ‘I look like an old crone!’

  Thunder boomed overhead, and pellets of rain stung Ligeia’s face as she hurried quickly back to the Whittier home. Her feet slipped in the mud, and twice, she almost risked losing the precious fish. But she arrived intact, and just as she began wiping her boots on the rushes at the front hall, the rain began to fall in earnest.

  A painful set of fingers grabbed Ligeia’s ear and pulled. She cried out, pulling away and whirling around. The cook, Mary, stood there. She looked absolutely enraged.

  “You stupid child,” Mary hissed. “Where the devil have you been?”<
br />
  Ligeia held out the fish. “You sent me to market,” she said. “There was many a man more than I was expecting. The stall was busy.”

  Mary tutted. She grabbed the fish from Ligeia’s hands and frowned. “Where are the coins?”

  “I spent them,” Ligeia said. “On the fish.”

  “You stupid child!” Mary repeated. “Six shillings, for this?” She waved the fish in the air. “‘Tis not worth half a farthing!”

  “I am sorry,” Ligeia said. She hung her head.

  “Dumb child,” Mary muttered under her breath. She shook her head. “Never the mind,” she said. “There is no time for anger now. Quick!” She barked at Ligeia. “Over to the stove. Help with supper!”

  Ligeia nodded. She rinsed her hands in a bucket by the door, then hung her cloak. Her heart was thudding fast inside of her chest, and she couldn’t believe the encounter she’d had at the market. Why had Henrik agreed to help? And what kind of magic had he performed that made Ligeia invisible at the fish stall?

  “Child, stop dawdling!” Mary growled. She was scaling the fish with her large, calloused hands as efficiently as a man. When she finished, she filleted and deboned the fish before tossing the raw chunks in a kettle filled with the leftovers from the middle meal.

  The Whittiers were extraordinarily wealthy, even in the town of Salem which was far grander than Ipswich had been. Most colonists ate a single, large meal in the middle of the day, but James Whittier ordered a large supper – something that had been more common back at home, in England. When Ligeia thought of England, her heart ached. More than anything, she wanted to return.

  ‘And mayhap I will have the chance,’ she thought as she peeled potatoes on the stone counter. ‘Mayhap, with Henrik, I can do everything that I’ve ever dreamed of.’

  “Child!” Mary snapped her fingers. “Are you dumb?” She chuckled at her own joke. “Potatoes and carrots in the stew, now!”

  Ligeia nodded. She dumped the potatoes on top of the fish, inhaling the rich, salty fragrance coming from the cauldron. When she was finished, she hastily peeled a few carrots and tossed them in, admiring the way the rich, brown gravy looked as it coated white chunks of fish and vegetables.