“How old are you now, Elena?” he asked.
“Almost twenty.”
“Far past the time when a young woman should be wed. Do none of the young men in town appeal to you?”
“No, sir.”
He nodded, looking pleased, and then thoughtful. “Perhaps you would prefer an older man? One with experience, if you know what I mean?”
She swallowed hard, her heart pounding. “No, sir.” She recoiled from the look in his eyes as he leaned closer toward her.
“It’s been five months since Jenica ran off. It isn’t proper for the two of us to continue living together without a chaperone.” He laughed, a mean, ugly sound. “People might get the wrong idea.”
Elena clenched her hands in her lap, sorely afraid she knew what was coming, and dreading it.
“I think we should marry.” He nodded, as though pleased with the idea. “I need an heir, someone to carry on the family name.”
She stared at him, mute with horror at the idea of sharing his bed.
Smiling, he took hold of her arm and drew her closer. “You’d give me a son, wouldn’t you?”
She tried to pull away, but he tightened his grip on her arm, his pudgy fingers digging into her skin to hold her fast. And then he leaned forward and kissed her.
Eyes wide with revulsion, she fought down the urge to vomit as his tongue plunged deep into her mouth.
“Perhaps tonight,” he said, “I will take you down to the cellar.”
The cellar. Sheer terror engulfed her. Jenica had told her about the cellar.
Tonight, she thought when he released her. Tonight she would make her escape. The castle on the hill was a good distance away. Old and run-down, with no electricity or modern conveniences, it would be the last place anyone would think to look for her—if she could just find the courage needed to go inside.
Better to face the ancient ghosts in Wolfram Castle, Elena thought as she got ready for bed that night, than to endure another moment in her uncle’s presence.
It was well after midnight when she tiptoed into the kitchen, carefully avoiding the squeaky board in the floor. Since she hadn’t been shopping in almost a week, there was little in the refrigerator, but waiting another day was out of the question. She dropped a few apples and a doughnut into a sack; then, holding her breath, she opened the back door as quietly as possible and slipped outside.
She paused a moment, suddenly unsure. Was she doing the right thing? How would she survive on her own? Maybe she should wait. If she was lucky, she might find someone to take her to Brasov. But she didn’t have the luxury of waiting, not with Uncle Tavian talking about marriage. The idea of sharing his bed, of having his hands pawing her, his mouth on hers, lent wings to her feet and she ran away from the house and into the darkness.
It seemed as if the night closed in around her as she hurried up the hill toward Wolfram Castle. She was halfway there before it occurred to her to wonder if she would even be able to get inside. For all she knew, the place was locked up tighter than the bank in town.
A sudden, wayward wind lifted the hair from her shoulders and sent a flurry of dry leaves skittering across her path.
Dark clouds gathered overhead, shutting out both moon and stars.
The wind grew colder, stronger, causing the trees to moan as they swayed back and forth. The tall grass bent as if in supplication to the force of the wind as it howled across the land.
An omen? Elena wondered, shivering. She lowered her head and drew her coat closer around her shoulders as thunder rumbled overhead.
Continuing on, she realized the castle was a lot farther away than it looked. She paused several times to catch her breath, wondering if she would ever make it to the top of the hill.
The clouds released their burden just as she reached the castle door.
Taking a deep breath, she reached for the latch, blew out a sigh of relief when, with a creak loud enough to wake the dead, the heavy wooden door swung open.
Hurrying inside, she quickly closed the door, shutting out the wind and the rain, and then stood there, her heart pounding with the realization that it was pitch black inside and that she had forgotten to bring a flashlight. But at least she was away from her uncle.
With one hand outstretched, she moved across the floor, a soft cry of pain rising in her throat when she bumped into something. Exploring with her free hand, she discovered it was a high-backed sofa.
It was late and she was tired. She dropped her food sack on the floor, then stretched out on the sofa, her coat spread over her. No matter what tomorrow held, she was safe from her uncle’s repulsive advances tonight.