The Lord and his Lady (Forbidden #2)

Chapter Eight

Belinha's body twisted, beads of sweat beginning to form around her hairline.

Had Sir Pablo and his men found her? No, no, no. She couldn't go back to how things were when she had only just escaped! She would be whipped—or worse, killed.

Face pale, she pressed her back against the seating as she stared at the carriage door, waiting for it to be thrown open. When it didn't, her shoulders came to rest when the thud of it being flung open made her scream.

Two masked men, all in black, surged inside. One wrapped his thick, meaty hand around her mouth whilst the other grabbed at her ankles, attempting to pull her out. She thrust her body around, trying to yank against their grip but they were too strong for her; they ripped the bottom of her dress and her sleeves.

The man over her leaned down, the slit through the mask making way to dark, cold eyes. "We had heard about a coloured slave like you being employed under the noble family," he hissed. "You blackies tryna corrupt our blood has gone on for too long."

Cold sweat dripped down the back of her dress. Would they...they hurt her?! The muscles in her thigh ached as she pulled them up when suddenly, the heavy weight of the other man holding them down was gone.

"You buffoons, get on outta here!"

The man above her cursed. He leaned back and drew back his arm, backhanding her across the cheek. A faint cry left her lips as blood trickled from the corners. She licked at it, wincing at the metallic taste of blood now sitting bitterly on her tongue.

Sitting up, she saw Byron throw a rock in the direction the masked men had run off in. His face scrunched, he grabbed at his shoulder; he must have gotten hurt before they made their way into the carriage.

"Are you alright?" she asked, surveying the poor man from head to toe.

He gave her a look. "You are the one hurt, dear," he said, softly. "We must get you back to the Duke's manor. Will you be okay?"

"It could have been much worse."

It could have. She had escaped twice, but next time, she knew she would not be so lucky. She reached up to wipe the blood away from her lips with the back of her hand, hissing slightly at the sting.

She let her hands slide over the majestic coat of the grey mane she was ordered to brush; she had just finished feeding Sir Pablo's mother and had been assigned to clean up the horses after their night of shooting.

They were amuck with dirt, their long white mane twirling down in tendrils and freckles the colour of sand gracing their elegant hair.

Belinha hummed a lullaby—one that her mother used to sing to help her fall asleep—as she brushed its hair down from its head to its back.

The horse puffed and sneezed, and she giggled. She should be afraid. Luciana had warned her to stay alert at night, but being with the horses made her calm.

No one would evah dare hurt her in here. She heard the commotion the boys of the mastah's from neighbouring farms always made right outside. It was a common occurrence and she ignored it as she went about her duties like all the other maids.

Tonight was different. The sounds did not fade away. It inched closer to the barn, and the loud ruckus turned to hushed, forceful whispers. She stopped humming to hear through the muffled noises, but she couldn't.

Then it went silent. She shrugged, turning back to brush the horses, although the hair on the back of her nape and all over her body stood up.

Somethin' bad's gunna happen, a voice told her. Get outta there. She let out a shaky breath, trying to keep calm as the door to the barn opened.