“I don’t know.”
“I’ve done all I can for her. We must leave her for the night,” Clarissa said, sitting on one end of the rack and dangling her thin legs over the side. “If the wounds go septic, there is nothing I can do.”
“Don’t let that happen,” I growled.
Clarissa shook her head. I paced back across the room, staring down at my fists, trying to avoid the worried expressions of my two friends.
Tjard spoke first, breaking the strained silence. “I’m afraid this is a straightforward case. The testimony of the blacksmith and his son is damning, especially in light of Heloise’s earlier description of Ada’s birthmark. Elder Ernust has spread the word that there will be a trial within the week to ascertain Ada’s guilt, but in the meantime, we must gather what evidence we can of her witchcraft-”
I knew what he meant. The trial was a farce. A village rarely bought a woman to trial without convicting her. And this village seemed even more ripe for violence than any I had encountered before. Ada would be sentenced to torture and death, and the village would watch her like a hawk to ensure the sentence was carried out to the letter. Even with the three of us on her side, Ada was in danger.
I glanced over at the unconscious body of the girl in the grove. Oh, Ada.
And yet, despite the danger, I couldn’t help but feel a tiny flicker of satisfaction. If she survived the night, Ada would spend many days here, inside my dungeon, deep in my domain. And she would need to submit to my unique brand of torture. If she thought the grove had been a sexual awakening, then she was in for a real shock.
Ada
I awoke in a cold, dark room. Everything hurt.
It took me a few moments to remember what had happened, and when I did, my body flooded with cold fear. Waltraud dragging me … the villagers kicking me … they took me to Ulrich … and that must mean ...
I tried to move my arms, but found I could not. They had been restrained above my head, clamped in iron cuffs that bit into my skin. My legs too had been tied to a wooden bench, so that I lay spread-eagled in the centre of a damp room, my wounds stinging in the cold air. Torches flickered along the walls, and as my eyes adjusted to the dim light I could make out the shadows of large frames, ropes, chains and strange devices pushed into every corner of the tiny room.
I recognised the room as the cellar of the hall, but it was much changed. My blood turned cold as it dawned on me that I was in Ulrich’s torture chamber. The witch hunter could finally begin his grisly work.
Panic began to rise within me. How long have I lain here? Has Ulrich been waiting for me to wake up before he tries to illicit a confession? What of my aunts? Have the villagers gone after them, too? I tried to raise my head from the wooden bench, to look around the room, but my head had been restrained with a leather brace across my neck, and I could barely move.
Although my aunts never lived in fear of anything, they had told me about the witch hunters and their methods. Aunt Bernadine had spent part of her life in a village in the North that had been visited by a witch hunter. She described in excruciating detail how they had tortured a member of her coven, whipping this unfortunate woman until her skin was torn away, then pulling her body apart on the rack, before burning her broken figure upon a stake in the village square. Bernadine described a hundred gruesome ways the witch hunter had concocted to destroy a witch's body, leaving her soul free to return to God.
I always swore to them that if I were taken by a witch hunter, I would hold out against his torture. I would never confess to anything save helping the sick in their time of need. But feeling the cold metal of my restraints against my naked wrists, and the fearsome bite of my wounds, I wasn't so sure anymore. If I had anything left to hope for, it would be a swift and painless death.
The door swung open. I heard heavy footsteps moving across the room. I squinted into the gloom and saw Ulrich's looming figure bent over one of the racks of whips and clamps, his head inclined toward his löwe, who was talking in a hurried whisper.
"We’ve already seen to her wounds, and I've lain her out for you as you instructed. I saw her stir a few moments ago, and I ran immediately to get you. I don’t know what you wanted to start with, but I figured the clamps first, followed perhaps by a turn on the rack–"
Oh please Goddess have mercy on me take me now let my death be swift please don't let them use the rack …
Ulrich waved the man away. "Leave us." he hissed, selecting a small clamp from the rack and turning it over in his hands.
"Can't I work with you this time? This one is particularly pretty–"
"I said, leave us," Ulrich whispered again, his voice dripping with malice. The short man scampered, slamming the door behind him. I was all alone with the witch hunter.
Even in the gloom, when Ulrich started down at me, his eyes burned into mine. He didn't say anything, but crossed the room in slow, deliberate steps, each fall of his boots signalling my doom. He swung the horrid-looking device around his fingers.
"Please," I begged as he stepped under the flickering light of the lantern above me. "There's been a terrible mistake."
"I don't make mistakes," he answered.
"I'm just a girl–"
"You have been accused of witchcraft, Ada." Ulrich said sternly, walking slowly around the bench. The lamplight flickered across his eyes as he drank in the sight of me, lying naked before him. But this wasn't like the last time - instead of pleasure, he was going to inflict pain upon me. Hours of endless, unceasing pain. I squeezed my eyes shut, my body convulsing with fear.
I'm not going to survive this. I can't do it. I'm not strong enough.
"Please, I'll do anything. I'll sign a confession–"
"What? So soon? But you will miss out on all the fun." Ulrich leaned over me, bending close so that his lips were right next to my ear. He waved the clamp in front of my eyes, and ran the fingers of his other hand down my cold skin, taking my nipple between his fingers and twisting it till I cried out.
"I remember you from the grove," he whispered, his breath against my skin standing all my hairs on end. "How could I forget you? You are one of the most beautiful, most remarkable women I’ve ever met."
"I'll sign a confession. Please–"
"There is to be no confession for you. You don't understand, do you, Ada? I plan to torture you for hours, perhaps days. But you will enjoy it."
Ulrich twisted my nipple harder. Pain shot through my chest. I whimpered, my body cold and rigid from my panic.
He enjoys this. It brings him pleasure to torture and kill women.
"I can't stop thinking about you." Ulrich whispered, flicking his tongue over my earlobe. "Your body, this body, fits so perfectly with mine. I want that again, Ada. And I know you want it, too."
"I want nothing to do with a man whose profession is to maim and murder." I spat the weak insult with all the venom I could muster.
He sounded hurt. "You misunderstand me. I do not wish to hurt you. At least, not much."
I let out a shrill laugh. "If you do not wish to hurt me, then release me from these bonds."
"Ah," Ulrich smiled. "But why would I do this, when I have you all to myself?" He swept his arms around the room. "We're locked in here, Ada. No one can enter, and no one can see us. Within these walls, who we are outside does not matter. We have all this," he gestured to the whips and racks and apparatus, "at our disposal. Do you not wish to see what will become of us? Do you not wish to recreate the passion we both felt in the grove?"
What? Here we are in his torture chamber, and he is still talking about the grove? I felt my face grow hot as a memory of his naked body flashed across my vision.
"But–" He was a witch hunter, a murderer of women. "Why would you want me … in that way? I am an accused witch, capable of complex enchantments. Why would you even wish to touch me again?"
"Because you have enchanted me." Ulrich pressed his lips to mine. I tried to squirm away, but the restraints held my head in place. The w
armth of his kiss seared my cold body, the intoxicating scent of him mingling with the panic welling up inside of me, driving all thought and reason from my mind. He cupped my breast in his warm, rough fingers, and despite my fear I felt my body react to the touch, my nipple harden as it yearned for his body to be pressed against it.
Ulrich ended the kiss drew away, slowly, his dark eyes dancing over my body. The fear grabbed me once more, and I felt a quiet rage beginning to churn within me, anger at the way he was confusing me. All his talk of the grove was only making the anticipation of torture more profound and terrifying.
"What do you intend to do to me?" The words came out in a husky whisper, tempered by the conflicting emotions battling for possession of my body.
“That," Ulrich said, giving me a cold smile. "Is for me to know, and for you to discover."
"I won't submit my body to you. I would rather die than lie with a man who murders innocents."
“Ada, you’re shaking.” His smile fell away as he gazed down at me. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he looked … concerned.
“I-” I tried to say something, but he grabbed my hand, and my fear choked out my words. Fat tears rolled down my cheeks.
Ulrich sighed, placing the clamp down on the bench beside me. "It's time you knew the truth."
"What truth is that?"
"Ulrich the Scharfrichter is a friend of women, though you would not know it. I do not torture or kill women, Ada. At least, not any more. I haven't for many long years."
"You're lying. You're one of the best witch hunters in the country. You've burned women across the entire continent."
Ulrich shook his head. "I do not kill."
"Don't lie." I was getting angrier by the minute. "Don't for one minute stand there with me chained to this torture device and deny your crimes, or reason away your murder as justified by God. Don't preach that you're 'saving' my soul when you tear at my body with these instruments. You're a murderer, pure and simple."
"I do not kill," he said. "But I see that you will not believe me without evidence. Clarissa will explain."
"Who?"
He gave a low whistle. A few moments later, I heard a sharp rap at the door. Ulrich got up to open it, and a second pair of footsteps moved across the room. "You called, master?" a sultry voice purred. I strained against the bonds, trying to crane my neck to see who the voice belonged to. Light footsteps fell on the floor, moving closer. Finally, I saw a figure move into my vision. A woman, young and beautiful, with eastern features and large, expressive brown eyes. A flowing mane of fiery hair cascaded down her back. She came to stand beside Ulrich, her lithe frame stretching only up to his shoulders. Her body was clad in a shift of rough wool, the bones of her elbows sticking out at odd angles. She leaned over my naked body and grinned down at me. Her smile was hypnotic in its madness, filled with wild thoughts and unbridled lust. Ulrich cupped his hand over her shoulder, the gesture gentle, tender. He pulled her back.
"You bring me down here to show me your gypsy whore?" I snapped.
The woman slapped me across the cheek so hard tears welled in my eyes, and hissed something at Ulrich in a language I didn't recognise. He patted her arm, and a surge of jealousy raced through me.
"Say that again, witch," hissed the strange woman. "And I'll let you burn."
"You'll do no such thing." Ulrich barked at her, suddenly stern. “And don’t you call her that. You know I don’t approve of the word.” The woman shrunk back, pouting.
Ulrich turned back to me, his voice low and calm once more. "I met Clarissa on the road, many moons ago. She was in trouble with a group of highwaymen, and I jumped in to lend my blade. Ever since, she has been working off her debt to me. Clarissa has quite a knack for escaping bonds. And a wicked streak a furlong wide, so don't you cross her."
Ulrich smiled at me. Clarissa leaned in close, so that I stared up her nostrils. She smiled at me, too, but her smile was cold.
Ulrich continued. "Clarissa needed food, I needed an assistant, so together with my löwe, Tjard, we devised a plan. You see, I didn’t choose this vocation, it was forced on me from the day I was born. I come from a long line of witch hunters, proud killers. I learned by my father’s side as he tortured and killed many women, but instead of building up a lust for witch’s blood, as he hoped, I grew to hate his kind.”
What was he saying?
Ulrich’s eyes grew dark. “He made me do things in that chamber that I can never forget, nor dare to ask forgiveness for. I made a vow that when I became a witch hunter, I would save the life of one woman for every one that he had taken. And I have been true to my word over all of these years. I had women brought to my chambers for torture and confession. But instead of doing my godly duty, I spirited these women away in the night, so they might escape and continue to live their lives free from the curse of the church."
His story was so fantastical, I hardly dared to believe it was true. But why would he be telling me this? "But the burnings? Rebekah said you've personally burned more than a hundred witches–"
"That is where I come in," said Clarissa. "The night before a witch is due to hang, Ulrich sneaks me into the cells and I swap places with her. Ulrich spirits the lucky wretch to safety, while I pretend to be the accused on my way to meet my maker."
"But how? Surely you can't pretend to be all those other women–"
"There ain't much to the disguise. After several days in the jail even the plumpest witch becomes thin and emaciated." Clarissa holds her arms above my head so I can see the way her bones stuck out at her elbows. "I wear a bag over my head, and I slump to the ground, so no one can be certain of my height. Tjard even has pigments he uses to paint bruises upon my skin."
"We use a chemical to light the fires," said Ulrich. "At a certain point it explodes into a huge cloud, but it doesn't burn the flesh. The smoke clouds the view of the villagers and when no one can see what's happening Clarissa slips her bonds and escapes into the forest, while Tjard tosses a couple of pork bones into the fire. The villagers believe they have burned the unfortunate, and so all is well. Clarissa meets us again on the road and we slip away into the night."
I couldn't believe it. Could this really be true? Was Ulrich of Donau-Ries, the most notorious witch hunter in all Lord Benedict’s lands, actually helping women escape from their godly fate?
Clarissa bent so close to my face that her thick curls brushed against my cheek. "You picked a good day to be burned at the stake," she whispered, cackling in my ear. I tried to pull away from her mead-soaked breath, but of course this was impossible.
"And so, you see that you have nothing to fear from us. We will help you escape into the forest," said Ulrich. "And I will take you and your aunts to a place of safety. But first …"
His lips pressed against mine, hard and urgent. The memories of the grove came flooding back to me, along with a tremendous sense of relief. Ulrich’s story was remarkable and fantastical, and I’m sure if Aunt Bernadine had been there she would have scoffed her disbelief. It sounded too good to be true, and yet ... I could not reconcile that strong, brooding man from the grove with a bloodthirsty, pious witch hunter. He spoke plainly, and I trusted his word instinctively.
Ulrich dragged his tongue over my lips, and I could barely control my elation. Ulrich was not a murderer. He was going to help me. That passion I'd felt for him ever since we met – the fire I'd sought to extinguish when I found out what he was – flared up within me. I strained against the restraints, savouring every second of the kiss, wanting to pull him deeper into me.
"I'll be going then," I heard Clarissa say, from somewhere outside the world of the kiss. The door creaked open. "You have fun with your little kitten, now." The door slammed shut, and we were truly alone.
Ulrich pulled away, staring down at me with wild, dancing eyes. The dark hair around his jaw gave him a strong, powerful appearance. Beneath his black wool cloak, I could see the outline of his broad, sculpted shoulders and bulging muscles. Now, instead o
f his imposing presence making me tremble in fear, I could feel another kind of tremble rising up from my core.
“What are you planning to do to me?” I asked. “Aren’t you going to set me free?”
Ulrich shook his head.
“Then what?”
"These devices are truly remarkable," he said with a smile, gesturing to the torture chamber around him. "With a single turn of a wheel or the tug of a rope, I can hurt you beyond imagining, but if I am careful, and you are willing, we can bring each other to the height of ecstasy."
"I don't understand." My words came out in short, sharp gasps. I wanted him to stop talking, to return to the kiss.
"I've learned a few tricks in my years as a witch hunter, Ada. I've learned that pleasure and pain are very closely entwined. And, that by embracing the pain, you can bring a person’s body to even greater heights of ecstasy. If you allow it, I will share some of this knowledge with you."
"I don't want you to hurt me." I whimpered. "I don't–"
"No, no. You will like this pain." Ulrich leaned in and kissed me again, long and deep. "I promise."
While his tongue continued to dance inside my mouth, Ulrich ran his fingers down my body, the fingertips like fire against my skin. My whole body tingled as he stroked the side of my neck, my collarbone, my stomach. He circled my breasts with his fingers, taking one of my nipples between his thumb and finger and rolling it, sending a shiver of delight through my whole body. Suddenly, he pinched the nipple hard. The sharpness of the pain caused me to cry out.
"See?" Ulrich whispered, as he bent in to kiss me again. "How did that feel?"
It made no sense to me, but the pain was like a spell. It seemed to increase the sensation of him - of his fingers dancing on my skin, of his hands cupping my cheeks and his tongue probing deep, entwining with mine. My body shivered with anticipation, not knowing what his next touch would bring.
Ulrich pulled away again, suddenly, and I cried out to him. "Please, I must have more."
Witch Hunter: dark medieval paranormal romance (Witches of the Woods Book 1) Page 11