Page 11 of Stroke of Shadows
“You will secure me that painting, no matter what.” He shoved her head, her neck snapping to the side, almost like she’d been slapped. “Sometimes I wonder why I promised my brother I’d take care of you, especially when you disappoint me like this.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, not daring to move and risk him striking out again. “Give me time. I’ll figure it out.”
Fingers brushing along her collarbone before dipping down the back of her dress, seeking the skin between her shoulder blades. She controlled her flinch as he traced the scar he’d given her. “You know I love you, right?”
Harper swallowed the bile, proud her voice remained strong. “Yes, uncle.”
“You’re like the daughter I never had. But you have to understand, there’s an expectation in being part of this family.”
Like you let me forget.
“I know,” she said. “I won’t fail you.”
“Of course you won’t,” he whispered, finally pulling back. “Tell me why you won’t fail me, Harper?”
A tear dripped down her cheek, and that single show of weakness infuriated her. “Because I’m a Beauchamp.”
“Because you’re a Beauchamp.” The words bounced around the room, echoing back at her. “Now tell me, what happened the last time you tried to run from your responsibilities?”
Harper remained silent, anger growing tight in her stomach, followed quickly with a numbness in her fingertips.
No, no, no. Not now. Not here!
“The Gods gave you to us for a reason, the first girl in several generations.” He gently wiped the tear from her cheek. “Your purity and beauty’s a blessing to the family. A gift from the Gods themselves, but let us not pretend you cannot be corrupted by the sins of man.”
Harper blinked, fear spearing through her centre.
What if she’d been followed?
“Nothing could have helped me with Mr Beckett,” she said, proud her voice didn’t break. “He had no intentions to sell to us.”
“Maybe, maybe not.” He dismissed her with a wave, and she relaxed a fraction. “Don’t disappoint me, Harper. Now go, Let the Light guide you.”
She dipped her head, rushing up the stairs towards her bedroom. The numbness had grown, Harper now unable to feel up to her elbow on her left arm.
“Shit!” she cursed, fumbling with the handle of her door. Managing to pull it open with her right hand, she quickly closed it behind just as her legs weakened, and she collapsed to her knees.
She wasn’t sure how much time had passed, finding herself on the floor, face pressed against the hard wood. She could no longer feel her legs, nor the tears she was sure burned down her cheeks.
Stress. That must be it, the reason for her sudden flare up. The fingers on her right tingled, but she was sure they’d go numb, too, even if it lasted a few seconds. The episode would pass, just like they always did.
Sometimes she had a warning before a collapse, normally with the numbness or tingling. Other times, there was no warning at all.
Managing to roll herself onto her back, she stared at the ceiling, finally able to feel her toes. She wanted to scream, to release all her anger, resentment, and fear. But instead she choked it down, knowing she had no choice but to pretend that she wasn’t absolutely terrified.
‘What happened the last time you tried to run from your responsibilities?’
She wasn’t sure what had made her decide to run one morning, knowing there was no place on earth that was safe. She’d been caught within days, dragged back home like the disobedient child she was. She expected physical punishment for embarrassing the family, was prepared for it. What she didn’t expect was rather than being beaten, her uncle had taken her back to the place where she’d sought haven. The home of a friend from boarding school.
Harper witnessed her friend and his parents be beaten, and then watched as they burned alive inside the same home that had protected her.
He’d forced her eyes open as the house was engulfed in flames, using those same flames to heat the branding iron. He’d scarred her permanently, a reminder that she belonged to him. Belonged to the family, and to the church.
He’d sent her away that very same night to be disciplined. Trained on how to appropriately behave, with the smell of burning flesh still fresh in her mind.
Over ten years, she’d followed every order.
Over ten years, she’d behaved.