Free Raised By Wolves Volume four- Wolves by W. A. Hoffman

argument. I do not agree withit.”
“But, my lord, you… must agree with it. It is the Word ofGod,”he said.
“Nay, it is your interpretationofthe word ofGod.”
“But Mister Collins’ interpretation is the generallyaccepted one,”Thorp said.
I shrugged again. “Aye, I know. I think it is wrong nonetheless.”
“So you would place your opinion above all others?” Thorp asked.
I smiled. “Why should I not? Martin Luther did. Henry the Eighthdid. I assume neither ofyouare Catholic.”
“So youare sayingyouare their peer?”Thorp taunted.
“Why not? I am a nobleman by birth, and it is a thing I cannot escape—as you noted. They were men. I ama man. We are entitled to our opinions. Granted, it helps if one can marshal an army to defend one’s position when it threatens the politics and power ofothers.”
Thorp looked to Collins. “You will not win this argument.”
“Why, sir?”Collins asked.
“Well, for one thing, youare too stupid,”Thorp said with a shrug. “But nay, you will need to break his will before he will hear your words.”
Collins took a deep breath. “I had hoped to avoid…”
“Of course you did,” Thorp said dismissively. “Unless you are entirely successful—such that Lord Marsdale thanks you—you will have to explain your methods to the Earl. You have been told what will likely trouble him the most—short of our havinghis lover onhand—and I suggest youemployit.”
I tensed at his sly smile, and felt Lots heavy hands close over myshoulders and press downto hold me inthe chair.
Collins sighed. “Very well, then.” He looked to Watkins. “We willemploy the harsher measures as we discussed. I do not wish to…witness such things.” He stood and left us with a wave ofhis handkerchief.
My gaolers dragged me out of the chair and threw me over the barrel I had occupied in the night: gagging me and tying mywrists and ankles to rings inthe floor once again. I was afraid I knew what they intended, but I frantically maintained the hope that I was wrong, and myfather had included the thingI feared in the list of proscribed injuries to be delivered to my person. The hope died when they tore away my breeches. Why had I hoped he would proscribe it now when he had allowed Shane to perpetrate it before?
I lost myself to my Horse’s rage and panic when I felt the grease on my arse. I was only barely aware that the thing occurring was not what I expected. Instead of raping me, they stuffed a large object in my hole and left it there. The initial penetration hurt immensely, but once that passed, it was merely uncomfortable and humiliating. I hung there on the barrel, struggling to breathe against the pressure on my chest and the desire to cry.
I prayed. Not in my usual manner of telling the Gods what I desired. Nay, I begged the Gods that I would be rescued fromthis night terror; and that none I cared for would be harmed in the doing of it; and that all involved in this atrocity against me would die horrible deaths at my hand; and I thanked Them ferventlythat Gastonwas spared this.
When darkness fell, the object—which I was at last able to see resembled a carved wooden turnip—was removed, and I was released from the barrel, given a small cup of water, and placed in the damnable stocks and dumped on my pallet. I spent the night in misery. I no longer felt the need to run. I was full of anger, and pain, but surprisingly, not fear or uncontrollable
madness. Old memories of Shane’s abuses had not surfaced,
    madness. Old memories of Shane’s abuses had not surfaced, nor did I feelthe stormofinsanity circling me as I had last winter inPort Royal. Mymind was calmand sure.
    At dawn, I was released and allowed to stretch and attend to my needs. Once again I was given only water, and my stomach knotted in disappointment at the empty intrusion, even as my mouth and throat delighted in drinking it. I was lightheaded when they sat me in the chair. I reveled in sitting with my back straight and tried to