Devil's Dominion by Kathryn Le Veque

She coughed heavily after the laughter faded and averted her gaze once more, too sick to give in to the fear that had clutched at her these many weeks. Now that she knew why she was here, it all seemed so foolish and wasteful. As she lost herself in a powerful coughing fit, Bretton broke from his stance.
    One minute he was standing near the cell door and in the next, he was unsheathing a sharp dirk that was strapped to his left forearm. Allaston saw the flash of the knife as he descended on her, flinching away from him just as he grabbed her hair. He snatched the entire bunch of her dark hair, which hung loose to her knees and, looping the mass in his fist, he used the dagger to cut through the loop and therefore cut off about two feet of her hair.
    Allaston gasped as she watched the man come away with a big fistful of her hair. She grabbed at her remaining strands to see how much he had cut off and was met by blunt-cut ends that were about the length of her buttocks. Her hair had been very long before and was now just simply long, glorious strands of liquid silk. Her eyes flew to Bretton accusingly and he met her gaze, as impassionate as always.
    “We shall see how foolish my plan is when your father receives your hair as proof that I hold his daughter captive,” he said, sounding rather confident. “We shall see if that brings him to my doorstep.”
    Allaston was furious that he had cut her hair. “It will not .”
    “We shall see.”
    “And if it does not?”
    Bretton cocked a dark eyebrow. “Then mayhap I shall use you as a concubine,” he said, watching her pale cheeks flush red. “What could be worse to the almighty de Velt than to have his daughter a slave of an enemy? I shall impregnate you, again and again, and teach my sons to hate their grandfather. I shall breed an army of warriors against Jax de Velt from the loins of his own daughter.”
    Allaston was overwhelmed with the horror of his suggestion. “You cannot,” she hissed. “I am destined for the Church. I am to be a Bride of Christ!”
    Bretton cocked his head, a thoughtful gesture. “A bride, aye,” he said slowly. “But not of Christ. Mayhap I will wed you myself, a further insult to de Velt. I will send the bloody bed linens from our wedding night to him to show him that I have taken his flesh and blood as my own, to do with as I will. And you still do not think that will bring the man to my doorstep? Think again.”
    Allaston gazed at him with more hatred than she had ever experienced. In fact, she was wild with it.
    “I will kill myself before I let you touch me,” she snarled. “You will lose your bait, your captive… you will lose everything!”
    Bretton had little doubt that she meant what she said. “Mayhap,” he said quietly, eyeing the woman. “But I would not worry about taking your own life. Whatever illness you have will more than likely kill you before you can take a dagger to your throat.”
    Allaston nodded with great flourish. “One can only hope,” she said. “As long as I am dead before I have to feel your filthy hand against my flesh, that is all I am concerned with.”
    Bretton actually cracked a smile, thin and without humor. “Then I will have to take you before you rot away from whatever is killing you,” he said. “I prefer my women pliable. The only way you will be pliable is if you are too ill to fight back.”
    Allaston’s hatred was turning to rage. “Touch me and you will regret it,” she hissed, “for I will fight you to my dying breath.”
    He didn’t doubt her for a minute.
     
    ℘
    In the great hall of Cloryn Castle, men were settling down for the evening. The hall was older, with a great fire pit in the center of the room rather than a hearth in the Norman fashion, and smoke billowed up to the ceiling and hung about in great clouds before escaping through several roof vents in the thatching. It was long and skinny, with a dirt floor and four massive feasting tables in various positions