"Sir," an uncomfortable voice said. Cam realized he was cowering, arm over his head, knife extended uselessly. The guard standing over him was trying not to show the disdain that nevertheless clearly shone on his face. "The creature is dead."

Cam stood quickly, adjusting his clothes and examining the dead beast before he put his knife away. His cheeks were hot as he glared at the guard.

"My orders were to move quickly so that she couldn't cast a spell," he hissed. "Your carelessness endangered my life."

The guard opened his mouth to speak, but Cam waved a hand to silence him. "Enough talk. We've caused enough of a spectacle. Let's get her to the treatment center." He said this last part loudly, hoping it would carry far enough to become common gossip. The Lady Cortell was unwell. She had been taken in for treatment. Someone would alert her husband and family, surely, but he had a few days before they figured out who had taken her, he thought.

The other guards had already done their work, tying the woman and gagging her. They pulled a cloak over her head and carried her out of the courtyard, nodding grimly at the courtiers who were watching as if they were just as unsettled and worried as they.

Cam followed the procession of guards to the carriage that waited. It was generic and unremarkable, a commoners carriage on the outside. The subtly designed difference to most other carriages was that the two doors on the side didn't open into the same compartment. Gunne was settled into the rear compartment, which had a wooden interior and only a bench. Cam climbed into the other door, which was closer to the front of the carriage. This door was separated from Gunne's section by thick iron bars. Wooden slats made a half-wall, and the rear-facing bench had cushions. Cam locked the doors and banged on the ceiling, and the carriage started to roll. He sat back against the cushions and drew a deep, shaky breath. That had almost been bad. Gunne had proved more powerful and less gullible than he'd expected, and his lack of preparation had nearly cost him his life. It was a good lesson. Women were never to be trusted, no matter how harmless they appeared.

A swell of anger rose in his throat. How dare she. He had tried to be gentlemanly, he had tried to be kind. She had rejected his goodness without a trace of appreciation. But now . . . well, now she would have opportunity to think over her actions. Cam normally left intake and early treatment to the rest of the staff at the Beldam, but he was already looking forward to planning her program now. The gag wouldn't come out for two days, to start, during which she would be left tied up and stationed in a closet in the attic, where winter's cold bite would tear at her mercilessly but not cause permanent damage. Then he would take her to a treatment room and introduce her to some of the exercises that taught obedience, submission, and acceptance of pain as a due result for disrespect. A small, twisted smile crossed his face as he planned out their next days together.

She had made him feel weak, and she would regret it.

[End thread]