By Honor Bound by Helen A Rosburg Page B

Philippe. Philippe. Would he understand why she couldn’t leave? Would he think her mad for turning down such a golden opportunity? Would she ever see him again? Honneure turned on her side and drew up her knees.
    She mustn’t think such thoughts. They only made her ill. Of course she would see him again. He wasn’t a prisoner at Versailles. He had written, in fact, that he would come home for a few days in the spring. That was the thought she must hold on to … seeing Philippe. And Chenonceau, her home, her loving family, Madame Dupin.
    But it was Claud who suddenly appeared when she closed her eyes. Claud, his face engorged with rage. Claud, who would make her life miserable at every opportunity.
    No! Honneure curled into a tighter ball. She mustn’t think of him. She mustn’t. He was an unpleasant fact of life. That was all. She would ignore him and live her life as she was meant to, caring for her family and serving Madame Dupin. Exhausted, warmed by the bread and wine, she fell into a deep sleep.

    Honneure wasn’t sure what had awakened her. The fire in the stove had died, and it was cold in the room. The candle had guttered. She sat up slowly, realizing it must be after midnight. She would have to get up, find a new candle, relight the stove, and undress.
    She swung her legs over the bed, feeling for her shoes in the darkness.
    A hand went over her mouth.
    Panic blossomed in her breast and exploded. She was forced backward onto the bed.
    “So you wouldn’t marry me if I was the last man on earth?” Snakelike, the voice hissed into her ear.
    Honneure struggled but weakly. Claud’s weight on her frail form was overwhelming. She smelled the stink of his sweat and his sour breath, and nausea rose in her throat.
    “Well, the feeling’s mutual …” A foul and slimy tongue licked the side of her neck. “ … but I will have what I want.”
    Honneure felt Claud’s pelvis thrust against her. Something hard and obscenely repugnant between his legs drove at her groin. Panic turned to terror. His grip on her mouth was so strong she could not turn her head, and it was becoming difficult to breathe.
    Claud’s free hand fumbled at her breast, kneading it beneath her woolen dress. Frustrated, he grabbed her collar and ripped away her bodice. His thick lips fastened on her at once.
    Honneure could feel herself begin to float away. She wasn’t getting enough air.
    Abandoning her breast Claud groped at her skirt. He worked it upward until it bunched around her waist, then tore at her underlinens.
    She was completely exposed. Now she could feel him fumbling at his trousers.
    But it hardly mattered. She was going away, going away where Claud did not exist, nothing existed …The scream could not possibly have been hers. She hadn’t even the breath to give it voice.
    Yet, it went on … And she could breathe. Great gulps of air filled her lungs. Her body felt weightless. Claud was gone!
    The screaming stopped. She struggled to sit up, but arms were suddenly around her, familiar, loving arms.
    “Honneure … my baby … Oh, I’m so sorry!”
    Honneure hugged her foster mother back and tried to look over her shoulder at the commotion in her doorway.
    “No, no, don’t look.” Jeanne forcibly turned Honneure’s head away. She did not want her to see the punishment Claud was about to receive. “It’s over now. You’re safe … You’re safe, baby.”
    All the fear, the terror, left her in a great, sweeping rush. She was empty, drained. Her arms dropped to her sides. Laying her head on Jeanne’s breast, Honneure wept.

Chapter Seven
    Early Spring 1771
    Philippe unfolded the note the stableboy had just handed him and quickly scanned the lines. He sighed.
    “All right,” he said to the lad. “Tell her I’ll be there.”
    The boy ran off, and Philippe returned his attention to the harness he had been polishing. It was already clean and supple, but he had little to do in the afternoons when he had finished exercising