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though, before I consent to marry her. I require that you fashion me another article, old chap,’ he said, pointing to the horseshoes in his hands. ‘A pair of manacles, to fit the lady’s wrists.’

    My father, completely under the spell of the money between his fingertips, simply nodded. ‘Of course, sir,’ he said. ‘I’ll make ‘em tight and secure.’

Chapter 11

    That night, I struggled to complete my evening’s work at the inn, for my hands were trembling so fiercely. I was a terrible mixture of horrified with my father, and terrified about this obnoxious, arrogant stranger, who had deemed me a suitable match for his hand in marriage! Why me? What did he want with me , a poor country girl? I dared not think about it.

    When the clock struck half past eleven, and I was meant to be clearing the tankards from the table, the landlady, Georgina, grabbed me by the arm, so firmly that it hurt, and I was sure it would leave a red mark in time for my wedding. ‘You had better leave early tonight, Cathy,’ she said to me, ‘for you ‘ave a lot to do to prepare yourself for tomorrow, don’t you, bonny lass?’ She laughed, a sort of shrill, cackling, that I had never heard escape her miserable lips before, and then she thrust her elbow hard into my side and bade me leave my place of work, most probably, I assumed, for the last time ever.

    I nodded, and bowed, and took my leave, and rushed home, desperately fatigued with worry, and hoping to lie straight down in my bed, and escape to the oblivion of my dreams.

    When I reached the front gate of our cottage, I noticed that there was a candle lit in my father’s shed, and then I heard the bash of his anvil. That word the Duke had used… the commission he had given my father… manacles . I knew not what they were, or what such things were used for, but my father had been making them for the past three hours, and showed no signs of relenting. I crept past his she,d hoping not to be seen, but my father must have seen my shadow, and called out: ‘Cathy MacBride! Yer’d better not go to bed! Yer’d better get yerser’ in yon bath in the kitchen. I’ve laid it out an’ put hot water in it, like yer ma used to do, so get in it and I’ll be in in a minute to see yer doin’ as I say!’

    I was so dismayed by this I could have wept. Take a bath at almost midnight? I wanted to sleep! Normally, my father insisted that baths were nothing but ‘a new way of lying in your own filth’, but tonight he was insisting on it!

    I entered the kitchen and saw the old tin bath on the tiles, lit up by two small candles, both of them almost run down to the wicks, and I envisioned the terrible prospect that the lights might go out while I was in the bath, leaving me sitting in a tub on the kitchen slabs, stark naked!

    I removed my dress, heaving a sigh of relief as my huge bosoms fell out of their tight constraints, and then I removed my underskirts, too. Then I took my aching feet out of my shoes and dipped a toe into the bath. It was warm, at least, as my father had said, and he had even left the soap bar beside the bath, so that I might clean myself properly.  

    I lowered my body all the way in, my eyes widening a little with shock as the hot water engulfed my precious little sex, which, I feared, was going to have to deal with more than just hot water tomorrow. Having never known my mother, I knew nothing about sex, except what I smelt on the sheets at the inn, and what I heard in the night, when my father brought home women from the fields sometimes, and I could hear them rutting for around ten minutes, with shrieks and gasps and moans, and then I’d hear my father snoring and the sound of a disgruntled woman, pacing the creaky floorboards above my head.

    I was just soaping my underarms when my father entered the kitchen. Even in the dim candlelight, I could see that he was dripping with sweat. ‘Oh good,’ he said, mopping his brow. ‘Yer in the bath.’ He sat on a