Constance shivered in the morning cold, huddling tighter into the corner of the room, clenching and unclenching her fists in a futile attempt to stave off the agonising cramps caused from having her hands bound for so long. She had not been taken to a separate room since her husbands murder at her captors hand and instead had been kept in the furthest corner from the door while the men who held her whiled away the hours playing cards, drinking and sharpening their swords and cleaning and priming their guns. In addition to being bound , the front of her dress was stiff with her husbands dried blood and her arms and chest were equally streaked with coppery red. Constance had not had a moments sleep throughout the long cold night, haunted by nightmare images of her husbands broken body.
The evening before, Manier had disappeared for a few hours, but far from causing her to relax, she had spent the time trying to make herself as small and inconspicuous as possible as the men regarded her with hungry eyes, whispering amongst themselves and laughing filthily as one of them made an undoubtedly lewd joke.
Manier had been gone for just under two hours when the biggest of the goons finally approached her, crouching beside her and grabbing a tight hold on her hair, making her squeal in pain as she was pulled face to face with him, so close as to be able to feel his foul breath on her cheeks. "Manier said if he weren't back we could have you to play with sweet thing, and I ain't waiting no more." He ripped away her gag and forced his mouth over hers. The hand not fisted in her hair grabbed at her dress, pulling down the neck which ripped with a loud tearing sound. Desperately squirming she bit down hard on the tongue invading her mouth causing her tormentor to swear violently as he withdrew sharply, spitting blood and backhanding her across her already bruised cheek, sending her tumbling back to the floor. "I'll make you pay for that you little bitch." Constance backed as far away from him as she could, as he advanced on her. With nowhere to run Constance closed her eyes and waited for the inevitable touch of his filthy hands on her skin. After a few seconds nothing had happened and screwing up the threads of her courage she opened her eyes again.
Her tormentor was frozen above her, but behind him Manier stood, a look of quiet fury on his face as he held a knife to the goons throat. "I told you two hours. Two hours Petre, you jumped the gun my friend." He withdrew the knife and stepped round to face the unfortunate goon, who now looked almost as scared as Constance felt. Next time I tell you to wait you wait. Understand?" Petre nodded rapidly as Manier continued. "I am only sparing you because tomorrow I am going to need every shooter I can get. Do not let me down again." Without warning he punched the man hard, and the goons head snapped back, blood pouring from his nose as he staggered back to his cronies.
Manier dropped to his haunches in front of Constance reaching out to her to gently pull the ripped bodice of her dress to cover her modesty again. He rested a hand on the less injured side of her face, thumb rubbing her cheek in what could have been mistaken as an almost tender gesture. "I apologise for that, some men have no idea how to treat a lady." Standing up again he addressed the room as a whole. "Tonight no cards, no drinking, no brawling. If you're not on watch, you're asleep. Because tomorrow is a big day."
Throughout the morning the activity in the small room became intense as the number of men grew till there were over twenty of them crowded into the space, all of them arming themselves with an alarming selection of pistols, muskets, swords and blades, Manier moving amongst the issuing orders and occasionally gesturing towards a plan laid on an upturned crate. Eventually at a signal from Manier the men began to empty from the room, Manier and her previous nights tormentor Petre approaching the corner where she curled on the floor. Petre took a cruelly tight hold of her arms, hauling her to her feet while Manie pulled a length of black cloth from his pocket and proceeded to tie it round her eyes, fastening it securely behind her head entirely obscuring her vision. "Don't worry sweetheart, we're going to meet your friends." He whispered in her ear, before she felt herself being lifted from the floor and carried out of the room over the burly Petres shoulder and out into the morning air.