Tears of Leyden Read Online Free Page B

back. I resist him but his grip is too strong. I burst into a fit of chocking sobs but he won’t let me go.
    He backs away as the other Spaniards take back my family. Meyleia reaches and whines for me. Moeder’s face is white with knowing trepidation for her daughters. I understand what is to happen to us and scream out my loudest scream. It hurts my own ears.
    I am lifted and forced back with the young man still holding me tight and away from all that matters to me, from every single electrolyte left in my torturous life. I continue to consist our meeting with a fight as he draws me out the back door. The last thing I see inside my family’s house is my dear moeder and Meyleia being herded away from me like mules or cattle; I am just the only one to be caught and brought out of the atrocious mess of butchery. I tug and haul at the soldier’s grasp, but it is no use. I am in loss of much energy. I must surrender, yet I don’t.
    The soldier pulls me out through and behind the rows of huts side by side along the great wall of the city. He continuously pulls, but becomes gentle as I grow weak. I don’t think I can last. He tugs on my wrist and I slam into him. I push at his chest with clenched fists and try to wrench back from his hold, but he is stronger and I feel my strength dwindling with my pounding head. I think I hear moeder and Meyleia through the huts as I am dragged passed, but I know I am merely hearing the lies of the town’s midday bustle. Still I engage myself in the strenuous struggle.
    The smell and drift of the canal breeze becomes almost unbearable to my sickening stomach and cold spinning head. I feel my muscles contract and expand every time I move from my labor the past week, and my new activity is not helping it ease. A shadow covers my head, and I see a doorway as he brushes me in front of himself, completely sheltering me from the light outdoors. With one last tug of protest, he lets me go and I collapse to the dirt floor, throwing myself into my arms and bawling into them, surrendering to the truth of my burning tears. I taste the salty water running down my cheeks and suppress myself into the ground. I sob out and let all belief of mercy go. I am in death’s hands now.
    I feel him standing there watching, his face filled with undeniable concern and guilt. I curl away as he paces a little closer and he sighs out, most likely not knowing what to do. I feel scared, lost, and abandoned by those I love by force, and the memories in my head do nothing to comfort me. I cringe at the stitch in my side and my stomach churns sickly. He paces again and I wish he would stop, for it only reminds me of his power and my weakness as I lie here, only adding to my collection of reservations. He seems not to know what to do. I don’t blame him, for who would know how to stop or comfort a bawling girl of the age eighteen with nothing left other than death to look forward to?
    I lay here at least a couple minutes as he paces. Finally, he kneels down beside me and sighs heavily.
    He annoys me; every shuffle of his feet, every rhythm of his heart beat, every thought of his reeking presence, every single breath he takes, it all makes me sick. It brings forward the knowledge that I am taking safety in this place while my family is now hanging by their necks. Their living is hardly even imaginable, especially since they are no more than a poor common woman and girl. The least they could be used for by the enemy is entertainment. I can’t think of it.
    It dawns on me. What will become of my future? What did this man want of me? What did they say about the King valuing something about me? Was this Mr. Gilch…was he to manage me…how? I cringe at the thought of my disposition and the possibility of giving up my purity to one of the blood of those who took my family.
    I suppress myself into the ground and choke out as I feel his eyes on me. I shiver inside at the thought of him eyeing each hair on my head, burning through