Through the thin fabric of Katerina’s linen chemise, Christopher could already see something alarming. The skin of her back was uneven. The garment lay in ridges and furrows as though on newly plowed earth. Gently, he slid the fabric

down… or tried to. It stuck to her in several places. His fingers began to tremble

as he revealed her body.

Christopher had always adored a woman's back; from the broadest point at

the shoulders, narrowing to the waist, flaring at the buttocks, a long line of smooth unblemished skin, perfect for kissing.

Katerina's back resembled nothing he had seen before. She was marked from

her shoulder blades down, as low as he could see with her dress and chemise

tangled around her waist, with thick crossing scars. Some were clearly old; pale cords of ruined flesh. Others, though solid, bore the pink tone of newly-healed skin. Horror of horrors, some were fresh. Deep, terrible marks, cut open and scabbed, revealed a beating bordering on torture.

Low on her back, where he had embraced her, blood dribbled from an open

wound down her spine. Interspersed among the whip marks, deeper bruises

resembled long straight lines, some livid purple, others fading to yellow.

“Oh my God,” he said, nauseous with disgust and rage. “What did this?”

“He started with a horsewhip, but it broke.”

“And then?” he asked, not sure he wanted to know the answer.

“A walking stick.”

Christopher squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, trying to come to terms with what he had learned. Then he opened them and resumed his scrutiny of her

wounds.

One deeply bruised injury wrapped around her side. He gently rolled her,

following the line past her ribs, between which the undernourished flesh sank deeply, and onto her belly. There the black and blue bruises lay so thickly that individual impact marks could not be distinguished. Bad as her back looked, the

blows to her belly concerned him far more. She could have been killed. “How on earth could you play?” he asked, appalled.

“It was distracting,” she replied in a soft, flat tone. “It helped.”

“This can't go on,” he insisted.

“Nothing can be done to stop it!”

Such despair. No one has ever tried to help her. She has never known safety

for a day in her life. Resolve hardened in Christopher. “Can you try to trust me, love? I can make it all stop, for good.”

“It's too soon,” she choked out.

At least she understands what I'm implying. “I know. How often… does this

happen?” Even as he pronounced the words, he yearned to slap himself at their

stupidity. As though the heavy scarring doesn't answer the question for you.

“Often,” she admitted. Her breath sucked into her lungs, drawing her flesh even more deeply between her ribs.

“Weekly?” he pressed.

“Yes.”

Viciously forcing down his rage, Christopher strived to address the problem.

“You were right to worry you might not survive another beating. This,” he touched her belly gently, “could easily have resulted in fatal internal injuries. I won't have your death on my conscience.”

“You didn't hit me,” she pointed out, her eyes pleading for he knew not what.

“But I know what's happening,” he replied. “If I don't take action, I'm just as

responsible. Marry me, Katerina. Let me take you away from all this. Please?”

She bit her lower lip and winced as her teeth hit the sore spot he'd noticed the

other day. “Is this a valid basis for marriage?”

“I have to do something,” he insisted, gesturing with his hand.

She flinched away from the movement.

Dear Lord, what a mess. What can the right answer possibly be?

Forming the question produced the answer. No matter the outcome, I cannot

let her die. I will not let him kill her. “Once you're safe, we can work on making it what we want it to be. Please, love, let me help you.” He knelt beside her on

the floor. He longed to embrace her but could find no place to put his hands that

would not cause her agony, so he cupped her face instead. She hissed. Removing

his hand, he found it thickly smeared with cosmetics. “What are you covering up?”

“Don't ask questions, Christopher,” she begged.

He swallowed. “Fine. I can guess, but there is one thing I have to know.”

“What is it?” She lowered her eyelids halfway, as though trying to block out