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origin. Drat! It was anchored by a thick iron plate on the wall behind me. Less than optimistic, I grabbed the chain just above my wrist with my free hand and gave an experimental tug to see if there was any give to the plate or the chain. My suspicions were quickly confirmed. It was as strong as, well, iron, and I stood no chance of breaking it.
    I held out my wrist, turning it this way and that, trying to see how much room there was between chain and skin. While I was able to move it around, there was no slipping free from it.
    I moved to swing my legs over the side of the bed but was stopped short by the yank of a chain on my ankle. Fanfuckingtastic .
    Stringing a litany of curses together in frustration, I began plotting my revenge on Leister while scanning the space for anything I might use as a weapon. The words died on my lips as I truly looked at the room for the first time.
    The walls were adorned with various lengths and sizes of whips, chains and cat-o’-nine-tails. A rack along with branks, an iron bridle of sorts to hold one’s head immobile, sat in one corner of the room. A chair with leather straps at the arms and feet sat in another. A torture chamber. I was in a bloody torture chamber. Footsteps rang outside the doorway and I froze. Sick with dread, I started to shake. Tears sprang to my eyes.
    Stop it, you stupid girl! I bit my lip hard and took a deep breath. I’d promised myself sixteen years ago that I would never allow anyone to make me feel helpless, afraid or weak again. On a dime, my terror turned to anger. If he was going to try to break me, it was going to take a lot more than intimidation.
    Bring it.
    A lock tumbled and the door swung open. Leister stood with a key in one hand and a tray of tea in the other, a grim expression on his face.
    I glared at him, furiously blinking back the unshed tears
    “I’ve brought some tea,” he said, closing the door behind him.
    “Why, thank you,” I cooed, voice dripping with sarcasm.
    “No need to be tart. I’m the one who was wronged here, you know.”
    “I don’t know what you’re referring to, but whatever your plans are with me, skip the tea and get on with it. But know this sir—whatever sick thrill you get out of torturing people, you won’t get it from me. I won’t make a sound.” I lifted my chin and turned away, attempting to project an air of disinterest. In truth, I didn’t want to face him, but I didn’t want to look at anything else in this room of horrors either.
    Something sounding like a strangled chuckle issued from his side of the room and I turned a suspicious eye on Leister, but he remained stone-faced under my scrutiny.
    “Before we begin with the torturing, why not have a little talk first, eh, Dorothy?”
    As serious as his face was, and as angry as I knew he was, my Spidey senses were telling me that he was tweaking me somehow. No matter, because, despite my brave little speech, I was all for stalling the torture portion of our show, so I assented with a nod. “So talk.”
    “All right, then, I’ll start.” He set the tea tray down on the night table and moving to sit on a velvet-covered chair a few feet from the bed. “Why were you trying to poison me?”
    “I wasn’t trying to poison you. I was trying to make you take a nice little nap, is all. Obviously that much is true, since you switched the cups and I’m still alive after drinking it. What tipped you off?”
    “You weren’t exactly subtle about it, now, were you? I had no idea until I started to feel odd, drowsy, much more so than I should have after a few cups of wine. Once I noted that and how focused you were to see what else I had to wager, I started paying close attention. The wine had tasted a little strange after you had come back from closing the tent flap and refilled the glasses. When we kissed, I switched the glasses, figuring if I was wrong, then there would be no repercussions. If I was right, well, I would have caught a rat.” He shook