Eliza knelt and with the small digger worked the garlic root from its rocky soil nest. Purr, her cat, nudged her leg, begging attention, which would have to wait.

"Off with ya, I've got work to do ya silly cat. Master Thomas is ill and these herbs and root will cure him." She pushed Purr away and returned to her task. She'd already found the other remedies and her basket was full to overflowing with fresh herbs.

Tossed the last root into the basket, she straightening her back and sighed. She ached from her chores, but it was a good ache and one she was proud to bear. At least her knees were padded she thought. The long full-skirted dress and petticoats she often cursed were at least good for something.

The day was warm and she'd unfastened the top two buttons of the bodice allowing her more than ample cleavage to be touched by the sun. She knew she'd have to fix that before she returned home. She'd also refasten the white bonnet and hide her mane of blonde hair, and protect her virtues. Or so she'd be taught.

As she struggled to her feet and picked up her basket, her mind wandered to her Charlie. Sweet, sweet Charlie, who she'd known for only a year. He was her closest neighbor and had been the first to come to her aid when her poor parents died of consumption last summer. He'd helped her bury them. He'd helped her burn the house. Then he'd held her while she cried.

The basket over her arm, Eliza trudged back to the village, Purr at her feet. The black tomcat traipsed along beside her, tail high in the air. The occasional rumbling meow aimed her way, as if he talked to her.

"Purr, what are you sayin'?" she laughed and bent to stroke the soft furred beast. He rubbed against her hand and suddenly leapt away, into the underbrush.

She sighed and went on, thinking of Master Thomas and his ailments. Feverfew and garlic should take care of him, but she worried nonetheless. She didn't notice how still and quiet the village was when she neared it. No yapping dogs raced around her looking for Purr, no children played in the muddy street.

Her small hovel was on the outskirt Backed by the forest, it was the perfect place for her. Easier to get to her remedies when she needed to, and easier to go unnoticed.

She reached for the latch, but never touched it. A sound behind her was the only warning, but not enough. A sack slipped over her head, muffled her scream. But not enough apparently, as something solid struck the back of her head.

Eliza didn't lose consciousness, not quite, although that might have been a blessing. Hoisted and slung over the back of a horse, a man's calloused hand firmly planted just above her bottom, she endured a terrifying ride.

Charlie. Dear Lord, had he been waiting for her? Had he seen them take her? Even if he had, what could he do?

The hand moved up and down, roughly pawing at her trembling flesh. Even in her semi-conscious state, she tried to fight its vile exploration. She wriggled and squirmed, earning herself a sharp slap on her well-displayed rump. To her horror, the hand once planted on her behind, stayed there, gently rubbing her in a lewd manner.

Eliza sobbed, "Please, no," when that hand pressed insistently between her thighs.

In answer, he lifted her dress and tossed it over her head, exposing her to whatever he desired. With her head stuck in the stifling sack and breathless from being laid across the horses back, Eliza had little fight left in her. Her mind reeled and her terror rose.

Who were these men? She thought she heard at least four or five of them chatting. The smell of the horses and unwashed men pervaded the sack and she wanted to retch.

No, she silently cried as the man's hand slid up the back of her thighs and over her naked ass. He patted and stroked her for a few moments and then, to her humiliation, slipped his hand between her legs.

"She's a wet one," he crowed as he toyed with her sex, prodding and poking where no one had before. She wanted to die of shame, to disappear, but was of course held.

Charlie, oh Charlie, what were they doing? Where were they taking her? Would she ever see her Charlie again?

"We'll all have a chance to find out just how wet she is," another of the men said and Eliza moaned.

Before her assailant could torment her further, the horses came to a stop. Around her, she heard the men dismounting and to her right a heavy door creaked open.

"Is this the witch?" The gruff question came from the direction of the door.

"This is her," the man who'd molested her replied. She felt him dismount and then his hands were on her again. Pulling, he dragged her off the horse. She collapsed on the hard ground, too terrified to keep to her feet. Thankfully, her dress slid down and covered her again.

"Please sirs, I'm not a witch." Her voice quavered and the sack muffled her words, so it wasn't surprising when no one paid any attention to her.

A hand on under each arm dragged her to her feet. A moment later, the sack came off, and she stood in the midst of the WitchFinders. Her heart was in her throat. Terror froze her voice.

Four big men, all masked and wearing black, surrounded her. One stood beside the back door to the church. She'd heard tales of the dungeons, everyone had. Some even said they'd heard screams coming from them.

Eliza tried to back away, but they held her fast.

"Strip her!" The man at the door said in a soft voice.

Each of the others grabbed a handful of cloth and pulled. She screamed and fought, tearing at the men and their masks, futilely. Her dress was soon a heap of rags at her feet, her petticoat and under-drawers gone, even her shoes and bonnet were torn from her. With one arms across her chest and the other in front of her crotch, she stood shivering, terrified.

"She's a pretty one," a voice from beside her remarked and she felt her blood run cold. They wouldn’t? She was innocent.

"Bring her in boys." The short fat man, who'd been standing beside the door, turned and went inside. Hands once more took hold of her and dragged her inside.

When they crossed the threshold, the temperature dropped. There was no light and the place stank of sweat and fear. She stumbled down stairs with hands prodding and poking at her, fingers slid where fingers had never touched her before. She fought as best as she could, and held her hands over her sex, but her bottom was exposed, and her nipples were soon swollen and sore from the abuse heaped on them.

The room they came to wasn't big, but by the flickering torchlight, she saw that it held all manner of torture device she could have imagined, and more. A dozen pairs of manacles hung from chains along one wall, a rack holding whips, canes and floggers hung above a long wooden bench. And on the bench were metal 'things', pinchers, clamps and implements, the likes of which she'd never seen before.

Water dripped somewhere, and then she heard a moan. Cells, dark and dank, lay at the back of the room. Thankfully, it was too dark for Eliza to see who was weeping.

"String her up." Again, the fat man gave the order.

She looked up at him. Her mouth dropped open when she saw his face. Thomas, the man she'd thought was ill and in need of her medicine. Master Thomas, the towns' leader if anyone was, meek and kind, and a friend to everyone. Master Thomas, WitchFinder.

Hands grabbed her wrists and pulled her to the center of the room where a set of shackles hung from a rafter. Each man took a manacle and locked it on her wrist, then shortening the chain so she had to stand on her toes.

"Yes, it's me," Thomas said mildly and smiled. "I've watched you give people potions, and I've seen some of them die, some live but are addled forever afterwards. And then there's your familiar, that demon-cat. I've seen you talk to it, seen you answer it when no one else hears it say anything. Eliza Montgomery, confess. You are a witch."

"Master Thomas, you know me, I'm no witch," Eliza cried and pulled against the shackles. "I gather herbs and roots, and make remedies to help people—'

"Liar. Witch!" he roared. His face turned purple with rage as he ranted. "Deny that you gave Molly Jacob something and she lost her child. Deny you gave Derek Saunders something and a week later, he lost his foot. You visited Jane Fallon and within days she came down with the trots so bad we thought we'd lose her."

Horror stilled her mouth. How could he think she'd hurt anyone?

Thomas strode towards her, his face a mask of demented rage. When he stood in front of her, he raised his hand and growled, "Confess now, or the test will begin."

Eliza tried to think of a reply, but before she could utter a sound, he brought his hand down. The side of her head went numb. She couldn't see and then the pain filtered in and she moaned.

"It seems you need some persuasion." He brought his hand down again and slapped her other cheek. Her head slammed to the side, her face burning. She felt a trickle of something at the corner of her mouth, and realized he'd split her lip.

Eliza watched in horror as he nodded to one of the hooded men. Thomas stepped back and let the man near her with one of the pincher devices in his hand. "All right girl, time to see what you're made of," he murmured as he took hold of her left breast and brought the rusty tool up to her nipple. Arranging it so her plump tawny nipple rested on the lower jaw, he looked into her eyes as he closed it on her.

As she threw her head back and screamed, Thomas explained the process to her. "You'll be tested, if you can endure without confessing, you'll be freed. No witch can suffer the torments we have without admitting to scheming with the devil, unless they're indeed a pious, righteous woman of our community. If you can withstand the tests, you'll be set free."

Eliza heard nothing of his speech. She was lost in a sea of pain. Her left nipple burned with a fire that sank into her chest and spread until it was all she could do to draw a breath. She flung her chest from side to side, trying to escape the pain. A hand took hold of her right breast and only that made her stop her wild gyrations. Eyes glazed with agony, she watched in horror as another pincher approached her.

Shaking her head, she cried out, "No, please no, I’m innocent!" Her tormentor carefully placed the jagged-toothed pincher around her nipple and tightened it down. Teeth drove into the tender flesh and she howled. Mindlessly, she flung her chest back and forth, trying to escape the agony lodged in her nipples.

"Confess, witch!" Master Thomas demanded.

"No, please, I’m no witch!" she sobbed.

Master Thomas nodded at one of the other men and stepped even further away. He stopped at the single table in the room, and sat in one of the many chairs around it. A jug and four tankards sat on the table. Filling one, he drank and watched as the man he'd indicated took a whip from the wrack.

Please no," she screamed as she watched the man ready the whip. Its long snakelike tail curling around his leg then flew through the air towards her. The kiss of flame as it wound around her took her breath. It wasn't until he pulled it free that she truly felt the punishing rivulet of agony.

The man was good, he timed each lash so that she couldn't scream; she was too lost in trying to breathe. She endured hours of agony. The lash covered her from her collarbone down to her knees and there wasn't an inch of her that didn't cry out from the whips torment.

Every so often, she heard Thomas whisper, "Confess witch, save yourself from more suffering."

Each time she sobbed, "No, I’m no witch." And the beating went on. Each of the three men took turns on the whip, and each had his own method. She learned them all and screamed for them. She screamed until her voice went. She kept screaming.

When they finally returned the whip to the rack, Eliza was covered in welts, some bled, while others had swollen into blistering sores.

Thomas stood in front of her one more time and with plump, white fingers, he pulled a pincher. Her breast rose off her chest and elongated as the pincher drew on her nipple. The new agony made her thrust her chest out, trying desperately to follow the torture device. She could only arch so far, her breast could only stretch a certain distance, and then the jaws ripped through her nipple.

"No!" she howled as her nipple tore; blood flowed down the underside of her breast.

"Confess!" he shouted and reached for the other nipple.

Silence for a moment and then he pulled. Her head flew back and again she howled her pain. Lifted, straining towards the pain, then the tearing sensation were more than she could bear. She croaked, "Please no more. Please!" But, still she refused to confess.

"Excellent," Thomas whispered.

He was the only one in the room when Eliza fought her way back to the present. Her world centered on the agony this man gave her. She would listen and pray. Pray for forgiveness for whatever sin she'd committed to cause such torture.

"Now for the candles," he said in the most wicked voice Eliza had ever heard. A moment later, he held two fat, red candles, one lit and one not. The unlit candle disappeared from her view, but an instant later she screamed as it slid into her pussy. Not a virgin, but next to it, she was very tight and the candle very thick. Thomas actually had to push it into her, using both hands.

Pain as she'd never experience before filled her belly. A long, keening, almost soundless cry of agony went on until her breath had left her.

"No more, I confess," she mouthed, but her voice was non-existent and Thomas was too busy with his torment to pay attention. He grabbed the other candle and began dripping wax onto her breasts. Each was like a bee sting. Each made her moaned—it was all she could manage.

She repeated, "I confess, I'm a witch." but until both breasts were splattered with wax, Thomas paid no attention.

"What's that?" he finally asked.

"I confess, please, stop, I'm a witch. Please stop. I'm a witch," Eliza raved.

Thomas blew out the candle. He wiped his hands on his pants and rubbed the bulge that until then, Eliza hadn't seen. "You'll burn tomorrow."

That was the last thing she remembered. A bucket of cold water brought her back to consciousness the next day. Sputtering, instantly freezing cold and racked with pain from her torture, Eliza groaned and rolled onto her back in the filthy straw.

She was to die that day and all she could think of was at least the torture was over. She'd never see her Charlie again. She sobbed. She'd never bear his children; never see his face when they made love.

"It's time, witch." The voice she'd come to hate said from outside her cell. Rolling her head to the side, she saw him, Thomas. She wanted to ask him why, but even as she opened her mouth, she saw the lust in his eyes and knew. He'd been after her since her parents had died, to marry him. Her refusal had angered him and he had the power to do as he pleased.

The cell door rattled and before Eliza could scramble to her feet, two hooded men entered. One grabbed her by the hair, the other by one arm. Naked and sobbing, she was dragged from her cell. Another naked woman, whip-torn and bloody, stood trembling between two more of the hooded men.

"Tie their hands," Thomas said and while his command was obeyed, he reached for the other woman. She shrieked as he twisted one of her nipples and again when he repeated it on the other. Done, he turned and faced Eliza, his hands outstretched.

She bit her lip, trying to hold the scream inside. But, he kept squeezing and twisting until she couldn't hold it in any longer. The other nipple received the same treatment, and broken, Eliza screamed as soon as the pain began.

Laughing, he led them all out of the dungeon. Two guards behind him, the two women in the middle, the last two men bringing up the rear. All the way up the dank, dark stairway, the rear guards fondled and pinched the women.

Bright sunlight blinded her. Staggering, she would have fallen if the men hadn't held her upright. She tried to crouch down, to hide her nakedness, but they held her so that her back arched and her torn breasts thrust out. Shame outweighed the pain for a few moments and she tried desperately to escape. Flinging herself around, she quickly realized the show she was putting on and stopped, more humiliated than she'd ever been before. Sobbing came from behind her and she knew the other woman was going through the same thing.

Ahead loomed the poles buried in the center of the square. A small crowd of people had gathered and mumbled, and pointed as the two women were dragged to the poles. Quickly bound, hands above them to a ring in the rough wood so they couldn't hide their shame, they sobbed their innocence.

"Here be two witches to be burned at the stake as prescribed by doctrine," cried Master Thomas to the crowd as branches were piled around them by the hooded guards. "They've both been tested and admitted to conniving with the devil."

Eliza gazed around the square, praying for help, knowing it wouldn't happen. Where was Charlie? She prayed he'd be spared the sight of her burning. But no, there he was. Dressed in some outlandish garb, black, tight-fitting leggings and a blouse like none she'd seen before. In his hands, he carried a box, small and black with knobs and protrusions.

"Let the witch's burn," cried Thomas, and from her right, a hooded man touched a torch to the tinder dry wood around her. Flames immediately flared. In minutes, the fire was licking at her thighs and she felt faint from the smoke and heat.

Then, wondrously, before her, hovering in the air, was Charlie. The box held before him, he called to her. "Trust me, Eliza. Just trust me and do what I tell you."

Beyond terrified, all she could do was nod, and pray. Was he a demon? What did it matter?

Suddenly, she felt the ropes fall from her. Wrists free, they dropped to her sides and it was all she could do to keep from falling into the flames.

"Walk towards me," Charlie said and held out his hand. "Now!"

Incredulous, Eliza took a step and felt the ground fall away. Two miraculous steps forward and she was in his arms. The world around her faded and suddenly it was night and there were sounds she couldn't identify, and people, and machines.

"Charlie!" she cried, her terror returning. Where had he taken her? Was he a truly a demon and was this Hell?

"Eliza, I've brought you home." He looked into her eyes and drew her closer. "My home, a thousand years from your own." A blanket flew through the air and he caught it, wrapping it around her. "I read of you in a history book and had to try to save you. I saw your picture and loved you the moment I did. You'll be safe in my time, in my arms." He bent and kissed her and she knew he was telling the truth.