Mr. Thornton collars me.

Dear Diary, (Afternoon of May 23rd)

I do not know how Mr. Thornton got his hands on the black iron collar with the locking clasp. Did Southern gentlemen travel with these cruel implements on their person? No far more likely, he enlisted the help of Mr. Kyleson in the **** barn and took one from my father's supplies. Mr. Thornton was gone for no more than twenty minutes, and I was still lying naked and spent on my bed wondering if I would ever see the young lawyer again.

I find that even after his rough treatment, that I longed for his companionship and advice. He was, I am afraid to admit, the only true confident I had in this strange world so different from what I was accustomed to. When he returned to my room, my heart jumped in my breast hoping that I could somehow appease the man who felt so hurt.

"Robert, I never meant to hurt-"

"Be quiet girl." His normally calm tenor voice snapped like a whip. "You will speak only after I've set straight a few details that need clarifying, and when you do speak to me you will address me as Mr. Thornton, Sir, or master." Mr. Thornton surely saw the surprise and hurt in my expression, but if anything, that only provoked the normally gentle soul further.

"You may technically be a free woman in the eyes of the law, Miss DiFlorentini, but understand this well. Your position is precarious at best. Do you see this, girl?" Mr. Thornton brought from behind his back a collar beaten from black iron with s short chain attached. "Do you know what this is?"

Of course, I knew what it was. Only a fool or the most sheltered of innocents did not know a **** collar when she saw one. The real question that Mr. Thornton was asking was far more nuanced than the simple six words that he spoke. He was, I believe, asking me if I knew that he had the power to enslave me right then and there in the sanctuary of my own chambers. I'm sure that I would not be the first free woman with African blood in her veins to be enslaved by the simple act of affixing a collar. What recourse could I possibly have? There was no one in the entire state of South Carolina that would come to my defense.

"Please, Mr. Thornton ... don't do this." I fell to my knees and lifted my hands in supplication, "I thought you were my friend." My hands rest on his toned thighs, and I looked up at him in a mixture of terror and shameful arousal. Once again, I find my feminine body responding to the strength and power of a man. What is happening to me?

I didn't even protest when Mr. Thornton closed the hinged collar about my neck, and with a small brass key locked the ring so it was fixed there as surely as the riveted bands of the field slaves.

Mr. Thornton tucked the key into the watch pocket of his waistcoat and smiled down at me almost tenderly.

"Now, my dear, we can talk about your future here at Havenhall."