by Blair Keith
"Hello, Silena," he said, forcing himself to smile and gently closing the door behind himself. "How are you today? Still not eating your food, I see?"
"I have not forgotten what ye did to me," she hissed under her breath. "You are a wicked, wicked man. You are a snake."
He felt the corners of his lips twitch in genuine pride. "Aye, I am very wicked," he admitted. "One has to be, when one is surrounded by such horrible witches and monsters as Clan Davidson."
"After all you have done to me... Kidnapped, imprisoned, starved and raped, and you expect me to believe you are the victims, that we are monsters?" she asked.
"You say that as though your brother would not do the exact same thing, had my sisters not been killed in one of the fires you set a few years back," he remarked coldly.
Silena froze. "We would do no such thing."
"You did," he said flatly.
"What do you want? To set me aflame to atone for that as well?" she asked bitterly, looking down to avoid eye contact.
"I did not mean to hurt you," he replied with a sigh. "You are very beautiful. And, you are mine. I did not know you were a virgin."
Silena spat on the floor. He wished she wouldn't do that. But he expected no better of Clan Davidson. She looked up into his eyes again. "What? Did you think I was a whore like your sisters no doubt were? Did you think I would have given myself up before marriage like your people do?"
He growled. "I simply assumed that a woman of your age might be wed. Although with your looks, I suppose it's no surprise that no man wanted you."
"You did," she said, maintaining eye contact. "I guess that makes me better than every woman from your wretched inbred Clan."
He gritted his teeth. "You are so ungrateful for all I do for you!" he exclaimed. "Have I not brought you a good meal?"
"You feed me like a dog," she said. "And, I will not lower myself to eating like a dog."
"Well then, perhaps you should lower yourself to pleasing a man," he said, stepping in towards her.
Her face grew pale as she realized what she had started. He almost wanted to move away. But no, she was doing all of this on purpose. She was trying to get under his skin. And she would pay the price.
He pushed her back against the wall. It was wrong. She was not some peasant to pry open and use like a tool for his pleasure. For a moment, he wondered if he would want his sisters treated like this, if they had ever been captured by Clan Davidson.
But that was beside the point. Clan Davidson would have done it either way. And, he was going to take Silena either way. She could not expect preferential treatment from him. She could not twist and bend him to suit her wants and needs. She wasn't a Princess here. She was just another imprisoned whore, and she would be treated with the same dignity any whore deserved.
She gasped as his hands explored her. He could see her eyes, pleading for him to stop, begging him to get it over with. But he liked this. He liked using her. He liked seeing her pain and panic as her plans backfired. He groped her breasts and squeezed them, feeling how full and soft they were, looking up at her face as he did.
Silena was gritting her teeth, tears dripping down her cheeks, breath hitching as she panicked, unsure what to do or say, knowing that nothing she did would stop him, nothing would save her. She clearly wanted him to hurt her, but that was too easy, wasn't it? If he bit her hard and slapped her and hurt her, then she would be able to continue feeling like a victim, to continue suffering, to continue innocent.
But if he made sure that wave after wave of pleasure took her body, then she would have no remaining power to resist.
She knew what he was doing, of course. But what could she do to stop it? She didn't want to enjoy it. She wanted to be a blameless victim, not an accomplice in her own suffering. She wanted it to hurt.
If he was a good man, he might have walked away. If he was a kind man, he might have hit her a few times, so she could continue being a victim.
But he was not a good or kind man. He had a mean streak a mile wide, and her discomfort aroused him almost as much as her beauty and arrogance. He continued feeling her, kissing her, groping her, making sure to get as many soft sighs and moans and whimpers out of her precious lips as possible. After all, the more she enjoyed it, the more she hated it. And the more she hated it, the more he enjoyed it.
Standing up straight, he lifted her against the wall, her chains rattling. As he tried to lift her by her thighs and pull her legs apart, he felt her muscles tense feebly, trying to stop him from separating her limbs, from reaching his prize.
He leaned in, kissing her cheek and neck, gently prying her thighs apart and pushing in between them. She cried out and began to sob.
"But you're not even a virgin," he whispered into her ear gently. "What are you protecting? Who are you saving this for?"
Her sobbing grew louder. But she was too weak from not eating to resist him as he teased her, letting her know that, like it or not, it would happen soon. She stopped wiggling and resisting, and her cries faded down to a whispering sob again as she came to terms with what he was about to do to her.
"Good," he whispered into her ear softly. "Remember, you should be grateful any man wants to eat some filthy leftovers like you."
He could feel her hot tears landing on his chest as her head collapsed onto his shoulder. This. This was just what he needed to motivate him to continue.
He barely remembered the first night he had owned her, filling her body so deliciously. He was living it all over again. She was delightful. There was no dryness this time, not after all the care she had received. She was ready.
And, he wasn't about to finish as fast this time, either. About halfway through, he could see the dismay on her face as she realized he was going to carry on. Her eyes begged him to stop. But her body begged him to keep going.
So he did. He kept going and going until he knew she was close, until he knew they could finish together.
A few moments later, he came back to his senses and looked at her. He was still holding her body up, and her face was mere inches away from his.
She wasn't crying this time. Now, she was glaring at him, furious, her face red with anger and arousal, tears brimming in her eyes, but not leaving them.
CHAPTER FIVE
"They wish to know when the girl shall be executed," the consul said, casting a knowing glance towards Eadan. "I understand that she is a... favorite of yours. But nonetheless, the people are expecting an execution, to avenge Garbhan's death."
Eadan nodded. "I understand that. But it is not up to the people. It is up to me, as Laird, to decide if, and when, I shall kill my prisoners."
"If?" the consul asked, raising an eyebrow gently. "I understand that she is your current favorite toy, but she is, nevertheless, a prisoner, and an enemy of ours. She must be made an example of, to ensure that the people can trust you as their leader."
"I am no longer sure that is a wise choice," Eadan explained. "I was in the heat of anger at the time. Killing the sister of another Laird is no way to make amends."
"We do not need to make amends," the consul said with a slightly humored laugh. "We merely need to continue to suppress the enemy. Right now, we have the upper hand, we have their Princess. We can defeat them if we continue to dominate them like this."
"And if we do not?" Eadan asked.
"It does not bear considering," the consul replied flatly.
Eadan rolled his eyes. "Of course it bears considering. This war has gone on a long time. Do you think at no point has anyone had the upper hand? We must look towards making amends."
"We shall have the upper hand from now onwards. Such a position is unheard of in the whole history of the war," the consul replied. "This is monumental."
"You say that, and yet is Garbhan's death, the loss of my dearest friend and cousin, our best strategist, not a monumental point in this war?" Eadan asked.
"As if those pigs could make use of their situation," the consul spat.
; Eadan shook his head. "They are as human as you or I, and just as capable of defeating us if they get enough of an edge. We must look towards peace, not revenge."
"That is not what you said when you ordered Silena's kidnapping," the consul replied.
"As I said, I was in the heat of anger. Killing her would not bring Garbhan back." Eadan sighed. "It would simply be another death to add to the horrific tally. We cannae do this any longer, consul."
"You are in the heat of something else at this moment," the consul remarked. "Do not think that nobody can tell."
"I do not care what you can tell," Eadan said with a faint laugh. "Aye, I fancy her. She is a fine young woman, beautifully built, and with the temper of a raging fire."
"Sounds absolutely charming," the consul said sarcastically. "Almost like a wild boar. Why would you choose her over any of the lovely, eligible young ladies in Clan Stuart?"
"Because I pick what I pick. Ye cannae argue with what the body wants," Eadan said, winking.
"We are on the very brink of a rebellion. I do believe that your inability to keep your genitals restrained is a bit less important," the consul spat. "She is nothing but a filthy Davidson whore, and she shall take you and deceive you. I do believe she has washed your mind already."
Eadan did not mind joking. But such an insult made his blood boil. Before he could stop himself, he leapt to his feet and flew at the consul. Eadan's sword was drawn in one smooth motion and swung towards the consul swiftly. The man shrieked like a little girl as he anticipated his doom, not fast or strong enough to fight back or stop the attack.
Eadan pressed the flat of the sword hard against the consul's neck, making the man shake uncontrollably and whimper like a child. There was already a tear in his eye, a dampness about his nose, and the scent of urine on him.
"My dear consul," Eadan began, his voice sugary sweet. "I do not mind a little joking. I do not mind joking about my sex drive, or my impulsive nature. I know my own flaws, after all. And, I do not mind your advice; after all, that is what I have you for. But if you for one moment forget that I am your Laird and your master, and a thousand times the man you are - if you for one moment treat me as your equal, to be disgusted in, to be commanded and controlled and corrected, then you shall lose your tongue..." he pressed the fingers of his left hand to the consul's mouth.
"You shall lose your manhood..." his knee lifted to slam into the consul's groin.
"And then, you shall lose your head," he finished, pressing the flat of the sword even harder against the consul's neck, cutting off his breathing briefly.
The man wheezed, and Eadan slammed the sword against his throat hard before withdrawing it.
"I shall do as I please. And, if matters concern you so much, perhaps you ought to do your job and write me a speech," Eadan whispered, still menacingly sweet. "Write something about how I intend to keep her and humiliate her forever. It is not far from the truth."
"The people wish to see her die," the consul said, his voice squeaky with pain and fear, eyes wandering, wary of the immense man before him, and the sword still dangerously close to his throat.
"Nobody shall see her but me," Eadan insisted. "They shall not see her live or die, eat or dance or mate. She is my toy, my plaything. And until her bother repays his debt in blood, mine she shall remain."
The consul pursed his lips. "I am only attempting to protect you, My Laird. The people will rebel; they want the Davidsons dead, not in our midst. They want her head to roll."
Eadan stepped back and sheathed his sword. "Then tell them whatever they need to hear to allow her to live with me. I cannae believe you do not know a way of persuading them to give me my space."
"You are making a grave mistake, My Laird," the consul said, feeling his neck as though making sure there was no blood, then lowering his hands to feel his crotch, where a distinctive warm, damp patch had appeared on the front. He pulled his tunic down to cover it, face red with shame. "The people have rebellion brewing. I can sense it. We have seen all the signs. If you do not do as they please, you may be killed by the mob or, even worse, usurped and made a prisoner of your own clan."
"I am the best Laird that Aberdeenshire has seen in two hundred years," Eadan replied flatly. "I do not see why anyone should forget that overnight. They may disagree with how I carry myself, how I conduct my business, and where I stick my manhood, but they will not kill me or dethrone me over one little girl in my dungeon."
"Do not be so sure, My Laird," the consul said, eyes stern.
"That sounded awfully like a threat," Eadan said, raising an eyebrow. "Care to explain yourself, consul?"
The consul shook his head slowly. "It is not I that threatens you, My Laird. It is life itself. And one of these days, it will act on its threats."
"Until then, I shall do as I please," Eadan replied with a grin. "If you do not mind, I need a nap. And I believe that you need a bath."
Leaving the blushing, fuming consul behind himself, Eadan made his way to his quarters. He wanted to see her, but it was yet too soon. He had to behave himself, to wait until the evening at least, if not until night fell. He wanted her. Talking about her like that had aroused his passions, and attacking the consul had fuelled his thirst for power and control. Dominating her would be the perfect way to quench both desires at once.
And yet, the consul's words echoed in his mind. Although he was given to dramatics and exaggeration, the man had a point. The people needed an execution, and they did not trust Silena.
Sooner or later, he would need to decide what he was to do with Silena. But for now, he was not sure what. He could not kill her. Not only could he not bear to, but the soreness of losing his own sisters and his beloved cousin Garbhan was still fresh in his heart. It was this pain that drove him to attack Clan Davidson. If he inflicted the same agony on Laird Ronan, good, gentle, sweet, just Laird Ronan, then there would be two bitter and cold men fighting one another.
No, Silena had to live. For everyone's sake.
But beyond that, he knew not what to do.
He lay back on his bed, staring at the gently rising fire. She was lovely. And yet, she despised him. She could never love him, or show him the respect he was due. So if he were to return her to her brother, he would never see her again. Even if the Clans reconciled and the war came to an end, Silena would show no interest in him.
He could not kill her, but he could not return her either. So the obvious solution was to torment her, to detach himself from her and hurt her until he stopped feeling anything resembling love for her. He could think of a thousand ways he could disfigure her body and shatter her soul, destroying everything that he loved about her, physically and mentally.
But that felt like too much. She was already so hurt just by being kept in a cell and fed plain food. She already wept and bled enough every time he made love to her. Perhaps, she felt she was already being tormented. Perhaps, she was already suffering as much as she could.
It was no wonder that she did not like him. He had not exactly begun their relationship by gently wooing her. He had kidnapped her, imprisoned her, turned her into a slave and raped her over and over again. Why would she like him? Why would she want anything to do with him?
She didn't seem to understand that her treatment was very much exclusive. Most people, most women, even, would not be treated with the kindness and respect he showed her. Were she anyone else, he would have already flogged her in public, starved her down to the bones, allowed her to be fornicated by every single soldier in the castle, and then decapitated.
She may not enjoy her lot right now, but it was by far the best that any prisoner or enemy of Clan Stuart's had been treated for decades.
He sipped the red wine. Perhaps, he ought to pay her another visit tonight? Take her sweet body and make it his own again. He could be gentler, let her know how much he enjoyed and appreciated her figure, make sure she relished him and climaxed for him again...
It would still be force, though.
/> He didn't want to take her by force. He wanted her to kneel before him in deference. He wanted her to see him as her brother's equal. He wanted her to look lovingly up into his eyes as she admired and tasted his body, to give herself to him wholly and gratefully. But that would never happen.
As far as she was concerned, he was nothing but a monster. He was a wicked brute who would take advantage of his beautiful young prisoner however he pleased, and then proceed to kill her brother if he wished to.
And he agreed. He knew he was a monster. He wasn't sure what he could do about it, or if he even wanted to change anything about himself. He hadn't even contemplated the possibility of changing. Not until he met her.
CHAPTER SIX
He wasn't sure why he kept returning to her, especially considering how ungrateful and spiteful she was towards him. But he returned night after night. He knew she hated him, but he adored her. He wasn't sure he could call it love, per se. The more he thought about it, the more he realized how unkind he was to her, how cruel. He doubted he could be like that towards someone he genuinely loved. But he liked her, and he enjoyed her company and her soft body. That was all he needed. That was all he could have. And he would enjoy it; relish it, until he could take it no more.
Although it was several hours until he could see her again, he was already anticipating tonight's visit. He could barely hear the men speak around him. It was as though their voices were a gently murmuring brook in the background of his thoughts, as he got lost in his own fantasies of taking Silena, suspending her from the walls, perhaps as usual, perhaps upside down, and using her to his complete satisfaction.
None of the people present mattered. Only Silena. He had never cared about anyone before this. He only wanted to destroy or avoid everyone. When his sisters died, the only person he had trusted was Garbhan. And now his cousin was dead, he trusted nobody.
Around them, the soldiers and a few of the wealthier merchants drank and made merry, glad enough to simply be so close to their Laird. They seemed to genuinely enjoy his company, to genuinely believe he loved and cared about them, that he was going to defend them and make them prosperous.