Knotted Legacy

by Brenda Murphy

  “And they might try to kill her to keep her quiet.” Martha chewed her lip. “No. I don’t like your plan.”

  “We would set up the camera in her room. And one in the dungeon. Set a trap in both places. She would still be here with you.”

  Lucia spread her hands out on the table. “It would avoid involving the police. Something we all would like. It would be easy to set up cameras in my room.”

  Martha shifted in her seat. “I’m all for not involving the police.” She reached out and clasped Lucia’s hand. “I’ll not leave you alone. I can set the feed for the camera for the pit to show on the computer in my office.”

  Lucia squeezed her hand. “Thank you. Let’s wait to tell the others until we set things up in my room. And I want to get a few things.”

  ELAINE MADE SURE the hallway was clear, and Martha and Lucia went to her room. Martha locked the door after them. Lucia went the closet and pulled out a small carry-on, her camera bag, and her purse. She handed the purse and camera bag to Martha. Quietly she moved around the room gathering clothes. She took a few minutes in the bathroom and collected her toiletries.

  Martha watched her pack. She’d wanted to ask Lucia to stay with her in her rooms since their time at The Stone Hearth and had been too afraid of rejection to ask. And now she was staying with her because someone had tried to kill Lucia. Under my roof. Anger burned through her for not keeping Lucia safe. For not keeping Elaine safe.

  Lucia finished packing. She handed her bag and her tablet to Lucia. She turned the phone on and tapped an app. She opened it. “Watch the screen.”

  She moved to the desk and arranged some books and propped her phone up and turned on the camera. “Can you see the door clearly?”

  The screen in front of Martha mirrored the screen on the phone. “It’s dark, but you can see it.”

  Lucia moved to the bed and turned on the lamp. “How about now?”

  “Better.”

  Lucia plugged the charger into the phone and left it in position. She came over and stood next to Martha and looked at the screen. “Good. Let’s go.”

  Martha cracked the door open and checked the hall to make sure it was clear. They made it back to Martha’s room. Martha placed the camera bag on the floor.

  Lucia placed her overnight bag on the floor. “We should plug the tablet in too. It takes a lot to run the connection and the camera.”

  Martha pulled the cable up for her phone and plugged Lucia’s tablet in to charge it. “Done.”

  Lucia fished in her purse. She brought out her butterfly knife and placed it on the nightstand. She looked up and Martha met her gaze. “Safety first.”

  Martha laughed. “Yes. And I feel safe with you and your shiny sharp toy. Wherever did you learn to handle it?”

  Lucia smiled. “We spent a few years in the Philippines when I was a girl. It was the thing to learn to do when I was in middle school. My mother almost killed me when we traveled to Japan and they found it in my luggage.” She sat on the end of the bed. “Do you ever wonder what your life would have been like if your parents were still alive? I know mine would have been so very different.”

  The wistful quality in her voice made Martha’s heart ache for her. “We’d all put in for a different past with parents if we could, I think. But I’ve met enough women who are happy to be where their family couldn’t find them I know it can go either way. Our parents were good to us, but they would have had strokes if they learned I was queer let alone both of us. They would have insisted we marry and carry on the name.”

  “You don’t have to be married to have children.”

  Martha laughed. “True enough, but neither Elaine nor I have any desire to carry a child.”

  Lucia met her gaze “Or be a parent?”

  “Is this a test?”

  “No. I’m curious. I’ve often thought about it. But haven’t ever been in a secure enough position to have a child. Madame was so heartbroken over her losses I never brought it up.”

  Martha tilted her head. “Is it what you’ll do? Once she’s gone?”

  Lucia pursed her lips and blew out a breath. “I’m not sure. I don’t want to be a single mother. It was so hard on my mom. My birth was the result of a one-night stand. She referred to him as ‘the sperm donor,’ never as my father.”

  “I don’t know what they pay foreign service members, but you’ll be in a much better place financially than your mother was.”

  “It’s not the money. What if something happened to me? I wouldn’t want my child to be left alone like I was.”

  “Having two parents is no guarantee.” Martha walked over and sat next to Lucia on the bed. She picked up her hand and rubbed her thumb over her knuckles. “I promise you if you ever do decide to have a child, I’d be willing to take care of him or her if anything ever happened to you.”

  “I wouldn’t want my child to grow up in a brothel.”

  Martha nodded. “I wouldn’t, either. I would do whatever I needed to do to make sure your child was safe.”

  “And loved?” Lucia met Martha’s gaze.

  Martha picked up Lucia’s hand and kissed her knuckles. “As I love you I would love your child.”

  Lucia's eyes were bright. She looked up at the ceiling before she looked to Martha’s face. “You do love me, don’t you?”

  Martha kissed her cheek. “Yes. And you don’t have to say it back.”

  Lucia placed her hand on Martha’s chest. “Why do you think you don’t deserve to hear it?”

  “Because I don’t want you to feel obligated. I didn’t say what I said to push you. I know you aren’t ready to settle down. I’ll be here. If, or when you decide you want what I’m offering you.”

  Lucia leaned over and pressed a fierce kiss to Martha’s lips. Martha gathered her in her arms and pulled her close. Her body responded to Lucia’s touch, and she moaned into her kiss. Lucia shifted on the bed, and Martha lay back and pulled her over on top of her. Lucia pulled at Martha’s clothes and slipped her hand under her shirt. She smoothed her palm over Martha’s stomach and pushed her leg between Martha’s legs. The press and rocking of her body made Martha’s clit hard. Lucia shoved her hands higher and cupped Martha’s breasts. The dressing gown she wore gaped open at the top. Martha brought her hands up and tugged at the tie. The robe opened, and she pushed her hands under her pajama top.

  Lucia sat up, straddling her. “I want to feel you.” Martha unbuttoned her shirt, and Lucia helped her get it off. She tugged at Martha’s belt buckle and unfastened it. She stood next to the bed and Martha lifted her hips, and Lucia stripped off her pants and briefs. She shrugged out of the robe, letting it fall to the floor. She unbuttoned the top few buttons of the pajama top and pulled it off over her head. She shoved the bottoms down and stepped out of them. Martha scooted up in the bed. Lucia planted a kiss on the top of her foot and the inside of her calf, the top of her thigh, the curve of her breast, the hollow at the base of her throat as she made her way up Martha’s body. She stretched out over Martha.

  Warm skin on warm skin, the weight of Lucia pressing her down into the bed. Martha brought her hands up and cupped Lucia’s ass and squeezed. The soft moan from Lucia’s throat made her ache. Lucia kissed the side of her neck and nipped her earlobe, the sharp sweet sting causing Martha to moan. Lucia rocked into her, the pressure on her clit delicious, and Martha arched into her, seeking more contact. Lucia brought her hand down between them and rubbed the pad of her finger over Martha’s clit. Martha trembled at the sensation. She kissed Lucia’s neck, before running her tongue over the taut muscles of her shoulder. Lucia pushed her fingers in deep and stilled her motion. Her voice in Martha’s ear was soft. “What do you want, pet?” She bit down on her earlobe.

  “Please, Miss. Let me taste you. Come in my mouth, Miss. Please.”

  Lucia kissed her, lips soft and gentle, before she nipped Martha’s lip and curled her fingers over her sweet spot. Martha rocked her hips up, and a deep groan rattled her chest. The pres
sure of Lucia’s hand on her clit and the motion of her fingers had her panting. “Oh please, Miss. I’m going to come.” Martha struggled to hold back.

  “You are.” Lucia kept up her motions. “Now, pet, now. Give me what’s mine.”

  And Martha broke, her body shaking, her hips rocking into Lucia’s touch. Lucia drew out her pleasure, not relenting until Martha came again. She slowed her strokes and kissed Martha’s eyelids, her cheek, and her mouth. Slow and sweet, the heat built between them again.

  Lucia shifted her weight and rolled to the side. She cupped the back of Martha’s neck and squeezed. “Now, pet, you can have what you asked for. Pleasure me.” She moved her hand to the front of Martha’s throat. Her fingers circled her neck, and for a moment Martha let herself imagine what it would be like to wear her collar. She looked into Lucia’s eyes, holding her gaze and letting Lucia see the depth of her desire, the unfettered want, the unwavering truth of how much she wanted to belong to her. Lucia squeezed her fingers lightly before she released Martha and lay back on the bed. She spread her legs and put a hand on Martha’s shoulder and pushed her into place.

  Martha kneeled between her Mistress’s legs. She kissed her way up Lucia’s thighs, slick with desire, the salt-honey taste of her skin and scent of her want made saliva pool in Martha’s mouth. She lay down and pushed her hands under Lucia’s hips and brought her lips down and over the thickness of her clit. The soft groan from Lucia’s mouth sent a rill of desire through her, and she needed to hear more, to have her Mistress come for her, to know she pleased her. She pushed her tongue deep.

  “Fill me, pet. I need to feel you.” Martha pressed her legs together, Lucia’s words sending a cascade of wet heat pouring from her. She lifted her hand and thrust three fingers deep, sucking her clit and rolling her tongue up and over it. Lucia arched her hips, and Martha rocked her, her strokes even and measured. Liquid silk coated her hand, and she added another finger, pushing down, going slowly. Lucia shook and trembled under her, and she stilled her thrusts, keeping her rhythm on her clit. “Don’t stop. Let me feel you. Fuck me, pet.”

  She pulled back and pushed deep again, and Lucia opened to her, her body welcoming Martha as she wrapped her legs around Martha’s shoulders. She locked her heels over Martha’s back, the weight comforting as she held her in place. Martha slow fucked her, taking her time and enjoying each soft groan and sigh as Lucia gave herself to Martha, letting her gorge herself on the sweetness between her legs. Delicate salt honey flowed from Lucia and wet her chin. Lucia’s breathing shifted, and Martha focused herself, waiting until her Mistress was ready to come, edging her, her only thought the pleasure of her Mistress.

  “Now, pet. Now.” Lucia lifted her hips and met Martha’s thrusts as she gripped Martha’s head and held her in place while she came, taking all Martha had to offer. Lucia rocked on Martha’s face with soft cries as she came again. She lay back and released Martha’s head.

  Martha eased her fingers from Lucia, and kissed and suckled her clit, before she rested her head on Lucia’s thigh. Mine. How can I want her so much? This. Her. Us.

  “Come here, pet.” Lucia touched the top of Martha’s head.

  Martha moved up in the bed, and Lucia raised her arm and Martha curled up under her arm, resting her head on her breast. Lucia carded her fingers through Martha’s hair. She stopped when her fingertips brushed over the raised scar on her scalp, a physical reminder of Martha’s childhood, the accident that took her parents, a recurring nightmare. Martha’s hair covered it most of the time, and unless she dreamed, she would forget it was there.

  “What’s this, pet?”

  “A bad memory, Miss.”

  Lucia didn’t ask, just pulled Martha tighter into her embrace.

  Chapter Sixteen

  MARTHA GROOMED BRUNO, sweeping the brush over the horse’s flanks. The mindless motion and the quiet of the barn was soothing. The large doors were closed against the cold. A gust of wind blew in under the door and scattered a bit of sawdust in a tiny whirlwind down the center aisle. The horse’s breath puffed out in a steamy cloud. Martha had managed to put the blackmailer off for another twenty-four hours. She finished brushing the horse out and patted his shoulder. She placed the saddle pad on his back then the saddle and fastened the girth. She turned around and realized she had forgotten his bridle. She smoothed her hand over his shoulder. “Behave. I’ll be back.”

  Martha left him in the crossties and went to the tack room. One of the barn cats raised his head and looked at her from his perch atop a folded stack of horse blankets. Bruno’s bridle hung on the peg was where she had left it. “I’d forget my head if it wasn’t tacked on.” The cat yawned and stretched and curled up to sleep.

  Martha stepped out and closed the door to the tack room. The sound of boots scuffing on the floor made her glance up.

  “Oh, it’s you, Mistress.” Rachel’s tone was annoyed. She held a pitchfork in front of her, the sharp tines pointed directly at Martha’s midsection.

  The small hairs on the back of Martha’s neck stood up. “Were you expecting someone else?” She kept her tone even and firm. “And lower the pitchfork, please, before someone gets hurt.”

  Rachel lowered the tool. “Sorry, Ma’am. It’s just…I’m skittish. With everyone gone. I’m out here alone so much.”

  Bruno blew out his breath and tossed his head. Martha lifted the bridle. “I’m going out for a ride.”

  Rachel stepped aside to let Martha pass. “Going out alone? Is Mistress Lucia feeling better? Should I get her horse ready?”

  “Some. No need.” Martha buckled the bridle in place. She unfastened the halter and crossties and led Bruno out into the stable yard and to the mounting block.

  “You forgot your helmet, Ma’am.” Rachel held up Martha’s hard hat as she walked toward her.

  Martha took her helmet from Rachel. She met her gaze. “Thank you.”

  She tugged on her gloves, and after buckling her helmet in place she mounted Bruno. “I’ll be back before lunch.” She lifted her hand and waved at Rachel as Bruno trotted out of the yard.

  The air was biting cold in spite of the bright sun. She kept Bruno at a fast walk along the trail through the wood. She stopped at the rise and turned him to watch Rowan House. She pulled a pair of binoculars from her pocket. The glass fogged a moment and cleared. With the advantage of Bruno’s height, she had a clear overview of the house from the rise. She watched and waited. The sun on her back was warm. Bruno was impatient and shifted under her making her bobble the field glasses. “Damn it, Bruno. We’ll go in a minute.”

  She kept her binoculars trained on the stable yard and the path leading from the house. Maybe this is a waste of time. After fifteen minutes she was ready to give up. She lowered the glasses and patted Bruno’s withers. A flash of brightness in her peripheral vision made her raise her binoculars. Robin crossed the stable yard. She had wrapped a pashmina around her shoulders and covered her face, but Martha could tell it was her by her slight build. Robin looked around the courtyard, before she stepped onto the covered porch and the stairs leading to Rachel’s bedsit over the barn. So what? What does it prove? Nothing other than her fear of Rachel is an act. Or is it? Rachel looked ready to use the pitchfork when she saw me. Why? For Robin? Maybe Robin wants to destroy the house and is using Rachel’s love for her to help her?

  Martha waited and watched until Robin left Rachel’s room. Her movements across the yard were furtive. They had told the staff about Lucia in the morning. Martha had shared the news, Elaine standing behind her to watch everyone’s reaction. Millie and Myfanwy had been full of questions. Robin and Rachel had kept poker faces and acted appropriately concerned. “If it is you two, heaven help both of you when I’m certain.”

  Martha tucked the binoculars back in her jacket. She turned Bruno’s head and rode toward the wood. She chewed her lip as she went over the details of their plan. She hated leaving Lucia alone. She had woken up to Lucia sitting in the chair by the fire, her fee
t drawn up under her. The glow of the fire backlit her face, leaving her features in shadow. She was flipping her knife, opening and closing it, the clink and rattle of metal rhythmic. Martha had watched and waited for her to come to bed, not wanting to disturb her and only guessing at what dark thoughts passed through her mind.

  Her own thoughts of vengeance scared her enough. She knew Elaine would be hard to contain; her fury was epic on a good day. The wood was quiet as she entered. The sun through the bare trees cast scattered shadows on the path in front of her. She rode past the fire circle, her mind filled with memories of Lucia and their lunch. She loved her. Not as she loved Myfanwy, not as she loved Octavia, and if she were honest, not as she loved Madame. She loved Lucia for herself. A gift? A legacy? I promised to raise a child if something happened to her. She’ll never want to live here. Another one I’ll have to let go. And Myfanwy. I’m a fool for not asking her to wear my collar. Now if I ask it just looks like I’m desperate.

  She came to the edge of the wood and turned to the left, circling the wood and back toward Rowan House. Bruno tossed his head. “Too much time in your stall?”

  On the verge of the field between the wood and Rowan House, she turned him home, urging him into a trot. When they got to the grassy flat, she gave him his head. “Let’s go, boy.”

  He took off at a canter, and she pushed him to a gallop and leaned low over his neck. Lifting her hips, she moved with him, the bunch and flow of his muscles under her exhilarating. They closed the distance, and she slowed him to a trot as they neared the path. She sat and eased him into a fast walk. Time. Time to spring this trap.

  You try my patience. I’m done waiting. If I don’t have the funds in my account by noon tomorrow I will contact the authorities. Don’t put me off again. I don’t think you’d like jail. Then again, after watching the video maybe you would.

  Ta

  Martha sat back in her chair and unlocked the bottom drawer of her desk. She took out a bottle of Edradour and a glass, suppressing a twinge of guilt it was not Talisker. She poured herself two fingers of the single malt and placed the bottle on the desk. She stared down at the pistol in her drawer. Her great-grandfather’s Webley, a souvenir of his time during the war. They had found it hidden in a storage room when they were renovating the house. Martha had a gunsmith restore it and had practiced with it enough she was confident in her skills.