Amy Lynn, The Lady Of Castle Dunn

by Jack July

  “I’ll tell you what. Let’s change our clothes, have a bite to eat and then take a horseback ride around the grounds. It’s over 500 acres; there is a lot to see.”

  Amy looked around the room and said, “This is a castle, a real one. People don’t live in castles. I mean, the jets, the jewelry, limos I get all that. It’s all nice, but it doesn’t change who I am.” She looked at him wide-eyed, with almost a little panic, and said, “This changes who I am.”

  “No, not really. It makes you more aware of who you already are. You don’t have to change anything about yourself. I don’t want you to change.” Bogus put his arms around her, and with the boyish grin, sparkling eyes and soothing voice he said, “This is going to be a lot of fun. Didn’t you ever imagine being the princess of a castle as a little girl?”

  “No, I never had that luxury.”

  “Well my dear, you do now. Come, let me adorn you with denim, and I will take you to meet your new equine friends. You do like horses, don’t you?”

  She nodded, still not absorbing any of it. “I love horses. How did you know I loved horses?”

  “I pay attention. Something about staring at the paintings of them for over an hour, while we were in the Stair Sainty Gallery in London, gave me a hint.”

  “Those were beautiful. Having a horse was something I could imagine having when I was a little girl. How many do you have?”

  “We, you and I, have a small ranch in rural Poland. We breed horses, rare horses, Arabians, Andalusians, Lipizzaners and Lusitanos for dressage and other equestrian competition. It’s actually quite profitable. I had six brought here, the ones I thought you would love. There is one special one I would like you to meet, a two-year-old Arabian named Matthias. He is a beautiful animal who has driven the trainers nearly mad. They are too busy to take the time to give him the attention he needs. I think you and he could, over time, get along wonderfully.”

  “I don’t know how to train a horse.”

  “Constance does; she will help you. I think he needs love and affection. You have plenty of that.”

  “I do, and ah, I think I owe you some of that,” she smiled playfully.

  “Yes you do, but first, a tour of your new home, M’ Lady?”

  She looked around again, incredulous at all of it, sighed and said, “Lead the way.”

  Chapter 23

  After a tour of the castle and breakfast in their sitting room, they changed clothes and made their way down through the inner courtyard to the outer courtyard at the rear of the castle, where the stables were located. “Do you ride much?” asked Bogus.

  Amy looked a little embarrassed and unsure when she said, “I have, ah, really only been on a horse once, when I was a little girl.”

  “Not a problem. Constance is saddling up Greta. She was a bronze medal winner in individual dressage during the 2000, Sydney, Olympic Games. She’s very smart and gentle. She is actually Cyla’s horse.”

  “I can’t believe I’m nervous, but I am.”

  “Understandable; they can be a bit intimidating. However, you will learn from Constance. She was the first trainer I hired. She’s also a great friend.”

  “Seems everyone that works for you is your friend.”

  “I am particular about who I keep close. You will discover life with me is sometimes a bit lonely. In my, well, now our position, it is dangerous to trust. So you surround yourself with people of not only great competence, but great character.”

  “And that’s why everything you touch turns to gold.”

  He smiled at her, gave her one of his patented suave 007 looks and said, “Well, I would like to think it has something to do with my brilliant mind.”

  She smiled, rolled her eyes and said sarcastically, “Oh yeah, I’m sure that’s it.”

  He stopped, pulled her close. “I chose you didn’t I?”

  She playfully bit the edge of her lower lip, cocked her head and smiled, one of the little things she did that drove him wild. “Well...maybe a little brilliant.”

  As they approached the stables, Constance came toward them leading two saddled horses. She dropped the reins on a dun-colored Lusitano named Renaldo, who trotted quickly toward Bogus, stopped and nuzzled him while Bogus hugged his neck. Constance handed Amy the reins of the big chestnut Andalusian mare. “Constance, will you please give the Lady some basic instructions on how to handle Greta?”

  “Yes, sir.” After explaining how to properly mount and assisting Amy into the saddle, Constance smiled and said, “Greta is more ballerina than horse. She doesn’t like to be told what to do by strangers, so a gentle suggestion; a light rein against the neck is all that is necessary. Cyla says Greta can read her mind. I wouldn’t doubt it. Enjoy yourself, My Lady.”

  Bogus, now mounted, made a small click sound in his cheek, and Renaldo turned and headed for the drawbridge. Amy did nothing and was startled when Greta turned and followed Renaldo. The Shannon River ran directly behind the castle, and the moat that had been dug out on three sides was filled by the river, as was the six acre pond in front of the Castle. A trail ran along the riverbank. The horses walked quietly side by side, as Bogus and Amy took in the beauty of the Irish countryside. They talked about many things in their past, speculated about their future and thoroughly enjoyed the present. After an hour, they made their way back and handed the horses off to Constance.

  “Can I see Matthias?” asked Amy.

  “Of course.”

  They walked to the far stall in the stable, and Amy looked in. Matthias stood still, his body tense, looking blankly into the corner of the stall.

  “Can I go in by him?” asked Amy.

  Bogus started to say something when Constance interrupted, “Sir, I would not do that. He is not very nice.”

  “Explain it to us,” requested Bogus.

  “I believe he has been beaten. When our trainers tried to work with him, he would not make connections with humans. His trust in people is broken. Making matters worse was the displacement from Poland to here; I’m sure that upsets him. His boundaries are confused, and if he feels threatened, he will lash out. By that, I mean he could kill you.”

  “Can you help him?” asked Amy.

  Constance looked at Bogus and said, “If I may?”

  “If you may what?” asked Amy.

  “Talk to you,” said Bogus.

  “Are you kidding me? She needs permission to talk to me?”

  “Well, yes,” replied Bogus.

  “No, no you don’t. We are talking about my horse, and you WILL call me Amy.”

  Constance looked at Bogus, who said, “No, she can’t. It’s a European thing.”

  Amy let out a big sigh as Bogus told Constance, “Feel free to talk to the Lady.”

  Constance smiled and said, “You ask if I can help him. Yes, but he’s not my horse. He’s yours. You need to do it. If he’s not going to be your horse, then you need to stay away from him. To start a relationship with him and stop would be more damaging than if you did nothing at all.”

  Amy thought for a minute and said, “That’s not much different than people.”

  “Exactly,” said Bogus.

  “You see, My Lady, as I said before, abused horses have had their trust in people damaged. Think of trust as credit, like money in the bank. You build it up and sometimes you have to use some of it, but a healthy buffer is always preferable. With abused horses, the trust balance is somewhere in the red, and before any actual training progress can be made, the trainer of that horse has a lot of work to do to reestablish the connection. You can’t make any demands until there is credit in your trust account. The other way of looking at this is that you have to allow the horse to rebuild his own boundaries. He has to have a period of having just about any boundary he makes respected...until boundary means boundary in his mind.

  Amy shook her head with disgust
and said, “Why would anyone beat him? I don’t understand. I mean, I bet he cost a fortune. Why would someone allow that?”

  “Many people believe it is how you train a horse. If the goal of training is more important than the horse, then the relationship will forcibly boil down to one of master and slave, however prettily they like to dress it up. That’s not the relationship you want. That’s not a relationship that allows you to experience the magic of these animals.”

  “Will you show me how? I mean, I wouldn’t know where to begin,” asked Amy.

  “It would be my honor, but I’m going to warn you. He will take his abuse out on you even though you were not the perpetrator. Horses, like people, cannot necessarily make that distinction, because their sentiments are not logical. So, much patience is required, and you must resolve not to take resentment, coldness or even violence on his part personally.”

  “Thank you. Yes, I can do that.” Amy leaned against the stall door and gently called, “Matty, Maaatty.” He didn’t move.

  Constance barked “Matthias!” The horse turned his head, looked at the people by the door and turned back. He snorted and stomped a hoof.

  “Bogus, Bogus did you see that? He has blue eyes,” said Amy with amazement.

  “Yes, and ah, I think you have found something to do with your time,” said Bogus with a self-satisfied grin.

  Amy threw her arms around him and said, “Thank you.” Then she whispered in his ear, “I think I want to be with you now.”

  Bogus looked at her curiously and said, “But you are with...Oh wait, you mean, with me.” Then he saw the look, the smoldering green eyes that pulsed and danced. She took his hand and led him to their room.

  They kissed immediately upon entering their quarters. “I’ll be back soon,” she said.

  Amy showered quickly and dried her hair. She pulled out her make-up kit and started with her eyes, lining and shadow, then brows, cheeks and lips. After applying a sinful dark red lipstick, she went into her closet and retrieved two large bags full of really pricey lingerie. She tried on stockings, garters and bustiers colored Black, white and red. She tried on a teddy, baby doll pajamas, and chemises. She finally stopped, looked down at her feet and saw the boxes, lingerie and tissue paper covering the floor, like some sex shop tsunami had hit. Then she looked in the mirror. I look like a clown she thought. She grabbed the make-up remover and scrubbed her face clean.

  When the make-up was gone, she looked in the mirror again. All she could see were the flaws. The small breasts that barely protruded, the scar from the gunshot wound, the small stretch marks between her bicep and underarm where the CIA made her stop lifting weights. Then she gazed at the scar on her knee and the three-inch scar on her back from the surgery to remove the shrapnel. Then there was a scar over her left eye. The rape scar she’d always called it, but never out loud. There was a moment of self-consciousness. Oh my God, I’m a freak. She took a few moments to gather herself. After a few deep breaths, she thought, trust him, he knows you, trust him. Her hand trembled as she reached for the doorknob.

  Bogus lay on the bed in silk boxers reading a book when the bathroom door opened. She walked out in a short red silk robe, the sash wrapped tight, with nothing on underneath He looked up at her and took off his glasses, placing the book on the nightstand. She stopped five feet from the side of the bed. She felt the heat of the stoked fireplace to her right. That and the glow of a dozen candles were the only light in the windowless dungeon-like room. She held her arms about a foot from her sides, palms out and said, “This is all I have to give you. But all of it is yours.”

  Bogus nodded and with a slight tilt of his head motioned her forward. She crawled across the bed and lay next to him on her side, facing him. He propped his head on his right elbow, reached over with his left hand and brushed her hair away from her face. He watched it tumble onto the pillow like a golden waterfall. Then she spoke. “I don’t know how, but you get me. You get how I think. Matthias...oh, Matthias. You knew I would want to bleed for him, to make him my own. That’s why...that’s why he’s here, because you get me. You get who I am. I have bled for everything good in my life, and I like it that way. Except you, you…you bled for me. Now I am yours. I have no idea what I’m doing, so, you’re just, um, just gonna hafta...tell me what you want.”

  Bogus ran his left hand from her face to her shoulder, down her side and stopped at her hip. He could feel her shaking, so he rested his head on the pillow, his face about four inches from hers. He reached over and began to stroke her hair and whispered, “This isn’t about me. This is about us. If you are not ready to do this, I don’t want you to do this. This is not a chore, not something you have to do.”

  She smiled a nervous smile and nodded. Bogus ran his hand down her body again and said, “I think we should just talk. What do you think?”

  She let out a nervous sigh and said, “Okay.”

  “Have you thought about this day with me or anyone else?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay, describe it to me,” he said, listening intently.

  She stuck her face in the pillow, made a little sound and said, “That would be so embarrassing.”

  He chuckled softly and said, “You can leave out that part. Just start at the beginning.”

  She looked back up at him and said, “I always thought I would be wearing my wedding dress. I imagined my husband undressing me.”

  He nodded and said, “Would you like to put your wedding dress on?”

  She shook her head and said, “No, that’s okay.”

  “Then what,” he asked.

  “He reaches out and touches me.”

  He smiled, nodded and whispered, “Okay, that is where we start. Take my hand and show me where, and how, your husband is supposed to touch you.”

  Their eyes were locked and her hand trembled as she took his hand and showed him.

  Chapter 24

  She lay with her head on his chest, arms and legs wrapped around him. Her chest was still heaving; her breathing had not yet returned to normal. It had been four hours since she took his hand and held it against her body. Her lips were slightly parted, and her eyes, while open, focused on nothing. All she could think was My God, why did I wait so long to do this.

  He stroked her cheek and hair and whispered how much he loved her. She caught her breath, her eyes focused and she began to weep. He put his hands on both sides of her face, moved it gently an inch or two away from his, and used his thumbs to wipe the tears. “How do you feel?”

  She looked away and whispered, “I don’t know. Would relieved be a bad word?”

  “No, not at all.”

  She turned back to look at him “Thank you for being so good to me. I felt it, you know. My body works. You made it work, it wanted you and I just, well, just followed along. I’ll get better, I promise.”

  “Better? No, my dear, you are wonderful. We are going to learn each other the way lovers should. And, we will have fun doing it.”

  She pushed herself up on all fours, smiled, leaned down and gave him a long kiss and said, “Okay, then, let’s do it again.”

  “We will, but do you think we could eat, maybe something to drink?”

  “Oh, yes,” she whispered. “I’ll get it for you, bring it to you. I will always treat you like a man is supposed to be treated.”

  He reached up with both hands and tickled her ribs. She fell off to the side giggling and holding his hands. Bogus smiled and said, “See? I just learned something else.”

  Amy began to laugh as she rolled over onto her back, let out a noise somewhere between a shout and a roar, propped herself up on her elbow, smiled and said, “You are so amazing. I love you so much.”

  He flashed the impish grin that melted her soul, then he reached for the phone. She jumped on top of him and said, “What are you doing?”

  “I’m ordering us som
e food.”

  “Oh no, I’ll get it for you. I want to bring it to you. I am your wife, and I want to do that for you.” Then she winked, smiled, got up and walked toward the bathroom.

  Bogus watched her and said, “Hey.” She turned around and he said, “I know you are sometimes self-conscious about your body. I want you to know, you are an amazingly beautiful woman.”

  She felt herself blush. It was a strange feeling to walk and talk to another human being while totally nude, something she had never done. However, with him there was no fear. He made it that way. She looked at him and said, “Thank you.” She turned and walked into the bathroom.

  She washed, put on jeans, a sweatshirt and tennis shoes. She put her hair in a ponytail and walked back into the bedroom. Bogus leaned against the headboard reading a book.

  She bent over, kissed him and said, “You rest, I’ll be right back.” Then she stopped and asked, “What are you reading?”

  Bogus smiled and said, “Curious George. That man with the big yellow hat is fascinating.”

  “Are you making fun of me?”

  He grabbed her hand and pulled her onto the bed and said, “Maybe a little.” He kissed her and continued, “Actually it’s a book on international economics.”

  “You never stop, do you?”

  “Well, your competitors never stop, so it’s best you don’t either.”

  She nodded, kissed him again, got up, walked out of the room and down the corridor. The rooms were heated but not the connecting passageways, so the corridor was chilly. Amy didn’t feel the temperature. She didn’t feel anything. She was still overwhelmed by the rush of emotions. After skipping down the stairs, she walked through the great room and down another passageway to the kitchen at the end of the hall. Two sous chefs and their helpers were busy preparing dinner. Amy said, “Excuse me, I need to get something to eat.”

  New staff had been hired and there was apparently some confusion. The chef’s eyes widened and she said, “It’s about time you arrived young lady. You will eat when the work is finished. There is a bag of potatoes on that counter; start peeling.” The chef scowled and tossed her an apron.