by Sahara Kelly
Her father would kill her. Of that she had no doubt.
And then he’d go after Viktor.
Her body trembled as she lay down on her pillow and let her mind remember. His voice, the touch of his hands, his mouthit was almost too much. Her eyes filled with tears as she struggled to come to terms with what had happened.
She’d been loved. For the first time in so long a man had loved her. Had offered himself freely, giving so much more than he could ever guess by just the brush of his lips.
Madelyne smiled through her tears. She’d never forget this night. She’d hold it close, cherish it, pull it out and remember it on those days when life seemed bleak and pointless. And there had been too many of those lately.
Lord Eventyde had recently appointed guards on the Dower House, telling them that it was because of a string of robberies in the area.
But Madelyne knew better. It was because she was getting older, and more likely to do something drastic. He was not about to let that happen, not if he could find a way to get rid of her and profit from it.
She lived each day in fear of his whimsnot his beatings any more, since he’d tired of that pastime. But there was always the knowledge that even though she was of age, she was still at his mercy.
He’d seen to that.
Where could she go with few clothes and no money? Her nearest relative was in Scotland, her mother off who-knew-where, and she was isolated, buried in the forest, a shameful secret hidden by the branches of the trees that grew so thickly around the Dower House.
A blot on the Eventyde escutcheon. A disgrace to the ancient name. A name which she’d like to rid herself of at the earliest opportunity.
Madelyne snuggled her head into her pillow and realized with chagrin that she didn’t even know Viktor’s last name.
Close upon that thought came another. She didn’t care.
It didn’t matter if he was royalty or a stable boy. He’d given her a gift tonight. A loving touch and a memory she’d have for the rest of her life.
She sighed and turned over, restless still, even though the hour had grown late.
What would it be like to be free? To roam the world in a caravan, bound by no one’s rules, living life as one wished, taking pleasure without worrying about the consequences?
Madelyne couldn’t begin to imagine, she just knew she’d love the chance to find out. Preferably with Viktor at her side.
Of course, he probably had a line of women waiting for his favors. Someone as attractive as him would have to beat them away with his violin.
But somehow, deep inside, Madelyne believed that he too had been affected by their loving. Some tone in his voice, some scent, some need she’d sensed within him, all combined to tell her that Viktor had not taken the night lightly.
She snorted. She was dreaming her dreams and creating situations that didn’t exist.
But a little smile crossed her lips. Where was the harm in it?
Closing her eyes, she prepared to sleep and kept Viktor in the forefront of her mind. Perhaps he’d appear in her dreams as he had at the lake.
She was almost slipping over the edge into her fantasies when a loud banging on her door made her jump.
Oh God. Her father. No one else hammered at the old wooden panels like that.
“Get out of bed, Madelyne. Now. Don’t bother getting dressed. Get down to the Salon within five minutes or I’ll come back and get you myself.”
His harsh voice jerked Madelyne from her thoughts and sent her heartbeat into chaos. What the devil did he want with her in the middle of the night?
Thanking her guardian angel that she’d made it back to her room in time, she scrambled into her old robe and cautiously opened the door.
There were lights and voices downstairs, and it was with some trepidation that she silently made her way towards the Salon.
Lord Eventyde’s footman sneered at her as she paused before the doors, running his eyes up and down her tightly swathed body. “Get on with you, then. They want you inside.”
He flung open the door and shoved her through.
*~~*~~*
Viktor’s pulse was pounding as he dashed into Eventyde Manor in search of his friends.
Lights from the library drew him and he offered up a prayer of thanks to St. Stephan when he found Pyotr and Gyorgy inside, sprawled around a half-empty decanter.
“I need you. Now.”
Two pairs of eyes sharpened, and two bodies snapped from their lethargy.
“Where are the others?”
Pyotr tapped his fingers on the table. “The boys are playing billiards and Fabyan is in the music room.”
“Thank God. There’s a woman in trouble, and it’s up to us to stop it from getting any worse than it already is.”
Gyorgy’s eyebrows rose. “A woman?”
“Madelyne Eventyde. Our host’s daughter. He’s about to give her to Francis Hucknall.”
Pyotr choked. “That piece of filth?”
“Exactly,” snapped Viktor. “I won’t let that happen. I need your help.”
The two men were already on their feet and reaching for their jackets.
“Don’t bother…I have an idea. I need a distraction, a believable one, and I think we can provide it.”
“Let me get the others,” said Gyorgy, already on his way out the door.
Pyotr gazed at Viktor. “You met Madelyne Eventyde?”
Viktor gazed back steadily, understanding the undertones of the question. “Yes, Pyotr. I met her, and…and she’s the one.”
Pyotr’s handsome face curled into a smile beneath his mustache. “Enough said, my friend. How can we help?”
The door burst open and Gyorgy returned, with Lukasz, Matyas and Fabyan close behind.
“What’s afoot Viktor?” asked Lukasz.
“Where’s the fight? Do I need my sword?” Matyas tensed in readiness.
Fabyan crossed the room and stared at Viktor, then placed his hand firmly on Viktor’s shoulder.
The pressure of his fingers spoke as loudly as the words of his companions.
“We won’t need our swords, just our music and two horses. Here’s the plan.”
With rapid-fire military precision, Viktor outlined his ideas and accepted suggestions and modifications from the other five men in the room.
It would work, and the devil take the consequences.
It had to. He would never let Hucknall lay a finger on Madelyne.
Chapter Five
Madelyne found herself hard-pressed to take in the tableau that met her eyes as she stumbled into the Salon of the Dower House.
Her father was stretched out in a chair by the fireplace with a glass of brandy in his hand and a fierce glitter in his eyes. But for once, it wasn’t her father that demanded her attention. It was the second man in the room.
Huge and imposing, this tall man with greying hair was standing casually in front of a woman in a shockingly red gown. Most of which was around her waist.
Her breasts hung free and swayed as she sucked on the huge man’s cock.
Madelyne’s eyes widened and she felt a chill of shock sear her body.
“Get in here, you dolt, and close the door,” snapped Lord Eventyde.
Numbly, Madelyne did as she was bid.
“This is Sir Francis Hucknall. Your future husband.”
The huge man eyed Madelyne. “She’s not much to look at, Alfred,” he said dismissively. “She any good in bed?”
“How the fuck should I know? She’s not my type. Ask my groom.”
Both men chuckled and Madelyne felt the color drain from her cheeks. Torn between horror at her father’s announcement and shock at what the woman was doing to Hucknall, she felt herself sway.
“Oh for God’s sake, girl, get hold of yourself.” Her father’s voice pulled her back into reality. “Watch this whore, take notes, and don’t fucking disgrace me any further than you already have. At least try to keep Francis happy ‘til he gets you with c
hild, will you?”
Madelyne swallowed. “I’ll do no such thing.”
Eventyde was out of his chair in a flash, and had his hands grasping Madelyne’s hair before she could breathe.
“You’ll do as you’re fucking told, bitch. You couldn’t keep your legs together for that weakling boy, so what’s the problem now?”
He dragged her over to where Hucknall stood, breeches open, cock sliding wetly in and out of the whore’s mouth.
She slid her eyes sideways to Madelyne and sneered. “Wanna try some, honey? Not that you look like you’d be any good at it.”
“That’s what you’re here for, bitch. Teach her.”
Eventyde’s hands ripped Madelyne’s hair from her scalp as he forced her to her knees next to the whore and held her there.
She had a close up view of what was taking place and she didn’t like it. Not one bit.
Hucknall glanced down. “I shall expect you to suck me off several times a day. Whenever I wish it. So learn fast, girl. I shall teach you about fucking, of course, but this is something more easily learned by showing than doing, don’t you think?”
Madelyne blinked back the tears her father’s hold on her hair was causing, and clamped down on her hot retort.
There were two large men in the room. She had no chance of avoiding a beating or worse if she made a wrong move. She wished, and not for the first time in her life, for a dueling pistol.
She tried to breathe, to control her temper and her fear, and to think.
But the scene before her was so outrageous that it was hard to concentrate on anything else.
Francis Hucknall had a huge cock. It was red and engorged, and the woman seemed to want to swallow it whole. She was reaching between his legs for his balls as she sucked, using one hand to fondle him and the other to slip through the moisture her mouth left on him.
Madelyne felt her bile rise as she saw the woman’s tongue flicking around the head and pulling a sticky strand of moisture from it.
Hucknall grunted as the tongue apparently found a particularly sensitive spot.
“Enough,” he said harshly. “Turn around and bend over.”
Oh God. Please God no.
The hand in her hair pulled savagely again, moving her to a low stool and out of Hucknall’s way.
She could hear her father’s breathing rasping behind her.
Hucknall casually dropped his breeches around his ankles, revealing hairy buttocks and a nasty scar. Madelyne wished she could give him a few more.
Her mind roamed the room searching for something, anything, she could use as a weapon.
Red skirts went tumbling over the whore’s head as she rested on all fours. “Spread ‘em,” grunted Hucknall.
The whore reached behind her and pulled her buttock cheeks apart.
Madelyne closed her eyes. If there was a weapon in the room she was going to use it on herself. Never would she submit to this.
She opened a little door in her heart and pulled out a mental image of Viktor’s face. It calmed her, and focused her thoughts.
Her father’s grip had eased a little, fingers loosening the strands of hair, and she heard him fumbling with his breeches.
Oh God. It was getting worse and worse.
Hucknall was positioning the whore right where he wanted her. He lowered himself to his knees and found her arse.
He thrust deep.
The whore’s cry was muffled by her skirts, but Madelyne’s wasn’t. This was agonizing.
Her father let go her hair, and she eased away from him very slowly. She refused to look at him, concentrating instead on moving silently out of his reach.
Hucknall continued his abuse of the whore. “Oh yes, tight. Just the way I like ‘em. Oooh, yesss…”
Little cries were coming from the woman, but Madelyne had no idea if it was pain or pleasure. Nor did she care.
She just wanted to get out of there before one of these animals got the bright idea that she should anticipate her wedding vows and join in.
As if her thoughts had been spoken aloud, Hucknall raised his eyes and stared at her.
“Get over here, girl. I fancy some pussy. You look clean. You’ll do.”
Madelyne froze. “I’ll die first.”
“You’ll die if you don’t,” hissed her father, reaching for her. He was still close enough to grab her head again.
Madelyne’s temper boiled, but she was helpless against that firm grip on her hair. She swore she’d cut every last lock if she ever got out of this nightmare. No man should be able to control a woman that way.
Eventyde dragged her over to the couple kneeling on the carpet, and tore her robe from her, evading her nails and her heels as she kicked backwards into his shins.
An especially savage tug made her cry out in pain. “Stop it, you stupid bitch. He’s not going to fuck you. This time it’ll wait until after you’re wed. Now pull up your skirts and let him see what he’s getting.”
Madelyne went rigid.
“Do it, I said.”
Her head was cruelly yanked backwards making her yelp with pain.
“Or shall I do it for you?”
Unbelievably, her father’s hands grabbed for her skirts and began to pull them upwards.
This couldn’t be happening. It was a nightmare. None of it was real.
Then suddenly a loud shout from outside filled the air.
Something sailed through a window, shattering it, and in the moment of surprised stillness that followed, a violin began playing.
Within seconds the air was filled with the wild and incredibly beautiful sound of violin music and Madelyne’s heart leaped.
Her gypsy lover had come to save her.
*~~*~~*
Viktor’s heart wasn’t leaping.
It was thudding with fury as he peered through the opposite window to the one Gyorgy had smashed with unerring accuracy.
He’d had one glimpse of what was going on inside and realized that he’d been just in time. One minute more…
He shook his head to clear the anger and watched as Eventyde flung Madelyne away from him with a snarl and Hucknall wrenched himself away from the whore, gathering his breeches up and retying them as best he could.
Eventyde’s footman burst in, followed by two more servants—rough-looking men whose fists were at the ready.
Viktor grunted. Bully boys. Master and servant were one of a kind it seemed.
All the men crowded to the window, leaving the whore in a crumpled heap and Madelyne—Madelyne was stealthily making her way away from them.
And him. Fuck.
Cautiously, he tapped once on the windowpane, and thank God above, she heard him.
Her face lit up as she saw him peering at her, and he motioned with his head to the door.
She nodded and quietly snuffed out several candles, letting the darkness help conceal her flight.
Viktor’s attention turned again to Eventyde and Hucknall who were yelling furiously out of the windows at the cavorting minstrels at the front of the house.
Lukasz was yelling back, laughing and playing wild melodies in counterpoint with Matyas.
Viktor bit back a grin as he picked up a few choice Hungarian expressions. They were telling Eventyde exactly what they thought of him, his behavior, and his ancestors, and making a few highly improbable suggestions as to what he could do with various parts of his anatomy.
“Az anyad!”
The expletive echoed through the melody as Gyorgy slid on damp grass and his bow twanged awkwardly.
Viktor chuckled as the other men laughed and played on. Fabyan’s tambourine clattered loudly, and taken together the ruckus was quite amazing.
Since there were only four gypsies playing.
*~~*~~*
Heart in her mouth, Madelyne slipped quietly from the room under cover of the raucous chaos that had erupted outside. Obeying some instinct, she held herself close to the shadows in the hallways and crept silently to the small door t
hrough which she’d entered the Dower House earlier that evening.
As soon as she’d opened it a pair of strong arms grabbed her and hauled her roughly against a firm chest.
His chest.
She’d know that chest anywhere.
They were already moving, finding soft turf and dark areas to hide their passage when Viktor’s whisper stirred her hair.
“Are you all right, Madelyne? Did they…did he…”
She turned into his body and shook her head. “No, they didn’t. Thank God there wasn’t time. But if you hadn’t come when you did—” She felt the small tremor of fury that swept him.
“You’re safe now. Trust me.”
And she did. She’d known him for an instant in time, shared a little passion with him, and hadn’t even thought to ask his last name. But she knew she trusted him with her life, her heart and whatever else he wanted. There was a security in his arms that she’d never found anywhere else.
It was an unusual feeling, and one that Madelyne would have liked time to explore, but their rapid progress into the darkness of the night made such things difficult if not impossible.
Being barefoot didn’t help matters, and she bit back a curse as she stumbled over a root. Viktor swept her up against him, lifting her off her feet.
“Not much further, love, just hang on.”
“I’m all right, Viktor. Just stubbed my toe. Put me down, we’re too slow this way. He’ll catch us.”
Laughing a little, Viktor did as she told him. “That’s my girl. Come on…not far now. Step carefully.”
Holding tight to her hand, Viktor pulled her onwards through the trees and over the grasses, damp now with the dew of the cool night air. She felt brambles rip her gown, and her hair was flying in a tangled mess, but she didn’t care. Her heartbeat pounded out a joyous rhythm…free…free…free.
Within moments they reached a small clearing, only to find a caravan sitting darkly off to one side.
Viktor paused, holding her tight and cocking his head as if listening.
“Pyotr?”
“Here, Viktor.”
Madelyne gasped as a man eased from the shadows. She’d not heard a sound but suddenly he was there.