The Governess

by Camille Oster

  In stillness, the pain receded and he pressed farther. Him inside her was a fullness she had never known. It felt right and she ached for more. With him fully cradled inside her, undeniable pleasure returned. Her thighs wrapped around him and he was now joined with her. She couldn't describe the feeling, but the urge to move was strong. She needed more and he complied, pulling out and stroking into her again. The exquisite pleasure made her gasp and he kept going, sinking into her again and again.

  The tension built harshly inside her. This was well beyond the lovely sensation of his nuzzling at her breast. This was deep and heady and instinctively, she seemed to understand it.

  His skin was darker than hers and she saw him strain above her, saw him move in and out of her. It felt intimate and private, a way she was perhaps not supposed to know him. Not that she regretted this for a moment. His eyes were glassy, lost in pleasure and it made her want him deeper insider her.

  Stifled moans and jerky movements ground his hips to hers. The sensation soared beyond imagined bounds and her body drew together, pulsing strongly around him in a rush she'd never anticipated. At that moment, he was all she ever wanted. Nothing else mattered but them together, joined in sheer carnal joy.

  With a cry, he strained above her, pained in his expression, his hips ground to hers. She could see his release, the tension giving completely.

  She knew his seed was in her now. The act had run to completion. Now she could never deny understanding to people who gave themselves to this. The rewards were positively infinite in her estimation. This was far beyond anything she had ever expected, and in all her life, she would never forget or regret this.

  Chapter 30:

  * * *

  In the pale winter light, Estelle felt pensive. The light had no warmth as she stood in the conservatory off the library. Snow sat on the glass panels of the roof and along the ground in front of her.

  She didn't quite know what to do with herself. She had done the worst thing a governess could do: fall in love with her employer. She had given herself to him. There was no point saying it wasn't love because she felt every word he spoke as a caress along her body. Every thought in her head had something to do with him and she listened for his voice every moment of the day.

  This was where harm lay. All those stories of silly girls who fell in love and ended up forlorn, forgotten and destitute. No, not destitute; she had the broach the count had given her to forgo that outcome befalling her. Although she wasn't sure she could bring herself to part with it. Still, she had done the thing that she had promised herself she would never do. And she couldn't even bring herself to regret it.

  When she left here, she would leave her heart behind and that was just the way it was. It was important now not to be the creature the count feared she had been, the one who insisted there should be more. The creature that insisted and did what they could to get their way.

  The thought of him losing a loved wife to such selfishness was appalling. Her heart ached for him, and for Thomas, who had lost his mother to such an evil deed.

  Drawing breath, she slowly exhaled. Although she wanted to, she didn't dare go outside. She knew beyond any doubt that the count wasn’t responsible for the disappearance of those girls from the village, so the fiend had to be out there. Was this fiend's acts as evil, or more so, than the woman who had pushed the countess off the bridge? She wasn't sure. This woman, Liliana, had hid her evil, used it as a weapon to get what she wanted. And what she'd wanted was to be the mistress of this castle. It seemed unbelievable that someone would murder for that.

  There was no end to winter just yet. The temperatures were too cold for the snow to melt. In a way, she didn't want it to, because come spring, she would leave. That was a certainty, but she didn't look forward to it, knew it would be painful. It would be a sweet sorrow, though, one she would carry with her for a long time. But she didn't belong here and it was a burden she would be proud to carry.

  "Miss Winstone," Thomas called, his voice echoing across the marble of the entrance hall. He was too far away to hear and she wished he wouldn't yell like that. "Where are you?" he hollered, moving closer along the corridor.

  "It is such an imposition to everyone in the castle having to hear you yelling. Was that necessary?" she said as Thomas appeared in the doorway. To his credit, he looked thoroughly admonished.

  Walking into the library, he absently dragged his finger across both a chair and a table. He looked bored, which was probably why he was seeking her out. "Father is in his study and has told me not to disturb him."

  "Then you best not. Perhaps it is time we have those dancing lessons we've been talking about."

  Thomas' eyes widened in incredulous dismay. "Like this?" he said, jumping around like a monkey.

  Estelle couldn't help laughing. "You will be known for your unique interpretation."

  "I am never going to dance," he said, stopping and sitting down heavily in a chair. "Do you think it will be horrible?"

  "School?"

  Estelle sat down in the chair opposite him. "I think you will meet the most interesting people, from all over the world. It wouldn't surprise me if you even met some sons of true adventurers, maybe even someone who's been to the very heart of the Amazon, seen lost cities and forgotten civilizations."

  "Do you think so?" Thomas said hopefully. "I am going to be an adventurer one day."

  "I doubt it not. Although you might also have to help your father, who is building an entire country. That can also be seen as an adventure, with endless adversity and new discoveries."

  "He'll probably be done by the time I come back."

  With a smile, Estelle leaned back. Boys had such high regard for their fathers, and their capabilities. "Perhaps he will."

  Tears stung the back of her nose again as she thought how Thomas had been robbed of his mother. That was such a large part of a boy's life and it was missing for him. She was a poor consolation prize, but she would do the best she could.

  "Come on," she said, rising from her chair. "No use putting this off further. We cannot have you venture into the world with that monkey dance."

  *

  Estelle had been looking forward to supper all day, because it was the one time she would see the count. He seemed to make an effort to be there for supper now and it was clearly Thomas' favorite part of the day, too.

  They were seated by the time the count arrived and he sat down at the head of the table. Estelle closed her eyes and drew in the scent of him that wafted past with his arrival. His scent took her mind away for a moment to a place foreign and timeless.

  "Why does there have to be so many different dances," Thomas lamented. "I don't see why there has to be more than one. They all have different steps, and it's all stupid."

  The count smiled and Balog appeared and whispered something into his ear.

  "It seems we have a gift from the village," he said. "Mulled wine for wishing a good harvest this year. This is usually a time for fortune telling and remedies. They seek to include us in their hopes for the year to come."

  "That is lovely," Estelle said, surprised by such a gesture.

  "It has been a difficult year, and in such times, traditions are important. Here, wishes for the New Year are taken seriously."

  Balog returned with a dark bottle without a label and pulled the cork. He said something in Hungarian.

  "Mulled wine," the count said. "Would you like some?"

  "I'm afraid mulled wine doesn't agree with my stomach."

  "Down in the valleys beyond the mountains, we grow quite good wine. It is too cold up here, but further south we tend to grow rich reds."

  Estelle actually knew very little of wine. Her father had never had it at their dinner table. While she had been more open to try, it had often ended up being sherry. But for heavier fortified wines, she'd always struggled.

  Balog returned with a tray of pork roast, the smells filling the whole hall and Estelle's hunger asserted herself. She was looking f
orward to the meal. The castle cook was gifted beyond the fare she'd received during previous assignments, but then she'd never been invited to dine with the family on a regular basis.

  The meat was delicious and she ate her fill. The count looked tired. He must have had a hard day locked away in his study. She understood he was writing something, an essay of importance. Now his eyes looked heavy and contented as he leaned back in his chair, the mulled wine in his hand.

  "Shall we retire to the salon?" he said and went to rise, but sat back down again.

  "Are you alright?"

  "I feel… very tired," he said. "Queer."

  The glass fell out of his hand and shattered on the floor. His eyes stared absently ahead until he slumped forward. Estelle caught him by the shoulders, pushing him upright. "Count Drezasse?" she urged, but there was no sign of recognition in his eyes.

  "Father," Thomas said, standing on the other side of his chair, distress clear in his voice.

  Estelle patted his face to try to revive him. "Balog!" she yelled.

  Balog came and helped her place the count down on the floor. His eyes were glassy and distant. He was completely unconscious. The older man felt at his neck as they stood by silently. "Alive," he said and rose, his knees clearly arthritic.

  "The count is unwell," Estelle said, her arms tightly crossed around her. "He just passed out like a candle being blown out." A shiver ran down her spine. Surely he wasn't dying. Just like that, fine one moment and gone the next. Thomas, poor Thomas. His father was the only thing he had in the world.

  Balog looked at both of them as Estelle stepped to Thomas and put her arms around his shoulders. Taking the bottle, Balog smelled it and put it back. Thomas repeated his observation.

  "Is he going to be alright?" she asked, but Balog didn't answer immediately. When he did, he said something she didn't understand. "What?" she asked, turning her attention to Thomas.

  Thomas repeated the word, looking to her for answers.

  "I don't understand. It is a word I don't know."

  "It is a plant. I don't know its name in English."

  "Is it poisonous?"

  Thomas spoke rapidly to Balog, who replied. "Depends."

  "We must carry," Balog said and they went to help. The count was heavy and she and Thomas struggled with his legs as Balog guided them toward the salon.

  "Someone did this to him," Thomas accused, tears now streaming down his face.

  "Is this a plant that can accidentally be in mulled wine?" she asked and Balog shook his head.

  "No," he said. "Someone harm him, or want him asleep."

  "Who would do that?" Thomas demanded. "Why?"

  Estelle tried to get her mind to think, but it felt like thick molasses. Either someone wanted to hurt him, or wanted him out of the way. That would only be if someone was coming.

  Chapter 31:

  * * *

  "Is there a doctor? We need a doctor." Estelle tried desperately to keep the panic out of her voice for Thomas' sake. The count could be dying and was in dire need of medical assistance.

  Balog shook his head. "Far away."

  "Father," Thomas called, clearly on the point of breaking down into sobs.

  "It will be alright," Estelle said. "He'll come around." She hoped he wasn't dying. He was strong. By the look of him, he looked asleep, which was more encouraging than if he was deathly pale, but that could be her fooling herself. Her father had been a mere shell of himself at his death, but his sickness had built and built over the period of a few months. In the end, he'd looked nothing like the man he truly was. Other than that, she didn't know much of death or how it presented itself. All she knew was that the count could not die.

  In her muddled mind, she tried to think of what had to be done if that happened. It would only be her and Thomas, and of course she would stay with him as long as he needed her. He had to have some distant family somewhere.

  Her thoughts were like spears in her mind, hitting one on top of another. But there was something that was vying for her attention, and she couldn't put her finger on it.

  "What if someone was specifically trying to incapacitate him?" she asked, looking over at Balog. "What if they are trying to get into the house and needed him out of the way? We don't actually know that wine came from the village. It could have come from anyone."

  Almost unaware, Estelle's feet moved her over to the window. If that were true, they might be watching. Her eyes wandered the darkness outside, trying to see a pale face out there, while hoping she didn't. Perhaps it was the madman coming for her, clearing away any protection around her. A deep shudder shook her body, while dark images invaded her mind. She didn't dare think of what nefarious things had been done to those poor girls.

  Something distracted her, a light in the distance. Focusing on it, she could actually see several lights. There were people on the road to the castle. They must have learned that the fiend would strike that night and were coming to stop him. Hope soared in her chest, but they were still far away. If the madman were to strike, it would be now, before the villagers got here.

  Balog appeared beside her, obviously having noted her attention. "They come for the count," he said gravely.

  "What do you mean?"

  "They come for the count and to burn the castle."

  "They think he's responsible," she finally realized.

  "Yes."

  "But he is not. Surely, they see that."

  "They have decided and they will not listen."

  "It's not true," she beseeched.

  "The wine was sent to the count so he won't be problem. They will kill him."

  Estelle gasped, the discomfort in her belly flaring to outright panic. This wasn't right. This couldn't be true. They had to do something. "We have time," she said, her feet moving her again, but her mind hadn't caught up with her destination. She ran to the main doors. This was a siege castle; it could stop an army, so it should be able to stop some angry villagers. "We must lower the portcullis." The gate was the only way into the castle from the road. Getting around from there to the eastern wall was perilous and probably impossible in the dark of night.

  "We can't," Thomas said, appearing beside her as she tried to heave the main doors open.

  A cold blast of air hit her as they managed to move the heavy door. It was starting to snow again and the flakes looked bright against the darkness beyond. Forcing herself out into the courtyard, she made her way forward.

  "It takes ten men to lower the portcullis," he yelled, the wind trying to carry his voice away. "We can't control it. It is too dangerous."

  "We have to do something to stop them."

  "The main door is enough," Balog said. "They cannot get through."

  Looking around, she saw that the windows around the main courtyard were few and small, and all very high. It was built to be defensive and the only way into the main part of the castle was to break the door, and that would take a battering ram. Balog was right.

  Continuing walking, Balog crossed over to the stable and pulled out his keys to lock the door to the stable.

  "They could break the windows," she said, imagining torches being thrown.

  "Then we protect the windows."

  "We need water," Estelle said, her mind clasping onto something she could do. Then she stopped. "We must send for help," she said. "Help and a doctor."

  "I can go," Thomas said. "I can ride. They are far enough down the road that I can ride around them and they will never see. "The Andmassy castle is the nearest. I will get help.”

  "Go to the professor. He will know what to do," she said. "There must be a constable or a magistrate around. The villagers seem to like him and he can explain their misunderstanding."

  Thomas shot into the stable to saddle his pony, emerging a few tense minutes later. Balog returned with a heavier coat for him and helped him into the saddle. Qualms attacked Estelle as he started to ride away. This was not a journey a nine year-old boy should do, ride around in the dar
k to get help. It was dangerous, but she didn't know the way and Balog was too old. It had to be him.

  Closing her eyes, Estelle prayed he would be alright, glad she had sent him to the village rather than across the entire region to the nearest castle, with all those hungry wolves in between. God knew how far he would have to ride to reach this Andmassy family.

  "We must prepare," Balog said, urging her inside again. She wasn't dressed for the weather, but didn't notice until she went inside again. The shoulders of her dress were wet with melted snowflakes.

  Pushing the doors shut, he locked them, the clicking of the lock echoing across the entrance hall. Then he barred them, bringing out a second bar she had never seen before, placing it on a higher hold. "The door will hold," he said and walked away.

  The cook appeared, a woman Estelle rarely saw. Balog spoke in Hungarian and they both disappeared. Estelle didn't know what to do for a moment and returned to the parlor where the count lay exactly where they'd left him.

  With her fingers, she felt his pulse was still strong. "Please wake," she urged. "We need you."

  If anyone out of all of them knew how to defend a castle, it would be him. Or perhaps not. It wasn't a common skill these days. Balog said the doors would hold and she believed him. The villagers would come and they would rage outside, but they were not getting through the doors. The castle was impervious to everything, unless they managed to throw torches in through the high windows, and they were preparing to deal with that.

  There was little else to do now but to wait until help came and drove the villagers away. In the clear light of morning, this misunderstanding could be addressed.

  Moving over to the window, she watched the crowd of people move along the road, still in view, but they would eventually disappear out of her sight as they came closer. It was a painfully slow progression and Estelle could do little else but to watch them and hope that Thomas was alright.