She nodded, trying to read the message behind the disconnect. Where had the kind sir gone? He gave her little time to wonder as he wrapped the end of the rope around his right hand once and started walking, leaving her no choice except to follow.
When they reached his wagon, he lifted her into the back and hopped up behind her. Tying her rope to a ring in the side wall, he busied himself shifting crates, barrels, and several saddles to one side. As he worked, she had a chance to study him, immediately struck by his strong, handsome features. Beautiful eyes were framed by dark, silky lashes and nicely arched brows. His beard, a shade lighter than the hair on his head was short, neatly trimmed along a firm, square jaw. Nestled in the center were full sensual lips, tempting despite the downward tilt they had taken. His hair fell straight just short of his collar and was a little mussed, making her fingers itch to comb it back from his face.
She blinked, surprised at the bend of her thoughts. She should worry less about mussed hair and sensual lips, and more about the nature of the stranger who had bought her, the man who would command her, force her to obey, and how he would respond if she didn’t.
Finished with his task, he turned to her. “I will remove the gag, but you are not to speak without permission. That means no begging or pleading, and if you must cry, you will do so quietly. Do you understand?”
Emilia nodded, anything to keep that awful wad of foul-tasting cloth from her mouth. He busied himself with unfastening the small band of rope that secured the gag in her mouth. Afterward, he pulled the wet stuffing out, tossing it over the side onto the ground. She worked her jaw around, trying to relieve the ache and stiffness.
He pointed to the front corner. “Sit.”
Once she did, he handed her a blanket. “Cover yourself. There is no need to draw more attention than necessary.” He then untied her rope and climbed into the high bench seat front. Picking up the reins in one hand and with the end of her harness rope securely in the other, he signaled to his horses. They immediately obeyed, moving forward to do his bidding, as he would no doubt expect of her.
As they bumped along the rutted road and left the small town behind, she had time to consider the man up front. For someone who had spent three thousand in silver to procure her, he didn’t seem all that interested or happy with his purchase. She glanced forward, curious about both him and where they were headed.
He noticed and twisted to address her. His voice was steady and not nearly as stern now. “It’s going to be a long ride,” he advised evenly, “try to get comfortable.”
Those were his last words until they arrived at his home, her new home as it were, right before sunset.
Chapter Two
The sun was dipping low in the sky by the time the wagon came to a halt in front of a large stable. While he set the brake and jumped down, she scanned the busy yard. Several men rushed forward and began unloading the supplies. They addressed him by name or called him sir, which led her to believe they weren’t slaves themselves. While they worked, they sent her furtive glances, their curious eyes lingering longest on the blanket that covered her from neck to ankle, then taking in her bare feet, before skittering away. No one questioned her presence or spoke to her.
After Master Corbet spoke with an older man and gave instructions for the crates they’d unloaded, he lifted her down and took her immediately inside. He guided her swiftly through the large, beautifully furnished home, with barely a word, and led her upstairs to a room with three beds.
“You’ll sleep here for now. I’ll send Alice up with supper and water for bathing. She’ll help you settle in and show you around in the morning. In the meantime, I want you to rest. I’m certain you’ve had very little these last few days.”
She nodded, despite the hundreds of questions swirling in her head. The fact that she was not to be chained to his bed, or required to sleep on a mat in the floor in his room filled her with such relief, she thought it best not to ask any of them. However, the other two beds in the room made her wonder if she wasn’t his only pleasure slave. How would that work? Would he call them in turn to his bed? Or together? She blanched at that idea. It surprised her when the fact that she wasn’t the only one sparked a twinge of annoyance inside her. Or could it be jealousy, and if it was, why should she care? Wouldn’t having others to share his time lighten her burden?
Her ceaseless inward questions ended when he caught her chin in his hand and angled her face up to his.
“House rules. Always be respectful, do as you are told, and know that any disobedience will be dealt with in a swift yet fair manner by me, and me alone. In my absence, Alice is in charge of my household. Her directives are to be followed as though they come from me. Is that clear?”
She nodded her head. These rules weren’t any different than in her father’s household where her mother oversaw things and he was the disciplinarian.
“Further, you are not to leave the house. Do you have any questions?”
Hundreds of them cluttered her mind, but after the briefest hesitation, she shook her head.
“Now why don’t I believe that?” His lips quirked slightly. “Which brings me to another rule. Don’t ever lie to me; dishonesty is never acceptable.”
“Yes, master.”
“The other issue is how to keep you from running away. You know it isn’t wise, don’t you? The roads are heavily patrolled, and although the earl’s soldiers can be readily bought, you have no funds. They would bring you back to me. I can’t promise, however, that they would leave you untouched. They are mercenary knights for the most part, loyal to silver and their own interests first and don’t often care about a knight’s code of honor. Furthermore, runaway slaves are penalized harshly in accordance with the law. And, if you thought to steal a horse, think again. In Lancore, it is as good as a death sentence. Horse thieves are hung in the town square on a weekly basis.”
She recoiled at the horror of all he had shared.
The hand at her chin came up to cup her cheek and as he gazed intently down at her, she saw a small spark of indefinable emotion in his compelling brown eyes. “I tell you this fully intending to frighten you, dove. You have been enslaved in Lancore, a frequently cruel and harsh world, one beyond your worst imaginings. I want to dispel any foolish notions you might have to escape. You are safe here and will be treated well as long as you follow my rules.”
Her mouth agape, she stared up at him, too stunned by his frank truths after all she’d been through to come up with an intelligible answer, however simple.
He frowned under drawn brows. “What are you called?”
“Emilia,” she managed in a broken whisper, tacking on a tremulous “master” since he hadn’t told her as yet what to call him.
His hand slipped around to the back of her neck and he leaned closer. “Tell me you understood all that I’ve told you and promise that you won’t try to run away. I’d rather trust you than shackle you, Emilia.”
“I do understand, master,” she replied in a small voice, but daringly continued so as to assure him that his trust was well-placed. “I also believe all that you say. In truth, not only do I lack the means, I have no idea where I am, except that my home cannot be reached easily on foot. Though I may look like a naive girl, I am not, and after all you have said, I do not wish to risk punishment, rape, or death with an ill-advised escape attempt.”
He studied her at length, his astute gaze searching intently. “So be it,” he decreed at length, before adding a warning, “but know that any reckless action will incite my anger.” Then he straightened, his fingers grazing lightly along her jaw before he stepped back.
Next he strode away, leaving her with two women who had come to stand at the door. One carried a tray of food, the other a pitcher of water, a towel, and a nightgown. Neither spoke so much as a word to her, although the younger woman, who appeared close to her age, cast her a sympathetic glance before scurrying out the door after the other.
At a loss, she stood for a long
while as they’d left her, trying to understand what was happening. She couldn’t. Too fatigued to make sense of anything, she focused on something easier—his promise to treat her well if she obeyed.
She glanced out the window and saw that the sun had set and darkness had set in. Ignoring her supper, she threw off the blanket and slipped the thin gown over her head. After washing in the cool water, she crossed to her bed, guessing that the one with the bare nightstand belonged to her since no one had said one way or the other. With her head on the pillow, she looked out the window at the night sky, seeing a few stars twinkling in the distance. It was very similar to the sky outside her window at home, yet her world was now vastly different.
A lone tear trickled down her temple as exhaustion from her ordeal seeped into her bones. She couldn’t sleep, wondering how she would receive the inevitable call to her master’s bed. Would he come for her himself, or send someone to fetch her? Would he be gentle with her or quickly take his pleasure, sending her back to her bed when he was through? She worried that it would hurt. He was a large man, so she imagined it would.
An image of him from earlier today flashed in her head. He was ruggedly handsome, clearly had wealth, and was kind, although intense at times. Why did he take a slave instead of a wife? The questions spun around in her head at a dizzying rate, and didn’t stop when the two women came in and climbed into their beds. She went back to waiting, worrying herself into exhaustion, and when the call never came, she eventually fell asleep.
The next morning, the women were gone by the time she woke. Her supper tray from the night had been replaced with breakfast. As she wolfed it down, she didn’t question how it had gotten there, knowing only that it had been a long time since she’d eaten. Afterward, she waited, sure someone would come and give her tasks to do, but no one came until midday. It was the older woman, who deigned to introduce herself as Alice. She set down a tray and handed her a pretty yellow and white gown, unlike the sturdy brown and white variety that she and the other girl wore. Perhaps, Emilia thought, envy was why they seemed to resent her, or maybe they had been instructed not to make conversation with her.
It was when she turned to leave without a word that Emilia got up the nerve to ask, “Am I to remain in this room? Or am I free to move about?”
Alice paused at the door, staring at her coolly. “The master only said to see to your comfort.”
There, that explained the hostility. Her presence had added to their workload. Still, she couldn’t bear to be cooped up in this room with no one to talk to. She pressed her. “May I take my meals downstairs, then?”
Alice shrugged noncommittally and left. Emilia looked after her in frustration. At least she’d answered one question by disclosing her name. Alice wasn’t a pleasure slave like her, but as Corbet had said, his housekeeper in charge.
Supper was taken in the kitchen with the other two women, and not much different than eating alone in her room because they remained silent. She tried to engage them in conversation, but it ended up one-sided and uncomfortable, so she quit trying. An older man entered at one point, providing the break in the monotonous meal. He greeted them all, grinned broadly at Alice, and teased her gently. Then in a blink, he left, his plate piled high with the delicious ham, green beans, and freshly baked yeast bread. Quiet descended in his wake. After the meal, she rose to help clear, but the older woman told her no, that it wasn’t her place.
Stung by her tone, and the fact that she didn’t know quite what her place was, Emilia left. She wandered the first floor briefly; upon finding all the rooms dark, she climbed the stairs soon after, washed up in the basin of cool water, and sat on the window seat staring out into the darkness.
Lonely and bored out of her head, her idle mind had nothing to do except ruminate and worry. Although thankful that her master had not called her to his bed, she was confused. Why had he purchased a pleasure slave if he did not seek to use her for that purpose? It appeared that he didn’t wish to use her for anything at all. She hadn’t seen him all day. It was as though he had simply forgotten all about her.
Her thoughts turned to home and the worry her parents must surely be feeling at her disappearance. Her father was likely searching frantically while her mother spent her nights soaking her pillow with anxious tears. Though not a frequent occurrence, other women from her village had gone missing on occasion, most often when a daughter ran off to wed a man not of her family’s choosing. A few times, young women had been taken for ransom, but never had she heard of one being captured and enslaved as she had been. She feared she had been too sheltered from the truth, the number of slaves auctioned off with her that day being the proof of that fact.
Within the boundaries of her parents’ home she had been protected from the harsh realities of the world; she realized that now. Certainly, she knew a woman’s lot in life was oftentimes harsh, her value mostly determined by what she could bring to her family through a good marriage. As the youngest of her parents’ five children, three of whom were daughters, Emilia had watched as her older sisters’ husbands were chosen for them. They both seemed content, but she wanted more than contentment. It was then she had decided if she couldn’t marry for love, like her parents had, she had no interest in it at all. She planned to stay home, benefiting her family most by helping on the farm, which she loved to do, and caring for her parents as they aged, although that was some time off—thank goodness.
Her parents hadn’t always agreed with her plans. She vividly remembered becoming distraught when she’d reached marriageable age and her father had arranged for her to wed Gerald Marcus, the owner of the lands adjacent to her father’s farm. He was a middle-aged widower, childless after two marriages and of an age with her father. Emilia knew she could never see him as the husband that she’d dreamed of having one day. He wasn’t a bad man, but at the time she’d had a tender heart. She’d cried herself dry at her father’s feet, begging for him to reconsider, at one point threatening to run away to avoid being married to an old man she did not know and could never love. Thanks to her persistence and her mother’s change of heart, her father had relented and the arrangement had been set aside. But it hadn’t come without a price, one hundred pieces of silver being enough to compensate their insulted neighbor as well as smooth his ruffled feathers.
The room was dark when the two females with whom she shared the room came in, talking in whispers. The younger woman looked at her sadly and tentatively approached. “You should sleep,” she began, but the older woman, who Emilia had heard her call mother, shooed her into bed. Fatigued from doing nothing, she saw no reason not to climb into bed as well. Within minutes the others were breathing heavily, having found their rest. She envied them. Tired and worn from a long day’s labor, they slept like babies, while Emilia went to her bed full of untapped energy and roiling emotions. Missing home and family, she wept softly, tossing and turning for hours as she watched the sky grow from black to purple with the approaching dawn before finally drifting off.
The following afternoon, unable to withstand loneliness and tedium anymore, she ventured out of the room and downstairs. Sounds came from the kitchen, the clang of pots and dishes, and the chattering of several women. Turning in the opposite direction, she wandered through the large sprawling house, until she came to the open door of the master’s study. It was warm and inviting with a plush rug covering most of the floor and two velvet-tufted, high-back chairs flanking the fireplace. Best of all were the multitude of books, filling the shelves that covered almost all of two walls. Unlike most men and many more women, she could read. What’s more, she loved to—the books called to her.
Knowing full well that she shouldn’t, she took a tentative step inside anyway. Alice had told her that the master’s rooms and belongings were off limits. If she hadn’t, she’d have still known that without her admonition. As she scanned the room now, the woman’s words went unheeded. His large gleaming desk was tidy with only a sheaf of neatly stacked papers in the corner. Th
e words ‘bill of sale’ caught her eye and proved that her guess was right, he was a merchant. His business dealings didn’t pique her interest as much as the row upon row of leather-bound books, so she moved to them.
His library consisted mainly of Latin works and thick historical tomes, which were rather dry in her opinion, but then the gilt lettering on the red spine of a book caught her eye. Aesop’s Fables. A collection of tales written by a slave in ancient Greece. The irony was not lost on her and she reached for it. Though she’d read it cover to cover many times, she still pulled it down—despite her conscience telling her to wait and ask—and went back to the small upstairs room before she was discovered.
Lost in the fiction, some with outrageous characterizations from a long ago time that were still truths to live by today, she didn’t realize how long she’d been reading until Alice came into the room. The woman almost dropped the bowl in her hands when she spotted the book she held on her lap. She stood up quickly, tucking it behind her back.
“Please, don’t tell. I was going out of my mind with nothing to do in this room. I’ll put it back before dark.”
“He will be home from his travels before that,” the woman said sharply, putting her food on the small table in the corner of the room and then leaving.
So that is why he hadn’t called her to his bed. He’d been away. That sparked more anxiety and worries over whether he’d summon her tonight. Suddenly, fretting over a borrowed book seemed naught by comparison.
Any appetite she had disappeared. While idly picking at her bread a while later, she heard someone in the yard call out.
Innocence Enslaved Page 4