Done with her hair, he stood and walked to the window, staring out.
“I’ve been told there is pain, and that scared me, too. I also worried that I wouldn’t know how to please you and you might get angry.”
“You seemed relieved when I assured you I did not want your virginity.”
“I was. I mean, I am.” Since he wasn’t looking her way, she quickly lathered the rest of her body, her belly, her legs and the place in between.
“Yet your arousal grew into lust during the spanking.” Funny how he asked that question when her fingers were between her thighs. She glanced up, seeing he was still focused on something outside.
This perplexed her very much and she didn’t know how to explain it. She certainly didn’t want to tell him about the images that flashed through her mind when he spanked her or that the more she tried to will them away, the more vivid they became.
“I tried to make my body stop. That only seemed to make it worse. I’m very ashamed.” Her voice broke on the word and he turned at the sound. She froze with his gaze upon her. “I’ve never felt that way before, but I won’t let it happen again.”
“Did you touch yourself when you thought of your spanking, or of us together?”
“No, sir!” she gasped, appalled he would think that she would. “Besides, you told me not to.”
“So I did,” he rasped, his gaze unwavering. He then strode to the tub and retrieved the bath sheet. Holding it up, he charged, “Come out of the water, now.”
She rose with a splash and as the water rolled off her body, she stepped out and was enfolded in the soft linen.
“If you couldn’t control your actions despite your efforts, how can you make a promise to me that it won’t occur again?”
Hearing his gruff tone, she glanced up, met his intense gaze, and shook her head, answering in a whisper, “I don’t know.”
Flushing, she pulled the now wet bath sheet more snugly around her body. It clung to her damp skin, providing only a thin barrier between her body and his discerning gaze, but she was covered. She shifted restlessly, flustered by his presence and not having an answer to his question.
His gaze didn’t waver. As much as she wanted to look away, she couldn’t and the heat on her face flamed all the more.
“Turn around and bare your bottom. I want to inspect it for any bruising or welts.”
Emilia flinched in surprise. “It’s fine, sir.”
“Turn,” he repeated.
She didn’t want to. Her sex clenched as the image of his hand on her bare skin floated through her mind. But she obeyed nonetheless, facing away and lifting the cloth, and praying her telltale nether parts wouldn’t give her away again. Pulling up the stool, he sat once more, bringing him close enough for the warmth of his breath to brush her damp skin.
“Bend and grip the edge of the tub, so that I may see,” he ordered further.
She did, knowing his eyes were touching her intimately. Her heart thumped wildly in her ears, a secret part of her wishing for his touch, a soft caress over her hips, or between her thighs as before. No, no, no! Why did she react this way around him when she knew he didn’t want her?
She was thankful when he stood up, telling her she could cover herself once more.
“You are pink, but that could be from the warm water. Otherwise, you have no bruises or welts, which wasn’t my intent. I thought the bath would help any lingering tenderness. Have you any?”
“No, sir,” she replied, barely above a whisper. And when he said, “good,” and made as though to leave, she said, “Please, say you forgive me.”
“There is nothing to forgive, little one. We’ll put this behind us and move forward, remembering the roles we discussed. I’ll care for you as family, mine to guard and protect until this nasty piece of business is over and you are safely at home. This I vow.”
He squeezed her shoulder in an obvious gesture of reassurance, before he moved to the door and was gone. She stared at the closed door for a long time. The warmth of his touch lingering as though he’d left an imprint, like a brand on her skin.
Family. That’s how he thought of her, like a sister she presumed. The notion sent humiliation rippling through her because what she felt for Corbet was very unsisterly. She wanted more from him: more smiles, more glowing glances, and more of his touch. She thought he might kiss her once, as he’d leaned near, his lips so close. And had wished when he’d brushed out her hair in such a caring way, that he’d sweep it aside and place a kiss on her shoulder, or the nape of her neck.
Her hands clenched tight around the damp linen. Why couldn’t she control these thoughts? He’d explained the reason she was to play his decoy slave, and Muriel’s tale from last night reinforced that he did not want another wife… ever! So why now, for the first time in her life, did she have to become so hopelessly enamored with a man? This man, a man who would never want her.
* * *
As he strode out of her room, he barely kept from slamming the door to release some frustration. He couldn’t dispel the image of her bent over the tub, her perfect cheeks pink and tempting. He’d controlled his desire, just barely, wanting nothing more than to strip down his pants and drive into her warm, fragrant body, and ride her until both of them were spent of their desires.
What had he been thinking to go in there this morning, wanting her as he had? Had he really thought he could subdue his want of her so easily? It had been a mistake to see her alone, but he couldn’t subject her to the presence of others when discussing such intimate matters. What’s more, she’d received a punishment by his hand and it was his responsibility to make sure she wasn’t suffering unduly.
With a low growl, he rushed down the stairs and into the kitchen, grabbing an end of bread and a slice of ham from the table with the intention of throwing himself into work. Alice’s greeting reminded him he had another piece of unpleasantness to deal with before he could.
“Alice,” Corbet began, taking a deep breath, before crossing to a stool near the iron cook stove, broaching the subject right off. “What has you so ruffled about the girl?”
“Forgive me for saying, sir, but many things have me concerned.” Keeping her eye to her work, Alice spoke as she sliced strips of bacon.
“Take them one at a time so I can allay your fears.”
“I worry at her influence on Muriel; she is young and very impressionable at this age.”
“They are the same age. Besides, I’m certain she comes from a decent family, she has good morals and values. She is respectful and educated. She can read, Alice. If anything, Emilia is a good influence.”
Alice’s deep brown eyes rose slowly to meet his. “She will fill Muriel’s head full of dreams of far-off places, and life outside of Lancore. After giving her hope of something better, she will be gone, leaving Muriel heartbroken in her absence, and wondering what more could be in store for her on the outside.”
“Heartache and loss are a part of life, you and I both know that all too well. And I’ve known you long enough to know when you are keeping something from me. What else is bothering you about the girl that you aren’t telling me?” Corbet raised an eyebrow at her, crossing his arms over his chest.
Alice stared at him hard for a moment, and then looked away. “I worry for you, sir. Many of the townsfolk admire you. The good ones believe in you and are inspired by the way you stand firm against Lancore’s unjust immoral laws and traditions. What will they think when you parade your pretty pleasure slave before them? Will they not see your new purchase as direct support of Ervin Ives and the king’s oppression?” She wiped her hands on a rag and crossed the kitchen to get the eggs.
“Since when do I care about others’ opinions and idle talk? What did people think of me when I took you and Muriel in after Ervin threw you out, leaving you to fend for yourselves with no means to do so? Were they not chiding me for having picked up Lord Ervin’s refuse?”
Corbet remembered the rumors and how much they had hurt A
lice. The townsfolk constantly pestered her, wanting to know what terrible and licentious things took place inside the manor walls. He told her never to tell any of them no matter how trusting they may seem and she had not. Out of spite, they made up their own stories about how Lord Ervin treated his little whore and her bastard child, creating outlandishly twisted tales about grotesque and immoral acts. Stories that had Alice grabbing Muriel and running out of the cloth merchant’s shop in tears only last fall. She had refused to accompany Corbet into town after that, content to remain safely at home, keeping to themselves and their duties.
Eggs in hand, she paused, a shadow crossing her face, her eyes distant. “I remember well the horrible things they said, some in whispers, others cruelly to my face. Their harsh words were about me, a slave, not the generous man who took in Lord Ervin’s throwaways, or the hero who stood up for what’s right in a challenge for the woman he loved. They respect you, Master Corbet, and I don’t want that to change. I am little more than rubbish after what he did to me. The truth hurts, but I can take it.”
Cracking the eggs with efficiency, she picked up the bowl and began to whip them as she crossed to the stove. She averted her gaze, staring at the floor as she drew near to him. He didn’t miss the tears pooling in her eyes.
“I regret my unfortunate choice of words, Alice. I know how sensitive you are to those memories.” Moving to her side, he placed a hand on her shoulder. When he did, she broke down into sobs. Corbet didn’t know how to react; rarely had he seen the strong woman cry.
“I’m sorry,” she sniffled, putting the eggs down to wipe her face on her apron. “I’ve always thought that if you ever…” she paused, steadying herself with a deep inhalation before continuing, “…that if you ever changed your mind and thought you could love again, it would be Muriel.”
“You know I love you both dearly, but it could never be that kind of love. You and Muriel are my family. And for that matter, I have not changed my mind. That part of my heart will always belong to Sara.” A pang of guilt jabbed at his stomach because that was not entirely true. Not since a red-haired, green-eyed siren came into his life and called easily to his baser instincts. He kept telling himself any man would have gotten aroused by the sight of her supple round curves as she writhed over his desk or bent over the tub. But what he experienced with Emilia last night and this morning went beyond lust. Emotions he hadn’t felt in years had resurfaced and that was what bothered him the most.
“The girl is already smitten with you, sir. Hero worship it may be, but she watches for you out her window, follows you with her eyes when you are near, and has been asking Muriel questions. Surely you can see it as plainly as I.” She wiped a tear from her cheek as she went to check the bread in the oven.
“I am aware she’s taken a fancy to me, but I think I’ve made it clear that I do not have the same interest. I would like you to display a bit more kindness to her. I see no reason for her to be made uncomfortable while she is here.”
Shutting the oven door short of a bang, she stood with her back to him.
“Alice, she is a victim in this, as surely as you and Muriel were when Ervin enslaved you. Where is your charity?”
She hung her head and it was then he knew he had gotten through.
“You are correct and I am heartily sorry. I will be more welcoming.”
“Thank you.” Glad this had gone better than his meeting with Emilia, he rose to take his leave.
“What will you tell the townsfolk when she’s gone?” she asked.
“You are like a mother hen who worries too much. I will tell them I sold her while on my last trip.”
Before Alice could say anything else, Charles came into the kitchen claiming to be as hungry as a team of horses. Corbet took that as his cue to go, knowing the two would be at it for a bit, Alice fussing while Charles teased. As if it had been scripted, he heard Alice grumbling over how the man had brought in mud, creating extra chores for her even as she readied him a heaping plate of his favorites as she did every morning. He grinned, his first since last night, knowing Charles would have methodically cleaned his boots of the slightest speck of dirt before entering her realm. Always, it was their way.
He wished fervently that they would simply admit they had feelings for one another and get on with it. His smile faded, as he knew he wasn’t willing to consider that his and Emilia’s situation were similar.
As he entered the stable and called for his mount—more aptly, he barked for it, which was out of character and drew questioning stares from his grooms—Corbet knew without a doubt this was going to be the longest and most painful few months of his life.
Chapter Eight
After Corbet left her, Emilia dressed, but lingered in her room, long after two men had returned to haul out the tub. Having no appetite, she hadn’t gone down for breakfast. Neither did anyone summon her. For that she was eternally grateful. Now, that her mind and body had calmed after another intensely emotional meeting with the master of the house, she walked to the window and stared out.
The sun was near its zenith in a clear blue sky. All remnants of the storm gone. He had mentioned last night that she could leave the house as long as she stayed close. That was before her shameful behavior, however. Still, having been cooped up for four days now, she decided to act on the permission he’d given and venture out.
Avoiding the kitchen, she found her way through the maze of first floor hallways, located the wide double front doors, and exited onto a wide porch. As she did, a young man about her age stood up from where he had been resting against the stone front of the house. When she moved down the steps, he followed, continuing to do so as she took a few steps into the grassy yard. She whirled to find him directly behind her.
“Are you following me?” she challenged.
He stared at her, clearly bewildered. “No, miss.” He gestured to the right. “I was but waiting for my ride.”
Glancing to where he had pointed, she saw a wagon making a wide turn around the corner of the house and heading their way.
“I beg your pardon,” she murmured as heat stole into her cheeks. She then rushed forward, moving quickly to the line of trees on the far side of the large yard. Once she stood in the shade of the tall pines, she looked back and saw that the young man and the wagon had moved on.
She scanned the rest of the yard. Men were going about their day, the same as they had when she’d watched out her window. Corbet hadn’t set a guard to watch her as she first thought. He’d asked for her word and likely expected her to keep it. So why did him taking her so easily at her word sting? She was a slave, and a new one at that. Although he’d warned her not to, escape would be a natural inclination. Disappointment filled her. Would having someone shadowing her every step make her feel that he valued her? Or maybe after last night, he no longer cared if she ran away.
Thinking the lack of sleep and skipping meals was surely affecting her good sense, she took a deep breath to clear her head. The fresh scent of pine reminded her she was outside and free to wander. She looked back at the house. Made of brick with a stone façade, it was much larger than she’d expected with two large wings flanking a tall center tower complete with a crenelated parapet. Clearly the structure dated back many years; still it was beautiful and she expected that all of Lancore could be seen from the high atop the tower.
Turning full circle, she took it all in, from the steep hill to the left to the stables and several other small out-buildings on the right, and the thick woods where she stood. As she looked at the dense copse of trees, she noticed a narrow path, some few yards away, the brown broken pine needles and flattened grass telling her it was well traveled. Curious, she followed it.
She walked for a few minutes along the winding path, enjoying the coolness from the abundant shade on a warm summer morning. Her steps slowed when she heard muffled sounds up ahead through the trees; as she drew closer, she could make out shouts and what she though was the clatter of swords. She hurried f
orward, listening to the distinctive sounds of battle through the trees.
Could it be her father had arrived? Was he fighting with Corbet even now? She didn’t want that. Alarmed, she broke into a run, needing to see what was happening.
A short distance down the trail it curved sharply and after passing through a section of sparser trees, she emerged into a clearing. Skidding to a halt, she stared at the scene. Several pairs of combatants, some in chainmail shirts or armored chest plates, others surprisingly stripped down to only their braes and boots, were fighting with swords or shooting arrows with their long bows at targets off to the side. Targets! Emilia blew out her pent-up breath when she realized she had stumbled upon a training field. As she watched, it became clearer that the men were not enemies. Although some grunted from their exertions, or cursed at a jarring blow, most laughed and good-naturedly taunted their opponent.
Her eyes were drawn to a tall, dark-haired man sparring in the center of the field. His broad bare back was to her, the defined muscles bunching and rippling as he moved. Likely, he’d stripped off his mail in deference to the heat, but that left him unprotected from the sharp steel of his partner’s long sword. She looked on with concern until he cried, “Oh-ho,” as a savage blow stripped the other man’s weapon from his hands and sent it flying through the air to land point first in the earth a few yards away.
“You dropped your guard, Simon.”
“And you continue to best me every day,” the other man grumbled. “Frankly, it’s getting old. Maybe Roland would be better suited to spar with you.” Compared to his half-dressed counterpart, he wore a full shirt as well as a chest plate, was smaller, and looked much younger than the tall knight.
“Nonsense, you only need to develop a keener eye and continue to practice. Get your sword and we’ll go again.”
“You sent it sailing somewhere behind you,” the disgruntled man replied.
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