“Emilia? Are you listening?”
She jerked in surprise, her head snapping up as her face flooded with heat to have been caught gawking at his chest while her mind swirled with inappropriate thoughts.
“Yes, master.”
“Then where should your eyes be right now, slave?”
“In my lap, master. I’m sorry.” She obediently lowered her head, focusing on the white lace trim at the end of her sleeves.
“I cannot stress how important it is that you play the role of my slave convincingly. If you are caught acting out of character, I fear some may think I am too lenient with you and ask that you be chastised publicly.”
She shivered, appalled at the thought of such a thing. “Does that happen?”
“It can, particularly if I am deemed weak or unable to control you. You can also be removed from my household if the charges are proven true.”
“I will strive to be humble and meek,” she vowed, not lifting her gaze from her hands that twisted nervously in her lap.
“Good girl. We will be there soon. Remember, no looking around as we pull into town, and most important, do not get separated from me. You should start now; the streets are filling up.”
At once, Emilia did as instructed, keeping her head down. Corbet slowed the horses and rounded the corner onto the crowded main street that ran the length of the busy town. Their first stop was a stable at the edge of town. He helped her down from the wagon and then told the attendant to water his team; he would be back for them in a few hours.
From there she followed him silently as they set off on foot into the heart of the town where the merchants’ shops were located and peddlers in carts sold their wares. To her surprise, Corbet did not seem interested in buying from the shopkeepers, but rather he’d come to settle debts and take new orders for the trip he had planned at the end of the summer. Once business was out of the way, they would ask him questions or make comments about his pretty new slave. Nearly all of them wanted to know if she was pleasing in bed and how often she’d had to be punished. Some congratulated him on gaining her submission so quickly, slapping him on the back for obtaining such a prize. One of his associates was rather lewd and arrogant, running off at the mouth like a babbling brook, asking Corbet a string of questions like he’d had them brewing inside him for days.
“Did she scream when you plowed her belly the first time? What’s that red mane of hers feel like in your fists? How well does she take to the whip? You have whipped her, haven’t you? Does her fair skin still bear the marks? I would love to see them.” His reedy thin voice squeaked with excitement. With her gaze glued to the floor, she could only see part of the man’s body. In contrast to the way he sounded, his arms were thick and meaty, and his belly was large. She wanted desperately to glare at him and show him her disdain, shouting that Corbet—no, her master—wasn’t like that, being kind and gentle instead. She was on the verge of doing just that when he put the man in his place.
“I suggest if you are so enamored of the behavior of a slave, Reinhold,” he articulated in a hard, biting tone, “that you buy one of your own. This one is mine and none of your business. Further, don’t hold your breath waiting for me to display my slave’s beauty to the likes of you or anyone else. She is my property, purchased for my enjoyment alone, is that clear?”
Obviously it was, for the rude man hadn’t uttered another word.
At the next stop, they encountered a boisterous and jovial woman who couldn’t compliment him enough for his slave’s demure looks and fiery red hair. “Take the midday meal with us, Corbet. Albert will be back by then and would love to have a look at her. He didn’t think you’d ever break down and take another woman into your life, much less a pleasure slave. What do you say?” The large jolly woman came from behind her counter and moved toward Emilia, trying to better see her face. “Look at me, won’t you, dear?”
She didn’t; instead, keeping her head down, she angled her chin slightly to peek up at Corbet through her lashes, waiting for his permission.
“You may oblige, pet. This is Louella, a dear old family friend.”
The woman had her hands clasped, and Emilia could tell she was at least her mother’s age or older. The worn leathery skin, brittle nails, and bony fingers suggested she was used to hard work. Her rosy cheeks were bursting with color as Emilia glanced up and forced a polite smile. Louella’s answering grin, more warm and welcoming than her own, reminded her of her grandmother and put her at ease almost instantly.
“Oh, she has such beautiful eyes and her fair skin is like alabaster. She would be stunning in royal purple.” The woman, quite obviously a seamstress with various-sized needles pinned to the thick straps of her apron, her pockets stuffed with scraps of different colored cloths, and a tape measure hung from her neck, had twinkling gray gaze that had locked on Corbet. “You must allow me to make her a gown. I can take her measurements after we eat.”
“I would be honored for you to sew for her, but it will have to wait for another time, as will the midday meal. I have plans to meet Drake at the lodge for a glass of wine and an early supper before we leave.” The woman’s rosy smile dimmed at his words. Recognizing her disappointment, he leaned forward and give her a brief hug. “Another time, I promise. Do you have your list ready? I have a few more stops to make.”
“Of course, dear.” She dug into one of her pockets, eventually producing a small scrap of parchment with black writing scrawled on it.
He took it and departed with Emilia following close behind. She liked the old woman and was pleased that Corbet had introduced her. As a slave, she hadn’t expected to be given that privilege.
As he made his rounds, it appeared that Corbet was well received and respected by most of the people, or at least most of those he did business with. While they were outside the shops, she could hear some murmuring about them as they passed.
“She is nothing more than his pretty whore,” someone commented rudely, at a volume that carried quite well. “He’ll tire of her soon, I bet.”
Another said in a scathing reply, “I never thought I would see the day Corbet Mills took a slave to slake his needs.”
Yet another joined in on the criticism. “Ha! And he claims not to support the king’s tyranny. I hear he paid three thousand in silver for her.”
Surprisingly, some had more pleasant things to say, complimenting her hair, her figure, or her lovely dress.
Corbet had no response to their comments, if he heard, which he must have because none had been whispered; he simply ignored them as he carried on, moving at his usual brisk pace. Emilia had to take two steps to his one to keep up with his long-legged stride. It was a challenge, as was weaving through a crowd of people without looking up, seeing only parts of them from the waist down.
The next place they entered did not seem to be a shop, rather a private cottage. A man, casually dressed in an unbelted shirt and dark hose, opened the door and called out a friendly greeting. “Corbet, my boy, come in, come in.”
“You will await me here, pet,” he directed as they entered. He pointed to a cushion on the floor inside the door.
She contained a frown as she obeyed, lowering herself for the first time since he had instructed her at home. Lifting the hem of her dress, she sank slowly to her knees, sitting back on her heels while arranging the material of her dress neatly before placing her hands in her lap and bowing her head demurely.
“Very nice. You will not speak to anyone and not move until I return for you. I have a private matter to discuss and will be back shortly. Do you understand?”
“Yes, master,” she answered clearly, but quietly.
“Such trust in so little time, I am impressed,” the man murmured in surprise. “What makes you certain she will not slip out the door the moment we leave the room?”
“She won’t,” Corbet said firmly.
“Her submissive pose and obedient manner are convincing; we shall see, hmm? Tell me, how did you tame her so quic
kly?”
“That I will disclose later, perhaps. Shall we go?”
With that the two men took their leave and Emilia was alone. She couldn’t resist the temptation of lifting her head for a quick look around. A huge painting above the hearth immediately caught her eye; the subject was a short, stout, round-cheeked bald man who was staring off in the distance with an overly serious expression. It was the pose of a king, except he didn’t appear at all royal. His attire was elaborate, though old-fashioned and of fine quality, in green and black, with an elaborate gold pin holding back a long cape at each shoulder. Oddly, he had a bow slung over his shoulder and a shield baring what she presumed was his crest resting near his feet. His knee was propped up on a stone and he wore pointed shoes. She suppressed a giggle at the very peculiar picture.
The rest of the austerely furnished room left her to wonder what business Corbet had with such a man. The small table with only one chair suggested that he lived alone. On the other hand, the small room was neat and clean, and in the hearth above the fire was a black cooking pot sitting atop raised iron grates. The mouth-watering aroma emanating from it made her think of a rich meaty stew. Either the man was self-sufficient or he had a woman. Abruptly, she frowned, thinking perhaps he owned a slave.
Her belly rumbled loudly, bringing her back to the wonderful smell and her empty stomach, both making her wish she had eaten more at breakfast. She remembered Corbet saying he would be eating with Drake. She wondered if slaves ate with their masters in public. Probably not, since he had not discussed it with her on the way.
Emilia lowered her head quickly when she heard Corbet’s voice growing near. When they walked into the room a moment later, he was thanking the man and telling him he would visit again the following week. From the corner of her eye, she saw them glance her way, finding her in the same position as when they left. Corbet smiled faintly, nodding with approval.
“You’re sure I can’t get a better peek at her? You have my word I will keep my hands to myself.”
“Perhaps in time, old friend. You know I am rather possessive in that regard,” he answered.
“Then there is hope,” the man chuckled.
“You may get up now, pet.” Corbet said as he strode to where she knelt by the door.
Emilia obeyed, being careful to make her movements as graceful as possible while resisting the temptation to peep up at the man’s face. She had presumed the man in the painting was the same man, but was curious to know for sure.
“Be well, friend.”
“And you,” Corbet replied. He opened the door and light flooded into the entryway, which was her cue to focus on his heels as they left.
At the lodge, she was once more instructed to kneel, this time without benefit of a cushion on the hard floor next to Corbet’s chair while he visited with Drake, the spice merchant, who would send word to her mother. Their table sat in the back near what she assumed to be the rear exit. As she knelt, she caught a quick glimpse of the other man; similar in size to Corbet, with clean, glossy black hair that he wore pulled back from his face. He was handsome, classically so, with dark brows, a straight nose, and a thin mustache. He was almost pretty with his perfect features, unlike Corbet, who was striking in a rugged sense, which she preferred. His white shirt buttoned up to his neck, covered by a dark gray overcoat with white cuffs. Refined, she thought, probably not from around here.
“Quite a prize you have there. It is rare to find a dove at auction and one so beautiful,” Drake remarked, as she shifted uncomfortably, trying to settle herself.
“I was fortunate, indeed.”
She smiled inwardly at Corbet’s prideful tone. A moment later, his hand settled on the top of her head and he began softly stroking her hair. Many times today he had called her pet and a few times slave. She was starting to feel exactly that way, like an obedient pet, following at his heels, keeping her eyes on him alone, and minding his every command. It really wasn’t so bad, especially if it meant she could go home soon. She reminded herself it was to her benefit that he’d been at that auction at all. If not for him…
A brief shudder ran through her every time she pictured the ogre-like Glom. If given the choice, yes, she would gladly be Corbet’s pet.
Drake leaned over the table, speaking in an undertone that Emilia couldn’t understand with all the noise in the crowded room, mostly from men having a hearty time with their ale. She picked out the high tenor of a woman’s voice, but it was more distant. She cocked her head slightly in the direction it was coming from. It was difficult to place until it repeated, this time more clearly. The woman was moaning. Angling her head a bit more, she peeked down the short hallway at the thick wooden door that led outside. It was wide open, giving her a perfect view of what was going on behind the lodge.
Her pulse quickened at the sight. A woman stood bent over a horse railing with her legs and bare bottom on display, the rest of her covered by the wispy layers of her dress. A burly man stood behind her, mostly covered by his dark cloak as he thrust into her with vigorous enthusiasm. He’d done no more than open his pants, yet she could clearly see his rod pumping into her over and over. She knew she should look away, but couldn’t, transfixed as she was by the carnal scene.
His arm reached forward and his long fingers speared into the woman’s long raven locks. He pulled her head back, eliciting a long throaty moan from her lips. It was then that he paused, pulled out, and adjusted his angle higher. He slowly pushed into her, making the woman squeal. It took a moment for Emilia to realize that he was pumping into her bottom hole instead of her woman’s channel. Although faint, she could hear the man’s grunts as he began thrusting into her with careless abandon. The woman’s cries became louder as he jerked her back harshly before clamping a hand over her mouth, his hips thrusting determinedly. Strangely, she found the rough way in which he was taking her very exciting.
His hand slipped around her throat as he pulled her up until her back lay against his chest. He clamped both hands onto her bouncing breasts, bared above the lowered edge of her bodice. A few more hard thrusts later, he stiffened, burying his head in her hair as their cries of pleasure filled the air and rolled through the open door, rising faintly above the din of the tavern.
Emilia’s heart was pounding; she felt shamefully aroused by what she had seen. She was on the verge of looking away when the woman moved, dropping to her knees, and to her utter amazement, took his cock into her mouth. A shocked rush of air left her before she could stop it. Immediately, she shifted her focus to her lap, hoping Corbet hadn’t noticed. If he had, he didn’t let on.
A few moments later, food and drink arrived for the men. It smelled wonderful and her belly instantly growled, her hunger now twofold. Burning with curiosity, she wanted to peer out the back door and see if the woman was still there, on her knees, her mouth filled with the cock that had only moments before been deep inside her—but she refrained. Having gotten away with peeking once, twice would get her caught for sure. Lancore was surely wicked. She’d never heard of a woman sucking a man like that or taking his rod up her—
“Look at me, pet.”
She lifted her head, noticing the small piece of meat Corbet held between his fingers.
“Open,” he bade her when their eyes met.
Emilia obeyed, thankful for the morsel he placed on her tongue. The men were quiet while they ate and every few bites, he would give her something from his plate. Sometimes more meat, other times small bits of vegetables or bread. His hand came to her lips, this time with a small cup of red wine. She sipped from it slowly, not wanting any to dribble down her chin. She thought her hand-fed meal was over until he offered another piece of meat. This time when she took it, she closed her lips around his fingers, licking the tips before he could pull them from her mouth.
A grunt came from him and his brown eyes flashed with… something. She wasn’t sure what, but that definitely ended the meal because he didn’t offer another bite or drink after that.
When the meal was done, Corbet’s voice seemed to have a tightness that wasn’t there before as he talked with Drake. They didn’t stay long after the meal before saying goodbye. She hoped it wasn’t because of what she had done.
Judging by the shadows the buildings cast as they crossed the road, Emilia thought it must be late afternoon and wondered where they were going next. Out of nowhere a commotion erupted up ahead accompanied by shouts of alarm and the high-pitched squeals of panicked horses. As she glanced up, a team and an unattended cart piled high with wooden crates was bearing down on her full speed. The cart swayed with the unbalanced load and before she knew it crates were toppling toward her. Corbet reached for her hand at the same time she whirled to run; unfortunately it was in the opposite direction, and they became separated. Everyone around them scattered in fear, dodging the panicked horses and flying crates.
As soon as she was out of danger, she searched frantically for Corbet but couldn’t find him. The upheaval had everyone flooding from the nearby shops and homes to see what had happened. She remembered what he told her about unattached slaves. Fear struck in her belly, as panic rose in her chest. Anyone was allowed to apprehend her and often expected a considerable reward for returning a misplaced slave. Some, he had warned, cared not for respect or reward and would see fit to castigate the wayward slave themselves before they were brought back to their master. He had stressed many times to stay close, not willing to take the smallest chance that she would become separated from him.
Innocence Enslaved Page 13