by Zaide Bishop
“I’m afraid I cannot,” Rakin said, sounding amused. “The countess just hurried past me in such a state. And now I find you so far from your station. I wonder what I should make of that?”
“Nothing,” Kell said firmly. “She asked that I escort her down the corridor.”
“And you did, it seems. Until you had her all alone, then what? What offence did you offer such a well-bred lady, I wonder? I daresay her husband will stuff and mount the cock of any man who causes his treasure harm.”
He bristled, feeling his cheeks burning with shame and rage. “What are you accusing me of? I would never hurt a lady. Or a countess. Or any other woman beside.”
Rakin smirked. “So why was the countess so upset?”
“A misunderstanding,” he said stiffly. “And I will say no more. Perhaps you should focus your concern for the virtue of women on your own companion.”
“I don’t have one.” Lord Rakin’s tone turned sly. “But I have noticed a young serving girl with strawberry hair—perhaps you know her? Elizabeth? Edna?”
“Eliza.” Kell said it through gritted teeth. He could feel his pulse throbbing in his temple.
“Eliza,” Lord Rakin said. “A blushing winter rose. And quite the personality…”
“She’s promised to another,” he blurted, but then he wished he hadn’t lied. This rich cock of a lord could ask just about anyone, including Eliza herself, and get the truth of the matter.
“Is she? Do I know the lucky beau?” the lord asked.
Kell squared his shoulders. “You’re talking to him.”
Rakin gave a derisive snort of amusement. “A promise is a flimsy creature and your Eliza wears no ring. I wouldn’t go about calling her yours just yet.”
He chewed his lip, tasting blood. He wanted to punch Lord Rakin in his stupid wolf mask. He wanted to threaten him and tell him if he laid a finger on Eliza, he would personally make a eunuch of him.
But guards did not threaten rich lords. Not if they wanted to keep their jobs and ensure their families were safe. Lord Rakin could do much worse than take Eliza. Kell had his sisters and his mother and his family’s land to worry about.
Besides, there were other, more practical ways of keeping Eliza safe. He could watch her and make sure she never went off anywhere alone. As long as either Eliza or Lord Rakin were in the great hall, Rakin could not do anything to her.
“As you say.” Kell tried to sound calm. “If you will excuse me, my lord. I am expected. I would not have Lord Kempsly notice my absence.”
“He might. However, it isn’t only your master you should worry about pleasing tonight. Some other lord might take it on himself to teach you a fundamental lesson on humility.”
“I don’t think I’ll be forgetting who my superiors are anytime soon.”
He walked stiffly past the lord and Rakin let him pass this time. Kell breathed a sigh of relief when he stepped back into the warm, well-lit hall. He scanned the room quickly for Eliza and saw her speaking with Ylinda as they passed out drinks and sweets. Safe and sound.
“Kell.” Lord Kempsly appeared at his elbow.
“My lord.” He flushed again. “I was just—”
Lord Kempsly made a dismissive gesture. “Of course. Listen, I have an important task for you.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Lord Kempsly threaded his way between the guests and Kell followed obediently. When they were well away from listening ears, the lord turned to face him again.
“Tonight’s entertainment is the jewel in the crown of these festivities. I would like your assistance in the event, but I must be sure I have your cooperation. I know your family is in need right now, so I want to reassure you there is fair reward in this. Tomorrow I will send my own doctor to your house to see to your sister, but you must not balk or question me tonight. Agreed?”
He nodded, feeling faintly nervous. “Of course, Lord Kempsly.”
“Good. Shortly I will ask you to fetch one of the girls and bring her to the hall. I won’t take any excuses for her absence.”
“Are you asking me to do this for my sister’s sake?”
“I’m asking you to do this because a guest requested it.”
He nodded again, feeling much less sure this time. “Which girl would you like me to bring?”
“I am giving the honour of selecting to one of the other guests.”
His stomach turned to stone. “Lord Rakin.”
Lord Kempsly looked surprised. “How did you guess?”
“I’m good at guessing games. May I be excused?”
The lord nodded. “Don’t go far.”
Kell slipped away, gut churning. He had no doubt who Lord Rakin was going to choose. That bastard had already made his decision before he’d come to find Kell in the corridor. The lord had just wanted to taunt him. A lesson in humility, indeed.
What were they going to do to Eliza? A sacrifice of blood… Oh Gods, he could guess exactly what they were going to do to her. What Rakin was going to do to her, take from her. The bile rose in his throat.
And Lord Kempsly had asked him to drag her in to meet her fate. His sick sister, his family, Eliza; how was he supposed to choose? He’d told Lord Rakin he wouldn’t hurt a woman and it was true. His mother and sisters adored Eliza. They would never want to see her hurt.
“Forgive me, little sister,” he whispered. “I’ll find another way to get help for you. I promise.”
* * *
The night swirled, a mosaic of lights and music, food and costumes. By the turn of the witching hour, most of the guests were drunk. The dancing had become wilder and Eliza had seen more than a few couples slinking away into the corridors together to find privacy.
Eliza, Ylinda and the other serving girls were kept busy carrying drinks and trays of sugary treats. But she could still sense Lord Rakin’s eyes on her as she wove through the guests, gathering the old glasses and offering them fresh ones.
Her feet ached by the time Lady Kempsly strode to the centre of the room with a small silver bell and tinkled it to gather the crowd’s attention.
“It is time for the doors to be closed, for everyone to gather and for the final event to begin.”
Eliza spotted Amberlyn motioning for all the serving girls to make their way to the kitchens. It would have been exciting to stay and watch but they would hear about it tomorrow and besides, sitting down would be a relief. Let the lords and ladies have their sacrifice. Eliza wanted a foot rub.
Ylinda fell into step beside her as they carried their half-empty trays into the kitchen to put them aside.
“I heard that they’re going to sacrifice a maidenhead to Halen, the God of the Woods.”
Eliza stared at her, then shook her head, disbelieving. “How could they do that in front of a room full of people?”
“They’re going to,” Ylinda promised. “They’re dragging a chair into the middle of the room for the act. They’re fetching the girl now.”
“The middle of the room?” It sounded too perverse to be believed. “In front of everyone? Don’t be daft.”
She gathered an armful of dirty plates. “You’ll see.”
As Ylinda washed up, Eliza gathered a bucket of food scraps, taking them out into the frigid chill of the cobblestoned rear yard to tip the uneaten delicacies into the pig slops. The sky was a deep smoke-grey and in the light from the kitchens she could see the yard was dusted white with frost. All the animals were sleeping—burrowed in straw beds or tucked up in the rafters of the barn. In the stillness of the night air, she could hear one of the pigs snoring and a restless mare shifting in her stall.
“Eliza.”
She turned at the sound of her name and saw Kell trotting down the back steps to follow her footprints across the frozen yard. The night dulled his fine red uniform to the colour
of blood pudding.
She stopped to wait for him and wordlessly he took the bucket from her and tipped the slops into the trough himself. He put the bucket aside.
“What is it?” she asked.
He looked concerned, not quite willing to meet her gaze. “They sent me to find you.”
“Who?”
“Lord Kempsly. Lord Rakin.”
She felt her stomach do a slow, sickening roll. “Why?”
He shook his head. “They want to make you the sacrifice, Eliza. They ordered you to come. I’m to drag you, if you refuse.”
He looked miserable and bitter, staring at his boots.
“Would you do that?” She stepped closer to him.
He glanced at her, studying her a moment, then he looked across the fields behind the keep. “No. You need to run home to your father. It’s only two miles. But when you do they won’t let you come back.”
“What about you?”
“I’ll say you kicked me and ran.”
“They’ll sack you anyway.”
He looked even more miserable and shrugged again. “That’s all right.”
Wages were not easy to come by, and without a reference both of them would struggle to find more work. A lost job could send a family to the poorhouse. Or to their graves.
“You need to help your mother feed your sisters.”
He nodded, glancing at her again, then away. “Yes. But I won’t drag you in there against your will.”
She chewed her lip, watching his dark eyes and the smooth, firm lines of his jaw. She slipped her hand into his. “I’ll come.”
He was surprised. “Are you sure?”
“We don’t know exactly what we’re both losing our jobs for yet. Lord Kempsly’s never flogged anyone unless they really deserved it. I don’t see him turning cruel now. Whatever it is, there can be worse fates for people like us.”
Kell’s jaw worked and he looked like he wanted to say more, but instead he led her into the house in silence.
He avoided the other staff, leading her through quieter back corridors, taking her the long way around to the hall. Emerlin was stationed at the door and opened it as they approached, but he was the only keep guard there and when he let them through the doorway, she heard the door lock in their wake. Kell and she were the only keep staff in the room. All the guests had their masks on now and had becomea sea of inhuman, expressionless faces, all done up in their finery and jewels.
It was as Ylinda had said. A big oak chair had been dragged into the centre of the room under the big chandelier. The guests were arranged in a half-moon around it—some sitting, some standing, all waiting for the show to begin.
Lord Kempsly and Lady Kempsly were near the chair, speaking quietly with Lord Rakin. They broke off when they spotted her.
“Come here, Eliza,” Lord Kempsly said from behind his owl mask.
When she didn’t move, Kell led her forward, through the crowd, to present her to their lord. Lord Kempsly looked her up and down. She couldn’t meet his gaze, so instead her eyes dropped to the stain on Lady Kempsly’s skirt—the mixture of her and her husband’s juices—deposited there by his cock only a few hours earlier.
“You do as you’re told, Eliza,” Lord Kempsly said quietly. “And only pleasure will come to you. You have my word.”
Lord Rakin stepped forward, body language eager, and her breath caught in her throat.
“This is the one I have chosen,” he told the watching, silent crowd. “The virgin who will sacrifice her maidenhead tonight to the God of the Woods. This beautiful, fragile creature will bare her soul and her body for our good fortune in the harshness of the season and protect us from the wrath of Ulbouroth, the Demon of Winter.”
He touched her cheek, drawing his fingertips down to her chin and forcing her to look up into his wolf mask. His skin was soft—as soft as a woman’s. Softer, even, than her own. His fingertips trailed down her neck, to the collar of her dress. He undid the first button of her blouse.
She tried to take a step back, away from him, but found her back against Kell’s chest. He was still holding her arm, his touch feather-light, but when she tensed, so did he.
Lord Rakin gave Kell a hard look. “Keep her still. It’s bad luck if the sacrifice resists.”
You shouldn’t have picked me, then. But she said nothing. Kell gripped her upper arms—not roughly, but firm. His skin was not soft. Even through her sleeves, Eliza could feel the calluses on his fingers. The skin of an honest man who did an honest day’s work.
Lord Rakin reached for her buttons again. He undid the first, the second, the third. He pulled the collar wide to reveal the shift below—then stepped back a little to show the crowd. Through their masks, she could see their hungry eyes. Men and women alike, they watched in silent rapture. Their eyes were like little fingers, crawling over her skin. She could feel her cheeks going red, the blush of colour spreading down her neck and the swell of her breasts. They would all be watching. She would experience the most private, the most intimate of things in front of dozens of people. She wanted to scream, to run from the room and all the way down the road to her own home and her own safe bed. But then she would have no job and maybe Kell would suffer for it too. His sister might die. And without a sacrifice, the winter would be hard. Perhaps the sheep would freeze in the fields, the coal boats would stop coming and the frosts would last until April.
Lord Rakin stepped up again, quickly undoing the remaining buttons and pulling the blouse back. He slid it off her arms and Kell’s bare palms transferred from material to skin. His hands felt hot and clammy.
From the waist up she was clad only in her thin, white shift, so worn it was almost transparent. Before, in her long sleeves, the press of bodies had made the hall seem quite warm, but now her nipples stiffened to hard peaks in the chill.
“Cold?” Lord Rakin sounded amused. “You won’t be for long, little Eliza.”
He dropped down to his knees, the nose of his wolf mask brushing her belly. He slipped his hands under her skirt, running his fingers up the inside of her legs, across her pantalettes. She gasped and started to tremble, at her back, she could feel Kell starting to breathe a little harder.
“Shh, now. I haven’t done anything yet.”
His fingers, deep under the layers of skirt, walked across her thighs to her hips, burrowing under the waist of her pantalettes and then jerking them down in a sudden, swift motion.
“No,” she breathed, but she couldn’t step away—her underclothes were already tangled around her ankles. She started to struggle and Kell held her firmly, pressing her back to his chest.
Lord Rakin rose to his feet again, stroking her cheek. “Settle. Settle. It’s not so bad. Colder, yes. Not for long, I promise. Soon, you’ll be very warm, little one.”
His fingers ran down her neck again and over the gauzy fabric of her shift. He cupped her breasts.
“Made for hands.” Lord Rakin kneaded her flesh in his fingers. She jumped as his thumb brushed over her nipple, which made him pause, then do it again—on both sides now. Every time, little thrills of pleasure rippled through her chest.
“Stop,” she begged, her voice little more than a whisper.
“None of that,” he scolded. “You. Guard. Sit on that chair, hold her on your lap.”
There was a pause and she heard Kell lick his lips nervously. Then he stepped back, pulling Eliza with him. He sat and tugged her down on top of him. With her pantalettes tangled around her ankles, she could not keep her footing and almost fell. Kell readjusted her with an arm around her belly. He was warm against her. There was something hard and round between her buttocks, trapped between his lap and her arse, but it was only when she wriggled and felt the offending lump twitch that she realised it was him and he was firmly erect.
This made
her blush more and the shock of it left her unable to struggle. She could feel his quick breathing and almost unconsciously her own breaths caught up to his.
Lord Rakin bent to untangle her underclothes from around her left ankle. He lifted her knees and set her legs outside Kell’s knees so she was spread with no way to bring her thighs together.
“There, little dove. Now that you are in place, it’s time to prepare you.”
He cupped her breasts again, rolling the hard nubs of her nipples between his fingers and thumbs—but only for a moment. His fingers drifted up to the collar of her shift and he gripped the material firmly and started to pull. A rip appeared above her breasts, and with firm downward pressure Lord Rakin tore the thin white fabric open—baring her to the whole of the room.
She heard the appreciative murmurs of the watching crowd and closed her eyes from the shame of it. She had to be brave; she had to face what was to come for her own sake, and Kell’s and the Gods of the Season. The fate of so many could rest on her courage, here and now. Between her buttocks, Kell’s cock was wriggling, as if it could burrow through his trousers and her skirt all by itself.
“Such a perfect specimen.” Lord Rakin looked her over. “In the north there is no way a pretty little thing like you would still be a maiden at your age. Someone would have stolen you away.”
She scarcely heard his words, too fixated on the urgent flesh pressing up on her from below and on the dozens of witnesses in their masks, watching her naked flesh with their curious, silent facades.
“Lady Elsalane,” Lord Rakin said. “You voiced your interest in contributing to the sacrifice.”
Lady Elsalane stepped forward, leaving her much younger beau in the crowd. Her mask only covered her eyes, rising up in a bouquet of feathers to fall back over her silver hair. The older woman approached and Eliza could see her pale blue eyes, studying her face and breasts through the purple holes of the mask.
“Such innocence,” she sighed. “Ah, child, you do us all an honour.”
She reached out to cup Eliza’s right breast—her fingers were cold and Eliza flinched, both from the chill and from the shock of another woman manipulating her flesh. The older woman’s fingertips brushed lightly over her nipple. Gentler than Lord Rakin had been, yet somehow more stimulating. Eliza shuddered and blushed, feeling the tingles of pleasure rolling down her skin, into the core of her. Kell’s breath was a soft whine in her ear.