“Who are you to admonish me?” Roslyn was incensed.
“Well, milady, it has brought you to this terrible predicament. I’m sorry, but it is the truth.”
Roslyn was less concerned with what her maid claimed, than she was with how she said it. “You sound as if you are no longer in my service.”
“Oh, but that is not true,” the girl came back passionately, “I will always be in your service, indebted to you. Yet, how can I service you properly, if I’m in the larder working not tending to your needs?”
All that was true.
“In the larder? Is that all that you do?”
The girl hesitated. “Well, no. Not exactly,” she said. For a moment, her eyes lowered and her cheeks seemed to redden.
“Then you’ll tell me everything. I want the truth. I’m owed that.”
Celia’s blush deepened as she combed her thoughts for answers. “It is Geoffrey,” she said at last.
“Of course, it’s Geoffrey,” Roslyn exclaimed. “Any fool can see that he is smitten with you.”
“Smitten? He hardly seemed smitten when he lashed my poor arse. Why, there are still welts!”
“Really? I’d like to see them.”
The dutiful girl got up straightaway and lifted her skirt so that Roslyn could see the remains of her wounds. These were five days old, but still the imprint of that braided cat could be clearly seen.
Roslyn traced her fingers over the fading welts, finding the same exhilarating pleasure she’d experienced when she lovingly caressed her maid’s caned behind.
“I’ll bet your marks are as visible as these,” the girl declared.
“Mine?”
“Well, weren’t you whipped? Didn’t the master beat you, too?”
“He did not!”
“No?” She was shocked.
“General Drago was intent on other things.”
“Oh? And what might they be?” the girl giggled, then she turned about and plopped down on the bed beside her mistress.
“I’m not saying a word…” Roslyn returned curtly, “my private matters are not yours.” Although there was a twinkle in her dark chestnut eyes. “But you will tell me what happened to you after you left the great hall with Geoffrey.”
Celia batted her lashes, looking painfully shy, then her lips broke into an impish smile. “Nearly every day, he comes to me.” She fingered the collar that ringed her throat almost lovingly.
“Oh?”
“He does. Even when I’m working, he’ll sidle up beside me and put his hand on my arse and give it a squeeze.” She giggled more, then leaned in intimately, her voice lowering, “I swear, I feel like my body is on fire every hour. Just the thought of him and my privates moisten in readiness. Last night, he pulled me right out of the kitchen and into the hallway where he impaled me on that fine stalk of his. It’s much bigger than Titus’, but perhaps not as large as Drago’s.”
“You’ve seen the master’s too?” Roslyn wondered.
“No. But just like every busy kitchen there is talk, lots of talk. He’s a randy brute, I hear. And I think he’s taken with you, milady.”
“A lot of good that will do him.”
“Why is that?”
“Would you desire such a brutal man?”
“Well, I don’t really know.” A pensive look followed, then her face lit up again. “I know that he makes me quiver with excitement, maybe not as much as Geoffrey, but I do feel that shudder, way down… you know… in my privates.”
Roslyn didn’t want to hear more of that. “Tell me more of your lover,” she turned the conversation around.
“Oh, yes, like I said, he impaled me just the other night, took me from behind.” She leaned in again, as if someone might overhear their conversation, whispering, “He even pressed a finger to my backdoor.”
“How vulgar!”
“But it was not vulgar at all,” Celia’s eyes were wide delivering this information.
“How could that be?”
“I don’t know. But the sensation is like none other. It’s wild, something more savage than a wet womb. I think he’ll breach me there for sure.”
“You can’t allow that.”
“How can I deny him? He’d surely whip me again if I refuse him. And I don’t want to refuse him.”
“He can whip you without Drago’s permission?”
“I think Drago has given me to him. I’m not sure why I’m so lucky to have such a handsome young lover. He’s far fairer than Titus and kinder than Trevor. Besides, I think that Trevor hates me because I respond so ill to his advances.”
“He takes you too?”
“Yes, well,” she bowed her head, her cheeks reddening, this time with shame. “I have become what I fear.”
“A whore?”
“A woman used for sport. Four men so far. Just about all the men I know, but the master, of course. Still, Geoffrey is by far the most appealing, the most kind, the most loving. And I don’t think he likes that the others have me. But I’ve told him that I don’t care for the others and that’s mostly true. Other than Simon, perhaps.”
“Simon? Who is that?”
“I suppose you wouldn’t know him. He is an older man, an exquisite and tender one. I understand he’s one of the General’s valued confidantes. When he makes love, he’s not like the hard driving young bucks; he caresses me with great care. I’ve learned that men have very different ways of making love. Some pound you so you think you’ll break in two. Others caress a woman with great care. They like to see you pleased. They let your arousal build and allow you to take your pleasure too.”
“Oh, my,” Roslyn sighed, a bit enviously, “much has happened to you in so few days.”
“Yes, I guess so.”
“So, I must ask, was it still smart of you to let your virginity lapse on the bow of a wooden prick?”
Celia smiled, though her vibrant face darkened for a moment in solemn appraisal. “Oh, milady, I would still not change that hour with you one whit. I cannot believe that any of these men, even Simon, even Geoffrey use me for love.”
“Even Geoffrey?”
“He’s too young to love any woman, I think. Too young to understand love.”
“I would agree.”
“But he is fond of me, perhaps infatuated. And that makes my body twitter so.”
Roslyn wished she felt the same exuberant joy that Celia felt. But her maid could more freely express the raw lust that resided in her belly and her nubile loins. Celia’s life was simple, Roslyn’s complex. As a noble lady, she could certainly not afford to become the playful whore, nor could she let loose her savage want for General Drago. She must remain guarded, contain herself, even though in her heart and her dreams and her blood and bones, the aching hunger drove her hard. Soon, yes soon, she must satisfy this uproarious desire.
A few days hence, Roslyn’s door was unlocked again; this time Geoffrey had come to take her down to the kitchen where she ate with the servants. He stood over her, watchful, as if he expected her to attempt another escape.
After she’d eaten, he took her into the small garden where Celia was bent down gathering vegetables. “You could probably use the fresh air and the company,” he said. He let Lady Roslyn remain with her maid, while he sat on a rock wall guarding against any hasty move.
“You needn’t worry. I’m not about to stray off again,” Roslyn called to him.
“Ah, but still…the master will beat me soundly if I lose you.”
“I promise, I’ll give the master no reason to beat you.”
He didn’t look convinced.
In the next week, more hours of freedom followed, when the vigilant Geoffrey allowed Roslyn to leave her room. He was sure to escort her each time and make sure she was carefully watched, for he was one of the few men still guarding the fortress. Trevor attended Drago as his primary aide, while Titus was left back as well, along with three foot soldiers garrisoned at the fortress to keep watch. A rather small complement of men
to guard Drago’s stores, Roslyn thought with some concern, but then, the master knew his business. He must have believed that his greatest threat was far outside the walls of the forbidding stronghold.
After a month passed, Roslyn was finally freed to move about the fortress unguarded, having apparently earned Geoffrey’s trust, which was something she was not about to violate. In truth, she was not as worried about inviting Geoffrey’s wrath as she feared what lay beyond the stone walls, what lay hidden in the wild woods, what she couldn’t see that night the boy captured her and brought her back. Something evil, something mortally frightening kept watch over the noble lady. She would not try to leave again. And if fear alone was not enough to make her stay put, Roslyn still wore the collar Drago placed around her neck. Although the constant reminder of her position in Drago’s fortress often made her wince, she nearly as often responded with a tingle of pure forbidden thrill, and the strangest desire to submit.
As the days passed, Celia’s affection for Geoffrey increased. They had sex daily several times. The girl was sure to be pregnant soon, if she weren’t already. Sometimes, the pair packed up a meal and took it into the meadow beyond the fortress where they played like lovers. Afterwards, the giggling Celia would whisper to Roslyn about her sordid afternoons in Geoffrey’s loving arms.
“You must come with us today!” the girl announced to her mistress one morning. Celia continued to act more like a free woman than anyone’s servant, so that this bold declaration was no surprise, even to the woman she served.
“And why would I do that?” Roslyn asked.
“Because the meadow is lovely. It will help shake off the bleak feel of this dour stronghold. Please come with us,” she begged now.
“Ah, yes, and watch you two make love?”
“Oh, no! We’ll be good. I’ll have Geoffrey bring along another of the young men.”
“As if you wish to make a match?”
“Oh, never! None of them are worthy of you. But at least you can flirt.” Celia’s eyes danced so beautifully when she spoke of love and romance.
The idea actually made Roslyn’s heart warm and her tummy tingle with a bit of erotic fervor. So little for herself, she thought, when so much bawdy sex was going on all around her.
“Yes. I think I’ll join you,” she finally agreed, feeling quite pleased with herself.
The day was warm, perhaps the last before the first snow, the last opportunity to enjoy the blue skies and a welcoming yellow sun. They packed a meal: bread, meat, cheese and some tasty fruit pies the cook made as a rare treat. Then the four—Geoffrey, Celia, Lady Roslyn and Michael, a fresh-faced blond youth—trekked for nearly a mile into a golden meadow, where the last of the summer flowers were beginning to fade. The air felt warm but inside its breezy caress was the chill of the new season about to descend. Roslyn was glad to be away from the ugly fortress, and this lovely meadow had none of the shadowy malevolence of the twisted woods. She found Michael a pleasant boy, but he was just a boy, certainly not the kind to set her heart aflutter. No man she knew could do what her dreams would do to raise her desire. No man? Well, perhaps one…but she had yet to think of Drago fondly; he remained in her thoughts no different than any other man who would take advantage of her sex.
After the four had eaten, Geoffrey and Celia wandered down to the stream for some fresh water, while Roslyn sat back against a rock and let the sun caress her cheek; the boy rested lazily in the grass. In time, Roslyn heard Celia’s giggling as she and Geoffrey returned from the stream. The sound of their light-hearted laughter was enough to fill her heart with joy, but there were other, more startling sounds arising out of the distant winds that made her shiver. It began with a low thundering sound that was much too familiar from her past, then that thunder rose in volume during the next anxious seconds, until a horrible noise filled the air. Roslyn stood to see what was coming, only to have Geoffrey move at a dead run and practically jump on top of her.
“Get down, milady! Cover yourself,” he said in a heated whisper, while he gathered Celia into his side and motioned toward the frightened boy.
The four huddled by an outcropping of stones in the hope of not being seen. Roslyn hid her eyes, reminiscent of the day her father’s castle was ransacked and she was taken. Like that dreadful day, the ground seemed to crack and swallow whole her sense of peace.
“Found them!” she heard some unseen marauder shout to the others.
Then the noise of snorting animals and the menacing voices of savage cruelty were all she heard—the same miserable noise that still echoed through her nightmares. Like that day many weeks before, a pair of voracious hands reached down and grabbed her where she crouched half-hid. In seconds, her body was flung up on the back of a steed and carried away. She looked back seeing three mighty horses galloping in the wake her captor left. Celia, too, was taken; the girl’s small body had been hastily flung facedown over the large animal. She kicked at the beastly man whose great arms clutched her fast to his groin, but his overpowering size soon reduced the girl to a sobbing sack of flesh. They rode straight into the untamed woods where Roslyn so feared to go. She closed her eyes, held her breath and prayed; prayed hard, refusing to believe this was happening to her again or that her life was forced to take another bizarre turn.
But indeed it had. Would the collar that ringed her throat mean anything now, or would she be mastered by yet another villain?
Chapter Eight
Just Another Man
The party made camp in the woods, among the creepy briars, on the cold ground, amidst an ashen landscape. The two shivering women were lashed together back to back with a small tree trunk between them, forced to stand barefoot in the dirt as the heavy leather lashings were wound around their torsos, their waists, their hips and thighs.
“You cannot do this!” the angry Roslyn screamed at a thickly muscled man who fixed a knot right at her pubic mound.
He pressed the knot into her soft sex.
“Ya feel it, deary? Huh? Yer gonna feel a whole lot more before I’m done!”
Roslyn fired back, spitting in his face.
The man pulled back in surprise. “Yer shouldna done that, girl,” he scowled, wiping his face with the back of his arm.
“You don’t scare me!” she spit right back.
She was mad, dangerously mad, as if every hurt, every woe, indignity, and terror that the world inflicted on her suddenly boiled up in her belly and she could not contain the powerful blast.
“No?” he queried with a sly grin, curling his lip.
“There is nothing that you can do to hurt me.”
“I can kill you!”
“Go ahead and kill me!” Roslyn challenged him. She felt Celia behind her cringe in fear. But Roslyn was not afraid of anything; the fire in her boiled too hotly, and that hot temper made her bold, when she’d never been bold before.
“You are a crazy whore,” the fellow spat.
One of his fellows, suddenly swooped in-between them and pushed a mealy old apple in Roslyn’s mouth—an effective gag. Her eyes burned with tears now as she glared at this new man.
“I think we’ve heard enough from you. Darius, get on with you,” he ordered. “We need a fire. It will soon be dark.” He turned to Roselyn, grimacing derisively, “Don’t wear yourself out. You’re going to need all the strength you can muster.” He stalked off, taking a seat on a nearby rock where he could view the camp, the men and the two bound women.
There were five men in all that Roslyn counted, four foul-mouthed bullies like the one who accosted her and the one more rational man, who had saved her more humiliation. Not that this Theron, as they called him, was a kinder sort; the man was cold as an icy stream, his thin mouth set like the blade of a knife. His fellows were meager peasants, while he had the obvious air of an aristocrat, standing tall and proud. He was clean in contrast to the others and was dressed with some sophistication. Still he didn’t speak much, but he kept his eye on the two females as if he expected tha
t any minute they would find some means of escaping the bonds that held them.
The men ate, though they offered their captives no food. Roslyn was determined to spit it back had they given her something to eat, and was rather disappointed when she missed a chance to vent her simmering rage again. She hated to see how they drank and when they drank, how the liquor colored their gross conversation.
“Comely one, that tart is,” Roslyn heard the foul man remark. She winced.
“We’re taking the fair one, that feisty bitch deserves a hot ass fer kicking me in the shins.” The man rose and swaggered toward the tree, turning away from Roslyn and, instead, eyeing Celia’s frightened face.
“Please, kind sir, don’t hurt me or milady!” she pleaded. “I swear, I’ll give you anything you want if you leave her be.”
“Aw, you’ll be given plenty,” he smiled, showing a nearly toothless grin. He turned to the man sitting on the rock. “I need to cut ‘er down.”
The solemn man nodded and went on peeling an apple with his knife, popping pieces in his mouth, while another fellow joined the brute, and the two untied the lashings enough to free Celia. The bonds were then redone, tighter than ever, cutting into Lady Roslyn’s arms so any struggle was too painful to try. She laid her head back against the tree. With every restless heartbeat she feared for Celia, although there was nothing she could do to save the girl.
After pushing the maid to the ground, the four men stood around her, brandishing swords and lashes. The swords poked at her sides, tearing at the cloth of her dress, while the lashes caught against her flesh producing tormented cries from the terrorized girl. At first, Celia tried to dart from left to right to get away from the savage treatment, but it soon became apparent that there was no way she could move to save her flesh from the sting of the leather and the cutting gashes from the swords. Her dress was soon in shreds, just pieces dangling from her body. Her pained sobs were ignored, in fact, the men took pleasure in mocking her misery.
“See if you can cut that rag off the pretty arse. I want a free shot at that pink skin.”
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