He picked up his pace, moving more swiftly, the cuts coming on her faster, as he showed how truly gifted he was in the mastery of these dark arts. With each cut, she jerked in reply, her body shriveled up, her shoulders rising to her ears and curling forward, eyes closed tight, her hands in fists crossed across her heart. She turned as he turned, but not at the same pace, so the Duke could easily strike any part of her body he wanted to… thighs, front and back, shoulders, belly, arse… everything but her breasts, which, surprisingly, he didn’t demand she bare for him. Even when he picked up the pace, the pain was still bearable, as he did not lay the cuts in rapid succession, or all in one place, but waited just long enough for the pain to fade before the next cut landed in a completely different place. It was an awesome experience in self-control and for a time, she thought she might get through the trial without falling into total anguish.
But, as usually was the case, the Duke changed his technique again and fired off the cuts with dazzling momentum, gauging her response, and laying on more at such an increased pace that she wanted desperately to run. Knowing that there was no place for her to hide, she continued in that same spot and began to cry for mercy.
“Milord, I cannot—” she shrieked.
“Oh, but you can!” he said calmly.
She tried to hold on, but then finally spat out: “Please, please, no more!”
Nothing would motivate the man to stop other than his own exhaustion. When he finally reached that moment, she slumped to the floor and sobbed quietly, until the Duke yanked her to her feet and planted his organ in her cunny as ruthlessly as he’d laid on the punishment.
When he finally recovered from his powerful climax, he started in with her as he often did.
“Never have I had a woman I more loved to beat than you,” he said, with a happy sigh. This was a compliment? “There are few ways to shake off the pains of the day more satisfying than marking this pretty flesh.” She cringed now at his touch, but that did nothing to dissuade him in his effort to make right the painful torture. Though he thought his kindness should be enough to comfort the girl, it meant nothing, except to stir the anger she held deep within, her desire to throw him off and be done with him. How that was possible, she had no clue.
Chapter Thirteen
No Good Outcome
Roslyn was still nursing her latest wounds from the whipping she’d received from the Duke, when she ran into Lady Josephine while on the way to her own chambers. She was fleeing, seeking some privacy to nurse the painful welts and repair her spirit, but Josephine knew nothing of that.
“Good day, milady,” she bowed politely as she started to pass by her.
“And good day to you,” the woman said, although she halted Roslyn’s progress by stepping directly in front of her and eyeing her suspiciously.
“He whipped you?” the woman concluded.
“Yes, milady.” Roslyn bowed her head to indicate her shame.
“How awful for you,” the woman returned, though she actually seemed pleased.
“It is how I must serve him, milady.”
“Indeed. And what hateful thing did you do to deserve such treatment?” she was all ears. “Tell me and I will beat you for it too.”
“I did nothing that I know of. He tells me afterward that I appease his inner rage. The mood comes to him quite out of nowhere, I assure you.”
“Oh?” The woman’s face clouded.
Did this upset her?
“Perhaps he rages because you are so inept a lover,” Lady Josephine smugly retorted.
This statement riled Roslyn and those feelings showed on her troubled face.
“Yes, when you think you’re so wonderful…” the edge in the lady’s voice cut deep.
“I never said that, milady. I do as I’m told the best I know how.”
“Don’t dispute me, slave girl,” the patronizing bitty returned. Anger coming on in a flash, she took Roslyn’s nose ring in her finger and yanked down, bringing Roslyn to the ground at her feet in seconds, then she rose up tall, looming over the girl like a disembodied spirit. “You remember your place with me and your master. You deserve every beating my husband makes you suffer. Say that! I want to hear you say that!”
“Yes, I must,” Roslyn spit back.
“Must, nothing, phew! Tell me what you deserve! Tell me you deserve to be beaten because you’re such a sorry slave girl.”
“I-I…” Roslyn looked up at the woman mournfully.
“Yes, say it!” She kicked Roslyn in the arse.
“Yes, um… I-I deserve to be beaten, milady, because I’m such a sorry slave girl.” She quivered; her shame redoubling.
“Yes, that is right. And you remember that. You cause your master to suffer, so he beats you. If you weren’t so unbearable, he would not have to punish you!”
“Yes, milady,” Roslyn gulped.
Lady Josephine leaned down again, and grabbing Roslyn by the nose ring, she jerked up, bringing the girl quickly to her feet. The woman’s cruel heart heaped on more venom.
“Don’t you dare forget what I’ve said.” She gave the ring a final jerk and let go. “Now get out of my sight!”
Roslyn ran off, hiding herself in her room, afraid to leave, afraid to be seen again by either one of this volatile pair.
Her nose ached where the woman tugged at the ring, so that the reminder of her servitude, which she could often ignore, would throb on through the night giving her a fresh reminder of all that she had lost when she came here.
The explosive incident revealed more about Lady Josephine’s feelings toward Roslyn than it did her husband’s opinion of the young woman. Roslyn knew that there was nothing she could do to please the imperious Lady Josephine. There could be no good outcome for her in this precarious circumstance.
***
“I want her put down!” Lady Josephine declared, as she entered her bedchamber and spied her young lover lying in her bed, no doubt waiting for sex. “She has my husband’s ear when I do not. She has his affection, his adoration. I know how he looks at her. And now he beats her to vent his rage!”
“Beats her to vent his rage? And that bothers you?”
“Yes, and well it should. I know this man. I know his wants and his needs. Any whipping girl he uses in his bedchamber will have his ear on many matters. She’ll have his trust. I cannot have her usurping my power! It’s time that stupid girl was discredited for the traitoress she is.”
“You say she is a traitor? Do you know this?”
“Wouldn’t she be, if allowed? I mean, we have taken her as a sex slave. She’s been brutally shamed. That ring she wears through her nose should be reason enough for her to loathe us. Oh, surely she is spiteful and ill-content, despite the mask she wears to the contrary. Her sweetness and her innocent manner have my husband duped. The fool. But I am not a fool. Trust me, the girl will jump at any chance to free herself, including turning traitor.”
She paused in her diatribe and smiled thinly, her anger quite suddenly swept aside, and she quipped, “So, I’ll give her a chance to jump.”
Louis raised his brows with interest. “How so, milady?”
She mulled the thought, but only briefly. “I’ll affect a ruse. Yes, that’s it. We have visitors coming and I’m sure that by then, I’ll have a plan set. And you will help me.”
Louis bowed respectfully, no doubt certain that he’d not heard the last of this.
***
Roslyn remained in her bedchamber, sorrowfully pondering her life. Her heart bled for things she no longer had, for what she lost, for what she yearned for, for what eluded her spirit, even when she lay with the master of the house and had nights and days of torrid sex with many men. She craved something far far simpler, just one man, that was all. But that romantic dream seemed impossible to realize now, as long as she belonged to Duke Wilhem and his wife.
“Milady,” Celia’s soft voice came to her as if in a dream. “Milady,” louder now.
Roslyn abruptly turn
ed. “What do you want?” she stared up through her tears.
“That is what I am asking you. I see you’re distraught. Is there anything I can do for you?”
“You ask now?”
“I haven’t known how to ask before now. I haven’t had the courage. But maybe the sting of that day has lessened? And you seemed so—”
Yes, of course, the sting of that day and those brutal hours of shame in the great hall had lessened over time. Many weeks had passed, and in that time a prickly silence had settled between the pair. Neither one would speak of the incident. It took days for Roslyn to recover, more days to search her feelings. And all that while, she was thrust into more demanding situations that continued to strip her of any remaining dignity. Little time was left to think of herself and the young maid.
Indeed now, the horrible rape seemed like years not weeks ago. None of the subsequent sexual abuse was at Celia’s hand; the girl had been banished to the lower ranks of servants: those that scrubbed the floors and peeled potatoes and laundered the Duchess’s clothes. What few times they saw each other were given to civil but not intimate discourse. Perhaps this was the first time that they could speak in private as they used to do.
Having studied the girl’s sorrowful face, Roslyn pulled up on the bed and let the maid speak.
“I know how you have hated me for what I did,” Celia continued, “I swear that it was the drink they gave me.”
“Drink?” Roslyn looked back puzzled.
“Yes, milady, I was forced to drink a flagon of ale before I donned that harness and walked into the Duke’s great hall.”
“So was it the drink that took over?”
“Oh, yes, milady, I would have never, never hurt you as I did, if my mind had not been altered by the strong spirits. I could barely breathe, I could hardly stand on my own.”
“It didn’t seem that way to me. You seemed in full charge of your faculties in that miserable hour. I’m afraid that your face betrayed your heart. Your eyes burned with anger. I would have thought you would have me driven from the earth.”
“Oh, milady, no!” Celia fell against the bed, sobbing. “You cannot believe that.”
“But I do,” she replied, not unkindly as she stroked the girl’s fair hair.
Celia looked up bewildered.
“You may deny the truth, but I know your anger was real, girl. You had reason to hate me.”
“No, milady, no!”
“I’m not hurt by it.” Even to Roslyn, it seemed strange that she would feel so little resentment over that degrading act. “I’m sure that I would have been shamed whether you did the deed or not—they were out to have me rent in the most unseemly way. We must expect that. Duke Wilhem had his fun giving me back what I had given you. Maybe that was just; maybe I deserved it. I don’t know. But I do know your rage. I could feel it and I will not let you lie to me that it was not so. I am also consumed this way.”
“Oh, my love!” Celia sobbed more. “Please let’s not think of this again, please!”
“But you know I’m right.”
“Oh, perhaps. It pains me to say it. These months have brought such terrible misfortune…” her voice drifted, her head bowed. Then she looked up, hopefully. “Wouldn’t it be better if we forget that horrible day?”
“Yes. Perhaps that would be best.”
“Oh, if I could lie with you again. If we could—?” she hesitated to name her desire.
Roslyn shook her head. “No, girl, I am too tired for that, unless you want to curl up beside me as I sleep.”
Celia settled for that, and for the first time in weeks, Roslyn enjoyed the comfort of someone who loved her and the quiet of her own thoughts.
Chapter Fourteen
A Rumbling Uproar
Roslyn bathed her mistress, Lady Josephine, as she had before, although this time, there had been no sex beforehand; the woman, since the incident in the corridor days before had little use for the ‘deposed’ Lady Roslyn. For Roslyn, the break had been a welcome relief. But now, she was in her mistress’ chambers, readying the Duchess for a new and most mysterious suitor. Until then, Lady Josephine had only spoken of this man in veiled allusions.
“Twist gold ribbons into the braid, Roslyn dear. This is a special occasion.”
“Yes, milady.” Roslyn went about the task, her fingers flying with ease. At least this was one thing that she did right in the woman’s eyes. Pleasing her otherwise was impossible now. If she were lucky, she’d be dismissed when the lady’s hair was done and she could occupy herself elsewhere.
“Hum… lovely…” Lady Josephine gazed into the glass admiring the curls, the gold, the braid, the way her hair shined. She was, in fact, quite pleasant today, which put Roslyn a little more at ease. “You’re doing a fine job. You know I must play my part in these next few days. I must be at my best.”
“Your gentleman guest must be very special.”
A dreamy look came over the woman’s face and her voice softened. “Why yes, he is a very special man. You must play your part, too. And that is to make me look as sensual as I feel.”
“Yes, milady,” Roslyn nodded and she continued fashioning the woman’s hair as if it were a work of art.
“Tricky times these are, dangerous in fact,” Lady Josephine mused. “I worry for our Duke, his plans in the south, well, you’ll know soon enough that he will be commencing with an invasion that is sure to change the borders drastically. There are those who thought he’d be going east to expand his influence, but I pointed out how dangerous that could be. Such a terrible, brutal land that is… The south, well, the climate is much more amenable to our dispositions and he agreed. The enemies there are just as crafty, but I doubt they are as fierce. Ouch! You stuck me with a pin!”
Roslyn’s hands jerked back. “I’m sorry, milady.”
Josephine settled back. “Well, I think it was me that mentioned that southern route through mountains will surely throw off our enemies,” she prattled on. “It may be a little out of their way… but now is the time for some artful trickery. I think sometimes that I was born the wrong sex, I mean the way I love games of strategy, how I like to take chances and my passion for sex…I wonder sometimes…” she sighed, deep in thought, while Roslyn worked, taking in the information. “Such manly things… but then, of course, I love being feminine. Like how you’re fixing my hair. It was a blessing to have someone so talented land on our doorstep.”
Roslyn was just about finished, and not one nasty jibe. Odd, indeed this was.
“I know that Wilhem only suffers Cyrus’ presence in his household. I think it’s his prowess in so many ways… you’ll see. But I—” she batted her dark lashes and leaned into Roslyn secretively, “I do find him a superb lover… he has his ways…” her bosom rose and fell on the memory of his last visit, but then she sat up straight, adding primly, “well, I would never disclose that,” as she finally remembered who she was talking to.
“Cyrus?” The first she heard the name. “He travels through here often?”
“Why no. It’s been almost two years now. And just twice before that, I think…or maybe I met him before that…I’m not sure…but you have no idea how delighted I was to have him come here now.” She sighed again, then suddenly perked up, her dark eyes looking sharp again. “Go on, girl, I have things to prepare. And, mind you, you will stay out of sight for the next few days. I wouldn’t want Cyrus distracted with his business here, or…” and she wiggled now a bit provocatively in her seat, “…or with me. Go now!” Turning back to the glass, she dabbed her nose with powder while Lady Roslyn backed out of the room.
***
The dark-skinned man from the south swept into the Duke’s castle creating a rumbling uproar throughout the great fortress. His presence eclipsed all else; he demanded that kind of acute attention. Roslyn was consigned to the kitchens with the other servants, forced to peek into the great hall secretively—as the other servants often did—in order to catch sight of the mysterious visitor
.
Just his size made the young lady’s eyes open in shock.
“Oh, my!” she found herself gasping. Anne was beside her looking through the same peek hole in the wall.
“He’s quite a bear, I think.”
Cyrus stood a head taller than the Duke, who was no small man himself. And such dark radiant skin! He gleamed like the dark lord of an ancient and terrible world. Everything about him spoke of great power. His sword was mighty, his cloak dark as the night, his hands large as if they could break the neck of an enemy with a single snap of the wrist.
“I wonder…” Roslyn found herself saying aloud. Her heart seemed to jump into her throat.
“How it would be to lie with ‘im?” Anne finished the statement for her.
The young woman quaked. “Indeed. But I think I’d faint.”
“Oh, he ‘as made more than one woman faint. You can be sure milady Josephine sent you to the kitchen to keep you out of sight. She loves to take up ‘is free hours. Fact is, I think she’d ride off with ‘im, if she had the chance.”
“And would Cyrus want her?”
Anne shrugged. “Who knows? The man’s a mystery. Rides in ‘ere on the wind, no one knowing why, then ‘e rides out without so much a goodbye. Never know how long he’ll stay. That’s why we have to keep on our toes. Why, the last time he left in the middle of the night, went through the kitchen just to steal cook’s biscuits for the ride.”
Roslyn’s heart was pumping so fast that she could barely breathe. Such a smile on his face, broad and open-hearted. But when he turned to one of his aides, he snapped off an order so sharply that Roslyn jumped back in fear. “Oh, dear lord!”
“That’s the way ‘e is…cruel and kind in the same instant.”
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