Damsel

by Lizbeth Dusseau

  Because she had been ordered to keep out of sight, Roslyn was forced to put the man out of her thoughts. As vindictive as Lady Josephine could be, Roslyn knew that not following her order would bring disastrous results on her.

  ***

  Rarely had Roslyn a moment to walk the Duke’s gardens, or even be outside. A refreshing change certainly, but one denied her in captivity. With the arrival of Cyrus and his company, however, all attention was focused on the man and Roslyn was able to escape the stone-walled fortress briefly—with the eye of the Duke’s guard keenly on her.

  Though the season was in throes of winter, there was a quiet and subtle beauty in the dried vines and the brown leaves; the loose ones darted with each new gust of wind, and those still clinging to the shrubs held tightly to their branches only to eventually break away. The season had its rules that even the mightiest tree could not break. Roslyn clutched her cloak tight to her neck, warding off the meanest gusts, although she was exhilarated by the cold air and breathed deeper than she had in some time. There was no place to go other than this small garden, but she could spend some minutes just staring at the changing scene about her. Nature seemed to reflect her mood.

  “Milady Roslyn.”

  She heard the voice and turned.

  “Louis.”

  The young man bowed.

  “So, you’ve been banished too?”

  He smiled. “No bother to me. I’m sure Lady Josephine will take succor with me, and with you too, once the black man is gone.”

  “I understand he is quite powerful.”

  “Oh, and who have you been talking to?”

  Roslyn laughed. “No one really, I guess just the whispers of the servants and my own observations.” She looked for some confirmation, but he didn’t reply. “Is he powerful,” she finally asked cautiously. “I mean does he have some sway with Duke Wilhem?”

  “Hardly. I think the Duke considers him a threat. The only reason that he abides his presence is to pick the man’s brain. Meanwhile, Cyrus is picking his. He’d be more than happy to learn our Duke’s secrets.”

  “Oh.” It was difficult to know just how much interest she should show, or how much she should ask Louis, so she continued to stroll on, seeing if the young man kept up with her. He did. A plan was sprouting in her mind, but she must be careful.

  “He looks as though he would command a great army,” Roslyn finally spoke again.

  “True. But he does not. In fact, the Duke believes he is a spy.”

  “Oh?” She tried not to look too interested.

  “I know he doesn’t trust the man. I can remember him calling Cyrus a dumb fool.”

  “Maybe he is a fool.”

  “Cyrus? That’s like the Duke calling himself a fool,” Louis laughed. “Perhaps I should not be making that joke.”

  “Perhaps you should not be talking to me this way,” she returned.

  “Oh, I think of us as being very much alike.”

  “And how would that be? You’re a free man. I wear a ring through my nose; I am a man’s property.”

  “And don’t I wear milady’s ring through my nose? You may not see it, but it’s there. My fortunes rise and fall with her favor and there is not one move that I can make that I don’t consider what she’ll think.”

  “Yes, I suppose in that we are alike. But still, you have your freedom. You could take off out of here and not be sought after. You may be maligned, but you’d still be free. I live very differently.”

  “Yes, differently now,” he agreed. “But things can change.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “I state the truth. Did not your future take inalterable shifts, suddenly, without warning? Who’s to say that won’t happen again?”

  “Are you making a prediction?”

  He took a breath and breathed out a cloudy fog of white vapor. “Am I a seer? No. Can I read the stars?” He stared up. “Ah, they are as mysterious to me as a woman’s heart.” He looked back at Roslyn again. “But I trust that some things are ultimately true, and change is one. Just look at this season. Weeks ago, this was a very different place, green and beautiful. Months hence, it will spring with life again.”

  Roslyn found herself smiling at the boy, thinking wistfully about what he said, the hope he nurtured in her heart, when there seemed to be so little hope, caused her to stir that most devious of emotions. She wondered if in another time and place, the two might have come together as lovers, real lovers. She might have enjoyed that. But they were both chattel to a fearsome lady that neither one dared cross. The reprisals from the witch could devastate them both.

  ***

  The following day, after fixing Lady Josephine’s hair again, the woman ordered her in the most stern tones: “Return to the kitchen through the back entrance and down the old staircase.”

  “Milady?” Roslyn didn’t understand.

  “Are you dense, girl? Do I have to spell it out?”

  Still she was baffled.

  “You are not to be anywhere near my room. I am expecting Cyrus to visit shortly. He’ll have his eye on me with no distractions. I know what a cunning girl you are… but trust me, that man would devour you… it takes a special kind of woman to please a man so great.”

  “Yes, milady. I understand,” Roslyn nodded dutifully, then she backed out of the room taking a secret entrance she’d accidentally discovered a few weeks before when she was searching for the lady’s scarves. Since then, Lady Josephine liked dismissing her through that back entrance, which connected to a rickety wooden stairs few used for fear that it would collapse under too much weight. Josephine explained to Roslyn that her light weight should be no problem for the shaky structure. However, every time she used the stairs, Roslyn believed that the woman actually hoped she’d have an ‘unfortunate’ accident. Using the hidden passageway now, she had no choice but to cautiously make that perilous trek.

  Breathing a sigh of relief once she reached the bottom of the stairs, Roslyn started toward the kitchen, which was no more than twenty feet from the staircase door. With her head down, her mind deep in thought and her feet moving without any conscious thought, she suddenly ran smack into a barrier so huge that she was startled out of her wits.

  “Oh my!” She jumped back. Sir Cyrus! “Milord, I beg your apology.”

  The man was a mountain, must have been two feet taller than her diminutive body. And such a spirit in every bit of his beautiful black flesh—not that she could see much of it. His hands and his face where quite enough. His bald head shone, his teeth were white as snow and his lips were nothing like she’d seen anywhere ever. The most unseemly thoughts converged on her mind. Oh, such shameful thoughts!

  “Well, what have we here?” Cyrus said in deep, rich tones that caressed her as much as she imagined his large hands could.

  “Sir, I am the Lady Josephine’s maidservant.”

  “Is that so?” He cocked his head and stared at her with one fixed eye. “You look more like a gentlewoman to me.”

  She blushed. “My, why would you say that?”

  “I have been around noblewomen and sorry peasants, servants and kings, and you, milady, are no meager servant.”

  “I’m afraid, I must dispute your observation. I serve Lady Josephine. Certainly, you can see that by the jewelry I wear.”

  “So, you serve her with a servant’s esteem and fond regard?” he asked.

  Roslyn could not hide all of her secrets; she was much too emotional a young woman for that. “I do what I am called on to do,” she answered, while trying to hold back the truth. “I really must see to my duties.”

  “Yes, of course,” he said, nodding with amusement. “I should hope we’ll see each other again.

  Chapter Fifteen

  A Night In His Chambers

  On hearing Louis reveal the nature of Cyrus relationship to the Duke Wilhem, a small kernel of a scheme to free herself sprouted in Roslyn’s mind. But it only festered there, with little place to go, especial
ly since she might well have missed her only opportunity to speak with the visitor. Roslyn did not see Lady Josephine or Cyrus all the next day; she could only assume that they were heavily engaged in the bedroom sports the lady so looked forward to. Of course, obeying her mistress’ orders, she had kept herself sequestered in the kitchens, staying far behind the scenes in the busy castle. Only when it was very late did she sneak up to her bedchamber for sleep. In truth, she prayed that she might once again, accidentally stumble on the man. But she had no such luck.

  Most of two days and a night had passed, when she suddenly heard the shrewish tones of Lady Josephine’s sharp voice. Like a whirlwind off the great plain to the west, the woman blew into the main kitchen, silks flying, hair asunder, eyes flashing danger. “Where is she?”

  The room of busy servants stopped what they were doing and turned to look, most shivering in their shoes. Roslyn was in a far corner speaking quietly with Celia, who was scrubbing dishware. Once the angry lady spotted her, she was on Roslyn within seconds; a finger threaded through the ring, she hauled the frightened young woman into a nearby hallway. If she did so to make her accusations in private, she failed in that task. She spoke with such vehemence that everyone in the entire castle was likely to hear.

  “You vile, miserable slut!” Josephine slapped Roslyn across the face. “You came at him like a harlot!” She shook the girl by the arms, rage pouring out of her in great waves.

  “Milady, I swear I did not,” Roslyn finally shook herself from the woman’s grasp. “I swear to you. It was quite by accident that we met. I had no idea…”

  “You’re a liar, too.”

  “No, milady. You can say all you wish, but I am not a liar!”

  “And I say you are!” Still enraged, Josephine dragged her back into the kitchen and swiped the correction rod from the wall by the pantry. In front of an audience of kitchen and scullery maids, the laundress, the cook and three stablemen, Lady Josephine shoved the flustered beauty over a table, lifted her skirt to bare her arse, and began laying the rod against her milky white cheeks. Again and again, the thin rod came down, etching streak after streak of red into the smooth skin. For as long as she could hold on, Roslyn held back her misery. But she could only take so much pain before she finally cried out.

  “Oh, milady, please!” Her feet danced beneath her; her bottom jiggled; her hips swayed; and her cries continued unabated. Roslyn shook her auburn tresses vigorously as the pain mounted and her once white arse turned scarlet. From the top of those fine round globes to the tender base to the tops of her thighs, where the rod seemed to scorch the skin, that bright red color shone.

  When at last exhausted, Lady Josephine threw the rod against the floor and stared around. The woman had paused just long enough to realize how unseemly her wild anger might have looked to her underlings. She stared about, wearing her righteous indignation as a mantle and took a deep breath, forcing herself to calm. Speaking to Roslyn, she said, “Go to my husband’s private office now. I will be there shortly.”

  Roslyn’s arse throbbed as though stung by a thousand bees. Some beatings result in sexual outcomes, this one would not; she was far from feeling sexual in any way. The lady’s wrath, the scorn, the spite, the pain invaded the marrow of her bones, and she could not shake her own seething anger. Still, she knew she must act submissively. This woman could do her even greater evil without an ounce of remorse. Her warpath cut a wide swath across the face of her world.

  “Well, you will get your desire,” Lady Josephine swept into the room, very much collected compared to her previous dramatic entrance. She stood calmly, next to a table, the fingers of one hand resting on the surface, and she smiled cruelly, her dark eyes glassed over oddly.

  She paused as if she expected Roslyn to respond. “I have no idea what you mean, milady,” the young woman tried to be polite.

  “Cyrus wants you for a night in his chambers.”

  It took a moment to absorb the message, then her inner being lit in wonder. No wonder Lady Josephine was so upset… he really asked for her? What could that mean?

  Roslyn did her best to contain her emotion, being just as guarded as the mistress. But surely, the two women inwardly acknowledged what a blow this obviously was to the flirtatious Josephine who primped so specially for her black lover. He’d laid eyes on Roslyn just once and now he wanted her for a night!

  “I should warn you, Cyrus often wants a little tart like you on which to vent his dark evils. It has been many a girl who has come from him shivering in pain and despair. You can expect more than a burning bottom by the time he’s finished with you. And your cunt and backdoor will be raw.” She sighed wearily inside her disturbing emotions. “Oh, but what am I telling you this for? Why, the way you have betrayed me, disobeyed my orders. Why should I warn you of anything? You don’t deserve as much.” She paused, and it felt very much as if she wasn’t going to speak again so Roslyn was moved to offer:

  “I appreciate your warnings, milady. I had no idea—”

  “Ah, don’t get all puffed up about this. As I said, the man likes young flesh for certain kinds of abuse. He’s a power-hungry brute, who at times requires more than the maturity of a fine woman with a prowess for pleasing men. You go to him; you know where his chamber is.”

  “I do, milady.”

  “And mind you, you are the property of Duke Wilhem. You are his servant and his chattel; you survive at his whim. You would be advised to remember that in all matters.”

  “Yes, milady.”

  “Now leave.” She waved the girl off.

  Roslyn bowed dutifully and left the room

  ***

  A black man in a black robe, lounging on the bed, his one leg bent, a hand casually resting on his knee—this was the scene laid out before Roslyn, as she entered Cyrus’ bedchamber.

  Staring at the astounding sight, her heart beat at a frightful pace and she was too afraid to move.

  “Do the servants of Wilhem not bow when they greet his guests?” The man’s deep voice resonated with a lush sound that made love to her ears.

  Jerked from her paralysis, she rushed forward and dropped to her knees, bowing her head in respect. Was this what he asked for?

  “Better,” came his reply as he pulled from the bed and moved toward the humbled girl, standing over her with all the weight and authority of his commanding presence. His powerful form radiated an energy she’d not felt since she was with the loathsome Drago. Would she soon loathe this man, too, in the same perplexing way? she wondered. “I see they have not trained you, Lady Roslyn, so I’ll have to do it myself.”

  She lifted her head, “Sir?” having no idea what he meant.

  “Make love to me, daughter of Ledo.”

  Her heart struck a dissonant chord at the use of her father’s name. Why would he call her that?

  “Girl?” the sound of his voice brought her back. “Start with my feet.”

  Surely, this was no time to grieve, Roslyn reminded herself.

  Cyrus pressed his foot forward and Roslyn understood his meaning—although she’d never done anything like this before. Tentative, nervous, hardly able to breath, she reached out and timidly grazed his bare feet with her fingers. With just this simple touch, the warmth of his skin suffused her body like a blanket protectively cloaking her body. She kissed his darkness, lips pressed to the flesh, her heart beating faster than ever and her fingers barely able to do their work. She kissed and caressed his feet for several minutes in a gesture of worship, then reaching higher, she parted the robe finding his muscled limbs, where she explored his thick calves and thighs with her searching lips—as if he were her lord. Never had she been this bold, this aggressive making love to any man. The others who used her had sex with her body, while she passively accepted whatever tender or harsh demands they made. The others wanted her to hurry, but not this man.

  As she moved to his thighs, her lust and anxiety mounted ten-fold. And when she breathed in the redolence of his body—the sweat, th
e perfume of his skin, the alien aura of his darkness—that heady aroma moved through her in such a violent wave that she became light-headed and had to catch her breath. For a moment, she rested her head on his thigh, her ear against the skin where she thought she could hear his beating heart. Then, once recovered enough to begin again, she raised up higher, reaching for his hips. Before her wondering eyes, his half flaccid organ teemed with vitality, pulsing, expanding, its color that of the feral earth, from which it seemed he drew his strength. On taking the prick in her hand, her mouth watered with desire and her tongue hesitantly reached out to lick the smooth head. With her first taste she absorbed him; at the same time, she was drawn into his substance, becoming one with his tremendous power. Cyrus pulled his robe wide and let it drop from his shoulders—how strange that he was naked and she was still clothed.

  His desire began to escalate, and so he cupped her head from behind and with steely gentleness held her firm, demanding that she continue pleasuring his organ. On opening her mouth, Cyrus pressed forward and his cock filled the emptiness, leaving her wholly consumed by him, no longer herself but an extension of the awesome man. Her mouth worked with the same avid zeal that she’d employed with the other men she served, but Cyrus was in no hurry.

  When he finally pushed her back, his mighty hands reached down and drew her to her feet. Even then, she was forced to crane her neck upwards to see his face.

  “Take off your clothes, harlot. I should like to see your flesh.”

  He called her harlot, Lady Roslyn, daughter of Ledo…

  She stared upward, mesmerized by his voice, his size, the strangeness of his color, the way he spoke to her and the manner in which he joined himself to her as if he owned her soul. She loosed her dress, dragging the sleeves off her shoulders and down her arms, so that her bared breasts came into view. The pink nipples stood up like soldiers, while her chest heaved with sensuous animation. She could barely breathe now as the man gazed at her bounty—the less than adequate bounty by her mistress’ standards. Was he pleased? It was difficult to tell.

  “And the rest. I want to see all of you.”