The Devil's Surrogate

by Jennifer Jane Pope

  'Aye, and don't you get back here too late by getting too merry with those girls, either,' Adam warned him. 'A quick tupping or two is fine, but you mind you don't go making too much of a meal of it, and don't let any of the hunters see you getting in on their game. You and George Hawkin are just supposed to be the deliverymen.'

  'Yes, cousin,' Daniel said soberly, but both of them knew he would sample every single girl he found, as indeed would the older George Hawkin, who had been driving wagons for the estate and taking care of such unusual cargo ever since the inception of the Grayling operation. 'And I leave everything to the west of the old drive path to George.' He raised a hand in salute and strode away across the grass, whistling tunelessly.

  'Right,' Adam called after him, 'and make sure you give each girl a drink when you find her. You can bet your life the buggers don't bother lubricating that end of 'em when they're caught, so they're probably gasping for water by the time you find 'em. Even more than you're gasping for the other thing right now,' he added under his breath.

  'He's still breathing, Paddy,' Sean Kelly said, rolling the unconscious black-garbed and masked figure over onto his back and pressing his fingers against the side of his neck.

  'Well, I only gave him a small tap on the side of the head,' Paddy explained. 'No point in killing a man unnecessarily, especially not when his back's turned and his cock's taking all his attention. Somehow, that's not quite sporting, is it?'

  Kitty, who had been the sole focus of the unfortunate hunter when Paddy pounced on him from the bushes, groaned as she sat up. The gag had been replaced in her mouth for the sake of authenticity, and now she could only stare silently at the scene before her.

  'Get that stuff off him,' Paddy ordered, 'and then find something to tie him up with, in case he comes around. Here,' he said, offering Kitty a hand, 'let's have you up and get that thing out of your mouth again. Maybe it'd be put to better use on him,' he added. 'Wouldn't do to have him hollering for help before we're finished.' He stared down at the prone figure as Kelly set to work loosening his clothing. 'I reckon he's near enough my size,' he observed, 'so now all we need to do is find another one about the same stamp as you, me lad.'

  Her limbs grown mercifully numb, Harriet hung limply in her bondage, her eyes closed against the lowering sun and against the prying gazes of the village men beginning to venture closer to her scaffold. Crawley's recruits would keep them back and prevent them from actually touching her, she knew, but they would do nothing to stop them getting their fill of her nakedness, and they themselves could not resist the occasional taunt at her expense.

  The afternoon was growing late and shadows were beginning to stretch across the grass... two hours until sunset, perhaps a little more. She tried not to think of her father and how he would feel when news of her death reached him. The shock might well finish him off, and perhaps that was for the best. To live on as he was without her there to care for him, and to suffer the knowledge of how shameful her end had been, that was too horrible to contemplate. The fact that she had been done to death mistakenly, in the place of another, would do nothing to ease his shame, and neither would it bring her back to him.

  She half opened one eye and peered down at the little group of spectators. They were all faces she knew well enough, and it was no surprise to see them gawking up at her. There were even women amongst them now, two stone-faced old biddies who worked at the mill, and a younger woman who sometimes worked for Thomas Handiwell cleaning bedrooms and sweeping floors at the Black Drum.

  Poor Thomas, she thought. His shame would be even worse than her father's if he ever discovered the truth about his beloved Jane. But then a father's love is blind, and Jane was as devious and deceitful as her father was straightforward and honest. Would he ever know of her murderous treachery? Despite everything, Harriet found herself praying he never would.

  Jane leaned back against the tree as she watched Oona relentlessly penetrating the hapless Isobel with her monstrous erection. She had loosened the belt of her breeches and unhooked the front far enough to enable her to insert one hand down into her crotch, and she was working her fingers into her wet cleft in time with the dog-girl's thrusts.

  'Common taproom whore, am I?' Jane whispered to herself, repeating one of the insults she knew the young noblewoman had used when describing her to one of the guests at the hall that summer. She longed to pull Oona off Isobel, throw the aristocratic bitch onto her back and straddle her arrogant face. She wanted to force her to use her mouth to finish off what her own fingers had started, but that would mean giving her victim back the use of her tongue, which would make it difficult to explain why she had not released the silly creature for Bressingham to find.

  'No, my lady,' Jane hissed beneath her breath, 'maybe you're more suited to the dog fucking you after all.' Somewhere in the distance a shot rang out, but Jane barely registered it. Vaguely, she wondered if the marksman had found his target, and considered the possibility of allowing Isobel to escape long enough to feel the burning sting of a shot in her buttocks. But for the moment there would be no dragging Oona from her victim until she had sated her animal lust. After that, she really ought to start back towards the house with her, for ferocious as the bizarre creature already seemed, without the regular dosages of the herbal extracts Roderick Grayling bought from his contact in London, she would quickly grow even wilder still. Oona was capable of turning on her handlers when even the threat of the whip did nothing except heighten her murderous rage. Besides, news from the village was that Jacob Crawley intended to hang the girl he still thought of as Matilda Pennywise at sunset, and Jane was determined to be there to watch. Of course, there was a chance the so-called witchfinder might discover his mistake before that, but it was not likely, not now that three of his latest converts had been quietly paid to make sure the mask and bridle were not removed before the sentence was carried out.

  On the ground, Isobel was moaning and whining. She sounded as much like a dog as the hermaphroditic human canine Oona. Jane sniggered, and then groaned herself as a small orgasmic shock surged through her, forcing her to grab the tree trunk with her free hand as her knees buckled. 'Ah, yes,' she gasped, 'no doubting who the real bitch is now, my not-so-proud little lady, even though you do look more bird than dog at the moment.'

  'The innkeeper fellow could be trouble, Master Crawley,' Silas Grout muttered.

  Crawley frowned and peered through the small window beside of the main church door. Outside, a few people were already gathered by the graveyard wall, but their attention was more on the spectacle provided by Harriet than on the forthcoming funeral of their beloved clergyman. 'Times have changed, Silas,' he said, 'and not for the better. Only a few years back, no man would have dared speak up against the righteousness of our work, and yet now even the bishops have their liberals among them.' He turned back to stare down the gloomy length of the church, in particular at the dark stain that spread across several of the flagstones. 'Wickstanner was a fool, but no worse than many of his fellows nowadays. They'll like as not send another in his place that's even more stupid. I should have realised what his game was a lot sooner than I did.'

  'Revenge is a terrible driving force, master,' Grout said. 'But now we're involved far too deep to pull back, surely?'

  'I think so,' Crawley said. 'Besides, the Pennywise wench is evil, and no argument about that, not in my book. She'll drop as she should, and then we'll away from here during the night.'

  'What about the old witch and her money?' Grout prompted.

  Crawley chuckled, an awful grating sound. 'There's still time for that. I think she'll show up to try and save her damned granddaughter, but the villagers will grab her and keep her out of our way. They may even hang her and the miller's boy for us.'

  'You think they really did kill?'

  'Of course!' Crawley snapped. 'Who else could it have been? The lad was chained up and now he's seen with the crone, so one or the other of them must have done it. I'd like to see the pair
of them dangle for that, but it may be more prudent for us to move on sooner - just as soon as we have her money, of course.'

  'And if she doesn't come to us?'

  'Ah, but she will, Silas, my faithful old friend,' Crawley assured him with an air of absolute certainty. 'She'll come all right, and she'll do it while the whole village is gathered for this funeral, thinking to use them as protection against us and to barter for the girl's worthless life in full public view. She won't be expecting them to turn against her, and when that happens it'll be too late, especially if we let those ignorant peasants think she's offering to buy the girl back with money they've taken from their poor dead victim!'

  'Did you hear that?' Sean Kelly's head jerked up as the sound of the shot echoed through the treetops, sending several birds skywards flapping their wings and squawking in protest at being so rudely disturbed. Ahead of them on the trail, Kitty paused also paused to look up, and then kept walking.

  Paddy Riley grimaced. 'Of course I bloody heard it!' he snapped. 'Do you think I'm deaf?' He stood stock still, tilting his head slightly to one side. 'Pistol, I think. Those bastards yesterday were using muskets.'

  'The girl said something about them using pistols for this hunt,' Sean reminded him.

  Paddy grunted, his lips twisting into a grim smile beneath the black mask he now wore, the mask that, together with the black breeches and jerkin, they had stripped from the captured hunter. 'She said a whole lot of things and barely one of them made much sense.'

  'You think they kill the poor things?'

  'I shouldn't think so,' Paddy retorted gruffly. 'They wouldn't go to all that trouble just for that. No, the lass said something about the shots stinging and bruising. Probably using some kind of wadded slug. Painful at short range, but it wouldn't kill.'

  'This is one mad and heathen place,' Sean muttered. 'The sooner we get this done and back to real fighting, the better I'll like it.'

  'Amen to that,' Paddy agreed, and suddenly stiffening reached out to grab Sean's upper arm.

  The younger trooper responded immediately; a second later both men were crouching between two clumps of bushes to one side of the path.

  'Up ahead there, I think,' Paddy whispered. 'I saw a figure, and then he was gone off to the side there on the left.'

  'You think he saw us, too?' Sean whispered.

  Paddy shrugged. 'If he did, we're probably too far off for him to think we're anything but more of their own heathen kind. In this little lot he'd take me for one of them, and you could be one of their keepers. Besides, he'll be more interested in yon poor wench and being the first to grab her to pay us much heed, and by the time he does it'll be too late.'

  'What I can't understand,' Sean said quietly, sounding puzzled, 'is why the girl doesn't really seem all that scared. If I didn't know better, I'd say she was actually a bit annoyed we came upon her like we did. Anyone'd think she didn't want to be rescued from all this, and I know that can't be true.'

  Silas Grout stood back beneath the shadow of a large oak by the graveyard wall and watched the proceedings with an air of detached amusement. The funeral cortege had continued growing even as the coffin was being borne from the church, but this was no surprise to Silas. No matter how ineffectual or unpopular Wickstanner might have been, he had still been God's representative in the parish, and in the eyes of his parishioners it was their duty to see him off on his final journey.

  The sun was low in the sky now and Silas had counted more than two hundred people already by the time the coffin bearers reached the side of the newly dug grave, and more were still hurrying across the green even at this late stage. Crawley, who had followed the coffin, stood at the other side of the grave, his head bowed as he waited for the crowd to settle.

  'Hey, mister!' The urgent voice was barely more than a whisper but its sudden intrusion into his reverie made Grout jump. He spun around, his hand already reaching for his pistol in an instinctive gesture, and found himself confronted with a fresh-faced youngster staring up at him from over the top of the stone wall.

  Grout wagged an admonishing finger at him. 'Bugger off, you little bastard,' he hissed. 'Go on, be off with you, before I stick my boot where the sun don't shine.'

  The lad seemed totally unimpressed by this threat. 'You Crawley's man, mister?' he demanded in a tone that indicated he already knew the answer.

  Grout's eyes narrowed. 'What's it to you, you grubby little whippersnapper?'

  'Got something for you, that's what,' the lad replied smugly. 'I was told to give it to you or to Crawley, and seeing as how he's looking a bit busy just now, I thought I'd best give it to you.'

  'Oh?' Grout leaned on the wall and peered over it.

  The youth was crouched down on the grass on the other side, and he held up a small leather purse together with a rolled piece of parchment. 'There's gold in the bag,' he said, 'and the message is writ down on the other. If you can read, then read it, if not, give it to Crawley when they've done burying the priest, that's what they told me to say.' He grinned wickedly.

  'And who might they be?' Grout demanded, annoyed by the boy's confidence and by the fact that he seemed to think he could give orders to his elders and betters.

  'Tells you that in the letter,' the boy snapped as Grout took purse and parchment from him. And then he was up and running before Grout could even think about trying to grab him. 'Make sure Crawley gets that as soon as they've done the burying,' the boy called back, pausing once he was safely out of reach. 'And tell him that if he hangs the girl, then he won't see another penny and his soul will be damned for evermore!'

  It was only a dream, Sarah knew, but unlike every other dream she could recall, even the most terrible of nightmares, knowing this did not give her the power to wake herself up.

  She stood in a small glade, the bright sun shafting down through gaps in the leaves above, wild flowers glowing with unnatural colours around the base of the trees encircling the small clearing. She was naked, free of even the leather harness that had been used to enslave her, but she seemed to be captive to a different form of bondage now...

  Peering down through the deep valley between her breasts, she saw that her feet had somehow changed, that they were no longer her feet at all for they were not even human. In place of toes she now stood perched upon two dainty hooves, and when she held up her arms, she saw her hands had become catlike paws with wickedly curving claws in place of nails. A short, downy fur ran up the backs of her arms almost to her elbows, giving her skin a mottled, almost leopard-like, effect.

  He would come for her soon, she knew, and trying to run away was hopeless. Wherever she ran, he would follow her and find her for he knew her, and he knew these magical woods and every hiding place she might seek. She peered down again and this time noticed that her nose seemed to be longer and also to have grown wider, forming a fur-covered snout. The revelation neither surprised nor upset her, for she knew her new form was what he desired for her so she could be free of everything that once encumbered her.

  She looked up again and was not surprised to see him standing at the edge of the woods just a few paces from her. He was smiling and staring at her with that peculiar expression that meant he knew she was his to command. 'Come, Sarah,' he said, speaking softly and extending a hand to her. She noticed that he too was naked and hoofed, and his manhood was standing erect and proud as if bidding her to him. Slowly, revelling in her newfound grace, she moved towards him and dropped to her knees at his feet unbidden, reaching eagerly with her open mouth to take the head of his massive shaft between her lips.

  'My sweet little fawn girl,' he said, and she felt his hands stroking the fur covering her skull.

  Greedily, Sarah sucked, raising her head and bending her neck forward until she had taken the entire impossible length of his erect penis into her mouth and down into her throat. And then, very slowly, she drew back again, letting the glistening erection emerge from between her lips until once again only the head remained held in her slippery g
rip. And finally, releasing him completely, she stood up. She turned, and placing her pawed hands upon her hips, bent at the waist until her head almost touched the ground while moving her hoofed feet further apart to present herself to him for mating. 'Master,' she breathed, but the sound came out like a plaintive bleating. She turned her head, begging him with her eyes as her tongue apparently could not, but he knew what she desired and there was no need for words. She felt him pressing into her, parting her swollen nether lips and pushing further and further until at last he filled her up completely.

  'Sweet fawn,' he said, 'I knew you would understand, and now you are mine.' He withdrew from her slightly, paused, and then slid fully into her again.

  Sarah felt her stomach and heart lurch, and the fires that had been merely embers until now began to fan up into flames she knew would consume her very soul and make her one with him forever.

  Kitty lay back against the base of the tree, breathless and trembling, both from the sudden ferocity of Paddy's assault and from the passions her latest captor had succeeded in arousing in her before the butt of Paddy's musket clubbed him senseless. Although the two men had dragged the hunter off her, she could still feel his throbbing cock inside her and she wanted to shout out that it wasn't fair to leave her like this. However, as she watched them stripping the black garb from the unconscious man, all she could do was chew on her leather gag in silent frustration.

  'He's near enough your size, Sean,' Paddy was saying. 'Maybe a bit longer in the leg, but you can tuck the breeches inside the boots and no one will notice anything.'

  'Except I'm going to feel like a complete fool in that mask thing,' Sean retorted. 'I just hope this is all going to be worth it. It's all very well disguising ourselves, but there's a hell of a lot of woods out here, and we're looking for one poor lass that's probably as hard to spot for herself as this one here.'