The Devil's Surrogate

by Jennifer Jane Pope

  The explosion came quickly, but when it did it was not the orgasmic release he was expecting. Instead, bright and fiery lights erupted before his eyes, and there was just time enough for Daniel to register the searing pain spreading from the back of his head before a deep, velvety blackness rose up to claim him.

  'You're lying to me, slut!' Adam Portfield roared. 'And I won't have slaves thinking they can lie to me!' The whip snaked out, cracking as it wrapped about Sarah's naked and sweat-drenched body.

  She screamed, jumping in the air and trying to skip away across the floor to escape the next blow. 'No,' she wailed, turning around and backing herself up against the wall, her hands held protectively over her breasts. 'No please, master, I swear it! I don't know who they were! They were just two men and a lad!'

  'Liar.' Adam's whip whistled across the gap between them. This time only the tip caught her, but it was a deliberate aim and a small red line erupted just beneath her navel.

  Sarah shrieked as she fell to her knees, clutching the injured area with both hands and lowering her shaven head in an attitude of submission. 'Please,' she wailed, sobbing in terror. 'I didn't know them. I don't know them.'

  Adam paused, studying her critically. Perhaps she was telling the truth. But why would three men, or rather two men and a lad, come here deep inside the Grayling estate and just happen upon her and Ross? And why would they then, having dealt with Ross so efficiently, leave the wench here alone? Perhaps they intended to return for her later? He pursed his lips, concentrating. He was alone with her now, unarmed except for his knife and the whip, and if there were indeed intruders wandering the woods, it might be a bad move on his part to try to get back to the house, or to find help from the main barn. Alone, he could probably make a break through the trees and keep ahead and clear of any strangers, but that would mean leaving the girl behind, and if they did manage to return and take her, that could bring all manner of trouble. She had been unlawfully abducted, not bought cheaply in the slave auctions like the majority of the girls. If he took her with him, it would slow his progress as well as hand her over to the unknown intruders on a plate if they caught up with him in the open.

  He needed to know more, to wait and consider and not rush his decision. The barn was a solid building, the only windows small and set high beneath the eaves, and the outer door was solid, not easily broken through. The place had never been locked from the outside since it was first built, but there was a timber bar for securing it from within which had never been used. He peered sideways at Ross. The younger man still lay motionless, so it was unlikely Adam could count on help from him in the near future. For the moment he was on his own and that left only one sensible option.

  'Don't move!' he barked at the still kneeling Sarah. 'Stay exactly where you are.' He wheeled around and strode out and along the passageway to the outer door. With a sigh of relief, he saw the locking bar was there propped up in the corner. He peered outside cautiously. The ground in front of the barn was deserted but the screen of trees some fifty yards away now seemed somehow darker and more menacing.

  Without further delay, Adam dropped the whip to the ground and sprang forward, dragging the first door closed, his heart pounding both from the effort of swinging the heavy timbered structure and from the fear that at any moment the intruders might return and spring upon him. The door banged hollowly against the top frame and already he had seized its mate. The hinges groaned a little from lack of use, but he had it moving now. The door slammed closed with a dull, booming thud, and then the bar was in his hands, dropping solidly into the locking slots. He stepped back, breathing hard but flushed with success.

  Whoever was out there, if indeed they still were, would not be getting inside in a hurry. He had bought himself time, time to question the girl more thoroughly and time for his, and Ross's, absence to be noticed. It was beginning to grow dark outside. Darkness could be his ally as well as his enemy. If he was not back at the house, or at the main barn, within an hour of nightfall, others would start to worry. Daniel would know he should have been back, as he always was, before the evening festivities began, and they would send men out to search for him, especially when they realised Ross was also missing.

  'Let's find ourselves a lantern or two first,' he muttered, stooping to retrieve the discarded whip. 'We'll get ourselves some nice cosy light, and then we'll find out just how much the little slut really knows.'

  Paddy Riley stood back against the nearest tree, musket at the ready, as Sean bent over their latest victim binding his wrists and ankles. A few feet away, Kitty lay on her back moaning softly into her gag.

  'This is getting feckin' ridiculous, Paddy,' Sean complained, tying off the final knot with a fierce jerk. 'We're collecting these buggers like they're going out of fashion.' He peered back over his shoulder, his eyes all but hidden by the black mask he now wore. 'I make that two girls and two fellows here, plus one more girl and one more fellow we've left back at that barn.'

  'Well, we'll gag this one and leave him here,' Paddy replied. 'I'd leave the two wenches, too, but I'd not be able to face meself in the morning if we didn't at least try to get them out of this hellhole of a place. At least we've got ourselves some transport now,' he added, trying to sound cheerful.

  'Yeah, and look at the size of it,' Sean said derisively. 'Me mammy used to push a wheelbarrow not much short of that thing. And that nag looks half dead, I reckon.'

  'He looks it, and I feel it,' Paddy said wearily. 'Now, quit blabbering and let's get your man there off the trail and into the bushes, then we can get our wench up and into the wagon and try to get it turned around and head back towards the barn. It'll be a squeeze, but I reckon we can fit the third girl and the wee lad in the back. You and me can sit up front. That way, dressed as we are, anyone sees us they'll think we're just going about our rightful business, or what passes for rightful business in this place.' He looked up at the sky between the overhanging branches. 'It'll be dark in another half an hour, or thereabouts. That means we'll have to watch ourselves until we get onto a wider track, but it also means we can probably get right up to the guard the lad says they keep on the main gate and jump the buggers before they know what's happening.'

  'The boy reckons there's usually four or five of them,' Sean reminded him, standing up and stretching his back. 'And there's just the two of us,' he added unnecessarily.

  Paddy stifled a yawn and lowered his musket. 'But we're proper soldiers, Sean my boy. And apart from having the element of surprise, as my old captain used to keep going on about, I reckon I've got an idea of how we can level up those odds a bit. Let's get back to the barn where we left the boy and I'll show you a little trick I picked up in the days when we were still fighting Charlie boy's royalists.'

  'Now then, you lying little whore,' Adam growled, 'let's see if we can't get to the truth of the matter.' He finished buckling the second ankle strap and straightened up, stepping back to take in the full picture of helplessness he had created. Ross was most certainly, he thought, a very inventive young man.

  Sarah sat perched upon a high stool to the back of which had been attached a sturdy upright post. It was a similar construction to the device upon which Ross had secured her earlier, except the seat was plain and much higher, and the cross member for securing her wrists was only at waist level. This time her legs were dragged back and secured at the ankles to a second cross member a foot or so below the other, forcing her thighs wide apart and fully displaying her open sex. It was a most uncomfortable position in itself, without any additional punishment being inflicted, and Adam could see how an hour or so in the clutches of this particular seat might reduce even the most stubborn slave to something approaching obedience.

  On the bench at the rear of the room, however, he had already spied something else which, when added to the muscle-wracking discomfort of Sarah's current position, he was more than confident would expedite matters nicely. As he stepped over and picked up the artificial phallus to examine it more closel
y, he knew he was right. The instrument had been carved with exquisite care from what appeared to be ebony, and was, he thought, a work of art produced by a craftsman of the highest calibre. It measured a good twelve inches in length with a diameter of perhaps a quarter of that, and its entire surface was covered in spiked protuberances whose points had just barely been rounded off. The insertion of such a weapon would be a far from pleasant experience for the victim, and as he walked back and held it up before Sarah's face, the horror in her eyes told him she understood this even better than he did.

  'Now then, missy,' he sneered, turning the polished and knobbed surface over and over in his hands to toy with her terror, 'let's see how that hungry little pussy of yours likes this as a friend.' He leaned forward and extended the tip of the shaft until it was nestling between the parted lips of her sex.

  Instinctively, Sarah tried to draw back, but the rigidity of her bondage made it impossible for her to move more than the merest fraction of an inch. 'Please,' she whimpered, tears forming in her eyes and her lower lip quivering with terrified anticipation. 'Master, no.'

  'But yes, I think.' Adam began pushing the dreadful thing into her.

  She gave another little shriek and her eyes rolled up away from the sight of what was being done to her.

  He pressed still further and the first knobs began to dig into her tender inner flesh. He saw a sudden change of expression on her face, wondered for just a brief moment if the bitch was actually beginning to enjoy this torture, and then realised she was looking past him. It took another split second for the significance of this to register, and then he was turning, but it was already too late. He lifted one arm defensively, opening his mouth to yell out defiantly, but the length of timber in the lad's hands was heavy and swinging in a fast arc. The last thing Adam Portfield heard in the instant before the makeshift club shattered the side of his skull was the high-pitched curse that issued from his youthful assailant's lips.

  It took several minutes for Paddy and Sean to turn the little wagon around. The soft soil away from the path meant they were forced to unhitch the elderly horse and drag the vehicle around by hand, but at last they completed the task, and after another minute or so spent regaining their breath, they led the docile animal back between the shafts.

  'If they try chasing after us,' Sean quipped, 'then my money's not going to be on us. This bugger's got two speeds, and the fastest of them is slow, for sure.'

  'Well, if my little plan works out,' Paddy said, 'then they won't be after chasing us for quite a bit, so will you stop worrying and just get those damned hitches fastened? It's getting so dark here I can barely see me hand in front of me face now, and it's a good half mile back before the track gets any wider than it is here.'

  'Well, I'm already done my side,' Sean stepped back a pace and looked up at the rapidly darkening sky. 'Maybe one of us should walk ahead,' he suggested, 'and yes, I know, it'll be me 'cos you're the bloody sergeant.'

  'Privileges of rank,' Paddy said, chuckling. 'But I don't mind if you'd rather drive. My arse never did much appreciate a hard wooden seat, and this trail is about as rough as any a man would ever want to drive over.'

  'Well, and aren't you just the... holy shit!' Sean's reply was interrupted in midstream as the dark figure suddenly rushed out of the trees and leapt for Paddy. The creature flew straight for the throat of the older soldier, screeching and spitting, the last of the daylight glinting dully on outstretched talons, and only Paddy's soldier's instincts allowed him to twist sideways and duck clear at the last moment. He rolled away but then was up again in an instant, his hand reaching for the bayonet knife that hung from his belt beneath the black jerkin.

  Sean's initial surprise had also given way to action, and now he was fumbling beneath his own jerkin, grabbing at the pistol, which caught for a moment in the leather folds. The horse, sensing something unexpected and dangerous, whinnied loudly and made a half-hearted attempt to rear up. The wagon rolled backwards a few feet, and the snarling beast collided heavily with the front wheel.

  'Holy shit!' Sean heard Paddy cry as the black silhouette whirled around to face him. 'Jeez, it's a bloody girl! I—'

  The rest of his words were drowned out by the crack of Sean's pistol discharging, and the flash from the muzzle momentarily blinded both men. There was a scream of agony in the darkness followed by a shout, this time decidedly female, and then there was silence, broken only by the snuffled breathing of the startled horse and the gentle creaking of the wagon as the poor beast shifted his weight forward again.

  'Paddy?'

  'Yeah, I'm all right.'

  'What the feck was that?'

  'How the hell should I know?' There was a brief pause. 'Some sort of... well, I wouldn't like to say. It was a woman, I think, but she had claws and fangs and eyes like burning coals.' Paddy emerged from around the front of the horse and Sean saw he was breathing heavily. 'For a minute there I thought I was facing a bloody banshee,' he said, his voice betraying his shock. 'Did you see those bloody talons, man?'

  'I think I hit it, whatever it was,' Sean replied, trying to ignore the tremor in his own voice.

  Paddy stepped up to him, and clapped him on the shoulder. 'I think you did, too,' he said, 'and I thank you for it. For a minute there I thought the she-devil had me, but she ran off when you fired. I'm not sure whether... hey, listen up a minute.' He stopped, turning his head.

  'What?' Sean began, but then he too heard it, a low moan of pain, most definitely female.

  'Over there,' Paddy said, pointing. 'I thought I heard something when that demon creature ran off. Quick man, there's a woman there, and she sounds like she's hurt!'

  Harriet shivered in the rapidly cooling night air and almost stumbled over an exposed tree root as Silas Grout led her across the green. The sun had disappeared over an hour ago. She had tried praying during the interim, but she found that words would not come. Her faith, it seemed, had deserted her.

  Grout had come for her at last, the men forming the guard about her painful perch moving aside for him, and she tried to steel herself to meet her end with as much dignity as her nakedness and terrible bondage would permit. As the pole was withdrawn from between her back and elbows, she stared across the green to where the noose was silhouetted darkly beneath the overhanging bough. It would be quick, at least, if Grout was to be believed, and in one way her death would be a welcome release from her agonising humiliation at the hands of these evil men.

  She closed her eyes, tried to swallow, and braced herself for the final walk. Yet it was not to the execution tree Grout led her but back towards the darkened church. And as she stumbled along at his side she realised there were no other people about - no expectant crowd waiting to see her die. Instead, as they drew closer to that section of the graveyard wall which stood highest of all on either side of the gate, her eyes made out the shapes of two horses in the shadows... and a figure dressed all in black who she knew, without having to look more closely, was none other than Jacob Crawley.

  'You spread the story as I instructed?' Crawley's voice in the darkness cut like a rusted rapier blade.

  Harriet shivered again.

  'I did, yes,' Grout replied. 'There was a little discontentment, but not much, just as you predicted, master. Most have now gone away to their beds, or down to the inn, to await the dawn entertainment they're now expecting.'

  'Good.' Crawley coughed to clear his throat, and then spat fiercely against the wall. 'And you've ordered two men to guard the wagon back there? If this bitch has any friends left, they may think they can help her by destroying the scaffold.'

  'They'll not get near it,' Grout said firmly. 'Those ignorant fools are not so ignorant as not to know they'll not get paid if they make any stupid mistakes at this stage.'

  'Then the sooner we do this, the better,' Crawley announced. 'Lift the whore up onto my horse. She can ride before me as a shield, just in case the witch and the whelp think they can try taking pot shots. You stay behind me, Sila
s, but have both your pistols at the ready, primed and cocked.'

  Confused at this latest turn of events, Harriet tried to clear her thoughts as she was hefted into the air and thrown astride the saddle of the first horse. A moment later, Crawley mounted behind her and she felt him pressing into her back, his weight pushing her forward until the raised pommel at the front of the saddle was digging into her unprotected sex. She moaned, and heard the witchfinder chuckle close to her ear.

  'Keeping your legs spread till the very end?' he taunted. 'Well, when we've taken care of your crone of a grandmother and that snot-nosed miller's boy, maybe we'll spread them a bit further for you one last time.'

  Harriet squirmed, trying to ease her position, but the effort simply added not only to her general discomfort but also to the sudden heat the initial friction against the hard leather saddle inexplicably aroused in her. She blinked, peering about her and trying to make some sense of all this. Grandmother and then miller's boy, Crawley had said. That had to mean Matilda's grandmother, Hannah, and James Calthorpe, who had been keeping company with Matilda of late, according to village gossip. There had been talk in the crypt of a tithe - ransom by any other name - and although Harriet had only caught snatches of discussions between Crawley and Grout, she guessed that the witchfinder had offered Hannah her granddaughter's life in exchange for money. There had long been rumours that the old woman had a hidden fortune left to her by her father, even though she lived most frugally in her tiny cottage. Considering this, Harriet began to understand.