Bertrice Small

by Unconquered

  “He is right, Sasha,” taunted Miranda. “Let me go! Say that I took my own life rather than face the kind of life you offered me.”

  “You will accept everything,” said Sasha positively. “How long,” he taunted back, “how long, Mirushka, since you last made love to a man? You told me your husband had been away for several months, and you had just had a child. You have not known a man in a long, long while, Mirushka. Do you not desire to make love with a strong, passionate man? I have stood outside the breeding hut with the prince many times, and heard the cries of rapture that Lucas’s mastery of the sensual arts can wring from a woman. Unless you are cold—and I do not for a moment believe you are—you too will soon cry out your joy. Come now, let us go for a walk.”

  Furious, she wanted to refuse him and return to her room, but instead she meekly followed him, much to Dimitri Gregorivich’s surprise. She had to see the beach, ascertain the way to freedom, escape at all costs. She kept her temper in check and chatted with Sasha about the flora and fauna of the Crimean area, a subject on which he was quite knowledgeable. Finally they stood on the beach gazing out at the Black Sea.

  “My home is an island,” she said. “I do so love the sea!”

  He was lulled. Good, he thought, she can accustom herself to being here because it is like her home. Next Lucas will make her forget her husband.

  “Which way did we come from,” she queried. “I mean, where is Odessa? I am sorry we slept going through it.”

  “Odessa is a bit over twenty miles back up the coast,” he replied, pointing to the left. “We are about six miles from the border with Bessarabia in the other direction. The few bands of Tatars still left occasionally raid the small farms around here, carrying off the livestock and an occasional girl or two. Then they scuttle back over the border to Bessarabia, and we can’t touch them.”

  “Have they ever raided this farm?”

  “Bless me, no! Remember Prince Cherkessky is half Tatar himself. They have never dared to come here. Besides, we are too big for a little band of raiders to deal with.”

  They turned to walk back toward the villa, and Miranda’s spirits were soaring. She had her information. If Odessa was to the left, then freedom was to the right. She had seen an elegant sailing yacht moored in the cove. She assumed it belonged to the prince. She could not steal it, but drawn up along the beach had been several boats similar to the dories with which she was familiar. The difference was that these boats had a mast and a single sail. She smiled to herself. No one can sail a small boat like I can, she thought. Just a few days to gather her strength, and she would be gone. She had already observed that there were no guards of any sort protecting the estate. Obviously no one had ever considered escaping. Why would they? Most of the inhabitants of Prince Cherkessky’s farm probably knew no other life. And compared to the serfs and even the small Russian middle class, the slave population of the prince’s farm lived lives of comfort and luxury. Why would they want to leave?

  It would be easy to slip out from her ground-floor room at night. First, however, she must become familiar with the villa’s kitchen, for she would need food and vessels for fresh water. Lack of proper preparation could cost her her life.

  The next two days passed pleasantly enough with Marya stuffing her full of marvelous food and Sasha offering her pleasant companionship between their walks and games of chess. Her peasant dress had been replaced on the second day by a long loose-fitting gown that Sasha told her was called a caftan. It was a Middle Eastern garment, quite comfortable, and she felt less on display than in the short skirts and low-cut blouses.

  On her third evening they walked a different route, not on the beach but through a nearby orchard. The fruit trees were heavy with ripening apples, and she could smell their faint perfume. She sighed. “Autumn is coming,” she said, almost to herself, and thought of Wyndsong. Sasha said nothing. Before them stretched a field of wild flowers. They walked on toward it, and then she saw on the edge of the field a small, low building. “What is that?” she asked him.

  “Come, and I’ll show you,” he said as they reached it. He opened the door, and stepped back politely so she might see inside. The cabinlike structure consisted of one room with a fireplace, and in the dimness was a piece of furniture she couldn’t quite make out. Stepping inside to investigate further, she turned to question him as the door behind her swung shut and a long bolt slammed into its iron holder.

  “Sasha!” Her heart began to thump wildly.

  “I am sorry, Mirushka, but if I had told you that tonight was to be your first visit to the breeding hut, you would not have come willingly.”

  Anger replaced fear. “You’re damned right I wouldn’t have!” she shouted. “Open this door, you little bastard!”

  “No, Mirushka, I will not. You are more than recovered from your trip, and the sooner we get down to business, the sooner I can leave this damned bucolic countryside, and return to Alexei Vladimirnovich. I am forbidden his presence until you are delivered of your first child. At the least it will be nine months before I can return to St. Petersburg.”

  “I will not be violated by your damned slave stud!” she yelled. “If he tries to touch me I’ll fight! I’ll claw his eyes out! I’ll kick and scratch whatever I can! I warn you, Sasha, that I’ll ruin him for future service if you try and force him on me.”

  “Mirushka, Lucas is big and strong and you cannot hurt him. Please cooperate.”

  She began to bang frantically against the thick door, her fists beating a futile tatoo. She hammered and hammered until her knuckles were raw and bleeding, her face wet with tears. Suddenly she swung about, frightened and wondering if she were actually alone. She held her breath, listening for a moment to see if she might hear the sound of another’s breathing, but the room was silent and as her eyes grew used to the dimness she could see that she was indeed alone. She called out, “Sasha?” and heard only silence. He had left her.

  Miranda could make out the piece of furniture now. It was a low bed with rope springs, a thin pallet thrown over the ropes. She sat down on it wearily. The thing was hardly made for comfort, but then that wasn’t the bed’s function. She shivered. There were no windows in the room, but a little twilight came through the uneven boards. As night fell the room became darker and darker, and her fears intensified. She wept, crying harder and harder until she fell into an exhausted, nervous sleep.

  She woke with a start. Through a chink in the boards she could just make out the rising moon. Suddenly she knew she was not alone. Her breath caught in her throat as she strained to listen, but all she could hear was the frantic beating of her own heart. She lay rigid. Perhaps if he believed her asleep he would leave her alone. She was very frightened and, despite her courage, unable to keep from trembling. Finally Miranda could no longer stand the tense waiting and a strangled sob escaped her.

  “Are you frightened?” said a deep, warm voice. “I was told you were not a virgin. Why are you afraid? I will not hurt you.”

  She saw a dark form in the corner by the door. It rose to an enormous height, and started toward the bed. “No!” Her voice was sharp with hysteria. “Stay where you are! Don’t come any nearer.”

  He stopped. “My name is Lucas,” he said. “Tell me why you are afraid.”

  “I cannot do what they want us to do,” she said, low. “I was stolen from my husband. Please understand. I am not a slave.”

  “You were not a slave,” he corrected her gently, “but I’m afraid you are now. It will take some getting used to, I know.” His French was quite cultivated.

  “Weren’t you born a slave?” she asked, curious despite her fear. He stayed where he was and explained.

  “No. I was not born a slave. My brother Paulus and I come from the north of Greece. Our father was a Greek Orthodox priest. Our mother died when we were twelve and fourteen, and father then married a woman in the village who had one daughter. Mara was the most beautiful woman in our town, and unknown to Father, the most corrupt.
She had not been in the house a year when she bedded us both. Then father began to sicken, and soon he died. I imagine she was poisoning him, but I didn’t know it then. Our loving stepmother quickly arranged a match between her ugly daughter and the eldest son of the richest man in the village. We kept hearing talk in the village of an enormous dowry for Daphne, but we could not understand where Mara was going to get such a dowry. In the meantime she kept us content, and happy in her bed.

  “Our stepsister’s wedding day was a week away when a mounted troop of men arrived in our village. They were slave traders. As our ‘mother’ it was her right to sell us, and she received a large sum. The money, of course, was for our stepsister’s dowry. Without it, our stepsister Mara wouldn’t have gotten any husband, let alone a rich one! I overheard Mara haggling our price with the leader of the troop, and believe me, she got every penny she could from him and more.” He chuckled. “What a woman she was! ‘They can both fuck like stallions,” she told the slaver. ‘I’ve taught them myself, and they’re both potent as hell. I’ve aborted myself seven times in the last year!”

  “That’s horrible!” Miranda cried. “What an evil woman she was to sell you into slavery.”

  “She did us a kindness,” was his surprising reply. “Our village was poor, and our father had been the priest. We were the poorest of all. When Mara sold us she knew we would be sent to a breeding farm as we were too old to be successfully gelded. That is why she told the slave merchant that our seed was so potent. The farms are always looking for fresh stock, and the slaves on the farms are very well treated.

  “Paulus and I were brought to Constantinople, and there we were both bought by Dimitri Gregorivich. He was on a buying trip for Prince Cherkessky, who had just come into the estate. We have been happy here, and you will be too, I promise you. Just give it time.”

  “My story is not like yours,” Miranda said. “You were a peasant, and slavery has improved your life. You left nothing behind when you were brought here. Both your parents were dead, your stepmother and her child meant little to you, you had nothing. I had everything.

  “I am wealthy in my own right. I have a husband and a child I love, a mother, a sister, a home! I do not belong here.”

  “Then why are you here?” he asked, moving just a bit closer.

  “Your prince kidnapped me from my yacht in St. Petersburg because, it seems, my coloring matches yours. I am told you father daughters, and Prince Cherkessky believes a race of our daughters will make him richer. But if you touch me I will kill myself!

  “I am not a brood mare! I am Miranda Dunham of Wyndsong Island, wife to Jared Dunham, the lord of the manor.”

  He sighed. “Poor little bird,” he said. “Whatever was is no longer. You are here now, and this is your life. I don’t want you unhappy, for I am a softhearted man and a sad woman pains me.” He moved closer.

  “No!” She backed herself into the farthest corner of the bed.

  “Miranda, Miranda,” he said chidingly, tasting her name for the first time. “I have never taken a woman by force, and I promise you that I will not force you. Trust me, little bird. All I want to do is sit by you, and hold your hand. I will court you as the boys in my village used to court the pretty maidens.”

  “It will be no use,” she said. “I will never yield to you, and when they find out that you have not done what you should they will force us. Sasha warned me.”

  “Sasha!” Lucas’s voice dripped scorn. “The prince’s little pretty-boy lover! What can he know of a man and a woman? Dimitri Gregorivich knows that I will do my duty, and he trusts my judgment in these matters. Eventually we will make love, Miranda, and with God’s blessing you will conceive my child, but you need have no fear that I will rape you. You will come to me willingly, little bird.”

  “N-no!”

  He sat down on the edge of the bed. “Give me your hand, little bird. You will see that you can trust me.”

  “It’s too dark. I can’t see you,” she said.

  “Just place your hand in the center of the bed,” he said. “I will find it.”

  She hesitantly slid her small cold hand across the mattress. Instantly his big hand covered it, and she started, frightened by the contact.

  “No, Miranda, it’s all right. I will not hurt you,” he reassured her.

  For a few moments they sat in silence, and she could hear his calm, even breathing. It was odd to sit here almost peacefully with this stranger and talk of lovemaking. “Your French is excellent,” she said finally, in an effort to ease the awkward silence.

  He chuckled as if understanding her thoughts, and the sound was somehow comforting. “One of my women is French. She came here over two years ago, and we could not understand each other. So, having been a teacher, she set about teaching me her language, and I taught her some of the Russian dialects I know.”

  “She adjusted to this … this way of life after having been free?” Miranda asked.

  “Yes,” he answered.

  “I will not, Lucas,” she said.

  “Yes, you will, Miranda. You tell me you had a husband and son. If he loved you as you loved him, why didn’t he come after you?”

  “Because the prince convinced him that I drowned in the Neva River,” she cried.

  “So as far as your family is concerned you are dead. Eventually your husband will marry again, for that is a man’s way. He will have other children, and your own child will forget you. In the meantime you will sit here lonely and unloved. Is this the kind of life you want? If your husband can make himself a new life, why can’t you?”

  “Jared honestly believes I am dead, but I know I am not! If he marries his mistake will be an honest one; but if I yield my body to you I am an adulteress, a whore! I will not do it!”

  “Because you love your husband, Miranda, or because your proud spirit cannot violate the morals which you were taught as a child? You must think about this carefully, for Dimitri Gregorivich is only so patient, and the prince is not patient at all.”

  “I would sooner be dead than a slave!” she said fervently.

  “Little bird, they will not let you die. Eventually they will demand I force you. And then I will be ashamed, for I have never forced a woman. Or else the prince will give you to the others to play with as a lesson to those who might be tempted to follow your example. But I will love you, and be good to you. You are very beautiful.”

  “How can you know that? You can’t see me here in the dark.”

  “I have seen you before tonight.”

  “Out walking with Sasha?”

  “No.”

  “Wh-whén?”

  “I have come to your room each night when you were asleep, and watched you. They do not know.”

  There was nothing she could say. He was not at all what she had imagined. She had expected a brute, and he was gentle and understanding. She wished she could see what he looked like. It was growing chilly, and she shivered in her light cotton caftan.

  “Are you cold?” he asked solicitously. “Come, let me hold you, little bird.”

  “No!”

  “Miranda, it’s damp and cool in here,” he said patiently, as if reasoning with a child. “Only in winter is a blanket or fire supplied. The rest of the time we are supposed to make our own heat. Let me hold you and warm you. It cannot be disloyal to your husband if I keep you from pneumonia.” His voice held a hint of laughter.

  “No!” she repeated, and then she sneezed, not once but three times.

  Without another word he reached over in the blackness and yanked her back across the bed into his bearlike embrace. She started to struggle, but he tightened his grip. “Easy, little bird, I told you I would not force you. Now, be quiet, and let me warm you.”

  “You’re naked!” she protested.

  “Yes,” he answered simply.

  Her cheek, against his furred chest, grew hot with embarrassment. She was settled quite comfortably into his lap, and although at first she was rigidly resistant, she
gradually began to relax. He was a very big man. Shyly she moved her arm into a more comfortable position, and felt the muscles of his upper chest rippling beneath her hand. He smelled clean, yet definitely masculine, and she felt quick tears prick her eyelids as a hundred sweet memories assailed her.

  “I am a very patient man, little bird,” he said quietly, as if reading her thoughts.

  “Why do you call me ‘little bird’?” she asked, trying to change the subject.

  “Because you are graceful and golden, and soft, like a canary my mother once had. It lived in a little willow cage in our house window. When she died, it died.”

  “You are very big,” she said.

  “I am six feet six inches tall,” he said. “My brother is taller by a half-inch.”

  She could feel his heart beating evenly beneath her cheek. He was so sure of himself. Suddenly she realized how fortunate she was. He was kind. He had said he would be patient, and it occurred to her that she might very well hold him off long enough to make good her escape. Her heart quickened at the thought. Outside, the night creatures hummed and sang in the moonlight, and as his body heat began to penetrate her she grew sleepy again. It wasn’t half bad here in this windowless place, safe and warm in this gentle giant’s arms. Instinctively she cuddled nearer, and his big hand began stroking her head gently.

  “Good morning, Miranda Tomasova!” came Marya’s cheerful voice, and the sun was bright in Miranda’s confused eyes. She was back in her room! “Get up, dearie. Sasha and your breakfast are both waiting. I have brought you a pitcher of warm water to bathe with, although perhaps later you will want a real bath. The girls all say Lucas is an insatiable bull, but then I’m too old to know, more’s the pity!” Cackling merrily at her wit, she left the room.

  How on earth did she get back from the breeding hut? He must have carried her. She swung her feet over the bed and got up, removing the wrinkled caftan. Washing her face and hands, and cleaning her teeth with a mint leaf, she went to the wardrobe, picked out a new caftan, and put it on. She brushed her hair fiercely. She had a bone to pick with Sasha!