Masters of the Castle: Witness Protection Program

by Maren Smith

  “Okay, we’re passing the main dining room on the right.” Stephen took her left hand into his. “Hungry?”

  The sounds of silverware clattering against plates and people chatting amicably brought a smile to her face. It didn’t matter where someone went. Food and drink was a great way to bring people together—no matter their sex, size, race, or desires, everyone came together at meal time. “No, thanks. I had a late breakfast. I’d love to check out a bit more of the Castle while everyone is busy with lunch, if you don’t mind.”

  “Sure. I was going to take you up to our suite, but this is an even better idea.” He squeezed her hand gently. “I can show you my favorite place while it’s not too busy. Don’t get me wrong. The Castle never truly shuts down.” He continued leading her, right, through a door, down two flights of stairs, then to another door. “But if you want a moment with less activity, it’s usually during lunch or dinner. Cook Connie makes the best meals, and today is meatball sandwich with homemade potato chips. Don’t scoff. You haven’t truly lived if you haven’t tried them.”

  “Okay, I’ll keep that in mind for next week. Thanks.”

  “Dude, you okay? You look like you saw your mom making out with your uncle or something?”

  Grace turned away from Stephen and focused on the large man behind her. His breaths were getting choppier, and she could practically feel the anxious energy pouring from him in waves. “Chris, what’s going on?”

  Chris cleared his throat, a low rumbling sound that brought his breathing back to his normal even, slow cadence. “Yeah, don’t worry about me. Hiccups or something.”

  “Yeah, okay, well don’t barf on us.” Stephen turned back from them, and Grace felt his arm graze hers. “This is really cool, Ella. Sorry you can’t see it, but it’s like a huge, wrought-iron latch. Kinda gives the place an old torture chamber sort of vibe.” He chuckled. “Torture chamber, get it?”

  The door slid open, and Grace was surprised there was no creak to it. She followed Stephen’s echoing voice as he led her down the narrow stairwell. Was it bright or dark? It was pretty tight, maybe four feet wide? But not suffocating if you got stuck behind a line of people. Fifteen stairs later. The sounds of moans and shrill cries got louder the lower they ventured. Chris’s footsteps got clunkier. His hand scraped along the right wall then smacked it. By the time they were on the ground floor and the cool air rushed into her face, the large man’s breathing was two times faster than before.

  A low, almost impossible to hear strangled mewl came from behind her.

  “We need to leave this place.” She yanked at Stephen, but he kept pulling her. She dug her heels in and leaned back—holy crap, if he let her go, she was going to fall on her rear. “Stop, dammit!”

  Stephen finally paused and turned into her space, the coffee on his breath making her wince. “What’s the problem? This is the quietest it’s going to ever get. Even the three a.m. crowd is bigger than this.”

  A loud shriek pierced the room, and a hissing moan came from over her shoulder.

  Grace wrenched herself out of Stephen’s grasp and turned to the man behind her. God, he was practically hyperventilating. “Chris.” She kept her tone even and light. “I can’t see your eyes, but you can see me.”

  More choppier breaths came at her, air caressing the top of her head.

  “Look at me please. Chris.” She took a deep breath and released it slowly. “Tell me the color of my eyes. What do they look like?”

  His breaths centered on her face, and she felt the heated puffs on her cheeks, nose, and mouth. Her blindfold was removed. She opened her eyes, knowing she couldn’t see. But he needed to see her.

  “What color?” she asked again, a bit louder, but careful not to spook him.

  “B…l…uuuuue.” He whispered the strangled word.

  “I’d like you to lead me out of this place now.” So careful, so calm, even though her heart was going a million miles a minute, this man needed her to exude calm and peace. “Thank you.”

  “K.” His larger palm took hers, and he led her with shaky steps back into the stairwell. The door shut behind them. One step. Another. Three more. The sounds diffused the farther up they went. When they reached the twelfth or thirteenth step—she’d lost count after focusing on his exhales and inhales—he paused. His side brushed against hers as he sat down on the stair and leaned against the wall. The thump sounded like he’d hit the back of his head against the wall, then he released a low groan.

  Grace sat down next to him. “Are you all right?”

  “Shit.” He exhaled long and hard. “Sorry you had to see that. I don’t mean see. Dammit, I’m a mess.”

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  He cleared his throat. “No. Sorry. That came out harsher than I meant. No, thank you. It gets worse if I talk about it, and I am not throwing that kind of shit at you. Just gimme a sec to catch my breath.”

  “Whatever you need.” She leaned closer after replacing her blindfold. “How’re your shoulders?”

  He laughed, only this time it sounded more like a wheeze than a happy chuckle. “Headless H territory again. Bet you’re glad you didn’t get me as your pretend boyfriend now. Hey, if you feel more comfortable with someone else being your bodyguard while you’re here, I get it. I’ll tell Jackson to put someone a bit less fucked up, stronger, less scarred to watch out for you.”

  “Chris.” She placed her hands as close to his body as she dared.

  “Yeah?”

  “I’d like to touch you, with your permission.”

  “I’d like that.”

  She reached forward and gently grasped his shoulders. So tight, so high. So painful. What had he been through during his time in the US Army? She massaged into the tightest knot along his shoulder blade and neck, listening to his breaths as they slowed.

  “In answer to your earlier question…” He paused and placed his hands over hers. “They’re not just blue. They’re the most perfect shade of lapis mixed with ice, like the Arctic Ocean after a hard storm. I could get lost in them if you let me.”

  “What the hell, you two?” The door slammed and hard footsteps raced up the stairs. “I am supposed to be with you at all times. You can’t just leave me. It’s not safe. We agreed that—”

  “You’re right,” Grace interrupted. “I am really sorry about that. I got a little shaken up by sensory overload and bolted. It won’t happen again.”

  “Good. Now, let’s get back to the Dungeon. I want to show you my favorite spanking bench.” Stephen tried to take her hand.

  “No.”

  “What do you mean no?” Incredulity and frustration tinged his voice.

  “I mean I’m not going to be your pretend girlfriend any more. I’ll ask Marshall to give me someone else.”

  “Fine. Your loss.” He started past them. “I don’t mean that, sorry. Inner filter crap my parents always used to get onto me about. I really do want to help, and I promise if you need anything at all, I’ll be there for you, Ella.” Soft lips kissed her cheek. “Do you want me to walk you back to Marshall’s office?”

  “No, it’s okay. Chris will take me. Thanks. See ya around?”

  He laughed good-naturedly, and she could almost visualize the light in his gaze. “No, ya won’t.”

  The door opened and closed, leaving them alone in the stairwell again.

  “I was going to ask if you wanted me to take you to Marshall, so you can get a new partner for your stay, but I don’t think you need one anymore,” Chris said.

  “Why not?”

  “Because I’m not going farther than a foot in any direction as long as you’re here. If you’ll have me, and Marshall lets me change my assignment, I’d like to be your pretend boyfriend. The only thing I really seem to have a problem with is the Dungeon. It’s the combination of the smell—I don’t know what it is—the sounds and the darkness. I think I’m okay in brightly lit, more open areas. Noises are still hit or miss, but I’m willing to help you expl
ore a bit while you’re here.”

  “I don’t want to put you out…” She furrowed her brow. What if he got triggered again by something? Then again, if she could read his signals, be the first person to know what was wrong, she could help him if he had another moment. And as selfish as it sounded, it would take her mind off being scared. But there was more to it than that. The man lit her body on fire with just a few words. What would it be like to explore a little bit with him. To touch him, taste him. Embrace all he had to offer? “Okay, I’d like that. No more Dungeon for me, either. I don’t think that’s going to be my thing, anyway. Can we go check out Wardrobe? I want to get a new dress for tomorrow. You can help me pick a color that goes with my eyes.”

  “Yeah, that’s a good idea, but first, we need to make a firm agreement to work together and communicate with each other.”

  “Okay, I agree.” She held out her hand. “Put ’er there, partner.”

  Her hand was gently pressed back down and slid to rest on her hip. “That’s not how I shake on things, princess.” His warm breath caressed her lips. “I’m going to kiss you now.”

  Chris

  He breathed in her scent, something delicate and faintly floral, but also with a hint of spice. So much like the woman herself. He let his lips graze hers, savoring the softness while sternly warning himself to remain in control. Her heat poured into him even with such light contact and he closed his eyes to focus on just that point. Was this how she experienced their kiss? Sight seemed like the wrong sense for such a moment—even in movies people closed their eyes to kiss. He wanted to understand her world view, as much as was possible for a sighted person, but his body wanted to get to know hers inside and out. She made a faint noise in her throat, almost a whimper, and he drew back, still breathing in her scent, not wanting to break the moment or to overstep.

  Fake boyfriend. Real bodyguard. This delicate young woman was not only Marshall’s cousin, but a guest of the Castle and in real danger. He could hug and kiss her, even bind her or give her a friendly spanking if it seemed appropriate, but anything he did had to be with the full awareness of his status.

  Not her lover.

  Not her boyfriend.

  Her protector.

  And he had no issue with taking care of her. In fact, he’d like to see anyone try to stop him from doing so. Every time he considered her situation, he shook his head. A blind woman ‘witnessing’ a crime. If someone had asked him five minutes before he’d been called into that meeting, he’d never have believed it could happen. Would have sworn vision was required to witness anything.

  He kissed her again, still soft, tentative, not wanting to take what was not freely offered. Grace had been adamantly against playing with Stephen, had rejected his every suggestion no matter how harmless. But he was trapped, unable to summon the desire to move away from her. He felt he could stay there, sipping from her lips like a hummingbird from a flower forever. And where the hell were such thoughts coming from? A hummingbird? He jerked back, sure his face was brilliant red and grateful she couldn’t see it. A blushing bodyguard would add that extra edge of confidence to the fact he’d already had a semi-meltdown in the Dungeon.

  Trying to school his breathing so his very observant protectee wouldn’t think he was losing it again, he took her elbow and turned her toward the stairs. “Let’s get you that dress. I don’t want to be accused of starving you, so we’d better show up at dinner.”

  She moved back up the stairs. “I’m not a clothes horse, so I’m counting on your guidance. Just don’t let me look horrible and I’ll be satisfied, okay?”

  “Princess, the only way you could look horrible is with a bag over your head. But I am honored that you value my opinion enough to ask for it.” He rested a hand at the small of her back, guiding without pushing. At least he hoped he was accomplishing that. He stayed beside and slightly behind Grace, guiding her as much as possible with words, occasionally with a light touch on her elbow. She moved with incredible, well, grace through the long hallways and up and down stairs as they made their way to Wardrobe where, to his surprise, the usual suspects were not present. He’d never been by there when there weren’t a few people in there trying on outfits or helping others do so. It was busy around the Castle, but in the hours between lunch and dinner, he’d have anticipated quite a few guests would be selecting outfits, especially with tomorrow night’s masquerade ball in mind.

  “What’s wrong?” Grace once again sensed things he wouldn’t expect her to. “This is Wardrobe, right?”

  “What gave it away?” He joked, but not entirely. Grace’s ability to move through the world and know what she encountered without the sense he’d always considered critical was nothing short of astounding. People with perfect vision had a hard time finding their way around when they first arrived.

  “I can smell the leather from some of the garments. Probably shoes?”

  “Among other things.” He nodded, then felt ridiculous for doing so. There was nobody in the room besides him who could see the physical movements he’d relied upon to convey his meanings. He’d have to learn to communicate in other ways if he was going to keep her safe. “So, anything special you’d like to wear?”

  “I suspect black wouldn’t be out of place here?” She turned in a circle as if taking in the room with its racks of clothes. Everything from ball gowns to thin leather straps suitable for certain kinds of scenes. Pinafores that would appeal to Littles and their Daddies. She walked along, running her hand over the garments, pausing to caress a black velvet cape he’d seen someone wearing just the other night. “I tend to choose my clothes by how they feel.” She sniffed, her nose twitching. “And smell. This,”—she held up a blouse by the sleeve—“this was worn by someone who liked way too much perfume.”

  He bent close and sniffed. “I don’t smell anything.”

  “Well, it’s been cleaned.” She let the sleeve drop. “But I am a little sensitive to strong aromas.”

  “Then we’ll need to find you something new.” He hadn’t pictured himself as a Wardrobe assistant, but with nobody else to help, he’d add that role to the others he’d taken on regarding Grace. Gladly. “Black is always appropriate, although the women here dress in a variety of colors. And, of course, the Littles tend to prefer pastels. Black… hmmm.” He found a rack of outrageous black dresses. Turning to face her, he let the hanger he’d just lifted fall from his fingers. “Grace, what…”

  “What am I thinking?” She stood there in a little, black lace bra and panties, a sheepish smile widening her lips. “I’m thinking I need to try on whatever you offer me.”

  She couldn’t really be so naive, could she? Or trusting? Picking up and then suspending the dress on its hanger from a handy hook on the wall, he turned to face her again. Her curves went on for days, the low-cut underwear and demi-bra revealed a lot of smooth skin his fingers stretched out to touch. “Rest a hand on my shoulder, and I’ll help you get this dress on. You can tell me what you like or hate about it, and I’ll make another selection.” While trying not to ogle her. Because that would be wrong. So. Very. Wrong.

  Grace held her arms over her head, and he slipped the dress on. It was black, all right, but it fell over her like an ebony waterfall, hugging her curves all the way. A slit ran up her left thigh, hiding and revealing her leg as she moved around.

  She pirouetted like a dancer on tiptoe then paused, smoothing the fabric over her hips. “What do you think? Is it okay?”

  No… it was not remotely okay. Not if she was leaving this room and going to be in front of the other guys. Maybe they could extend the blindfold to the men. All of them. But even with her eyes hidden, her face expressed so much anticipation, lower lip trembling a little as her straight white teeth dented it, cheeks rosy and hair, the silky deep-brown waves that usually lay on her shoulders flew out, the light catching gold glints he hadn’t noticed before.

  Was the dress okay? Honor compelled honesty. “You are too beautiful to be seen by anyo
ne but me.”

  She froze, palms flat on the smooth fabric, lips parted. “Anyone but you?” Her breath emerged in little pants, probably from the spinning, but she faced him straight on. Not that she could see him. Then, before he even knew what to say, her lips drooped. “Of course. My protector. Do you think this makes me too obvious, standing out in a crowd?” Bending, she grasped the hem of the dress. “Is there anything more sack-like here? Something to help me blend?”

  Oh, what an ass he’d been, even unwittingly, to make her doubt herself.

  “Princess, you would stand out even in a sack. Because you’re beautiful.” He hurried on. “But here at the Castle, not standing out would make you stand out. Everyone expresses themselves in a big way, so if you looked like the checkout clerk at the market, you’d be noticed.”

  And her smile was back. “Well, you don’t have to try to build me up. I know I’m okay looking, at least I don’t think I scare small children. But the dress is tighter than I usually wear. Should I try on some more?”

  Damn honor. “No. This one is perfect. But since we’re here, let me try to find something for you to wear between now and the event that fits both you and the Castle a little better.”

  Over the next hour, he pulled out one dress after another and she tried them on. By the time a pair of women entered, they had a heap of rejects and keeps and had managed to generally make a mess.

  Luckily, the Castle ladies were sweet enough to help undo the disaster he’d created and even found a few more things perfect for her new look. An afternoon well spent.

  Chapter 3

  Grace

  “So what do you want to do today?” Her bathrobe pulled tightly around her, Grace walked out of the bathroom and toward the sounds in the small kitchenette. “It’s…” She ran her fingers over the face of her watch. “Nine fifteen a.m., which means we have nine hours to kill before dinner and another three hours until the masquerade ball.”