by Sarah Fisher
‘Father Orme, is that you?’ I cried out in relief, catching hold of his robe.
‘Get off me,’ the old man snapped angrily, shaking my hand free. ‘Alms will be given after morning prayers… get back. I’m now off to my bed. Guard! You…’ He swung round to see me off with his staff, raised it, and then recognised my voice or me and stopped mid-swipe. ‘My God! Beatrice, is that you?’ he spluttered, waving the guard away. ‘By all the saints, what has happened to you? Let me look at you, girl.’
He lifted the lantern he was carrying and peered at me. His face told me everything I need to know about my appearance. It was all too much. I staggered forward, feeling faint.
‘I have to talk to my master,’ I whispered, tears bubbling up behind my eyes. ‘I have learnt this night of a plan to murder him. Please, Father, please take me to him. Her ladyship plans to have him killed at first light when he and Lord Usher go hunting. She has hired mercenaries to lay in wait by the river. I know it sounds like madness, but Arturo has betrayed him. Please Father, please.’ The words tumbled out like water.
Orme’s face softened. My legs finally buckled and he beckoned the guard closer to pick me up.
‘Come back with me, child, and I will get you cleaned up. You are feverish.’
‘You will tell him, won’t you?’ I begged, even as the darkness of unconsciousness threatened to engulf me.
‘Yes, yes,’ he asserted, but I feared he was just humouring me.
‘If she succeeds,’ I said as firmly as I could, ‘she plans to have you killed too. She and Arturo have hired assassins from the house of Carun. She thinks it’s your fault she had to wed in the first place, and wants you dead for it.’
At last I had the old man’s undivided attention. Father Orme stared down at me. ‘Does she indeed?’ he said thoughtfully, rubbing his bony chin. ‘Does she indeed?’…
Chapter 15
Sarah pushed her chair away from the desk and stared at the computer screen, as if seeing it for the first time. She had typed every word of the doctor’s carefully recorded translation in, but knew it had been an unthinking process; every shred of her consciousness, every molecule of thought and feeling had been with Beatrice de Fleur on her quest to save her master.
She felt tense and angry from reading of the poor girl’s brave encounter with the drunken journeymen. And her stomach was knotted in case now, having escaped from her tormentors, Father Orme would not believe her, or help her by warning his lordship about the danger from Arturo and the hired assassins from the house of Carun.
What had dragged her away from the loose-leaf folder and the unfolding saga was the sound of the door opening. Sarah looked across the room, almost as if she was waking from a long, dream-filled sleep.
Chang indicated the landing. ‘I thought we would go for a walk,’ he said, waving her to her feet.
Sarah stared at him in total astonishment. ‘A walk?’ she repeated dumbly. It seemed such an unlikely thing for him to suggest, and the elegant red coat-dress and high heels she was wearing from the day before hardly seemed appropriate things to wear in the great outdoors.
But Chang could not be so easily dissuaded. ‘That’s right,’ he said, holding out a hand in invitation. ‘Oscar and me thought you might like the chance to explore the grounds while you’re here.’
Sarah felt her colour draining, there was something about the way he spoke that suggested there was a lot more to his invitation than first appeared. She got to her feet unsteadily; sitting for so long without moving had given her pins and needles.
‘I’ll just get my jacket,’ she said, indicating the wardrobe. ‘I won’t be a minute.’
Chang shook his head. ‘You needn’t bother,’ he said mysteriously. ‘You won’t be requiring it.’
Sarah didn’t know what to say to him, and decided on nothing.
He indicated the open door. ‘If you please, the others are already waiting.’
When they got downstairs Sarah’s worst suspicions were confirmed. Chang led her away from the main house along a broad, covered walkway that led down towards a vast greenhouse. Although sheltered from the autumn wind the walkway was far from warm.
The red dress seemed thin. Sarah shivered.
Chang waved her along. ‘Not very much further now,’ he said.
She glanced up. A little way ahead, Oscar, Oliver Turner’s handsome Nordic chauffeur, was keeping watch by an ornate set of double doors that were designed to retain the heat and which led down into the hothouse.
He was dressed in cream jodhpurs and a crisp white open-necked shirt. He smiled warmly as she approached. ‘You’ve still got a few minutes to get away,’ he said with a grin, pushing the first of the doors ajar for her.
‘I beg your pardon?’
Oscar pulled a face. ‘To get away. Didn’t Chang explain the rules to you? Amelia is already inside. Lots of the others are in there too. You’re the last of the hares to arrive.’
Still Sarah hesitated. She was totally confused.
‘Hare and hounds, Miss Morgan,’ Chang whispered menacingly. ‘Perhaps you are familiar with the principles of the game? You run away and we give chase – it’s simple enough. We always play in the glasshouse when we can. While the cats are busy in the big house, the mice – if you can call us that – take full advantage of whatever little diversions can be arranged.’ He nodded at her high heels. ‘I’d take those off if I were you. They’ll make it very hard to run. Ah, here we are, the rest of the hounds have arrived.’
Sarah looked over her shoulder. Walking along the covered path towards them, with a strange and unnerving air of determination, were at least half a dozen other men of all shapes, sizes and ages. They were men she didn’t recognise, but who she guessed were chauffeurs or valets; servants of Oliver Turner’s guests.
Her jaw dropped and she instinctively backed away. Chang was deadly serious about the game. He and Oscar looked her up and down, and for the first time she saw they had the avaricious eyes of blood-lusting predators ready for the hunt.
She shot a fleeting glance at the approaching pack and sensed their blood was up. They were eager for the chase too, and she had no doubt they had all already imagined the pleasure and pain of what might follow when the hares were caught.
Some instinctive survival force switched on deep within her mind and before she quite knew what she was doing, she kicked off the shoes, pushed open the heavy door of the great glasshouse and hurried inside.
She ran down the first flight of steps onto a broad semi-circular brick paved area, set with palms in ornate tubs. The intense cloying blanket of humid heat hit her like a body blow. The air was heavy with the perfume of the flowers that clung to trelliswork suspended from the walls, and which grew up in stunning displays of pinks, yellows and oranges amongst the banks of foliage in enormous raised beds. The lush tropical heat was all-engulfing, and she was instantly bathed in a sheen of perspiration.
For a few seconds Sarah struggled to catch her breath and get her bearings, the blood pulsing in her ears as the first flood of adrenaline kicked in. There was an odd artificial quality to the light under the huge glass dome. The humidity in the hothouse was so high it muffled the sounds around her, and distorted them, so she couldn’t fathom from which direction noises were coming. She was certain she could hear tumbling water, wild shrieks and cackling bird calls, or were they distant human voices? It was quite impossible to tell.
Leading away from the first brick terrace were winding gravelled paths to the left, right, and straight head of her, that led through a series of arches deeper into what looked for all the world like a tropical jungle. Each pathway was framed by great tumbles of glistening, dripping greenery, with fragrant creepers and convoluted vines heading skywards around them, curling up to the distant arc of the glazed roof.
Sarah glanced left and right, frantically trying to work out what to do.
She couldn’t risk staying too long on the terrace or any of the main paths. The hunt would surely soon begin, and they would find her in seconds if she stayed where she was. The narrow tailored skirt of the red coat-dress would make running impossible, its colour alone would give her away if she wanted to hide.
Guessing her pursuers would make short work of the dress when they caught her anyway, she hastily pulled it off and, rolling it into a bundle, dropped it in amongst a great clump of ferns, before heading off down the path to her left. As soon as she was through the first arch she scrambled up onto the raised planting area, pushed aside the plate-sized leaves of one of the bushes, and headed across the soft mulched forest floor, forcing herself further into the thick undergrowth.
In the wet heat the leather basque and sheer black stockings clung to her like a second skin, and in a peculiar way seemed deeply appropriate; crouched amongst the bushes, her head snapping from side to side as she listened to the unfamiliar sounds closing around her, she felt like a creature turned wild, a sleek animal.
Her breasts were flushed and heaved as she tried to tame her breathing. As she crouched stealthily amongst the sculptural spines and stems of the tropical plants, she could smell herself. It was like the musk of an animal, the soft sweetness of her sweat mixed with the deeper fragrance of her sex.
For a second or two Sarah closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths, fighting to steady her nerves. As she did she let those senses and instincts that normally lay suppressed come to the fore. She suddenly felt strangely alert and in tune with the sounds and the smells of the captive rainforest around her.
Sarah was aware she was not alone. She moved her head slowly, and there, scuttling between two great pillars that were covered in creepers, she snatched a darting glimpse of someone running for cover. A naked shoulder, a shock of golden brown hair, a fleeting impression of a lithe body, though from the little she saw she wasn’t certain whether her fleet-footed companion was male or female.
She didn’t wait to find out.
Crouching low, she worked her way even deeper into the enveloping undergrowth, with every sense straining to pick up the sounds of any approaching hunters.
But the hunters weren’t as concerned about stealth as she anticipated. Just as she tucked herself down under the shelter of a great thicket there was the frantic baying of a hunting horn, and then the wild cries of the human hounds as they set off in search of their quarry.
The hunt was on.
Within seconds there seemed to be people running backwards and forwards along every path and crashing through the undergrowth around her. She heard a triumphant whoop as one of the hunters flushed the first prey from cover, and then a delighted cheer as the victim was caught or surrendered.
Oscar had told her it was a game, but even so, waiting in the damp shadows to be discovered was a nerve-wracking experience. Sarah looked left and right, her senses ablaze as she felt the panic and excitement knotting her stomach. Should she stay where she was and hope the hounds would pass her by, or dodge from bush to bush to try to evade them?
Making her snap decision and keeping low, Sarah bolted as quietly as she could towards the next thicket, and as she did she glanced down onto the main walkway. What she saw there made her stop in her tracks.
Chang had already caught his prey.
She was an exquisite androgynous creature, with long tendrils of night-black hair that tumbled onto narrow shoulders. His catch was slim and sinuous and pale as moonlight, and truly did look at one with the dark shadows below the rainforest canopy.
Chang’s face was set in a grimace as he struggled to hold his catch down. The figure was wriggling and squirming in his arms like a fish on a line. Naked except for a scrap of emerald-coloured cloth tied around her waist, his catch turned again, and Sarah saw it was a female, with strange haunted eyes of milky green. Given Chang’s tastes and Sarah’s memories of the anal dildo, she was a little surprised.
On the gravelled path the girl crouched like a cornered cat, growled at Chang, and tried to scratch his face. He grinned, and moved with surprising agility to avoid her claws. Grabbing her wrist, he twisted her round and pressed her down onto the path, lifting her arm up her back, and swiftly ripping away the shred of green cloth.
She cursed and squirmed and kicked out at him, but Chang had no problem in dodging the vicious swipes. His captive was built like a teenage boy; lean and lightly muscled, with small breasts. Her sex was shaved and one of the outer labia was pierced and adorned with a gold ring.
Chang jerked her up onto hands and knees, his palm’s cupping those tiny tits, nipping and working at the hardened peaks. His prey struggled valiantly against him, although even as they fought, Sarah could sense the girl’s growing arousal as the erotic game unfolded.
‘Be still,’ Chang ordered breathlessly. ‘I’ve caught you, you know that… stop fighting.’
The girl swore and strained again in a final feeble attempt to break free, but Sarah sensed it was more of a gesture than true resistance.
The girl was wet between her legs, her sex glistening with excitement. Chang pushed her face down towards the pea gravel. ‘Submit, you little bitch,’ he grunted. ‘You know what I want, Lola, and you know you want it too.’
The girl shot him a glance over her shoulder, and then, to Sarah’s shock, she giggled, her green eyes alive with mischief.
‘Okay… I submit,’ she purred, and ran a finger through the wet lips of her quim. ‘So what would you like?’
Chang grunted again, his eyes sparkling and bright with need. To Sarah, peering through the lush leaves from her hiding place, it was clear the thrill of the chase – however short – had warmed Chang’s blood. He leant into the bushes and pulled out a long supple cane, and as he did he glanced up momentarily and caught sight of Sarah spying on them. He grinned and then turned his attention back to the panting Lola.
Coming face to face with her tormentor Sarah felt her composure slipping away. She froze, searching for what to do. Should she run, and risk being caught by the other hunters? Or should she remain in the undergrowth and hope Chang would satisfy himself with the feline Lola?
Her mind was a blur, and she remained rooted to the spot.
Lola settled herself on all fours, her face raised and her eyes closed, waiting quietly for Chang’s next move. The cane lifted, Sarah held her breath, and then watched, mesmerised, as it swished down and exploded across the girl’s milky flesh—
The shriek was instantly smothered into a muffled whimper as a hand clamped painfully over Sarah’s mouth and an arm locked around her ribs and squeezed the breath out of her lungs. Her nostrils flared as she inhaled desperately.
‘Like to watch, do you?’ a fearsome voice hissed in her ear. She tried to struggle, but it was hopeless; whoever was holding her was far too strong. She could feel the heat of his breath rasping against her cheek, the steady beat of his heart against her back, and the brazen press of his erection against her hip. The thrill of the chase had certainly heated his blood.
‘Turn her round, Bradbury,’ snapped another voice from close by. ‘Let the dog see the rabbit. Come on.’
Sarah’s heart raced; there were two of them. She wondered if Chang had seen them creeping up on her and it had been this, and not recognition, that had made him grin.
She willed herself to relax, and felt the tension in her captor’s arms do likewise. Suddenly sensing a fleeting opportunity, she twisted and lunged forward. The hold broke and, amazed she had succeeded in breaking free, she darted away into the dense cover of the bushes.
‘Why, you little bitch,’ he roared after her, though she sensed it was as much with delight as anger.
‘What happened?’ shouted the second man.
‘Nothing. Let’s get after her.’
Sarah dodged and ducked, turned this way and that, but she knew they were still close behind. She thre
w a feint to the left and then turned right, scrambling between the trees and climbers, afraid to look back, running low and fast. As she broke out into the open and crossed one of the paths she turned for the briefest of instants to see if they were gaining, and in that split second she lost her footing, staggered, and fell forward. With hands out-stretched she tried to break her fall, but she crashed into green foliage which parted under the assault and she plunged helplessly into a pool of cascading water. The cold shock made her gasp, and she bobbed to the surface spluttering and coughing, trying to clear her lungs.
She had stumbled clumsily into an enormous pond, backed by an ornamental waterfall. Her feet couldn’t touch the bottom, so she started swimming for the far side. A whoop and a splash behind her and she knew one of her pursuers had followed her in. She lengthened her stroke, but fatigue was taking its toll. The sounds of rhythmic splashing grew louder in her ears and she knew he was closing. As she tried to swim faster her stroke became more and more ragged and water shipped into her gaping mouth as she tried to fill her burning lungs. At last her toes touched the bottom and she managed to wade towards the side, her arms flailing in her exhaustion. She glanced back over her shoulder. The man was ploughing through her wake towards her. He was powerfully built, muscular, and covered in thick dark hair that formed a mat over his shoulders and stout arms. For some reason Sarah couldn’t move. She stood like a frightened rabbit and watched as the man emerged and stood in front of her, the water lapping around their middles. His torso dripped and gleamed, the hair now slick like a thick pelt.
Sarah did nothing to protect herself as he reached out, gripped the back of her neck, and pulled her close. He kissed her hungrily, staking his claim. She shivered and found herself responding, completely overwhelmed by his presence and strength.
‘Okay, okay, Bradbury,’ called someone from the edge of the pool. ‘Leave a little of that for me.’ It was the voice Sarah had heard in the bushes. The accent was American, whiny and thin. Her captor broke off the kiss and Sarah looked in the direction of the voice. There was a small man gazing appreciatively down at her. He was not good-looking, and in the latter years of his life. Wisps of grey hair struggled to cover his balding pate and a scrawny beard sprouted from a large chin. Sarah gasped, for he was flexing a cane between gnarled fists.
