Innocence Enslaved

by Maddie Taylor

  “You there!” She recognized Alard’s shout, frowning at his rude greeting. “Get your filthy, spur-galled, Lancorian hands off my sister.” His anger was clearly stated.

  “No, Alard!” she objected, ready to explain.

  “Look at her neck, Bert,” he roared as he drew near. “You’ve bruised her, you hell-hated bastard.”

  Corbet pushed her behind him the next second, though not before she saw them advancing.

  “No,” she repeated, trying to make herself heard from behind his broad back, but they were busily, and quite loudly, disparaging Corbet. That wouldn’t stand. She needed to explain.

  All at once, Alard was upon him. “I’m going to kill you, swine of Lancore.” Corbet’s body suddenly jerked forward. Had he grabbed him, or worse, struck him?

  “Stop,” she called out desperately as she made her way around him. While she moved to his left, Corbet dodged right. Pain, searing hot, slammed through her temple as flashes of light exploded before her eyes. Her legs flew out from under her and the next thing she knew, she landed with a jolt on her behind in the dirt.

  “God’s blood, man. You’ve hit her,” Corbet called angrily as he bent, reaching for her.

  His hands didn’t touch her as Bertrand pulled him back. “Stay away from her, you ill-bred, hedge-born coxcomb!”

  She pressed her fingers to her temples, trying to ease the ache and clear her vision as she heard the sound of bones crunching and flesh pounding flesh. “Bert, Alard,” she shouted as she pushed unsteadily to her feet. “Have you gone mad?” She made it, which was a feat in itself because when she stood she staggered from dizziness. “He’s my husband,” she cried, blinking to clear her blurry vision. “Don’t hurt him.”

  Hands caught her shoulders and steadied her. “Daughter, are you all right?”

  Although there were three of him, she leaned into the chest in the middle. “Please, papa, stop them.” She strained to focus as she peered up at the tall, forceful man who had always, until recently, been her source of protection. “I love him, papa. We’re married.”

  “I’ll be damned,” was his answer.

  She was passed into another’s arms, softer, yet equally as comforting. “Hush, Emmy dear,” her mother sobbed as she hugged her tight. “You’re home safe and that’s all that matters.”

  “They’re two versus one, mama.”

  “Stop fretting, your young man is making a good showing. Besides, your papa will put an end to this soon, so we can sort everything out.”

  The grunts, crunches, and moans ceased a moment later. Able to see clearer now, despite there being two of everything, she still questioned if they hadn’t knocked something loose. There was a pair of Berts being held back by two of her father, while twin Corbets stood breathing hard with fists clenched over a duo of Alards, who were on the ground holding their jaws. She shook her head as Corbet came to her, both of him did, and stepped over her brother coming toward her.

  Emilia swayed on her feet as she tried to meet him halfway, but another wave of dizziness swept over her. This time, it was too much and she crumpled in her mother’s arms.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  A jumble of noises drummed in her aching head and brought her out of her dark slumber. Squinting against the light, she put a hand to her throbbing temple, wincing and moaning as she brushed a tender spot.

  “Come back to us, love,” a man beckoned warmly.

  “Corbet?” she whispered.

  “No, Emmy, it’s papa. Can you open your eyes?”

  She did, looking up into the same green as her own.

  “Papa,” she exclaimed with a broken cry. “I’ve missed you so.” She sat up and threw her arms around his neck, welcoming his strong embrace. Then memories flooded back. “Corbet. Bertrand punched him. Where is he? Is he all right?”

  “It’s true then, what you said? You wed the man.”

  “Yes, papa. We were married this afternoon in a small church inside Melbourne, near the Ingvar border. Corbet has the document the priest gave us, if you’ll ask him.” She pushed free of his embrace. “Where is he? If you’ve hurt him, I won’t be pleased.”

  “Bring him in, Alard.”

  The door opened and closed, the next moment she heard loud voices in the hall, one of which was clearly her husband’s and he didn’t sound happy. The door opened once again and Corbet lurched in, with Bertrand at his back. He righted himself and spun to face her brother. Emilia inhaled sharply in horror, seeing he was bound with his hands behind his back.

  “What is the meaning of this?” she exclaimed, pushing to her feet. The sudden movement made her head swim and her stomach roll, and she sat back down at once. As her head throbbed, she held it with her hands as if she could stop the dizziness and pain all at once.

  “Release me and let me go to her,” Corbet growled.

  “Papa, untie him. He did everything to save me.” As she gazed up at her father, she recognized the stark concern he had for his only daughter. Softly, she implored as her hands clutched his tightly. “Please, I love him.”

  He nodded as a tear slid down her cheek. “Release him,” her father instructed.

  Bertrand wasn’t of a like mind. “We have witnesses that saw him pay silver for her and haul her off naked. He’s as evil as that depraved earl who rules the hell-consigned place.”

  “No!” she cried. “You’re wrong. He did what was necessary to protect me and rescued me from abuse, degradation, and worse.” Her wet spiky lashes lifted as she once more beseeched her father to understand. “He is the most honorable man I’ve ever met, papa. I’ve been with him nearly two weeks and married this day, and am yet a maiden.” Her tone sharpened as she glared at her brother. “Set him free, Bertrand, or we’ll leave this very day and never set foot in Melbourne again.”

  “Brahm!” her mother exclaimed. “I won’t lose my daughter another time.”

  Her papa strode across the room, pulling a knife from his belt. The next instant he cut Corbet free. Without a word to anyone, he was by her side, kneeling next to the couch where she sat. His hand stroked gently over her tender cheek. “It’s bruised and swollen, sweetling.”

  Her hand came up to his face at the same time, stroking a bruise along his jaw. “They hurt you.” Her accusing glare sought out her brothers.

  Alard piped up. “He has one bruise to our dozen each, sister. Your man is none the worse for wear.”

  It was then she noticed Alard’s split lip and black eye. Glancing at Bertrand, she saw he was equally battered. “Corbet did that to you?”

  They both nodded.

  “Good! How could you strike him without allowing time to explain?”

  “In their defense, sweetling, your throat is still quite red from the collar and the bruise on your neck is quite damning. I would have struck first and asked questions later had you been my sister returning home after having been missing almost a fortnight.”

  “And learning you’d been sold at auction as a slave,” her father put in.

  She glanced at them with new understanding. “I suppose I shall forgive you, because you were no doubt worried out of your minds.” She frowned at her brothers and added, “So long as you don’t touch him again.”

  “My stout protector,” Corbet said with a low chuckle while kissing her injured cheek with infinite care. “How is your head?”

  “Pounding.”

  “You need to lie back down.”

  “I’ll get you some soothing tea, Emmy dear.”

  Corbet quirked a brow in question.

  She flushed as she shrugged. “It is who I am to them. Never Emilia, as you call me, although that is what I prefer.”

  “As do I, sweetling,” he concurred as he urged her down on the thickly cushioned couch. Adding for her ears only, “Or siren, or little one. Rest though, until the dizziness and pain have passed.”

  Her head throbbed at the loud knock on the door and the booming voice of the new arrival.

  “Selkirk! I was
curious if you required my knights to string up the bounder.”

  “No, your majesty,” was her father’s reply. “It seems they are wed in the eyes of God and the church.”

  “Do you plan to seek an annulment of the vows first, then string him up?”

  “There will be no annulment,” she and Corbet exclaimed in unison.

  Having really only comprehended the one offensive word in his absurd question, Emilia turned in outrage to see who this interloper was. The abrupt movement made her head, still fuzzy from the blow, throb painfully. Still, she gaped as her father moved and revealed the rotund man in purple and ermine robes who stood in the doorway. Behind him stood two towering knights wearing chainmail, the unmistakable royal coat of arms on their surcoats indicating without question they were members of the king’s elite guard. As she doubted what she was clearly seeing, the others in the room proved she wasn’t dreaming by bowing to their sovereign.

  “Your majesty,” she whispered as she tried to rise.

  Corbet moved to stop her as the king stepped inside the room. “Rest, my dear. You’ve been through quite enough.” She stilled, surprised that the king would be so sympathetic. “Your obeisance can come at your wedding breakfast in the morning. Selkirk, we’ll be staying the night as it is too late in the evening to journey on.”

  “Yes, sire,” her father said, bowing low. “We are honored to have you as a guest in our home and to preside over our daughter’s wedding celebration.”

  “I should think so,” was King Nordman’s arrogant response, and much more in line with what she expected of their infamous sovereign. “Show me to my rooms before supper, lad,” he demanded of her eldest brother who was nigh on thirty years old. “I’d like a nap before we dine.”

  Bertrand moved to honor his request without a word of protest. When the door closed behind them, she twisted to Corbet and remarked in dismay, “’Twas the king.”

  “I know, sweetling.” He smiled indulgently, his hand softly caressing her cheek as he sat on the couch by her hip. “I was standing right here when he entered.”

  “He and Lord Ervin, they are very close. What if he takes his side and makes me go back? Or agrees that you are guilty of theft of a slave?”

  “What’s this?” her father demanded. “You aren’t going back to Lancore. Not while there’s life in my body.”

  “Or mine,” Corbet agreed. “Before we left, Ervin enacted a ridiculous law forbidding free men from traveling outside of Lancore with their slaves without his permission. He and I don’t get on, so that wouldn’t have been forthcoming. So we fled. Now, in accordance with the laws of Lancore, I am a thief, and she a runaway.”

  “Preposterous. That cannot stand.”

  “Ervin and the king are thick as thieves, papa. He does what he pleases.”

  “So they say, or at least they used to be.”

  “Explain, sir,” Corbet demanded, the use of ‘sir’ taking the edge only slightly off his order.

  Her father didn’t take umbrage, however, and expounded. “When the king arrived earlier, he said he’d heard of our ordeal and came to pay his respects and provide assistance, as needed. He offered his knights’ service to search Lancore.”

  “You’re not serious.”

  “I am, as was he. The man was displeased, spouting off about how he was traveling to Lancore anyway to set Ervin straight. It seems there have been numerous complaints from well-positioned lords, noblemen, and wealthy vassals, such as myself. He’s tired of it and feels it is disturbing what he calls his peaceful reign.”

  “Peaceful,” Alard scoffed. “He’s waging war with two neighboring kingdoms.”

  “What he calls border friction, not war and deems a necessary evil.”

  “Tell that to the wounded and dead men’s families,” her brother retorted.

  “You seem to know him well, sir,” Corbet commented.

  “Unfortunately, I do. I was loyal to his father, who appreciated the bloodline of our horses. It continued on with Nordman, so who am I to complain. It puts bread on our table and a roof over our head.”

  “If he removes Ervin from power, would we go back?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. I’ve a bitter taste in my mouth for Lancore after almost a decade of his tyranny. Maybe it’s time for us to start anew.”

  “How, when you brought only what you could pack into two wagons?”

  “Yes, but what was packed amidst household goods in those wagons were chests of silver and gold.”

  “You mean—”

  “Yes, sweetling. You didn’t marry a pauper. I’ve enough to buy us a sizable tract of land, build us a fine house, and set up a shop similar to what I had in Lancore.”

  “Oh, Corbet. We could rebuild in Melbourne.”

  “There’s some prime land for sale near about if you’re interested.”

  Corbet considered her father briefly. “Let me guess. It borders yours.”

  “Yes. It was set aside for Emilia should she marry. She was adamant that she was going to remain home and care for me and her mother. I had my doubts, however.”

  “Papa, you never said a word.”

  “Would it have changed your headstrong mind?”

  “About marrying a decrepit old man? Hardly.”

  “He’s but a year older than I.”

  Sheepishly, she replied, “No one would ever know, you being twice as fit and appearing half his age.”

  He grinned, recognizing her blatant flattery. “I’ve missed you, girl. And I know you all too well. I knew you would find your own man in your own time, although never did I expect it to be in this fashion. What rewards lay in store for whoever that turned out to be didn’t come into play until you decided, so there was no sense in revealing, until now.”

  “Oh, papa, thank you.” She reached out and clasped his hand.

  “You’ll have your hands full with this one, my boy, but she is a treasure. Just make sure she doesn’t wander off unattended. Her abysmal sense of direction is what got us into this mess.”

  She beamed up at Corbet as she gave her response to that. “I think I have a perfect sense of direction. It led me to Corbet, after all.”

  “I think I’ll enjoy the challenge, sir. And, since I love her and don’t plan on letting her out of my sight, I can promise she won’t get lost under my care.”

  Alard coughed and excused himself, saying all this love talk was going to put him off his feed for supper. Her mother, who had arrived sometime during the conversation, stood in the doorway with a tea tray, tears rolling down her cheeks. The smile curving her lips revealed they were from happiness, not distress any longer.

  “That’s another warning I need to give you, boy. Selkirk women are made of sturdy stuff, though they become leaky sieves when love and romance are involved.”

  “Brahm, you’re as romantic as I,” her mother protested.

  “Bite your tongue, woman. Romance is for minstrels, wastrels, and bards.”

  “We’ll see which one you end up being in the morning when you have to give her away officially with a wedding toast.”

  Her father didn’t say another word, growing pale as the realization of that moment hit hard.

  * * *

  It was nearing midnight when Corbet at last closed the door to their room and shut the rest of world out behind it.

  “Are you sure your headache is gone?” he asked as he approached the bed where she sat.

  “Yes. Mama’s tea works similar to your cooling cream. It’s hard to take at first, but not long after, you appreciate its magical properties.” She blushed, wishing she hadn’t made mention of the ointment that he’d had to apply to her punished behind many times in such a short span.

  “You seem nervous, sweetling.” He sat next to her on the bed. Two long fingers beneath her chin lifted her face to meet his. With a gentle smile playing around his lips, he asked, “Is this the same girl who was all but begging me to precipitate our wedding night, before the vows had been spo
ken?”

  “Yes, and I’ll thank you not to remind me of how brazen I was.”

  “Emilia, we’ve discussed this; never mask your wants or desires from me. It pleases me that you are as eager as I am for you to become my wife both in truth and deed, at last.”

  “Do you think it will live up to our expectations?”

  “If that is what has you afraid, sweetling, there’s only one way to find out. Based on how you ignite with barely a touch of my hand,” he stroked the backs of his fingers down her cheek, “and my kiss,” he leaned in and brushed his lips against hers, “or the lick of my tongue,” as he’d done with the rest, he matched action to his words as he stroked her lower lip, “I have no doubt that we will exceed expectations.”

  “Corbet.” She quivered at the sweet tenderness of his words and his touch. “I’ve waited forever it seems to be yours.”

  “No, siren, you’ve been mine since the auctioneer called ‘sold.’” His feather-light touch turned possessive as he smothered her lips with demanding mastery. Her mouth opened beneath his, yielding willingly all that he wanted to take. She took as well, her hands flattening on the hard planes of his back as he lay her down on the bed, then gliding up over his broad shoulders and at his neck, entangling in the silky, overlong hair at his nape as she arched into him.

  She matched the urgency of his kiss while her hands pulled at his clothes, seeking out his bare skin as desperately as he sought her own. He broke their kiss long enough to pull her gown, somehow unbuttoned without her awareness, over her shoulders and down her body. The thin chemise followed, tearing a bit in his impatience. He stared down on her with blistering heat in his eyes as he ripped open his pants and pushed them off his legs.

  He was back with her the next instant, his hands lustfully exploring her soft flesh, roaming intimately over her breasts and tugging at the rosy tips that peaked into firm buds. She moaned his name, holding his head close as he fed hungrily, his open mouth sucking on the aching point relentlessly while lashing it with his greedy tongue.