by Daryl Devore
New Dawning International Bookfair
Presents
Black Dorn
A Medieval Novella of Love and Submission
By
Daryl Devoré
Copyright © 2011 Daryl Devoré
Smashwords Edition
Chapter One
"Stop that crying or by all that is powerful, I will beat you."
"Do not yell so. You will frighten the poor child."
Through tears, Branwyn stared at her uncle and aunt. "I…I do not understand. Why must I go?"
Her aunt sat next to her. "It is your time, child. A husband has been chosen. You must leave us to join with him."
"About time it is!" Her uncle’s face grew redder with each word. "One year shy of a score she is, and still unwed. She must fall to her knees to thank God someone wishes to marry such an old spinster."
Branwyn slapped the arm of her chair. "I decline. It is my right. I shall not marry this man!"
"How many men do you think you can refuse?" Her uncle paced about the small room. "This is the fourth suitor to ask for your hand. You cannot. It is done. Your things are being loaded as we speak." He jerked back a curtain in the window and pointed.
The door opened and in stepped a tall broad-shouldered soldier. "The carriage awaits."
"Branwyn." Aunt Selda patted her hand. "You have no dowry. This is a good match. He is a rich man. He will give you babies."
Suspicion gnawed at Branwyn's stomach. "And what did he give you?"
"Gold." Uncle Egbert picked up his purse and dropped it, with a rattle, back onto the table.
Branwyn dried her eyes with the edge of her sleeve, stood, kissed her aunt on the cheek and strode out the door to face her destiny.
A carriage with two strong, brown horses stood at the entrance. Two guardsmen on horseback waited. The driver offered his hand to help her mount.
Branwyn paused and turned. No one waited to say goodbye. The door of her uncle's manor closed with a determined firmness. Warm tears gathered at the corner of her eyes. She blinked them back, then settled herself, pulled a blanket over her legs and snapped the curtains closed. If the family she’d grown up with refused to cry and wish her well, she would not shed a tear or turn for a final glance at her adopted home. With a shout and a shudder, the carriage pulled away.
For three days and nights, the horses pounded across the land. Her body ached from the incessant shaking. The driver allowed her allowed brief intervals to exit the carriage. A guard, always on hand, escorted her to an inn. As much as she tried to converse with her escort, no one spoke to her.
While she ate a quick meal, fresh horses, a new driver and soldiers relieved the tired ones. A rough blanket was Branwyn’s refuge into sleep—no bed, no soft down pillow, no gentle breeze billowing through her curtains, just the constant movement of the carriage. Branwyn’s eyes would begin to close when a sharp jostle would snap her awake.
When the coach stopped, Branwyn’s trial was over. Her patience had worn thin and exhaustion weighed heavily on her. The door opened and she stepped down the stairs and onto the land of her new home.
Two torches, held by guards, broke the darkness. A woman stood just outside the doorway. "Dune Branwyn. Welcome to Black Dorn. I am Duna Trea."
Branwyn smiled. Years of training surfaced through her exhaustion and she curtsied. "It is a delight to meet you, Duna Trea."
A girl near Branwyn’s age stepped out from behind Duna Trea. "This is Leah, your serving girl. She will help you to your quarters, bathe, feed and prepare you for bed. You must be exhausted by your long journey."
Branwyn nodded and sighed. "From the bottom of my heart I cannot thank you enough. My bones are truly weary."
Through the fog of near sleep, Branwyn felt herself being helped to walk, undress, cleanse and eat, but she needed no help to fall asleep.
"Good morning, Dune Branwyn." Leah pulled open the heavy bed curtains and let in the light of a new day.
Branwyn yawned and stretched. Leah helped her sit up and settle back on her pillows then she placed a tray over Branwyn’s lap, whose stomach rumbled at the sight of the bowl of fresh, ripe strawberries and cup of hot sweet tea.
Nibbling some berries, she glanced at her surroundings. Comforted that the colorful tapestries hinted at the wealth of future her husband, Branwyn smiled as she ran her hand along the linen sheets. On a table, to her right, sat a silver bowl filled with fresh apricots and plums. Near the window, a white washbasin and pitcher rested on a small bench. A fur rug covered part of the grey stone floor.
A large screen blocked the fireplace and she puzzled over the sound of water pouring into an exceptionally large basin. A soft scent floated across the air and mingled with the scent of her breakfast. Leah folded clothes and prepared the room for the day. A tall girl, with light brown hair, wrapped in a white scarf, Leah's dull brown dress hung loosely on her thin body.
"Is the dune ready for her morning bath?" Leah lowered her eyes as she waited nearby.
"What is a dune? What does this word mean? I do not know it."
Leah bit her lip. "You are a dune."
"It is my rank?"
"It is your position."
"Do you have a position?"
"I am Leah, your serving girl."
"Are you a dune, Leah?"
"I serve a dune." Leah indicated with her hand. "Your bath is ready."
"You may bring me a bowl and basin."
"Respectfully no, my dune. You must go to the bath."
"I am sorry." Branwyn smiled. "I forgot that customs might be different from here than at home." Home. She had not thought about her aunt, uncle or six female cousins since she'd left. I will banish them from my thoughts as they banished me. She threw back her covers, stood and walked to the basin. "It is empty."
"The bath is here." Leah pointed behind the screen.
As Branwyn neared, a warm, sweet smelling mist engulfed her. Near the fireplace hearth, a large bronze object sat, filled with water. Leah tugged on the hem of Branwyn’s gown. "I must help you undress so I may cleanse you."
Pointing to the object, Branwyn asked, "What is that for? I have never seen such a sight. It is like a small lake has been brought into the room." Her hand skimmed the surface. "The water is warm. And oh, so sweet smelling. It smells as fresh as spring air. Is this magic to make the air and water fragrant as one?"
"This is your bath." Leah pointed to the large basin. "This is where I shall cleanse you, Dune."
Branwyn's brow crinkled. "Explain."
"I help you undress, you step into the—"
"That? You expect me to go into…I shall drown. Besides, it is unsanitary. Many sicknesses may linger in the water."
"Dune, this is most clean. The water was taken from the freshest stream, boiled in a large cauldron, then mixed with cool water. Rose petals, from the castle’s garden, were used to fragrance it."
"I refuse! Hand me that cloth." Branwyn snatched it from Leah. She picked up the pitcher and basin, placed the basin on a nearby table and commanded Leah to fill the pitcher.
Branwyn poured some water into the basin, then rinsed her cloth and wiped her face and hands. She used a corner to wipe her teeth. "You may pour the rest over my hair."
Leah did as requested and held a towel to her hair to catch the water. She combed Branwyn’s long red-brown tresses, wrapped them into a tight bun then secured the hair in place with gold pins. She selected a soft-brown gown, trimmed with white lace and silver beads and handed it to her dune. "I will return and escort you to Duna Trea."
Dressed in her gown and a pair of white sandals, Branwyn stepped to her window to see some of her
new home. Her room overlooked a courtyard. Leah walked toward a man. He held something in one hand while he pointed to a strange chair. Leah faced and bent over the chair.
The man lifted her skirts and tossed them over her head. Branwyn gasped and closed her eyes. Leah’s bare bottom was exposed for all to see. She steeled herself, opened her eyes and immediately snapped them shut. The man paddled Leah’s naked bottom!
The courtyard was silent, except for the crack of wood on bare flesh. Where were Leah’s howls of pain and protestation? This was never done in public, and certainly not to a grown woman. Only a young child was spanked, and yet Leah accepted her treatment.
Branwyn placed her hand on her chest. Her heart pounded. She felt warm and dizzy. Was she suddenly ill? Holding the window ledge, she peered back out.
The spanking had ceased and the white flesh of Leah’s buttocks glowed a ripe rosy pink. Leah turned to face her beater and dropped to her knees. She appeared to be repeatedly asking for forgiveness as her head bobbed up and down. He must not be impressed, as he grabbed the sides of her head and shook her harder. With a loud grunt, he forgave her. Leah stood, wiped the back of her hand across her mouth, adjusted her skirts and walked back across the courtyard.
Fanning herself, Branwyn sat on the edge of her bed and calmed herself. The air is very warm. I feel as if I may swoon. Why would Leah allow that to happen? She is not a child. And to have her…her…for all to see. It should not be.
Leah knocked on her door. "Are you ready dune?"
Curiosity is a hard thing to contain, but Branwyn knew her duty. It was time to meet her hostess. She would question Leah later.
The castle was large and quiet, and they passed no one in the torch-lit halls. After trailing behind Leah up a long curving staircase, Branwyn paused as Leah opened the door and indicated the way. Branwyn stepped into a vast room with a wood floor. She looked about. Many tapestries hung on the walls. One displayed heroic soldiers crushing an enemy and another portrayed a mother suckling a child by a stream. Others confused Branwyn. On the floor, mounds of pillows were scattered about and a few chairs.
Duna Trea appeared, as if from nowhere. "Good morning Dune Branwyn. I trust you slept well and have recovered from your journey."
She dropped into a deep curtsy. "Oh yes, Duna Trea. I am quite rested."
"Leah serves you well?"
"Yes, though we struggle with confusions over language and customs."
"Sit down, Dune Branwyn." Duna Trea pointed to a smaller chair as she settled onto a velvet-cushioned one. She ran her hand down the sides of her dress smoothing out the wrinkles. In her youth, the blackness of her dress would have matched the color of her, now speckled with grey, hair. "We must converse. It is time to explain to you why you are here."
"I know I have been given to a man. I understand my duty to my uncle and aunt. They raised me and I have been a burden to them. It is time I—"
Duna Trea raised her hand. "That is not why. It is because of your wondrous beauty. Are not your cousins of a plainer state? It is most simple. You were gotten rid of. With your smooth, fair skin, bright green eyes, long, thick hair and full, healthy breasts, your uncle saw no chance for a good match for his daughters. "
Branwyn started to speak but stopped. She bit her bottom lip to cease its trembling. Duna Trea continued, "A very rich man purchased you and he demands that you be trained to satisfy his specific tastes."
"I served my aunt. I was a dutiful niece and learned to cook, sew, play the spinet, read and embroider. People have told me I have an enchanting voice and I know many songs. I am an accomplished young lady."
"Those are not the skills your master wishes."
"I…I understand there are needs of the bed, but those my husband will teach me." Blood rushed to Branwyn's cheeks at the vaguest mention of husband-wife relations.
The duna shook her head. "Listen, Dune Branwyn. You must learn total obedience. You are now a dune. To become a duna you must lose all inhibitions."
"When will I become a duna?"
"When you’re taken."
"Taken where?"
Duna Trea sighed. "Not taken where, child, taken how. When a man takes you. When that which makes you a dune is lost, you become a duna." Trea continued, "Did no one teach you anything about relations between a man and a woman?"
Branwyn shook her head. "It is not right to speak of these things. One must be pure on one’s…"
Trea brushed a stray hair from her face. "When a young girl becomes ripe she must learn to serve. You have much to understand. You cannot properly serve your master without knowing the ways of your body or his. Your instruction begins tomorrow."
"I am to be married tomorrow?"
"No, your master does not want you until you have been trained. You are useless to him until—no." She put her hand up. "Wander about the castle. Do not speak to anyone unless they speak to you first. Go."
Branwyn stood, curtsied and left. Her steps sounded hollow as she descended the staircase. Leah waited at the bottom. "Come, Dune Branwyn. Some refreshing tea and a relaxing sit by the flower gardens. You have heard much, and are confused. You need time to think."
"Leah, you are a magical person. You seem to read my very thoughts." Branwyn sat on a bench beneath a large shade tree. She looked up at the great castle called Black Dorn with its dark, grey, stone walls and four towering turrets dominating over the landscape. The power and size of Black Dorn contrasted against the peace of the fragrant and colorful flower gardens near where she sat.
In a few moments, Leah returned with a cup of sweet tea, some small biscuits and a piece of cheese. When Branwyn finished eating, she turned to Leah who knelt beside the tree. "May I wander about the garden?"
"Oh yes, enjoy yourself, Dune Branwyn."
The scents and colors distracted Branwyn from the puzzling information she had learned that morning. A path through the rose garden led her to a maze. She remembered enjoying running in and out of a maze's paths when her aunt and uncle had taken her to a spring festival at the duke’s manor.
After going around only a few corners of the hedge-lined paths, Branwyn thought she heard voices. Had she reached the end so quickly? She turned a corner and put her hand to her mouth to stifle a gasp.
Before her, stood a woman tied to the bush with arms and legs stretched wide. She was naked, except for a cloak that shielded her back from the hedge. Two men stood before her each suckling a breast like a young babe, with their hands frantically moving in front of them and grunts escaping their filled mouths. The one on the right gasped, and a stream of fluid shot out from him and sprayed the woman’s belly. A moment later, the same occurred with the other man. Branwyn retreated and raced through pathways. She brushed against the rough hedge, stumbled and fell. Breathless, she stood, ran forward a few feet and turned at what she prayed to be the exit.
She skidded to a stop. Before her were two naked men locked in the same position she’d seen with her uncle’s dog and bitch. The kneeling man gasped for air as he mercilessly pounded himself against the other. The blindfolded man on his hands and knees screamed as the kneeling man arched his back and emitted a long howl. Branwyn tuned, bounced of the hedge and fled in whatever direction the path before her went.
She raced through the maze, hoping the next path would lead her to the exit. Her heart pounded as her legs grew weary. She slowed her pace. Before her, a small opening appeared where a section of hedge was dead. She forced her way through, glad to be free of the terrifying place, but concerned as to where she now stood. The maze she just passed through now blocked her view of the castle and gardens. With no one around, Branwyn fought back tears as a cold shudder of fear raced through her. She refused to re-enter the maze and make her way back to the entrance. Which way to turn? Left or right? She collapsed onto the ground and heaved a troubled sigh.
A horse's snort startled her. She rose and hurried toward the sound. Two magnificent beasts—human and animal—stood beside a small creek. The blac
k horse, dusty from the trail, drank as the man wiped his chin and returned a wineskin to his horse’s saddle. The man stood in profile to Branwyn but seemed a fine specimen. His face had a pleasantly formed brow, nose and chin and curly, black hair skimmed his shoulders. His arms and chest looked strong enough to easily manage the large sword hanging at his side. The horse turned an ear toward her, lifted his head and whinnied. Startled, the man returned from his reverie and looked at her.
Branwyn scurried over. "Oh please, sire. My name is Branwyn. I come from Black Dorn. I am newly arrived and have gotten lost. Can you please direct me?"
His brow wrinkled. "If you live at Black Dorn, who is your serving girl? Your duna?"
"Leah serves me. Duna Trea is to…to…instruct me."
"Explain why you’re so far from Dorn."
"I wandered about the flower garden and entered the maze. Once there, I got lost." Her eyes filled with tears and she lowered her head.
"Did you enjoy the maze?" His voice made her want to giggle.
Branwyn shook her head.
"No? But it is a place of games and pleasure. Did you not go there to seek pleasure?"
"No, I found no pleasures there. Only games I do not understand." She wiped away a tear. "Please sire, I am tired and hungry and feel I may soon collapse. Which way must I travel to return to Black Dorn?"
His horse nudged him in the back with his nose. The man placed both strong hands around her waist and lifted her to his saddle. He mounted the horse, tugged on the rein and directed his horse back to Black Dorn.
When they entered the courtyard, Leah ran across the cobblestones, skidded to a stop and dropped to her knees. The horse halted a few feet in front of her. Branwyn slipped down from the stallion, curtsied to her escort and walked to her serving girl.
"Leah." His voice boomed across the courtyard. Still kneeling, Leah quivered. "Do not let your dune wander about freely. She needs guidance." As he turned, a stable boy reached for the reins. He tossed them over, dismounted and strode toward the castle.
