by Terri Pray
Her shoulders stiffened, head raised high as she walked, focusing on the distant rise.
A figure moved from the carriage. A dark shape that barely gave her time to react before hands closed on her body, yanking her from her feet. She screamed, kicking out, trying to fight her way free, but the man's grip was stronger than anything she had known before. It didn't matter if she screamed. Who would hear her? Yet still she tried, by slamming back with her heels against the man, struggling, her nails seeking a place to lodge against him.
“Cut it out, he doesn't want you hurt just yet, stupid wench.” The man hissed against her ear, turning her forcibly toward the waiting coach. She'd not even heard it stop, but it had, some distance down the lane from where she now struggled in the arms of the strange man.
“Let me go!” She tried twisting as he marched her toward the waiting carriage, steam curling upward from the horses. They'd been run hard, too hard. He'd have to have people waiting for him when he stopped for the night.
What was she thinking of, the care of his horses? The man had had her grabbed from the side of the road and she was thinking of animal care?
Insane.
“Get her in here, we need to be off before someone raises a call for help. I doubt the army would approve of my actions.” The hard cold voice welcomed her into the carriage as the driver shoved her inside.
“Milord, I doubt anyone would risk your anger in trying to help some village wench.” The driver laughed, shoving her fully into the coach, slamming the door closed behind her.
She rose, darting for the carriage door, only to feel a hand grab her by her hair, pulling her back down to the floor before she had had a chance to escape.
“Not the wisest of ideas. Did you really think you could just dart out?” His voice, even before she turned to look on the man, the way he spoke told her how cold and harsh he was. “When I have gone to so much effort to bring you into my care?” The grip didn't ease as he used it to turn her on her knees to face him.
Cold eyes. She'd never seen such a cold set of ice blue eyes before, not even when she'd looked in the mirror. “Davien Blood.” She whispered the words, her throat drying out before she'd finished speaking.
“My name is Lord Blood, or as you will come to call me, Master.” His grip didn't ease from her hair instead it tightened, pulling her down to her knees on the floor of the carriage.
Master? He was out of his mind.
“And just what makes you think I'd ever call you that?” She tried twisting free of the grip, lashing out with one hand toward the grip he had on her hair. “Let me go now.”
“Attempting to give me orders is neither wise nor a way to get into my good graces, slave.” He growled, pulling her upward by the harsh grip. “Just what is your name little slut?”
“Celestial Blue O'Byrne.” She tried not to let the fear show through in her eyes.
“A fancy name for an Irish whore.” His lips curled upward in a snarl. “Celeste, I heard them call you that in the market. I might let you use the name on occasions, when it suits me. For now, you're just a slave, a slut, my property.” His free hand moved to the neck of her dress, ripping it downward with a harsh tug that tore through the seams.
She tried moving away, but the grip on her hair held tight. She could not escape— not without help at least. The grip was too tight, her body held by the very length of hair she had once been proud of. Now she couldn't help but wish she had taken a pair of shears to it, shorn the moon bright lengths until there was nothing left.
“Pretty, pale skin. Easy to mark. You might heal well, but until you do those marks would be livid. Good, I'll enjoy watching the purple and blue marks form on your flesh.” His grip loosened on her hair, but the dress tore fully, stripped away from her body until she knelt in nothing more than the linen chemise and woolen stockings, held up by finger woven garters.
“You can't do this to me.”
“Oh, my dear little pet, I can, and I will.”
“Milord, did you want to return to your lodgings?” The driver called out.
“No, not my lodgings. Too much of a risk. We head to Lord Brian's he will understand my extra companion for the night. We'll head for home tomorrow morning,” Davien replied, his gaze moving over Celeste with an open interest. “He won't object to her presence.”
“You're a monster, so are the others like you.” She tried to edge back as the man loomed over her. “You'll die. You'll die at the hands of a good Irish man.”
The slap came from nowhere, a blow that knocked her to the floor of the carriage, her ears ringing, blood coating her lips. She'd never really been hit before, no more than a swat from a strap, or her father's drunken hand, most of which she'd been able to dodge, when she'd seen it coming. This one caught her off guard.
“There's no such thing as a good Irish man, or woman, for that matter.” His words might as well have been carried by the north wind for all the warmth they contained.
She tried to move, her hands pressing to the floor only to have them kicked out from under her again.
“You'll stay there slut.” His boot pressed against the small of her back. “I didn't give you permission to get up.”
“You can't do this too me.” Celeste tried to wriggle out from under his boot, the carriage had begun to move again, jolting her as she laid against the floor. “I'm not a slave. I'm not a piece of property, and you have no right to treat me like this.”
The laughter that filled the now rocking carriage chilled her to the core. “Silly wench. I can do whatever I want to you, and nothing can stop me. Do you think one of your local boys would have the nerve to stop the carriage? No, of course not, and your family won't care. Just another mouth they no longer have to feed.”
The sad thing was, until it came around to meal time and no one was there to lay the dinner out, her father wouldn't miss her. Would they even care she was gone? Mystic wouldn't, that was certain.
“Why me? Why not take my sister? She's more the sort of girl you'd like.” Damnit, it should have been that slut who had been grabbed, not her. “I've never so much as touched a man, she'll spread them for anyone.” Her face flushed, the anger that had always been there toward her sister exploded in a rush of words. “Just the sort a piece of dirt like you would want. Happy, willing, warm, all the men like her. You would too.”
He didn't speak for a moment, his gaze moving over her, boot pressed tightly against the small of her back, keeping her firmly against the floor of the rocking carriage. “And what if I don't want a woman every man in town has slept their way through?”
Men wanted women like that, didn't they? “I don't understand.”
“What if I wanted a woman that had never been touched? One I can train, break, teach, mold to become my personal slave. A slut who will fear me, want me, need me, who will know they live and die by the look in my eyes.” His boot pressed harder into her back, forcing a soft whimper from between her lips. “A woman like you, Celeste.”
“No... ” It wasn't the life she had planned. The life she had saved up for. She had plans, hopes, dreams. Money saved, ready for her to run and find a house to serve in. She had a way to escape from the farm that didn't include being dragged off into a carriage by a man looking for a woman to abuse.
“I don't believe I gave you a choice, did I?”
“Please, I want to go home.” She couldn't move from the floor of the carriage, not with the pressure from his boot. Her nails scraped against the wood, the scent of leather, the knowledge that he held her tight with no more than his boot, was too much. For the first time in her life, Celeste felt afraid and alone.
He reached down, fingers grasping the soft loose hair, forcing an arch into her back as his foot remained pressed into her spine. “You'll do well. With a little training, of course, and I'll take it slowly at first. We can begin with the basics, but by the time we finish you'll crawl to me of your own free will, nothing more than a slave, a beast, one that will not care for th
e world beyond my castle walls. The problems in France, the madness of the King, it won't matter. Nothing will be important to you except my whims, my wishes.”
Her breasts strained against the thin covering of white linen, nipples hardening in a mix of fear and pain. Her hands pressed flat to the floor of the carriage, helpless in the grasp of the man who had taken her. Tears stung at her eyes, slipping down over her cheeks, spilling to the wooden floor as the carriage jolted.
“Tears, such a delightful sight. Don't think such things will soften my heart, little slut. If anything, it will make matters worse for you. I don't have a heart. No soul. No kindness lives within this body of mine.” His grip twisted in her hair, forcing a deeper arch into her back, pain throbbing through her back. “I enjoy seeing a woman cry, the soft, submissive sounds she makes. Those low gasps when she realizes nothing she says or does will stop my plans.”
His boot lifted from her back, the pull on her hair forcing her back to her knees, a nudge between them easing them apart as the thin shift grew taut across her breasts, rising high on her pale thighs.
“You'll be introduced to so many interesting delights in the coming months, little pet. Things you will hate at first, scream out against, then come to crave, to need, the same way you will need me.” His gaze lingered on her form, lowering to her breasts, nipples straining, threatening to slip from the soft covering of linen. She'd never known a man like him before, one who could turn her skin to ice with a single look. He was handsome, but the darkness in his eyes, the cold caress of his voice, the grip on her hair. She knew it without asking, in his hands she'd have only two choices. Obey or be punished. “Enjoy your limited time in your shift and stockings. It will be the last time, for some time to come, that you enjoy the luxury of clothing.”
CHAPTER TWO
Fear clutched at her stomach, the knowledge that he meant every word, sank into her being with the certainty of a dagger plunging into her core. The carriage rocked, hitting the ruts, jolting her against the edge of the leather covered bench-like chairs. His grip remained in her hair as she knelt on the floor, struggling to keep her body from being forced against his legs.
How long had he been watching her? Just during the time she had been in the village market? Or had he been keeping an eye on her for months, even years before? No, that didn't make sense. Everyone knew that Davien hadn't been around for months. Longer if she had heard right. He had control of some of the local lands, rumor had it through his father, or a relationship at some point. The older Lord Blood's mate? No one knew for certain.
“You don't have to do this, you could let me go. I'd go home, come up with a reason as to why my dress was damaged.” She murmured, not looking up at him. He'd made it clear already he wouldn't let her go. Men like that didn't take women and just drop them by the wayside.
“Interesting, your lips say let you go, but the way you kneel, the tone of your voice. You already know I won't do it, don't you?” His hand moved from her hair as he leaned back against the heavy padding of the bench. “A part of you has already accepted what's going to happen, but only a small part. You're hoping I'll make a mistake, looking for a way to break free. It will be amusing to see you try to slip free of my grasp.”
She'd find a way to break free, no one could watch her all the time. It might have taken years for her to discover the times when her father would slip up, but she had managed it. He'd grown slack, the more work she'd put into the house, the care she showed in putting the meals together and keeping the house, had eventually bought her the ability to slip free of his grasp.
Then he'd ceased to care.
“There won't be a way you can escape from me, my toy.” His hands folded on his lap. “I've been doing this for years.”
Her lips pressed tight together, hands clenching into the thin linen, a shudder working through her body as she fought to not respond to his words. Getting angry with him wouldn't work. He'd already hit her, and in such a confined space she'd have no way of avoiding the blow if one came her way.
If she feigned obedience it might be enough to buy her time.
The carriage jolted, hitting a rut in the road, sending her down to her stomach on the wooden floor. Damnit, she wasn't used to traveling in a carriage either, and didn't think it had been built to be used like this.
“We will be at Lord Brian's in an hour, maybe a little longer.” Davien spoke calmly, his gaze lingering over her sprawled form. “I am certain he will have the right restraints that can be used on you to keep you in place for the night. Some basic training can be done tonight, but the majority of our training together shall be done once we are safe in my home.”
Training? He was out of his mind, but that wasn't such an unusual thing for an Englishman these days. They were all more than a little insane from what she'd heard, just rumors in the market, the mutterings of the men as they riled against the pressure of the English. One day that would be over and she'd dance on Davien's grave for the small insults he had heaped upon her shoulders this day.
There wouldn't be much more she'd need to gain revenge for, during the stay at Lord Brian's she'd find a way free. One of the good Irish maids there would help her. She'd see to that.
She pushed back up to her knees, the wooden slats pressing against her skin. “I'm not sure I can travel like this, Milord. It's too easy to be thrown to the floor.”
“Master,” he corrected, softly.
“Pardon?”
“You will address me as Master, slave.”
She swallowed hard, anger burning into life, but common sense said play the game, soothe his ego and look for the chance to escape later. “Yes... Master.”
The word almost stuck at the back of her throat. What did he think she was? An indentured servant over in the Americas, or a black woman? She'd never met either, but had been told they were slaves of different types. The knowledge that such still existed in the world had prevented her from trying to plan to escape to the distant land like so many of her neighbors.
“You don't like calling me that, do you?”
“No, Master.” That was the understatement of the year.
“It will come more naturally to you over time. The fear of displeasing me will overrule your hesitation.”
Insane didn't begin to describe him. “Yes, Master.”
The smile sent a shiver through her body. “You won't be allowed any other choice. I can see the look in your eyes, the feeling you can escape me, and my wishes for you, but that will pass in time.”
He didn't even seem to be concerned that she was planning to find a way free. What sort of man was this?
Her thighs clenched under the soft linen, hands tight in the edge of the shift. “May I sit on the bench, Master? Instead of the floor?”
“No, beasts are better suited to the floor.”
“But I... ”
His hand slapped against the side of her face, pain exploding across her cheek, sending her back to the floor in a heap of blond hair and white linen. Spots of light danced across her vision, a low whimper of pain slipping from her swollen lips.
“You will learn not to question me, slave. Now you will lie there in silence for the rest of the trip.” Both boots pressed into her back, pinning her to the cold wooden floor. “In time, you'll come to understand your place is now at my feet, as a slave, a slut, a beast for my pleasure. You have no name, no rights and no choices.”
Her teeth bit into her bottom lip, a shudder of true fear running through her body as she lay pinned to the floor. Tears burned in her eyes, hands clenching into fists but the thought of trying to escape now would have been foolish. There was no way out, not just yet, but he'd slip. At some point he'd slip and she'd be able to break free.
* * * *
She'd not moved, but to shift her weight from time to time during the rest of the mind numbing trip. Every now and then the urge to turn and bite into his ankle had surged into life, only to be forced back into a silent state at the back of her mind. St
riking out at him would only have made matters far worse than they already were. She couldn't risk that, not just yet.
“Milord, Lord Brian's riders approach to escort us in.” The driver called back into the carriage.
“Good, then we're but moments from warmth and good food.” He pressed his heels into her back. “And then we can deal with a few small matters. Such as your mode of dress, and how you will behave for the rest of the trip.”
She whimpered, trying to swallow the sound, but the pain had come without warning.
“I can't risk you calling for help, but I am sure we will work something out. A closed carriage or perhaps a padded box would work well, with the appropriate restraints of course.” He smiled, removing his boots from her back, his gaze moving toward the open window of the carriage. Few had glass in the windows, it was too expensive, and broke with ease.
Her nails threatened to break as her hands clenched against the edge of the floor boards. Bastard. English fop bastard. He'd be taken down and killed along with the rest of his kind. She'd dance on his grave, spit on it, and live to see the lands returned to good Irish men the way it should have been.
Her teeth ground down, jaw clenching, her whole body tense as she fought not to speak, not to strike out against him. He could and would hurt her if she spoke right now and she wasn't going to give him a reason to punish her. Not when she needed her mind clear to be able to plan her escape.
“Milord, the gates open for us.”
Davien nodded, she could see the slight move of his head from the way she rested her cheek on the floor. His eyes were semi lidded, as if he rested on the edge of sleep, but the way he sat, the play of his muscles under the fine clothing, spoke of a man ready to move without warning. One who missed little, if anything, around him. She'd have to work hard in order to break free of him.
“Davien, my dear friend.” A new voice called out as the carriage halted with the soft crunch of gravel beneath the wheels. “They said it was your carriage approaching. I wasn't sure it could be so, you weren't expected for another two days.”
