by M Palmeri
The first was in a black gown, black-haired and delicately built, but with the palest skin Stephan had ever seen; with deep red lips and eyes gray like gunmetal, filled with a cold calculating hunger he had only seen in his most ruthless merchant competitors (yet her face was strangely familiar to him).
The second was in a golden gown to match her golden hair, built strongly, almost like a strapping teenaged boy, plain but pretty in a way that reminded him of his daughter Marie, with green eyes that spoke of cool self-confidence that, again, Stephan was more used to seeing in men of means.
The Count himself was dressed simply in a white tunic, black suede breeches and boots, his black hair and short beard frosted with just a hint of silver. And Stephan was quite relieved to see genuine warmth and hospitality in the man’s face.
Count Richard was indeed warm, introducing his two companions: one his wife, Rose (of the raven-hair), and naming the blonde as the Baroness Ella, the bride of their son Roland, who was out on a hunt. (Was this the same Roland that had sent him here, or simple coincidence? Stephan found he did not have the nerve to ask, but family resemblance would easily explain the Countess’ familiarity. But why did Roland not say that Richard was his father?) He then named the red-hood, who took her own seat at the table, as “the Lady Claire,” but otherwise did not explain her relation to his house.
Stephan was quick to proceed to business, but Richard stopped him with an insistence that they eat first, recognizing the duration of Stephan’s journey. Without any apparent order being issued, a handful of kitchen maids appeared with platters of food and pitchers of wine.
During their meal, Richard—for the women didn’t speak—asked about Stephan’s family, his home, his endeavors, and his dreams for the future. This led Stephan back to his business proposition, at which point the Count again held up a hand to silence him.
“Your proposal sounds reasonable, sir, and potentially quite profitable for both of us,” Richard told him. “I have been looking for a suitable agent to invest further in the shipping trade, and would be happy to loan you all the money you need, for a reasonable percentage of your gains. But I ask one thing from you other than dividends: I get out so little socially, and if it is not too rude of me to ask, I would very much like the opportunity to dine at your home with your wonderful family.”
Stephan eagerly agreed to this friendly request, and after a succulent dessert, the red-hood left the table (still without saying a word) and returned in moments with a large coin-purse, the contents of which Richard counted out to confirm it was what Stephan had said he needed. After signing and sealing a receipt for the funds, Stephan gave his thanks and took his leave despite the late hour (partly because he was eager for his captain to sail, and partly because he held no small trepidation about staying the night in the castle with these strange and haunting women), with plans made for the Count to visit him at his home for dinner the very next week.
But on the ride home, Stephan met with what seemed the ultimate misfortune:
Three riders wearing masks in the shapes of animals—a black cat, a golden lion and a red fox—overtook him on the dark road, surrounded him quickly and relieved him of the purse at sword-point. Then they disappeared into the night, never having uttered a word.
Returning home the next evening shaken to the core but physically intact, Stephan concealed this tragedy from his family, telling them only of his fortuitous meeting with the Count and his pending visit. His wife rejoiced at what she saw was her own fortune, while Marie’s heart swelled at the hope that her father might finally find the success he seemed to crave. But poor cursed Stephan could only put on a false smile and wait the days until the Count’s arrival, hopeless as to how he could repay the loss.
In the days and nights before the feast, Marie overheard her stepmother scheming with her daughters, hoping the Count might be in search of a young and pretty wife for one or more of his sons, or might introduce them at court if he was smitten with their charm and beauty. Toward that end, Elsbeth splurged what little household money was left on four new gowns for the occasion.
Worse, Marie had to endure her stepsisters’ shameless tittering and bawdy fantasizing—the girls had grown oblivious to her as she came and went in service to their every petty whim—because stories of the Count’s vast wealth and sinister reputation (which somehow made him even more appealing) had preceded him, being passed in the gossip of the village merchants they patronized for their finery.
Marie went about her work in restrained silence, pretending not to hear, trying not to give her stepsisters the satisfaction of making her blush with their almost whorish talk as they cheerfully wished sinful misadventures on each other at the hands of the Count or his like (and they spoke as if such behavior was not totally unfamiliar to them, or at least as if they were trying to pretend so).
But in all honesty, Marie found herself not only intrigued, but anxious to put face to the fantasy, and slept little and fitfully on the eve of the event, dreaming of a far-away kingdom ruled by a powerful but wise and kind (and handsome) lord who would grant wishes to deserving girls (and who would punish sinful selfish ones).
On the appointed day, it of course fell to Marie to play host and cook for the intimate dinner party, a chore made both more cheerful and more urgent by the hope that her father’s dreams might finally be secured.
She made her rounds of the markets, stopping to chat as was her habit with the baker woman that was the closest person she had to a friend (and taking the opportunity to shyly flirt with the new delivery boy from the mill, a tall strong blonde lad with fair skin, golden hair and gentle features dominated by kind green eyes). But too soon she had to rush home to start cooking.
Count Richard arrived alone, by horse and without ceremony, for the afternoon meal. He was dressed plainly for a nobleman, wearing a simple cloak and a huntsman’s jerkin, with a stout backsword and seax knife at his belt instead of the refined and delicate side-arms currently favored at court. But he had the confidence and graceful strength of presence of any king. He was as gracious with the ladies of the house (being Elsbeth and her preening daughters, as Marie was still too busy in the kitchen) as he had been with Stephan. But to the ladies’ barely contained frustration, this Count seemed to be far more curious (in distracted gaze as well as idle social query) about the serving girl who was preparing them all such a magnificent table than he was interested in their charming and refined company. And when the meal was served, Richard never took his eyes off Marie as she came and went.
Meeting the Count’s gaze, even for an instant, sent Marie hurrying back to the kitchen to hide her blushing. It was more than that he was handsome and intelligent and gracious—he looked at her, into her, like he was trying to touch her soul with his eyes, as if she were the only other person in the room, like she was somehow deeply important to him even though they had not met and he had no reason to believe she was anything other than a servant. And Marie found herself trembling…
Stephan himself delayed his appearance at table as long as he could, only to find he could not contain his shame in the face of the Count’s continued graciousness as his guest. To Elsbeth’s horror, Stephan broke down and poured out the tale of the robbery before the finish of the second course, immediately pledging anything the family had to repay the loss, including their home.
Elsbeth flew into a rage, railing at Stephan, insulting his manhood as well as his business acumen in the foulest language, right in front of his noble guest. Marie had come quickly from the kitchen at the sound of the scene, standing behind her father for support (though wishing she could do so much more), and was surprised to see how the Count eyed the woman coldly as Stephen took her abuse in his characteristic silence. Then Richard—apparently having had his fill of venom—stood up and shouted for her silence.
“You know full well it would impoverish your family to repay your debt in kind,” the Count told Stephan, the warmth now gone from his voice. “So I will offer you and
your family an alternative to poverty, though poverty might be just the thing to improve your wife’s character. In exchange for clearing your debt to me, I will take one of your daughters, not as a bride as some here might have wished, but as an indentured servant. She must be willing to do whatever it is I wish of her for as long as I wish to retain her, without any reservation. But she herself must agree to these terms and come with me of her own free choice.”
The women at the table all fell silent and withered under his stare as he looked them over one at a time. None dared breathe or meet his eye.
“I thought not,” the Count accused them. “I could tell from the moment I laid eyes on the three of you that you care only for your own comfort, unwilling to make any personal sacrifice even if it means that all of you will suffer. I do pity this man to have the burden of you and your mother. But I will not spare him, because his suffering will mean your own as well. And, I expect, he is far more accustomed to misery than any of you.”
Marie, plain and sweaty in her stained servant’s apron, stepped forward and planted herself defiantly between the Count and her father, and looked the nobleman straight in the eye.
“I, noble sir, am my father’s only daughter,” she told him firmly, “and I will go with you.”
Richard smiled at her then for the first time, as if truly pleased with her choice.
But the smile was quickly gone.
“Please, lord! I beg you: Reconsider!”
But the Count would make no other bargain with Stephan.
“Reconsider yourself,” Richard confronted him. “You give everything you earn to those four vain harpies, and not one of them will do anything for you in return but bring more misery upon your house, and worse, upon your only true daughter. Reconsider that she gives herself to me not only out of her endless devotion to you, but perhaps also out of a desperation to get away from this miserable place in the bargain, no matter what cost.”
Marie felt her face redden at this, and turned to leave the room hoping no one would see her righteous indignation (and perhaps a bit of self-satisfaction) flicker into shame. This Count who had barely met her had just laid her bare with his accusation. It was true: It was not just saving her father from debtor’s prison or preserving the house her mother had loved that drove her to dare the Count’s terms. The sudden thought of being taken from her servitude had elated her beneath her rage, no matter what this mysterious nobleman had in mind for her, even though the possibilities—at least based on the filthy stories her stepsisters had spun—brought images that now made her shiver. But then there was the way he had looked at her…
“I will pack my things, my lord.”
“No, girl,” Richard commanded, stopping her retreat (though she could not turn and meet his eyes again). “Take nothing with you but the slave’s dress you wear now, and a warm cloak for the road. Everything else you will need, I will supply. This is something else your ‘family’ should consider: despite what I will put you to, you will most certainly return from my service far wealthier than you can possibly imagine.”
The Count caught the sudden glimmer of greed in Elsbeth’s eye, and turned on her coolly. “I see into your heart, woman, and I warn you now: be careful what you wish for. Because if this girl should one day choose to share what gifts I give her with you and your daughters, it will not be at all what you expect.”
A royal blue velvet fur-lined cloak with hood was one of the few things Marie’s mother had left her, and it was the one thing she chose to take with her. After a final tearful embrace, she bid her hapless father farewell. Then she took the Count’s hand so that he could pull her up onto the saddle of his shimmering black horse.
Holding her to him, they rode out of town, still hours before the summer sun would set.
Chapter Two: The Inn Between
She did not even see the lights of the Inn until the horse had stopped.
There were only a handful of travelers in the great room of the small roadhouse, enjoying the repast the innkeeper had prepared them. Marie could smell goose and lamb and mulled wine over the smoke of the hearth.
But the food seemed less popular with the guests than the three serving wenches who bussed their tables. From the girls’ exaggeratedly flirtatious behavior (as well as the impractically high ratio of servers to guests), it was clear they were willing to offer their customers a lot more than just meat and wine. One wench was being juggled from lap to lap between a pair of drunken soldiers. The second was bending over the table of a couple of merchants, displaying her cleavage to one while thrusting her ass within inches of the other’s face under the pretence of pouring more drink. And the third was fawning over a young nobleman sitting alone, who looked to be no more than a teen, though his appearance was most remarkable: jet-black hair and the palest skin, with gray eyes that conveyed a cool and casual worldliness far beyond his apparent years. He was dressed all in black, including gloves and cap, and wore a silver sword and dagger.
The lad locked eyes with the Count as soon as he ushered Marie inside out of the chill evening, and offered a raised cup and a nod of greeting from across the room as if they knew each other well. Then the gray eyes scanned Marie, and the youth smiled in apparent approval (making Marie wonder nervously if the Count’s plan was to give her to another, or to whore her for coin like these serving maids).
Richard led Marie across the room, and she found she was all too happy to cling close beside him, keeping her cloak shut to hide her rent dress, and hoping the scent of her escapade on the horse wasn’t noticeable over the smells of the cooking. Richard sat down at the table across from the pale youth, who slid an iron key across it with his gloved hand. The serving wench—who was dirty-blonde and buxomly full-breasted—looked the Count over hungrily, then at Marie almost dismissively. The youth took the maid’s arm and pulled her into his lap. She let out a girlish squeal.
“Two rooms adjoining, my lord,” the pale one told Richard, his voice unexpectedly melodious. “One for each of us.” He looked Marie over again and grinned. And Marie realized with horror that the stranger was sniffing the air like a hungry man drawing in the aroma of fine food. “Have you dined?”
“I can wait,” Richard told him, with an almost scolding tone. The wench left them long enough to fetch them a board of meats and a pair of cups, and the Count gestured for Marie to sit beside him. Marie realized she was very hungry, but was reluctant to eat in front of these men.
“Go ahead, girl,” Richard encouraged her, taking a drumstick for himself. “You’ve had a long day, and I do regret not getting the chance to fully enjoy the meal you worked so hard to prepare for me.”
The youth watched Marie eat with unusual interest, then reached his gloved hand across the table to push her mug of wine closer to her.
“No need to be lady-like,” he told her with unwarranted familiarity (and more than a hint of innuendo). “I expect the road has left you quite parched and fatigued.” Then he pulled his serving girl close and purred, “Is there dessert?”
She, in turn, whispered something in his ear, which resulted in his grabbing her somewhat roughly by the hair and pulling her head back. She gasped, and the youth leaned in as if he would kiss her, but instead put the index finger of his free hand to her lips in a gentle gesture of silence. She grinned and took the leather-clad finger in her mouth, playing it between her teeth. He grinned back.
“Would you mind if my lord and his lady join us?” he asked the maid as if her consent did matter, taking back his hand and using it to produce a small purse, which he pushed down her blouse between her breasts. She was quick to nod, still grinning wickedly. The youth looked to Richard for approval.
“For a little while, perhaps,” Richard told him. “But not to partake of the feast.”
The youth pouted almost girlishly.
“Then perhaps you’d be willing to entertain us with one of your marvelous tales while we dine?”
The bedroom was small, with one simple down bed on
a heavy wooden frame, a small table with a candle lamp for light, and a single chair, not much more than a stool. The one window was shuttered against the night, and there were two doors. Marie surmised the second must lead to an adjoining room.
Richard sat Marie down on the stool so that she faced the bed, and stood behind her, his firm hands on her shoulders as if to hold her in place.
“Not a word, girl,” he whispered to her, “no matter what you see. Just watch. Learn.”
The pale youth led his wench to the bedside, pulled her close and began to taste her lips gently with his, the pulled her head back and explored her neck and bare shoulder with his tongue dancing on her flesh. His hands, still gloved, took hold of her breasts and began to knead them, and then he caught her nipples through her blouse between thumb and forefinger. When she gasped, he caught her mouth with his and Marie could see his tongue disappear between her teeth. For a moment their mouths locked together like they were trying to breathe through each other. Then the wench cried out, and Marie felt herself flush as she watched one gloved hand slide down between the maid’s parted legs and begin rubbing through her skirt smoothly but urgently.
Then suddenly the youth released his prize, spun her around so that her back was to him, and produced a black scarf from his jerkin. The maid purred, grinning, as he blindfolded her with it. Then he peeled her out of her blouse and skirts, pulled her arms behind her back, and turned her naked to face their audience. Marie squirmed involuntarily in her seat, now fully blushing and feeling near-panic, but the Count only held her more firmly in place.
