Concentrating on keeping her breathing as regular and easy as possible to avoid a coughing attack, she picked up her newest implement of torturous delight. From a thick leather belt, the craftsman had hung varying lengths and thicknesses of chains. Arthur heard the musical clamor and trembled against her. As she buckled the leather about his waist, the cold links of metal fell about his cock, a sweet torment that made his breath a heavy growl in his throat.
But she kept her touch clinical. No physical touching, no sexual inference, no matter how much she wanted to measure his girth with her hand.
The belt kindly provided rear access for his tail. She placed her palm in the small of his back, high enough to keep her promise. He vibrated with anxious excitement.
“I had this made especially for you. Do you like it?”
He gave a little shimmy with his hips that tinkled the chains all about him, drawing another rough, desperate sound from his throat.
“I take that as a yes. Good. I’m pleased that you like it.” She pressed against his back for a moment, letting him feel the hardness of her nipples. “I’m just sorry you don’t like that glorious tail. It would look incredible surrounded by all that silver chain.”
Calmly, she stepped away and headed for the center of the ring once more.
A low, wretched sound came out of him that made her hesitate a step, though she didn’t turn around. “Words, Arthur. You must give me your explicit verbal consent.”
A rumbling roar that was more of a cry for help than a sign of his rage tore at her heart, but she kept on walking. I know it’s hard, pet. But you must break. Break, damn it!
She heard his attack like an explosion of hoof beats. Whirling to face him, she raised the whip, but the surge of grim victory in his eyes warned her. He wanted the whip, the pain, so he could blame her later for what happened.
Lifting her chin, she dropped the whip on the ground.
He slammed into her, bearing her down beneath his full weight. Her back pounded into the dirt, rattling her diseased lungs into a cough that she barely managed to contain. She didn’t try to fight him or push him off. In fact, she went limp, giving him no reason to continue the fight.
If I fight him, he’ll escalate instead of breaking.
Clamping his teeth on her shoulder, he tried to give her a deep bite, but the bit between his teeth prevented him from doing much more than grazing her hard. It hurt—in a deliciously wicked way that would have her purring and scratching his back if she’d given him permission.
I have to get through to him. Somehow. Before he seriously hurts me.
He tore at her shirt, baring her breasts to the roughness of his big palm. Gripping her chin, he forced her mouth to his. She averted her face as much as possible and refused to respond. No matter how much she wanted to suck on his tongue and bite his lip as he did hers. While he was occupied, she reached up and loosened the bridle on his head so it would slip off. It might enable him to bite her severely, but he didn’t deserve the bit.
As she hoped, the removal of the bridle broke through his raging lust. She’d told him the game ended when the bridle came off. Blinking, he stared down at her as if surprised to find her crushed beneath him.
“I won’t hurt you, even to protect myself.”
He flinched, but the fortress walls he’d built about himself remained fully in place. He glared down at her, and she could see the rage returning in his gaze. He still tried to protect himself by feeding his hatred and rage against the previous mistress who’d hurt him.
“You’re not my pony.”
He rocked back like she’d plunged a knife into his gut. The bridle fell down over his face, the leather tangling him up, giving him something to fight. He jerked at the bridle and tore it completely off his head. Free from her pony gear, he rubbed his stubbled jaw on her breasts, his breath hot, his teeth drawing a gasp from her, but she didn’t touch him.
That’s the last thing I can withdraw from him. No response. No fight. No words. Exactly what he denies me.
Closing her eyes, she kept her body limp beneath him, arms splayed to the side, her hands relaxed and open. She concentrated on breathing, fighting back the bloody phlegm trying to suffocate her. If it’s the last thing I do before I die, I’m going to get through to him.
His hands fisted in the material at her waist, but he didn’t yank the jodhpurs down her hips. He pressed his face to her belly, his skin scalding hot, slick with sweat. His shoulders heaved, his arms squeezing her so tightly it hurt, but she didn’t make a sound.
Please, Arthur. Just a single word. That’s all I need. Then I can help you.
A wordless cry tore out of his mouth that shredded her heart, tugging on her determination. Such a plea from a powerful, supremely masculine man almost shook her will. But she held on, refusing to move or respond.
Sobs shook him against her, deep wretched sounds of pain, and he finally broke to her will. “Mistress, help me. Please, help me.”
She immediately buried her hands in his hair and held him close, lifting her thighs to hug him with her entire body. “Shhh, Arthur, it’s all right. I have you. Everything’s going to be fine now.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t want to hurt you. Not really.”
She used his hair to pull his head up so he could see her face. “Yes, you did.” Deliberately, she made her words harsh, punishing him with the truth because he couldn’t face it on his own. “You wanted to hurt me. You wanted to fall on me like a lust-crazed stallion will ravage a mare in heat. That’s who you are and what you want. Admit it!”
Shame darkened his eyes, his face lined and pale despite the sweat dripping from him. “Yes.”
She smiled gently and pulled on his hair so he came up her body, hovering above her on his hands and knees. “Good boy, Arthur. At another time of my choosing, you’ll receive exactly what you want.”
Shocked, he forgot himself and fell back against her, his eyes wide, searching her face. “You’d let me do that? A pony?”
“My stallion,” she corrected. “Yes.”
She tried to laugh at the look on his face, but a spasm across her chest made it impossible to breathe. She froze, waiting for the pain to subside.
“Mistress? What’s wrong?”
“Off,” she whispered, trying not to breathe. If I cough, I’ll splatter him with blood and gore. “Get out.”
The silly man refused to obey, as if that should surprise her. He did at least get up off her, but he gathered her in his arms. “Cole!”
Clamping her mouth shut, she willed her body not to cough, not to show any weakness, but it betrayed her. Her lungs were disintegrating and they had to come out one way or the other. She fell into a coughing fit that rocked her whole body, coughing so hard that blackness threatened.
Too much blood. Too weak. Dr. Miles didn’t warn me the end would come so quickly.
The door slammed open and Cole screamed with such rage and anguish that she tried to push free of Arthur’s arms. “You bastard! I told you if you hurt her that I would kill you!”
Her vision wavered, but if she wasn’t mistaken, Cole had pulled a lazor. She’d always insisted her servants be armed in case the Queen ever changed her mind about her right to Blackmyre, but now she regretted it.
“Cole,” she rasped out, barely more than a whisper but he heard. He’d always hear her commands, even if she couldn’t voice them. He cupped her cheek and his tears dripped on her face. “I’m sick. He didn’t…”
She coughed again, her throat and chest an agony of razors like she’d swallowed down his vicious blade.
Arthur stood, clutching her to his chest. “Call her doctor.”
They were moving, yelling out orders as they raced for the house. Even as she drifted into emptiness, she had to smile. At least they’re working together now. Cole will have someone to take care of him once I’m gone.
Chapter Fifteen
She came awake slowly, fighting through layer after layer of gray fog. Dr. Mile
s gave a tired smile and turned to say something. Other people were in the room. Violet closed her eyes for a few more moments, waiting to hear voices. Cole and Arthur, she was sure. She could feel their energies in the room, flowing and mixing with hers. Who else is here? Can I trust them?
A big hand gently lifted her head. Arthur. Cole pressed a cup to her lips and she drank the vile concoction as quickly as possible. Dr. Miles believed in natural remedies. As badly as this brew tasted, she’d scraped the bottom of everyone’s boots after they’d shoveled out a cesspit.
Dr. Miles checked her pulse and listened to her breathing. Violet watched the other woman’s face and didn’t miss the flicker of resignation.
As I thought.
No surprise when her chest felt like an entire herd of elephants had taken up residence on top of her ribs. Even her limbs felt heavy and unresponsive, as though not enough blood and oxygen were getting to her extremities. Cold, I’m so cold.
“I’m sorry, Your Grace. There’s nothing I can do but make you comfortable. It shouldn’t take long.”
Crying, Cole pressed her hand to his face. Until then, she hadn’t even felt him holding her. Arthur knelt beside the bed, not touching her, as though unsure of his right to do so. She pushed her left hand toward him and he seized her hand like a lifeline. He didn’t cry, though. Not her fierce stallion.
“That’s why you freed me,” Cole said. “You knew you were dying and you didn’t tell me.”
“I didn’t tell anyone.” Her voice sounded thin and stretched out. Irritated, she lifted her head, and they took the hint to help her sit up better. “Not even Dottie. Can someone fetch her?”
“I’m here.” Dottie slammed the door open so hard it rebounded on the wall. “If you’d died before I got here I swear I was going to have to kill you again.”
Violet tried to laugh but it hurt too much and she was afraid of coughing out the last bit of her lungs. “You would too.”
“Is there anyone else you want us to notify?” Dr. Miles asked.
The careful tone of the doctor’s voice gave Violet pause. “Are you thinking of someone?”
Dr. Miles sighed. “I’m not sure, but…” She gave a long glance at the two men, as if questioning whether they should hear. Violet waved her on. “I’ve never seen consumption develop so quickly. Usually it’s a slow disease, giving you several months of reduced activity. I saw you barely a month ago and you’re already so weak I’m guessing it’s just a matter of days. A week, possibly, if you stay completely still and don’t risk irritating your lungs, but that’s it. That’s not natural.”
“Did anything unusual happen a month or two ago?” Dottie asked. “Something else you might have neglected to tell me?”
Dottie won’t soon forgive me for keeping such a secret. Violet sighed. “Queen Majel requested an audience a few days before I became ill and offered the Field Marshal position to me before Wellington’s promotion was announced.” Carefully, she avoided looking at Arthur. Your secret’s safe with me, dear boy, at least until you’re ready to talk about it. “Of course, she told me to keep this information in the strictest of confidence. I was surprised at the time that Her Majesty didn’t demand an answer on the spot. I thought she was merely being considerate—”
Dottie snorted with disbelief.
“Because of everything that had happened with the Dowager,” Violet continued. “It was my time to pay Majel back for refusing to disown me. But then why did she give me a few days to make a decision? Did she honestly believe I would refuse and risk having my entire House leveled out of spite?”
“That does seem odd,” Dottie mused. “Did you see anyone else?”
“The very next day, a representative from Military Intelligence & Galaxy Sciences came to Blackmyre to give me a routine checkup.”
“MIGS!” Dr. Miles recoiled. “And you let those monsters into your home? They’re the most unnatural scientists I’ve ever seen.”
“He had Queen Majel’s official seal requesting a general exam before my term of service began.” Violet’s mind reeled, trying to put the pieces together. “Do you think she could have ordered them to infect me with a new virulent strain?”
“I’ve heard horror stories about their experimentations.” Dr. Miles jumped up to pace at the foot of the bed. “They’ve even been creating mechs using the poor boys injured in the war. Abominations of man and machine melded together. God only knows what kind of biochemical warfare they’ve concocted to use against Francia. Did they give you any injections? Anything unusual?”
“No injections.” Her stomach gave a distinctive roll and her fingers trembled in her men’s hands. “But he had an unusual device. He said it was a new scanner. I didn’t feel any pain or anything suspicious. I certainly didn’t feel sick until days later, and that’s when I stopped by to see you, Dr. Miles.”
“Maybe some kind of virus that you inhaled?” Dottie plopped down on the bed so heavily that Cole tumbled over closer to Violet. Certainly neither of them minded in the slightest. “But then the MIGS agent would be infected too. Some kind of contaminant, maybe, and he’d already been exposed?”
“I’ve never heard of such a thing,” Dr. Miles admitted. “But anything’s possible with those mad scientists. They have unlimited funding thanks to Queen Majel and her determination to do whatever’s necessary to defeat Francia. Even if they must create monsters and countless weapons of mass destruction to accomplish the feat.”
“Or poison a minor Duchess.” Violet held up a hand to halt Dottie’s fierce retort. “I know, Blackmyre is the fifth most powerful duchy in all of Britannia. I’m still only a Duchess by the Queen’s largess. So in the end, Her Majesty couldn’t have had a hand in this conspiracy, whatever or whoever has infected me. The only reason she could want me dead is if I’d refused her order, and she knew I wouldn’t. I owed her, and besides, I was admittedly excited about the opportunity. Only illness kept me from accepting the position—an illness that must have been delivered by the MIGS agent to deliberately prevent me from accepting the promotion.”
Violet would have let out a heavy sigh if she could draw enough breath as realization flooded her. “It was all a set up. When I regretfully declined the promotion, I was terrified of Queen Majel’s reaction, but she seemed almost smug. She certainly wasn’t shocked or furious at my refusal. She must have known all along that someone inside her administration was passing information to MIGS. That’s why she made the offer to me but delayed the public announcement, so she could sit like a fat spider on her web and wait for the person to betray himself. My sudden illness gave her proof not only of a leak but also that MIGS was more than capable of trying to circumvent her orders.”
“So then MIGS acted against the Queen’s will.” Dottie clapped her hand over her mouth with horror, and then dropped her voice to a whisper. “No one does that and lives to tell about it.”
The door opened again and Violet’s butler tumbled inside, so pale with alarm that Violet struggled to rise up out of bed. She gripped Arthur’s hand, willing him to help her up. I’ll meet whatever’s terrified Mr. Chumlee on my feet.
“Exactly correct, Dottham.” Swathed in a heavy black cloak and gown, the woman was unidentifiable. Even her voice sounded odd, as if distorted by something. She went to the windows and made sure the curtains were drawn, and then walked about the room with another strange device that emitted a low beeping.
Mr. Chumlee wrung his hands and jerked his head at their uninvited guest, but he didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. Violet had seen her mother rage at their entire household while staggering drunk and he’d never blinked. She’d thought her mother the meanest, hardest lady in existence.
Until I met Queen Majel.
She tugged harder on Arthur’s hand, but he refused to help her up. He put a hand on her shoulder and eased her back down to her pillows despite her alarm. He sat beside her, shifting so he put his body between her and the intruder. Which only made her throat tighten with worry.
Finally, the stranger pushed back her cloak, revealing the flawless beauty of the most powerful woman in the universe.
Dottie tried to jerk to her feet, got tangled up in the coverlet, and slipped to the floor in a tumble of skirts and bedding. “Your Majesty!”
Queen Majel pulled the desk chair closer to the bed and seated herself, carefully adjusting her voluminous skirts. “Do sit down and make yourself comfortable, Dottham.”
Beneath the plain outer cloak, the finest black and gold silks sparkled even in the dimmed room. Her golden hair was artfully arranged in a swept-up style framed by raven’s feathers. Of course it was all the rage for the ladies to wear bird feathers in their hair this Season since Majel had set the fashion, but no one dared wear the Royal House Krowe’s symbol.
No one else but Arthur’s tormenter. Will Majel ever forgive me if I reveal such a wretched secret about one of the princesses? The thought almost wrung a despairing laugh from her. She has no mercy. She certainly doesn’t forgive.
“I’m not formally here. In fact, there aren’t any formalities today. I’m just here visiting an old friend on her death bed.”
Violet couldn’t help but flinch.
“I’m not surprised to find Dottham at your beside, Blackmyre, but I must admit interest in that strapping young man with the death grip on your hand. If my eyes don’t deceive me, you’ve kidnapped Wellington’s oldest grandson.”
Now it was Arthur’s turn to try and shoot up with alarm. Violet held on to his hand for fear he’d unsheathe the lazor Cole had probably given to him. Majel would see him dead for carrying a weapon in her presence. “Shhh, pet, I already knew.”
He jerked his head around, the whites of his eyes rolling wildly. “You knew? For how long?”
“Nearly from the beginning. Your brother bears a remarkable resemblance to you.”
Her Grace's Stable: A Jane Austen Space Opera, Book 2 Page 12
