by Lee Savino
He moved to the side, wiping his mouth.
“That’s one,” he told her. “Now roll over and present your pretty little ass. You’re my slave, and I want to spank your cunny until you come again.”
The day passed and they barely left the bedroom, though once Sebastian threatened to have her crawl down the hall on a little leash made of string tied to her nipples. He took her on the couch and the floor, bent over the bed after a round with the belt, thrusting hard into her hot ass and saying despicable, vile things until her cunt spasmed nonstop.
He made her suck him and hump his foot, then lay on her back on the rug while he teased her with a feather, with rope and tassel, with trailing fingers and finally his tongue. He gave her the humiliation she needed and the degradation she craved, knowing that it took more than a sweet session with his cock for her to orgasm. And, because he loved her, he’d be the master in the bedroom she needed him to be.
She orgasmed over and over, and once held onto his head so hard she ripped out some of his hair by the roots when she came. At times he could see her struggle in her face, as he ordered her to grovel or kiss his boot. But mostly she obeyed with a dazed, wanton look, drunk on her own desire. The trust she gave him was unreal. He marveled at the gift of her submission, and how powerful he felt playing her lord and master. It made him feel ten feet tall, more noble than he’d ever been in his entire life.
“There you are, darling,” he finally said, when she couldn’t move. He’d taken a break halfway to dash out for food, and let her nap a few times after cumming hard, before he made her cum again. Dusk came and she still hadn’t left the room. “I’ve done my duty as a husband for the day.”
“For the year,” she murmured. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” His lips smacked her cheek.
“We did not do any chores.”
“Ana knows you need recovery. I dare say I would’ve tied you up before letting you lurch around in an exhausted state.”
“Now I am exhausted again.” But she smiled.
“Good. Then you will sleep.”
She sighed. “Tomorrow we will face our troubles.”
“Not necessarily,” Sebastian said lightly, even though he felt a pang of worry deep down. “The post may come with my father’s money, and then we will dance and sing like fools.”
“Speak for yourself,” she said. “Sebastian, I must ask you: do you believe I married you for your money?”
“I’m glad I had something to entice you, darling,” he retorted. “And I don’t mind, as long as you don’t mind that I married you for your perfect arse.”
She scoffed, but he continued before she could steer the subject back to any serious matter.
“I mean it. It’s size, shape, color—especially when I whip it. It really should be shown on world tour.”
Her body shook with laughter.
“Poems would be written, songs will be sung, all to the two delectable cheeks and the slice of heaven between. But it’s not to be. It’s mine, all mine.” He snuggled into her back.
She lay in his arms, and for a moment he thought he’d distracted her, but a few minutes later she asked in a serious voice, “Is that how you truly feel? That I married you only for protection?”
He rolled her to face him, joking manner gone.
“Francesca, I know the circumstances were intense, but you want me. Any woman who does the things you do for me…”
“There had better not be any other woman,” she warned.
“There is no other woman for me.” He found her hand and brought it to his lips to kiss it. “I pledge my life to you, my lady. Anything and everything I have is yours. You have but to ask.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” A wild light leapt into her eye. Her lips found his ear. “I want it all.” With a wicked smile, she worked her way down his body, and took the rest of the night to celebrate their love, both craven and pure.
*
The sound of breaking glass woke them the next morning.
“Ana?” Francesca muttered sleepily.
Sebastian was up, reaching for his gun, motioning for her to stay put. After the shooting, he wasn’t taking any chances.
The garden looked serene and beautiful in the morning light, but for the shattered glass on the kitchen’s door. Who would come and throw a jar at their front step? Was it a message or a warning? It didn’t make sense.
Gazing out over the field, he caught sight of a white shape in front of the apothecary door.
“What is it?” Francesca came behind him.
“Stay back,” Sebastian ordered, but of course she ignored him and ran towards her workshop.
“Oh no,” she cried.
Sebastian cursed under his breath, staring at the pitiful pile of white fur stained red. Someone had slaughtered the goat and left it in front of Francesca’s apothecary.
Francesca read the smeared Spanish word bruja, written in the goat’s blood, and gasped.
“What does it say?”
She translated in a stricken voice. “Witch.”
Holding his gun in one hand, he clasped his trembling wife to his side with the other. As she clung to him, his eyes scanned the horizon. Who was it this time? The Royal Mountain Gang? Bernardo? More likely one of the priest’s minions.
“What is it?” Ana came hurrying over the fields, blinking away sleep. “I heard something.”
Francesca stepped in front of the dead animal, but not before Ana caught sight of the white limb.
“No!” Ana gasped. “Who would do such a thing?”
“I do not know.” Francesca hugged the much shorter woman. “We will find out.”
As Cage hurried to join them from the barracks, Sebastian directed Francesca to take Ana away.
Cage saw the abomination and let out a low whistle.
“Where are the guards?”
“Gone,” Cage said. “We couldn’t pay them yesterday, so they left.”
“I told them the money was coming,” Sebastian muttered.
“Men like that need cash day to day to keep them in whiskey and tobacco.”
Sebastian gave him a furious look, and Cage raised his hands in defense. “I’ll go to town, see what I can find out about this whole business, and check if anything came from your father.”
Sebastian reined in his temper. “Thank you.”
The mess was cleaned up, but not much else had improved when Juan showed up.
“There is talk in the town,” he reported. “The Bishop is telling people there is evil in our midst. That mothers will not be able to have healthy babies until the threat is gone.”
“Tell them to go to the butcher’s house,” Sebastian growled. “There’s a baby there, alive and well. Francesca spent most of two days making sure of it.” Unable to stay any longer, he started striding towards the town.
“Where are you going?”
“To put a stop to all this nonsense.” His long legs carried him to the path leading into the marketplace, and then he slowed. The cathedral loomed over the sprawling village, a beacon of hope to the faithful. If he strode in there, demanding answers, he was likely to get booted out on his ass. Or worse, turn the town further against Francesca.
He stood in the center of the dirt road, ready to storm the castle, one knight against the rest.
“Señor, señor.” The butcher’s son, Pepito ran up to him. Tears streamed down the boy’s face. “It’s mama…she wouldn’t get out of bed, and papa made her, and now she is not moving, even though the baby cries and cries…”
Sebastian grabbed the boy’s hand. Together they ran to the hacienda.
“Francesca,” he bellowed. Both Ana and his wife burst out of the kitchen.
“What is it?” Ana asked.
Francesca took one look at the boy and paled. “No, no, no.” Picking up her skirts, she began to run.
Sebastian didn’t catch up with her until they were almost at the
butcher’s house. From the street, they could hear the baby screaming.
Sebastian crossed the threshold and the smell of blood hit him. Inside the butcher sat in a chair, staring into the dead fire pit. A few women hovered over Camila’s bed. The sheets were stained as red as the doorstep outside of Francesca’s apothecary.
“Let me see her,” Francesca ordered in a shaking voice. One of the neighbors held the baby, trying to soothe the child.
“No,” the butcher roused enough to say. “Do not go near my wife.”
Ignoring him, Francesca pushed to Camila’s side, Sebastian just behind. People made room.
“Señora, she is gone,” one of the neighbor’s said.
“Oh, Camila, please.” Francesca’s hands danced over the woman, checking the woman. “I don’t understand. You were weak, but healthy. The babe was healthy.”
“There was too much blood,” Pepe said.
“The herbs I gave her would help. And did she nurse the baby?”
“She put the baby aside and would not take her.”
The baby still screamed. “Find a wet nurse, now.” Francesca waved furiously at the neighbors, before turning back to the mother.
A crowd had gathered in the house, people peeking in with faces curious and sad.
“Where were you when she needed you?” Francesca screamed at one of the neighbors, who hurried away.
“Darling.” Sebastian tried to soothe his wife. “It’s over. There’s nothing you can do.”
“She was fine,” Francesca cried. “She could have lived.”
A ripple in the crowd, and people parted for the large man in robes
“You.” The Bishop pointed a finger at Francesca. “The witch did this.”
Before Sebastian knew it, he’d crossed the room, and cracked his fist into the priest’s face. The man staggered back and almost fell into the street, but the neighbors caught him, their faces angry.
“Get him out of here.” Sebastian turned on his heel and went back in the room, feeling sick at the stench of death.
Francesca was on her knees next to the dead woman, covered in blood, moaning.
“Madre, please, no,” she prayed. “What have I done?”
“Francesca, darling.” He knelt and tried to draw her up. “It’s over, there’s nothing you can do.”
Pepito stood nearby, his little face stricken.
“No,” Francesca cried. “No, no, no, no.”
“Yes, it’s over. Please, my darling.” He tried to pull her away, and when she resisted, he lifted her in his arms.
He carried his weeping wife past the silent neighbors. The priest had disappeared.
As he crossed the fields to the hacienda, the church bells began to toll for the dead.
“Put me down.” Francesca pushed at him. He set her on her feet and watched as she took a few tottering steps ahead of him, then fell to her hands and knees. “Madre, madre, it cannot be,” she moaned, her hands ripping up the dirt.
“My darling, come here—” Sebastian crouched beside her.
“It cannot be,” Francesca wailed, raising her tear stained face to the sky. “She was alive she was well. Her babe was healthy. What have I done? Oh, madre what have I done?”
“Come here.” Sebastian scooped her up again, and loped on long legs the rest of the way to the hacienda. She shuddered in his arms.
“Help me, Ana,” Sebastian said as he entered the garden. “She needs us.”
Ana dropped the bucket of water and scrub brush she was carrying to the apothecary, and hurried ahead of him.
He went straight to the bedroom and laid Francesca on the bed.
“Camila?” Ana asked.
Sebastian shook his head, and stepped back as the woman took his wife into her arms.
He went to the dining room, downing a stiff drink before pouring one for Francesca. Juan stepped inside.
“She knows the news of Camila?” Juan asked. They could hear Francesca weeping and Ana comforting her.
“Just got back. Bloody shame.”
“Terrible, señor.”
“The villagers, they think Francesca did something.”
Sebastian cursed. “She did nothing wrong. The woman was healthy when we left after the birth.
“There is talk that she admitted guilt. At the bedside.”
“She was upset. You know her. She will always wish she did more. But I was there the whole time, Juan, and nothing was wrong. The butcher now, that man is a suspect.” He was so upset, he downed Francesca’s drink. “He may very well have mistreated his wife.”
“Pepe isn’t friendly but he is respected. And some would say a wife belongs to her husband to do with as he pleases.”
“Who says that?” Sebastian demanded.
“Bishop Bernardo—”
“Bishop Bernardo be damned.” Sebastian cursed, and cursed again at Juan’s widened eyes. Leaving the head vaquero standing in shock, he went to the bedroom to take Ana’s place. The house matron left to prepare some food while Sebastian curled himself around his wife’s sobbing form.
“Shhh, shhh, my darling,” he soothed until she quieted. “You did all you could.”
“It wasn’t enough,” she said in a broken voice. “I thought something was wrong in that household, but said nothing. And when he sang to his child—” Tears choked her.
“I know, I know.” Sebastian kissed his wife’s hair, and set his chin on top of her head. “You’re all right, darling. Just let go and rest for now. You can grieve. I’m here.”
*
Late evening found Sebastian smoking in the garden. His heart felt heavy at the turn of events. The dead mother, his wife a target of a gang and a religious vendetta, the drought—it all seemed to be coming to a head.
He started when Cage came into the garden.
“Evening, boss.” Cage refused Sebastian’s silent offer of a smoke. “Been a long day.”
For a while, the silence lay heavy between them. Then Cage sighed. “Something came for you, while you were out.”
Striking a match for light, Sebastian read the telegram. Silent, he read it again. He felt cold all over, but his cheeks burned.
“What is it?” Cage asked.
Jaw clenched tight, Sebastian couldn’t answer. He felt a little sick as he read the missive from his father a third time. Will not send funds to support your Spanish whore. Travel fare waiting at Colorado Springs. Return home or be disowned.
He could hear the exact inflection in his father’s voice, and the rest of the rant. “I sent you to America to teach you not to get caught up with these trollops. At least this one isn’t with child.”
Lose his inheritance? All the money he would put at Francesca’s disposal, gone in a blink of an eye. He wouldn’t allow it. He could go to England, make things clear to his father. He could fix this, stand up to the duke, be a man.
“Everything all right?”
“Quite,” Sebastian said, shoving the telegram into his pocket. “Any other news?”
Cage looked at him for a moment, assessing his employer before he shared. “Royal Mountain gang is around. Word is it’s being led by two men. Brothers. Bigs and Johnson. Doyle’s death left them the opportunity to take over his holdings, but they ain’t the brightest. They lost the brothel and saloon, and are grasping at any dollar they can. They’re not above extortion.”
“Or shooting into a widow’s hacienda.”
“Nope. But this business with the goat.” Cage lowered his voice. “That seems like a local thing.”
“It is.” Sebastian gave the cathedral one last glance, then turned his stride back toward the hacienda. All around, liars, killers and thieves, and him without his armor, his father’s money.
He’d have to go to England to fetch it. He had no choice.
*
Sebastian woke the next morning and found his wife up, sitting in the garden. Barefoot, with her hair unbound, she looked terribly young and vulnerable. Some of that sparkling passion had eb
bed away.
Grabbing a blanket, he went and placed it around her shoulders.
“Good morning, my darling.”
“Is it?” she asked tiredly. There were dark half moons under her eyes. “My world is falling apart. You are the only solid ground.”
Settling down beside her, he pulled her close.
“I’m here for you,” he said, and felt himself a liar. The telegram burned a hole in his pocket. He had to tell her that no funds were coming, that she’d put her faith in the wrong man. “I’m going to help, I swear it.”
“What are we going to do?”
He searched for a way to ease into the news, and couldn’t find away. “I need to go to England.”
“What?”
“Darling, I’m sorry. The money I promised was coming…it’s not. My father won’t send it. He’s threatening to disinherit me unless I return to England.”
She lay quiet against his chest for a moment.
Then she said in a small voice, “You’re leaving me?”
“No, darling, no. Never. I just need to return to England, convince him to give me my rightful share. Then I can return and stay here forever.”
She stiffened and lifted away from him, staring into his face. “You’re serious. You’re actually thinking of going…now?”
“Darling, I have no choice. My travel fare is waiting in Colorado Springs. I can go collect it, make the trip to England, be done with it.”
He could see her fire returning, but her face and voice were stone. “And how long will this take?”
He shrugged. “As long as it takes…I’ll return as soon as I can. Francesca, do you see, I have to go.”
“You are more than your father’s money.”
“I’m doing this to help you, dammit.”
“I do not need money. I need you.”
It was his turn to pull away. “To do what? Sit here and watch your crops die? I can leave you here with Juan and Ana, you hunker down and survive. We can rebuild when I return.”
