The Raven

by Terri Pray

  No, for now she'd hope Davien would find her before she took the risk of trying to escape on her own. Davien would assume, at first, that she'd made it clear from the immediate area. Unless someone reported her being snatched from the street, which was entirely possible, but then who would they tell?

  Servant's talked though. They chatted to each other during breaks. Passing on snippets of information, rumors, seldom about their own employers though, that could cost them their positions and most couldn't afford that loss of income if they were caught. So what else did they chat about?

  What they'd seen on the streets. If she was lucky then Davien would think to ask them. He was bright. He might not think they were worth his time, but he knew what the saw, what they could see if they were in the right place at the right time, and he'd follow that lead through. She had to believe that. If there was a reward out there, then it would reach his ears sooner or later, which was a thread of hope she had to cling to. One that, she hoped, would see her through the darkest days under Tearlach's not so tender care.

  “You're a pretty enough thing, I'll grant that.” Jason grunted, his gaze easing over her body, lingering on the upper curves of her breasts. Her skin tightened under the path of his heated invisible caress, her nipples tightening into pips beneath the warm water. Did he even know that her thighs clenched, and her body craved his touch? She truly was nothing more than the slut he'd claimed her to be. “You screamed well for him last night. I could hear you from outside the room. But he likes inflicting pain and your body bears the marks well.”

  “I heal quickly, Sir.” She kept her voice soft. “If I am given the chance to do so.”

  “Well if he lets you— that's up to him. No one else. Though I could see where having untouched skin to mark again would be pleasing. At least to me. Perhaps he'll let me play with you once in a while. If you misbehave.”

  “Or if I please him in such a manner that he would wish to share me, Master.” She tried to keep the shudder from her voice, a cool finger of fear traced a long, slow path down the length of her spine.

  “And you're trying to tell me that you might enjoy being used by me?” Confusion touched his eyes, tiny lines tightening around them, his lips pressed into a tight, thin line. “I find that hard to believe. Sure, calling you a slut is one thing, you actually being one, is another entirely. Not like you're a whore who has to fake wanting it in order to be paid.”

  “Sir, I belonged to Lord Davien Blood.” She spoke softly, sitting up a little more in the tub. Water dripped down her full breasts, beading along her taut skin even as it fell from her nipples in a soft, steady waterfall. “He took my maiden head and then passed me off to another to use. I have, from my first time with a man, been nothing more than a bauble to be passed around. I had one choice, learn to enjoy it, or lose my sanity.” In some odd way it almost made sense. Was that why she had been able to cum under Tearlach's touch? Now she had the chance to think about it, the entire way she reacted to the touches of others, made a cold, and terrible sort of sense.

  “He didn't keep you to himself? He wasn't growling at others to stay away from you? Or threatening to kill them if they came too close to you?” The words spilled from his lips before he had the chance to stop them, a frown creasing his brow as a dark sparkle danced within his eyes.

  “No, Sir. He passed me off to a stable hand one time to use for his pleasure. Then there was a dining partner another time, he even handed me off to someone we were staying with as a way, perhaps, of paying for the roof over his head that night.” She tried not to let her emotions get the better of her, searching deep within for something she could use. There. A shard of ice, a piece of the wall she'd almost built about her heart at one point. She could build on that. Form it into a protection that would serve her well during this time.

  At least, she hoped it would.

  “Interesting. I would have thought a rich lord like him would have had other ways to pay his way.” Jason rubbed his chin slowly.

  “He does. It wasn't done for a lack of funds, I'm sure of that, Sir. But rather it was to remind me of my place as a slave, and to teach me that I was just property that could be used, and traded, in any way he saw fit. I've not been with him a full year yet, but I've grown used to the way I am supposed to be shared with others.” How long had she been with him? A couple of months now, she'd lost track of time, he'd kept her thoughts focused on other things. But she knew they'd only been in London for a few days— not even a week unless she'd lost a day or so since arriving?

  No, she'd not been that confused.

  They'd arrived, then there had been the meeting with Tearlach in the park, then the party. Three days, four at most. Now she was in Tearlach's grasp and she had no one else to blame for this except herself.

  “Odd, but there's no accounting for the actions of those with more money than sense, is there. What if you get with child? How is he going to know it's his? He surely wouldn't want to pass someone else's babe off as his bastard, would he?”

  “You're assuming he cares about such things, Sir. And as you said either way it would be a bastard, not a true born heir.”

  “True but men have adopted bastards before and brought them into the line on inheritance, when they have had no legitimate offspring.”

  “He may have other plans to gain a child for his family line. Sir, he has not discussed such things with me, and I doubt he would think to do so. I was his slave, not his lover.”

  In truth she'd not even thought about that, except in passing. If he'd thought about her with a child he'd not mentioned it either and now she was with Tearlach there would be questions on if she was carrying his, or another. No, there would have always been that question with the way she had been passed around. There had to be something he was more concerned about.

  But what?

  Maybe he didn't think she could catch with a child? Her periods had been hit and miss since she had been snatched, but she'd been told by one of the servants in his main home, that it was due to the way she was being treated. They'd made it sound as though she wasn't likely to catch with a child with the way he played. It would make sense, she wasn't treated gently, but neither were whores and they caught from time to time.

  “Well, it's an odd situation all told. Not sure what himself would do if you caught with a child. He might keep it, might make you be rid of it, still it will be a time before you face something like that. So you might as well soak for a bit longer, girl. You need it. You're bruised and worn out. You've got the time to just soak it off. Then we'll get you fed and seen to before returning you to his room.”

  “Yes, Sir.” A bath, food and perhaps something to wear, it seemed as though things were looking up, at least for a short time. She'd play the role that had been assigned to her and accept what came her way, and all being well she'd soon be with Davien again.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Celeste smiled, her eyes half closed as she tried to decide if she needed to move just yet or not. She'd soaked in the tub until her skin had turned wrinkled and she'd looked like an old woman, at least at a quick glance. With a sigh she opened her eyes, rolled out her shoulders and then finally pulled herself out of the water and wrapped a towel tightly about her body, rubbing herself dry before she looked at the chemise hanging on the wall.

  “Sir, might I ask, is that for me?” she nodded pointedly toward the clothing.

  “Yes, and get it on. It wouldn't look good on me.” Humor flashed across his eyes, the corners of his lips crinkling upward in a smile. “Can you imagine me in something like that? The staff would never take me seriously again. Now, the reason the chemise is there is simply this, we don't want you nude in front of his servants. Not all of them will understand they need to ask before touching something he owns. Rough lot they are. Well some of them are. The lasses here aren't too bad and Cook will want to mother you. But the stable hands, that's a different matter. Mind that you don't go near one of them without me around.”

  Ce
leste nodded and quickly pulled the chemise over her head. It fell to her knees but no further, and was a little thinner than she had hoped, but at least it offered her some cover. She sat down on the stool and pulled the brush through her hair, working through the tangles. She was all too well aware of where his gaze had a habit of lingering, but she'd learned all too well not to complain about such things. So she wasn't about to start now.

  Her stomach knotted and then calmed down as she straightened out her chemise and looked up at him. Jason wasn't a bad man, not from what she'd seen so far, but he was employed by Tearlach and that, for now, made him the enemy.

  “At least you look semi-presentable now,” Jason grunted and pushed to his feet. “Next step will be some food in you. You're a touch on the skinny side for a farm girl, except where it counts, of course. Still, Cook will want to take care of that.”

  “He told you?” she blinked, the information catching her off guard.

  “That you're from a farm in Ireland? Yes, he told me. Same area he liked to wander around. Pity the Lord Blood got to you first, but still, he doesn't seem to mind now he's got his hands on you.” He took a step closer to her, reaching out, dragging his fingers through her hair. “I've never seen such hair before. Like the moon. Spun silver, rare and beautiful.”

  “Thank you, Sir.” Heat touched her cheeks softly as she lowered her gaze. Strange, after everything she'd been through an honest compliment could still make her blush like a maiden. It was a sensation she grasped and held close to her heart as one of those rare moments that might help her through the darkness.

  “You're a strange one, and pretty too, but doesn't mean that I trust you. I don't. There's something going on behind those eyes of yours. You're dangerous. You'll bring him misfortune, but I understand why he wants you. There's something special about you at the same time.” He lowered his hand and shook his head nodding toward the door. “Come on, let's get you fed, wench. They'll be waiting for you in the kitchen. And Cook, she doesn't like to be kept waiting.”

  There was something behind her eyes? Just what was that suppose to mean?

  She nodded softly and followed him out of the room and toward the crackling warmth of the kitchen.

  Jason turned, looking at her again, then moved without warning. His hand closed on her throat as he pinned her against the wall. His body pressed to hers, his cock thickening beneath his pants. His lips covered and claimed hers before she had a chance to protest. His tongue sliding into her mouth and danced in the confines of her mouth. He stroked, tasted and delved into her mouth, exploring every inch of her soft, warmth. She groaned under his touch. Her body arching against his as she unconsciously sought out the warmth and delight he offered in his touch. Her nipples hardened beneath the shift. Liquid heat coated her inner walls, her sex rippling, clenching as if she needed something more than a simple kiss.

  Her eyes drifted closed. Soft lashes caressing her cheeks. Her heart raced, pounding against her chest, each breath brought with it a craving for more from him. His touch. His kiss. The feel of his hand parting her thighs. The way she knew he could strip off the chemise with a single, sharp tug on the thin material. Her body wanted what he offered her.

  He slid one hand back around her neck, no longer pressing on her throat, his fingers tight as he held her in place and broke the kiss. His dark gaze glittered as he looked into her eyes, a feral, hungry glint within them. “Yes, I can see why he wants to keep you instead of passing you straight back to Lord Blood for a ransom. There's a true hunger in you, one that no simple farmer could sate. You're a born sexual temptress, even if you don't realize it. Under the right hands you could be something truly special, and I think that's what he has in mind. A way of turning you into something that would be the envy of any man out there with a pulse, though you're close to that now, aren't you?”

  Heat flushed completely over her face, shame coloring her deeply as she trembled, still held against the wall. Was she to only ever be a source of sexual pleasure for men and women? Was there nothing else in her future that could offer her a sense of hope? She'd be held as a slave, a sex toy, for the rest of her life.

  “You're hungry for more and angry about it at the same time. You've tried to accept this, but you fight it at the same time. No wonder he wants to own you fully. There's still a streak of wildness in you, something Lord Blood hasn't broken.”

  Perhaps because he hadn't wanted to. He liked that part of her, and enjoyed knowing that he was the one who owned her, all of her, even the untamed element of who she was. Yes, she had to believe that. He'd enjoyed the fire she'd shown, and not beaten her down for it. Did that make him a rare man?

  She had to believe it did.

  “I hope Tearlach will send you to my feet. I'd enjoy some time with you. But until he grants permission it won't happen. You're his property, not mine, and I'm all too well aware of what he's capable of doing. I'm not about to bring his wrath down on me for a quick tumble, no matter how heated a slut you promise to be.” Jason smiled, hope lingering in his eyes as he let his gaze trace over her body.

  He finally let go of her and walked toward the kitchen as if nothing had happened between them. But she couldn't switch off that easily. Her body throbbed, a hunger she tried to deny, but knew all too well she had no control over anymore, now worked its way through her system. Celeste took a deep breath as she followed him into the kitchen, steeling herself for the looks that would be shot her way as soon as she walked into view.

  Two women and one man sat around a large wooden table. One was obviously the cook, the other looked like a maid, and no doubt was grabbing one of the rare breaks she had the chance of before she was sent off to work again. The other man sat at the table, cradling a heavy mug of what smelt like tea.

  “This is the Raven's new woman. Remember, no touching unless he gives the word. You know what he's like about people touching what's ‘is. I don't want to go cleaning up any mess because one of you got all foolish on me. He's likely to send you off to the doctors, or worse. And don't come crying to me if he smacks you around for breaking the rules.”

  The three nodded, but it was the young maid and the other man who showed the greatest interest in her. She lowered her gaze, folding her hands in front of her, almost demure despite the way she was dressed.

  “I've never seen hair like that before. Is she like that all over?” The man queried, his gaze hungry as he raked over her body.

  “Yep, all over. I've never seen its like before, either. She's an odd one, but don't be making life harder for her than it already is. But, for the grace of God, there go all of us. He might decide he doesn't like having us around and sell us off. There isn't a man or woman amongst us that doesn't have a price on ‘is head.”

  Odd, around the others Jason lost what little refinement he had in his speech and returned to a more common tongue. London? No, he sounded northern, not Liverpool though, she knew that accent well enough. Where though? And why did he drop into this manner of speech in the kitchen?

  To make the others feel at ease?

  She frowned slightly. The accent was almost forced, as if this was the show, and the softer, gentler way of speaking, was more natural to him. But why would he do something like that?

  It was going to annoy her until she worked it out, but there was something going on here with this man that she wasn't privy to.

  Yet, at least.

  “I'm not about to go messing with Raven's property. I know better. Saw what happened to the man who touched the last wench.” The Cook shook her head, her gaze narrowed on Celeste. “You look too thin girl. Hungry I guess? Doubt you've had much to eat in these last few hours. He'd have other things on his mind. So best we get that growling stomach of yours sorted.”

  “Yes, ma'am. Please.” Her stomach growled, adding its own comments and approval to the Cook's choice. When had she last eaten? Before the party? Yes, she could vaguely remember that. But it was about time she had something again, before she became light h
eaded and did something she would regret. Hadn't there been something brought up on a tray, when they'd been at his friend's house?

  Yes, she could remember the maid now. And the way she'd been shown off in front of the woman. How Davien had been impressed by the way the maid had spoken, and minded her own business. Why was she having problems thinking things through, and remembering just what had happened?

  Hunger? Weariness? What she'd been through? They'd all, no doubt, combined, to put her mind into a semi-fogged state.

  “Well then you just sit there girl, and we'll get you something fixed up. A nice spot of tea and toast, maybe some of that roast beef left over from yesterday.” The cook was already pushing herself away from the table and walking across the kitchen before Celeste had a chance to agree.

  “Thank you, ma'am. ‘Tis appreciated.” She offered a shy smile and sat down at the table with a nudge from Jason.

  “You mind your manners around here, like you're doing now, and you'll be fine.” The older woman nodded, a smile touching her lips. “You're not like the other one he had. She tried lording it over us. Then again she wasn't his slave. Just a pretty piece of ass he was interested in. Mind you, she liked some strange things. Too strange for my tastes. Right firebrand, bright red hair, devils own I swear it. Not sure what the Raven saw in her. Except that she was Irish, like you and him.”

  Irish?

  The hairs on the back of her neck stood up. No, it couldn't be that simple. She had to be assuming, over reacting, etc. There were more than two Irish women in London. And it didn't make sense that he'd go after a pair of sisters, not unless he wanted to keep them both as slaves. But she couldn't see Blue as a slave. She fought against such things, and tried to wrap others about her little finger, forcing them into compliance whenever she could.

  Only she didn't call it force. It was persuasion. They were nothing to her. Just a means to an end. But the niggling doubt grew in the back of her mind, finally forcing its way free until she looked up at the Cook and dared to give voice to the question.