On the fourth day of his search, he found her chestnut gelding near the province of Bolstomta. He checked the animal for injuries, for signs of a scuffle, but the animal was in perfect health. Crimson was known to have stayed in the Bolstomta at times during the summer. He tethered the horse to his own and rode into the village.
Many of the men from the village had, months ago, been swept away to war. The sight of a young man, and a man of obvious nobility, excited the mothers and they rushed their daughters out for his inspection. One mother far too eagerly lifted her daughter into the air; the child fell and landed on the path before Viktor’s horse. The young girl felt sullied, embarrassed, and looked to her mother for direction as she sat in the dirt.
Viktor dismounted, lifted the child from the ground, brushed the soil from her cheeks, back, and kissed her forehead. He patted her on the back and guided her toward her mother. He grilled the womenfolk, focusing on the elder women and their network of gossip.
“My dear women this gelding belongs to Crimson of Karlberg. It is of grave importance that I speak with her and I know she has stayed here before. Has anyone seen her?”
The growing crowd heard his question but none answered. The men of their village were off on the Baltic Sea or on foreign lands giving their lives as conscripts. The remaining men in the village were of little brawn; they were mostly earth and grime, old age, and lacked that which offered any future for the young women. This young man was refined, commanding, and groomed. There was a power and a sense of confidence about him.
Most of the women of the province were young and energetic but wore the affliction of hard work and worry on their faces. Survival, as a sturdy constitution, had plagued their daily lives and took its toll on their bodies. These villagers were the true owners of the land—their Viking blood was pure and Viktor respected them, they were the true continuity of the Sweden homeland. Instead of answering, they primped themselves and flirted. Viktor sympathized with the women but needed his answer.
“My ladies, I implore. My bed is cold and my world empty, my heart in despair. You are all lovely and tender but it is Crimson upon whom my thoughts linger. Has any seen her the last four days?”
An elder woman understood the young man’s desire. She huffed and pushed her way through the crowd, shooing the ladies. “Get, get. Leave this young man be, have you no shame!” The crowd ignored the elder woman as they wooed over the young man. Unable to clear a path through the crowd the elder woman shouted over their heads, “My lord I have seen your Crimson!”
Viktor pushed his way through the crowd and barked, “Leave, all of you! Now!”
The crowd scattered, the disheartened women made their way back to their homesteads, fields, and stables. Back to empty personal dynasties that needed the presence of a man.
Viktor grabbed the reins of his horse and approached the elder woman. “When? My lady, when did you see her last?” he demanded as he locked eyes with the elder woman.
The elder woman examined Viktor before she spoke. “She was to travel to the outskirts of Karlberg palace to watch the soldiers head to Denmark. This was four afternoons ago I think. She rode that steed you have tethered. My husband noticed the stable empty the last three nights.”
Viktor grabbed the elder woman’s shoulders. The woman was old but strong and easily held her ground. “Did she say which port?” he demanded.
The elder woman pulled away, obviously annoyed at his manhandling and walked back toward her home. Viktor closed the distance and walked beside her. “My apologies, my lady, my desire gets the best of me at times. Please, did she say which port?”
“No, my lord. Only that she was heading in the direction of the palace. Odd, though, she left on the south path. I suspect she was leaving to meet a lover. You perhaps?”
“That is where I found her horse, near the willows on the banks of the lake. I shall start my search there.”
The elder woman entered her home, moments later she returned with a loaf of bread and two Akero apples. “Here my lord, go and find your love. It’s the romantics who die for the poets and the poets light a fire in us all with their words.” She refused his payment of krona, appeared to grow tired of the conversation and closed the door in Viktor’s face.
Viktor stored the food in his pouch, mounted his steed and galloped off toward the willows, toward their secret hiding place.
The elder woman watched the young noble leave from the small window of her house. She secretly wished him well; she knew his love, having been missing for days, would prove difficult to find. She also knew that questions unanswered, quests incomplete, left a breach in ones soul. The breach would slowly leak until the man had been drained and left as an empty shell of himself.
Viktor rode his steed hard for two hours and reached the willows just before dusk. He examined the area and screamed out Crimson’s name until he was hoarse. There was no response; only a stem of a Twinflower near their special tree seemed worth noting. He picked up the stem and twirled it in his fingers while he followed a trail of wilted pedals that led to the shores of the lake.
The sky above expanded into darkness and became the color of sweet molasses but there was nothing sweet about this night. The campfire flickered and cast shadows, all manner of evil seemed to suddenly appear then disappear among the draping branches of the willows. With weapons at the ready, he matted the grass under the willow, placed a layer of animal hides, and snuggled in. He lay there, staring at the twinkling curtain above in the night sky. He tried to fall asleep in the saccharine reminisce of his love, Crimson. Sleep came slowly, finding it difficult to unravel the knots of an anxious lover.
Chapter III
~ Awakening ~
Heavy doors closed behind Crimson, and she could feel the intense humidity in the bathing room soak her body. Her stockings and garters were removed, and then her blindfold was untied, and allowed to fall to the floor.
She studied the room and immediately noted the bathing pool in the middle. The room was large, the fireplace on the near wall was fronted with cauldrons of steaming hot water, and the room was full of chambermaids and caretakers. The red-hot embers of the wood filled the room with a soft glow of light; the smell of burning oak and poplar mixed with jasmine and rose oil. Wisps of steam sat on the surface of the large bathing pool, where three other captives were cuffed and secured to metal fasteners in the ceiling.
The two guards released Crimson’s elbows and the chambermaids took over their charge. They led her into the knee high water. The water’s warmth felt good on Crimson’s soft skin. Her mind was still recalling the pulsation and fluttering of her body, the thunderbolts that struck every nerve and the sweet seduction of her own passions. Her legs were heavy, awkward, and weak under the burden of the recollection. Every touch by foreign hands seemed purposeful, sensual, and they intensified the lingering afterglow.
The chambermaids lifted her right arm and her wrist was placed into a leather cuff that hung from the ceiling. Her left arm was tethered to her waist with the inside of her wrist turned out. The other chambermaids tended to their captives.
The rectangle pool was anchored on the corners by marble statues of naked women and men, all the statues had open mouths as if they were in a silent chorus and their marble bodies glistened from the moisture in the air.
To her left, Crimson saw a beautiful woman, her right arm stretched to the ceiling. A chambermaid was bathing her. The chambermaid sponged the hot water over the captive's black hair. Streams of water snaked its way down her bronze colored face, over her collarbone and dripped from her erect nipples into the pool below. The cast of light from the fireplace made the vision almost dreamlike, made the dark skinned woman even more beautiful as light danced off the organic softness of her skin and reflected in prism.
Crimson surmised they were about the same age. “My name is Crimson,” she said as she surveyed the other captives in the room.
The stranger turned, her caramel eyes met Crimson’s. “I�
�m Sena. We can talk but softly. We do not want to draw attention.”
Across from the two women were two men, each clasped in a leather cuff that hung from the ceiling. Both were young, and the one opposite Crimson was handsome. She liked his blonde hair and full pink lips. His young body was lean and muscular. Even in the dimness, she could see ripples of muscle across his torso. He was excited. His cock was rigid and pulsing with every heartbeat. How could he not be? Crimson and Sena were completely naked, and the chambermaids were dressed in a long cotton blouse, the water wicked its way into the fabric and it clung to the women’s bodies, highlighting the roundness of their breasts and butts. They were in a sense moving statuettes. Everything in the room was soft and sensual except for the nipples of the women and the members of the men. Those body parts stood proud and communicated the body’s quiet desire. Linked what they saw in each other.
All of the captives in the room were divine. They were the reason chisels were taken to marble, why artisans felt compelled to toil for days, weeks or years to create something that would last forever.
Crimson derived a great amount of pleasure in watching the young man in front of her being bathed. She found devilish delight as she watched him struggle with the attention—the warmth of the water and the nomadic hands of his chambermaid. The chambermaid pressed her body against the captive as she washed his neck and shoulders, she then moved to his chest. She knelt to his side, dragged the sponge over his washboard stomach, and cleansed his erect member and scrota.
The young man struggled against the cuff. He couldn’t take the attention. His pelvis began thrusting into an invisible partner. The chambermaid didn’t stop, she ran her wet hands along his erect cock, and he thrust himself through her fingers. Then his body shuddered and he ejaculated. His knees gave way and his body fell limp and heavy from the cuff above. His ejaculation, his inability to control himself, displeased the chambermaid and she shook her head back and forth in disappointment. She stood and motioned for the male caretaker. The caretaker removed the captive’s wrist from its cuff and forcefully escorted the young man from the room.
“What will happen to him?” Crimson asked in the direction of Sena.
Sena parsed her lips, forcing a shhhh sound as she exhaled, making it obvious that discussions were not allowed, that they should whisper. Sena whispered back to Crimson, “The men are only allowed to orgasm at the direction of their countess, or their keeper. He will most likely be muted and placed in serfdom to her court.”
Sena motioned with a nod of her head to the man in front of her. “This one has done well. He’s been here for at least an hour and has a remarkable level of self-control. He will be a prized possession by the countess that acquired him.”
Sena leaned her naked body toward Crimson. The cuff pulled taut on her wrist and creaked under her weight. “Notice the power of his thighs, the length of his member? He will do well. His passion knows no limit, and will weaken the knees of many women. He will leave them tingling with an exploding warmth that dissolves away the real world. The other one, the young boy, is cute and if he’s lucky, he will become the play thing of a countess’s daughter.”
Crimson eyed the young man in front of Sena; he was dark and tall, lean at the waist, his broad shoulders completed the shape of an imagined “v”. Everything about his body paled in comparison to his thick thighs and his long, rigid member. He didn’t say a word. He just looked straight ahead. Her thoughts went back to the young boy. “What if he’s, the young boy I mean—what if he is not lucky?”
Sena turned her attention back to the man in front of her and responded under her breath. “He will become a eunuch. Sad though, he’s young and it will change him forever. It’s not our concern. His path was set the moment he lost control.”
Crimson felt sorry for the young man and wondered. Does desire have the power to mislead its very owner? He only did what came natural, how could he be faulted for that? Should I fault myself for what I just did? What I just felt?
Crimson’s eyes traveled back to the young man in front of Sena. His chambermaid was now stroking him, the water from the sponge formed rivulets that streamed down his thighs. She rinsed him, and then dipped her hands into the nearby bowl of rose oil. She guided her silky-smooth hands along his butt and thighs and his body shined in the firelight. She massaged the length of his shaft to the tip, rotated the grip of her fingers and slid back down its base. The captive closed his eyes.
Crimson wanted to peak under his eyelids to see to where he was escaping. Wondered if it was the same silken lushness of the world she visited when the stud was behind her. Just the thought made her knees weak.
Crimson’s chambermaid began washing her. The warm scented water saturated her hair, cascaded down her back and swept over her buttocks. Her body tingled, melted and grew even heavier in the cuff above her. The room was quiet. The only sounds were the cleansing drops of water landing on the pool's surface and the sloshing of the chambermaids as they moved around their charges. Each water drop casted ghostly echoes in the room. The sounds were soothing.
Crimson wasn’t sure if she should ask, but wanted to know. “Sena, who is Kieran?”
Sena knew why she asked the question but played coy. “Why do you ask?”
Crimson found her own bashfulness odd; she had just been pleased in front of a crowd and admitted to herself that she enjoyed it immensely, yet a single question in the confines of this room leashed and dragged an innocent emotion to the surface. She was sure the others saw her blush. “I’m not sure, there is just something about him, his presence subdues me and my world just drifts away.”
Sena smiled. “Then this will only add to his allure. He’s a tracker.”
“A tracker?”
“Yes, he tracks royalty to introduce as captives to the trade. He tracked you, and the young boy who was escorted out. Kieran has lived for hundreds of years. He knows the history of our nations, the lineage of our bloodlines not from history books or family tales, but from experience. You know this though. I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors in the tea rooms and the parlors of your court.”
Crimson repeated under her voice, “A hundred years.” She then whispered, “Am I wrong? Is there a power about him?”
“Power? Yes, Kieran is a dagger to the heart. An illusion that consumes.”
“I thought they, the rumors and tales among the sips of tea, were just women’s tales, risqué stories to liven the tea party. Sena, how do you know this? How do you know of Kieran?”
“I’ve been on this journey before, before the markings.”
“Markings? What do you mean …?”
The door to the room burst open and a boorish older man surrounded by an entourage of servants stepped over the threshold. His eyes were the color of coal, his protuberant belly jutted out from his bronze breastplate and he stunk of self-importance. The chambermaids reacted by cowing to the man. Sena looked away to the far wall.
Crimson, on the other hand, stood proud and she found the man detestable. She instantly knew he was extortionate and would reach for her body with grabby hands when the time came. This man was no lover. He was arrogant, presumptuous, and apathetic to the needs of a woman. He was a self-glorifier. The only thing she liked of the man was the blue sash hanging over his right shoulder and the red cuffs of his coat. “At least he has a sense of style,” she quietly admitted to herself.
The man was all smiles at first, and then he frowned. “Where is the young prince?” the man commanded to everyone in the room.
Kieran stepped into room and clasped the man’s elbow. He leaned toward the man and whispered something that brought a nod of understanding from the man.
The man cast his arms wide from his body, as if he were directing dominion over the souls in the room, “Very well, Kieran, brand the young prince and prepare him for the journey, he may be trainable yet. Ah, there she is,” he said as he focused on Crimson, ran his eyes over her body.
Crimson refused to acknow
ledge him. She instead focused her eyes on Kieran. The man boasted, “She is a beauty, isn’t she, Kieran? It will be difficult to be harsh to this one. No, I think I will take my time with her.” His very words caused Crimson to cringe.
The man stepped back toward the door and lowered his arms. “Kieran, please proceed with the decree.”
Kieran accepted a piece of reed based paper and read the decree aloud. “Lord Tor of Russia with dominion over Ukraine and Crimea sets forth the following orders for his serfs. You shall not provide pleasure or receive pleasure without direction. You will be in serfdom for no less than one year. You will be branded with the mark of Tor, prepared for transportation, and be added to the Lord’s concubine in the city of Kiev. Insolence of any kind will be met with cruel punishment, even death.”
Lord Tor shouted, “Mark them! We leave tonight for Kiev. I’m eager to taste my prize.” He turned on legs that were far too skinny for his heavy body and exited the room with his entourage of servants. Kieran nodded to the two caretakers near the fireplace, silently giving the order and turned to leave the room.
Crimson screamed out, “Kieran!”
Sena was shocked by the outburst and implored, under her breath, for Crimson to quiet herself, to stop.
Kieran stopped in mid-stride but did not turn around. A caretaker briskly made his way to Crimson and brought a heavy leather strap across her buttocks. It stung and caused her to lose her breath but she kept her eyes on Kieran. She hoped he would turn and rescue her from the selfish lover that was Tor.
Kieran raised his right hand over his shoulder and showed two fingers, the leather strap cut through the air a second time and reached her skin, the skin responded with a red welt. Crimson lowered her head and Kieran exited the room.
Sena turned when the door closed. “You are brave or stupid. I suggest you keep your compulsions in check. Kieran must like you because I’ve seen far worse punishment for far less transgression.” Sena’s statement brought a mischievous smile to Crimson’s face.
Crimson's Captivation Page 3
