‘It appears we are both impatient for our freedom.’ Rianna patted the mare’s nose. ‘A long gallop will do us both good.’
She sprang lithely into the saddle, arranging her skirts so that her legs were discreetly covered down to her lower calves, exposing only her long, beige suede boots. Rianna had decided not to wear breeches, thinking the Chancellor might disapprove of such immodest garments.
Spurring Freya forward, she guided her on to the grassy plain and urged her into a canter. The mare needed no prompting as her nostrils caught the smell of freedom. They galloped across the flat plain towards the distant mountains, warm air caressing Rianna’s face. The ribbon holding her hair loosened and her long locks streamed out behind her. She laughed joyously, feeling free and exhilarated, the throbbing of Freya’s hooves reverberating comfortingly in her ears.
When she had ridden some distance, she slowed her mount and glanced back at the caravan, knowing it would be unwise to stray too far from the protection of her military escort. A mounted man-at-arms, wearing the Chancellor’s black and red livery, had followed her, but he was discreetly keeping his distance to ensure her privacy. Rianna was not surprised, knowing the Chancellor would never have allowed her to ride alone. There was little chance of bandits in this barren area, but there could be dangerous wild animals such as bears or wolves.
Ignoring her unwanted escort, she urged Freya into a canter again. However, the ground became rougher, scattered with many large stones. Fearing for her palfrey’s well-being, Rianna turned and rode back towards the caravan. The long line of wagons had begun to move again and Rianna decided to ride alongside them.
Over the last couple of days a number of merchants had joined the caravan, feeling safer to travel to Percheron under the protection of Chancellor Lesand’s soldiers. There were now at least six new wagons within the train, but there was also an unfamiliar and very odd looking conveyance at the rear which Rianna had not noticed before. It appeared to be a heavy metal cage bolted on to a flat bedded wagon. Mounted men-at-arms, wearing a distinctive gold and black livery, surrounded the wagon. Rianna’s curiosity was aroused. She wondered if they were transporting some rare beast back to Lord Sarin’s private menagerie. But judging by the thickness of the bars, the creature had no chance of escape, and there was little need for it to be so heavily guarded.
She guided Freya forward until she was close enough to see what was inside the cage. To her disappointment she saw nothing but a pile of straw. However, a most unpleasant odour wafted towards her and she wrinkled her nose in disgust.
‘My lady . . .’ The soldier, who had been following her, manoeuvred his mount forward to ride beside her. ‘It is not safe here. It would be best for you to ride at the front with Chancellor Lesand.’
‘First tell me what kind of savage beast is in that cage.’
He gave a gruff laugh. ‘Savage maybe, my lady, but no beast. It is a man – a prisoner.’
‘What prisoner could deserve such barbaric treatment?’
The smell was stronger now. A stomach-churning mixture of sweat, stale urine and excrement.
‘He deserves nothing better,’ the soldier said dismissively. ‘The more he suffers the happier I will be.’ There was pure hatred reflected in his tone.
‘Have you no compassion?’ She saw the straw move. A grubby arm became visible, the wrist heavily manacled and chained.
‘Not for him,’ he sneered.
Rianna wondered what terrible crime the man had committed. Her father was a hard man at times, but even he would not have imprisoned someone in such foul conditions. Angered and disgusted by the prisoner’s predicament she decided to raise the subject with Chancellor Lesand. Spurring her mount forward she rode to the front of the caravan.
Chancellor Lesand, riding a beautiful honey-coloured horse with a cream mane and tail, was heading the caravan accompanied by his captain of the guard, Feroc.
‘Lady Rianna, it is good to see you.’ Lesand smiled warmly. ‘The ride has put a welcome colour in your cheeks.’
‘Indeed it has,’ she agreed, slowing Freya’s pace so that she could ride beside him. ‘But the malodorous smell has turned my stomach.’
‘Smell?’ Lesand enquired, raising his finely arched eyebrows. ‘To what are you referring, my lady?’
‘The prisoner in the cage at the rear. No one, however wicked, should be confined in such dirty conditions.’
‘It is not your concern,’ he said curtly, his charming manner dissolving in a moment. His expression hardened. ‘Just content yourself with the knowledge that the captive deserves no better.’
‘What is his crime?’
At first Chancellor Lesand did not answer. However, after a long uncomfortable pause he replied. ‘The prisoner led an unsuccessful revolt against his sovereign, Lord Sarin. Many soldiers were killed in the battles. When it was clear he had lost he fled, intending to take refuge in the eastern kingdoms and seek their aid in raising another army to fight Lord Sarin. But we captured him before he could cross the border.’
‘But is it necessary for him to be chained and caged?’
‘Since then he has twice attempted to escape, so total confinement is very necessary. Lord Sarin has issued orders that the prisoner be taken in chains to Percheron in order to answer for his crimes.’
‘Surely the cage can be cleaned, and the prisoner allowed to wash himself. The smell, I assure you, is quite disgusting,’ she said with a determined tilt to her chin.
‘I cannot agree to even that,’ Lesand said stonily, his mouth set in a thin line.
‘Then I fear it will prove impossible for me to continue my journey. The wind has turned, and the smell enters my conveyance, making me feel most unwell.’
‘I am sorry, my lady,’ he muttered.
‘Yes. I shall insist on stopping to rest. It may even become necessary for me to return home.’ She stared at him with calm determination, wondering if he would be willing to give in to her demands.
‘You appear most resolute.’ He smiled tightly.
‘Compassion fuels my resolve.’
‘I would venture to suggest that you try to quell such conduct in future, my lady. Lord Sarin does not welcome such forward behaviour from the ladies of his court. His decisions are never questioned – and his will is absolute.’ Lesand awkwardly cleared his throat. ‘However, at present, I am prepared to make concessions, purely to ensure your continued comfort and well-being. I have no wish for the prisoner to fall ill and die; Lord Sarin would never forgive me.’
‘So you will agree to my demands?’
He nodded gravely. ‘Indeed I will.’
‘I am obliged to you,’ she said with a sweet smile.
By mid-afternoon the caravan had left Harn and entered the northern reaches of Percheron. Rianna was at last in the land of her betrothed. Now she felt there was no turning back. The flat, barren plains had been replaced by gently undulating countryside, thick with brightly coloured wild flowers. Here in Percheron, even the sky seemed a more vivid shade of blue.
They stopped close to a lake surrounded by trees. It was late afternoon, and all the travellers were pleased to have a few extra hours of rest and relaxation. Normally, they did not break their journey until dusk was falling.
Chancellor Lesand had promised Rianna that the prisoner would be allowed to cleanse himself, and that the cage would be scrubbed out with hot water and strong vinegar to kill the terrible odours. Rianna was determined to ensure he kept that promise, so she decided to check on the captive’s situation herself.
Leaving Jenna to her own devices, Rianna walked through the trees to the edge of the lake. The water looked cool and inviting, prompting Rianna to cast off her clothes and plunge into the blue-green depths. However, she had other matters to attend to at present. Lifting the skirts of her green silk gown, she made her way through the trees.
Lesand had told her that the soldiers escorting the prisoner were members of Lord Sarin’s personal guard. They were cam
ped in a clearing a short walk from the rest of the caravan. Rianna cautiously approached the camp site, taking advantage of the shelter provided by the trees and bushes. She stopped behind a leafy bush covered in glossy green leaves and trumpet-shaped pink flowers, and peered surreptitiously into the clearing.
The door of the prisoner’s cage was wide open and the foul-smelling straw was being raked out to be burnt. But where was the captive? She looked around. There were a number of soldiers waist deep in the lake laughing and splashing each other, while two soldiers stood apart from the others, in slightly deeper water, each holding the end of a heavy chain. A head broke the smooth surface of the water between them. The prisoner stood up, water streaming from his body, and shook his head, causing his long hair to flap wetly around his face.
Rianna could hardly believe her eyes. She had expected a pathetic malnourished creature, not this magnificent male. He was taller, far taller than any man of Harn, and broad-shouldered, with the finely-honed physique of a warrior. Every inch of his golden-skinned body was covered by hard muscle. He was strikingly handsome with the features of a true nobleman; his nose was straight, flaring slightly at the nostrils, his mouth wide and full-lipped. She wasn’t close enough to make out the colour of his eyes, but they were an attractive almond shape which added to the piquancy of his good looks. His long hair was at present darkened by the water, but she guessed when dry it would be a pale golden-blond.
Impatiently, the two soldiers tugged at the captive’s chains which were attached to heavy manacles on his wrists. It was clear the prisoner’s ablutions were at an end. He waded from the lake, following the soldiers towards the bank.
As the prisoner slowly emerged from the water, a sudden heat scorched Rianna’s cheeks. His escorts wore black woollen breeches, now dripping wet, but the captive was totally naked. She had never seen an unclothed man before, and could not tear her gaze from his superb body. The rippling muscles of his chest were covered by a sprinkling of golden hair, descending like an arrow towards his flat stomach, and leading her eyes downwards to his groin. The hair grew much thicker around his male parts, placing emphasis on the loose sac of flesh fronted by a thick phallus, the skin of which was a few shades darker than that on his body.
She watched his limp manhood sway enticingly as he strode forward, and her knees began to feel weak. Forcing her gaze away from his male organs, she re-examined the rest of his body. Droplets of water lay on his chest, gleaming damply in the late afternoon sunshine. There were a number of large bruises marring his smooth flesh, and two half-healed wounds, both red and inflamed. One cut deeply across his left upper chest and shoulder, the other extended from his groin to lower thigh. If left unattended, Rianna feared they would putrefy and spread poison through his magnificent body. She decided to ask the Chancellor for his permission to tend the captive’s wounds. The Chancellor would surely agree, as he wanted this man alive and fit enough to face Lord Sarin’s punishment.
The soldiers escorting the captive found amusement in tugging roughly on his chains. Once, he stumbled and almost fell, but regained his balance, moving with far more grace and dignity than the soldiers, whose sodden breeches clung unflatteringly to their scrawny legs. The prisoner was led towards two trees placed about ten paces apart, and stationed between them. The soldiers attached the chains leading from his wrist manacles to the trees at about shoulder height and pulled them tight. The captive’s arms were jerked apart, allowing him to move no more than a pace forwards or backwards.
Leaving the prisoner, the soldiers moved away to dry themselves and dress. Soon the sun would set. It was becoming steadily cooler as the afternoon heat diminished. A light breeze sprung up, wafting lazily through the trees to brush the captive’s damp flesh. He shivered slightly, but there was no sign of discomfort or concern on his face, his expression calm and aloof.
The other soldier moved from the water. As they dressed, two of their companions, who’d not bothered to bathe, approached the captive. They began taunting him, but he ignored their shouts and raucous laughter, staring stoically ahead.
Frustrated by his lack of response, the soldiers began to poke and prod the prisoner.
One jabbed his stomach, while the other tugged at his pubic hair. At last the prisoner reacted, and snarling angrily, he leapt at them. His chains prevented him from touching the soldiers, but they still jumped fearfully back, far out of his reach. They stared at him nervously as he strained against his constricting chains. Even in his fury he was beautiful, thought Rianna. Each twist and turn emphasised the perfect lines of his muscles, the magnificence of his male physique.
An ugly, thickset man, wearing only a piece of cloth wrapped around his waist, secretly approached the prisoner from behind, and grabbed hold of his hair. The prisoner was clearly the stronger of the two but, taken by surprise, he was unable to prevent his head being jerked brutally back, thrusting his hips and sexual organs into prominence.
The other soldiers crowded forwards, joining their two comrades, cheering loudly as the thickset man ran a meaty hand over the prisoner’s chest, pinching his copper-coloured nipples until they hardened and deepened in colour. The captive struggled fruitlessly, his face contorting in disgust as the meaty hand moved lower. It closed around his penis, jerking it upright. A few well-placed pumping strokes caused the organ to stiffen. The prisoner’s cheeks reddened in shame, and for a moment he closed his eyes, unwilling to witness the spectators’ lewd amusement.
‘So much for pride, barbarian,’ the thickset man sneered as he let go of the captive and stepped back a pace.
The prisoner’s tense mouth softened with relief, but it was clear his humiliation was not at an end. Urged on by shouts of encouragement from the crowd, the thickset man grinned, and ducked under the taut chain stretching towards the left tree trunk. Then he moved to stand in front of the captive.
‘My pride has nothing to do with this,’ the prisoner replied in a voice choked with fury.
‘It is said that pride goes before a fall, barbarian. You have fallen far for a noble lord, haven’t you?’ the soldier jeered. Chuckling menacingly, he unfastened the cloth around his waist and let it drop to the ground. His stubby penis was dark red and partially erect. He curved his hand around the base of the organ and crudely pumped it up and down until it stiffened and grew hard.
The prisoner looked at him with disdainful disgust, then pointedly turned his head away to stare calmly into the distance.
‘Look at me,’ the thickset man growled. ‘See what is in store for you.’ The prisoner did not respond, and his tormentor tensed in fury. ‘By the gods, you will look at me.’
He reached forward and cruelly pinched the captive’s penis. The prisoner didn’t even wince, although it must have been painful. Rianna clenched at the silk skirt of her gown, crumpling the fine fabric in her hands as she waited to see what would next befall the helpless captive.
‘Pray tell me, what is there to look at?’ the handsome warrior asked caustically. ‘Only a pathetic creature, clumsily attempting to pleasure himself.’
‘Then I order you to pleasure me.’ The soldier gave a leering grin. ‘The men will loosen your chains. Then you will fall to your knees and take me in your mouth. Refuse and you’ll be punished.’
‘Why should I refuse?’ The prisoner smiled contemptuously. ‘Your paltry cock will be easy enough to sever with one quick snap of my teeth.’
A red flush of humiliation flooded the soldier’s cheeks. ‘Better still, I’ll have you chained down, your buttocks spread wide. I’ll plunder your arsehole until you beg for mercy.’
‘Do it, Rorg!’ the watching soldiers shouted excitedly.
Rianna was horrified. Surely they wouldn’t stoop to such degradation, but she feared it was possible, judging by the ugly mood of the crowd. Her palms felt sweaty, her knees weak. She was appalled, but there was another much darker emotion lurking deep in the pit of her belly which urged her to stay and witness what would happen next.
‘In no time at all you’ll come to enjoy such sweet agony,’ Rorg taunted, placing his hands on his hips and pushing his pelvis forward to emphasise his stubby penis. It stuck out from his body almost at right angles, twitching obscenely as he took a swaggering step forward.
‘Try it,’ the prisoner growled half under his breath.
Rorg was so intent on entertaining his watching colleagues that he forgot just how close he was to the captive. He failed to see the prisoner lunge forward, straining each muscle and sinew to its fullest extent as he lifted his leg and kicked Rorg hard in the groin.
Rorg made a high-pitched squeal like a stuck pig, the sound immediately silencing the raucous shouts of the crowd. Then he crumpled to the ground, clutching vainly at his wounded sex. He lay at the prisoner’s feet, moaning and twitching pathetically.
The prisoner grinned challengingly at his audience, but his satisfaction was to be short-lived. A number of soldiers surged forward, two dragging Rorg away, while the others grabbed the prisoner and rained down blows on his helpless body. Being totally outnumbered, he made no attempt to resist, perhaps resigned to his ignominious fate.
‘Stop!’ an authoritative voice commanded. ‘That’s enough. Do you want to anger your sovereign lord?’ A man with a long, ugly scar down one side of his face, wearing the uniform of a sergeant, stepped forward and threw a pile of chains at the prisoner’s feet. ‘Confine him properly this time.’
Immediately the soldiers did as ordered, clamping the manacles around the prisoner’s ankles, then attaching the chains to the base of the trees, forcing his legs wide apart like his arms. He was now entirely at their mercy. Rianna shivered as a soldier stepped forward and placed a whip, made of thin strips of plaited leather, in the sergeant’s hand.
‘Rorg was one of my best men.’ The sergeant tapped the whip menacingly on the palm of his hand.
‘If he was one of your best, then I pity you,’ the captive said defiantly. ‘Any one of my soldiers was worth ten of him.’
Savage Surrender Page 4
