Roslyn cocked her head, a thoughtful look on her face, then she looked up questioningly, “She’ll be a whore?”
“Indeed,” her uncle answered coldly.
“I see, sir. That is what becomes of traitors?”
“If they live.”
She knew the other alternative without speaking of it further and all this made her heart beat with unwarranted passion. Her body was again ablaze with enormous emotion as she remembered that dreadful beating. For some very curious reason she wanted to be in that girl’s skin, to feel what she had felt, to know the extremes of emotions that surely stirred her as the lash wreaked its hell across her flesh. At the very same time, she questioned how it could be that she had such strange thoughts.
“So, the girl is no longer here?”
“I believe she continues to be held in our cellars until she is readied for transport.” Again, the aide answered, while her uncle eyed her with some speculation.
After a moment, she finally said, “I see, sir. Thank you.” Then she nodded, smiling weakly. Her faced was flushed and her breathing seemed a bit labored, though she left the room without saying more.
“How strange of her to question me about the girl?” Lord Draydon exclaimed once his niece was beyond hearing.
“Indeed. What do you make of it?” his aide asked.
“Girls of her age are impressionable. I’m sure she’s never seen such a thing as that beating. Quite fortuitous for us that she witnessed that event.”
“How so?”
“You know my plans for the Lady Roslyn. She’ll be serving me in ways she never expected. I always thought the girl could be of great use to me; virginity in a young noble born woman is, after all, a valuable commodity that should not be wasted. Soon as the sting of her recent misfortune has dulled, she can start her apprenticeship in the world of mature womanhood. That little exchange regarding the traitor in my dungeon is perhaps a hint. You think?”
“That she has a predilection for the perverse extremes?” the aide asked, speaking with some delicacy.
“I think she has the predilection for passion, for great emotion, for hot-blooded romance. She is just a girl, but I suspect the seeds of perversity grow in her, just as they grow within the rest of her family. Put her at a whipping post and she’ll squeal like a pig while she’s feeling every lash fuck with her virgin cunt.”
“Sir, you would recommend that so soon?”
He shrugged. “It would be something to see, would it not?”
His grin was sly; the cunning in him honed to a fine edge.
“She loves you so, sir!” the aide retorted. Though he spoke with a self-righteous air, behind that, a desire for such salacious things boiled within him wickedly.
“Then she’ll offer up her body as proof,” Draydon replied. He gazed off, relishing his own thoughts, while his aide bowed out of the room.
Later that day, Roslyn crept through the fortress, making her way toward the dungeons in the bowels of the stone castle. Infused with dreariness, steeped in the rot of past inmates who failed to survive the treatments meted out in the underground caverns, the surrounding air seemed to climb atop Roslyn’s shivering body and ride with her. Silent screams from the past echoed through her mind; she could barely breathe and could not think. Her more rational self would have exited the dank tomb after just a minute inside the creepy walls but Roslyn was driven; she had to see the girl before she was sent away. She had to see her once lovely body, hear her speak, even touch her if she could.
Aware, however, that she might be stopped before she reached her goal, the lady tiptoed silently, while looking warily in every direction, in hopes of slipping by the guards unseen. But there were no guards; the place seemed utterly deserted at first glance. She tiptoed further down a corridor lined with iron-barred cells. These alone were enough to make her quake; their crude stone walls hung with empty shackles enough to stir her ripe imagination into shocking scenes of painful bondage.
She suddenly jumped, frightened, gasping for breath. A drunk lay sleeping in one of the first cells, almost at her feet; his body moving with his breath while he curled up on the floor. She jumped again, hearing the sounds of men talking as men do, in gruff voices and conversations laced with foul language. She didn’t cringe hearing that rough talk, but she did stop short of continuing until she realized that the men were some distance down another corridor, playing a game of chance. She had only to recollect scenes in her memory of walking through the stone fortress of her home, where her father’s soldiers and the groomsmen gambled, their attention so fixed that little would disturb their games.
Buoyed by that fact, she moved on deeper into the cavernous prison, until she heard the sound of a female moaning. Adjusting her eyes to the encroaching darkness, she saw at last the object of her exploration: the girl, tied with rope atop a crudely fashioned rack. She lay prone, face up, her shackled wrists chained to the wall beyond her head, while her legs were widely stretched and her shackled ankles were tied to two firm posts at the base of the wooden contraption. Her breasts were bound as well, roped in a fashion that made the generous hillocks stick up straight, with her nipples engorged and pointing toward the ceiling. Signs of recent physical abuse still showed on her body—welts etched into her breast flesh, and what looked like cane marks were carved deeply into her plump thighs. Her body was further bound to the wood slats; head, shoulders, torso and limbs strapped into the rack with leather, so that there was no possible means of escape. Though her prison door had been left ajar, her jailers could be sure that their prisoner would go nowhere.
The girl’s disheveled blond hair clung like weeds to her skin, while her body head to toe was filthy from sweat and soot. Though she groaned, the sound seemed part of a dream for she appeared asleep. Being asleep, she was calm, and as the Lady Roslyn approached her, the curious visitor could see a remarkable softness in the prisoner’s face. She groaned because her body wanted to move inside the tight bondage and that freedom was denied her. Still, she was not given to fitfulness but looked almost sensuous in her slumber as if she were dreaming of a lover. Roslyn stepped close enough to stare into her placid face. Then, suddenly, the girl’s eyes shot open and Roslyn jumped back.
“I’m so sorry.”
The girl looked up, at first bewildered by the unexpected sight of the comely female. “Sorry, why?” she asked.
Struggling for words, none came to the noble lady.
“I’m so thirsty. Could you get me some water?” the girl asked.
Roslyn gazed about, her eyes finally resting on a cup that she filled from a pitcher sitting beside it. She carefully lifted it to the parched lips, though the liquid splashed out over the girl’s dirty face as she drank in huge gulps until satisfied.
“This is no place for a lady,” the girl then told her.
“But I am here now; I have seen you. Shall I undo these straps and release you?”
“You would pay dearly for that crime,” the girl warned. “Better you leave me here to the men and their hungry organs.”
Realizing only now why the girl was so bound, Roslyn’s eyes shot open wide and her heart thumped in a disturbing rhythm.
“They…they…” she could not spit out the words.
“Yes, they use me as a whore, for that is what they have made of me.”
“But surely, by now, you have paid enough,” Roslyn said, incensed. “Let me free you!” She began to work at the straps.
“No, milady, please!” she girl returned.
“What in the bloody hell are ya doin with me prisoner?” the suddenly, shocking voice leaped out from the grimy gloom.
Roslyn whirled around coming face to face with the scruffy jailer. She fell back against the rack as the man moved in close enough for her to smell his rank breath, then getting her bearings she stood up a little straighter and moved to the side. “I thought her bonds should be loosened, you’ve bound her too tightly.”
“Aye, I bind the bitch to keep her on me r
ack. Jus where I want ‘er.”
He cocked his head, his one eye fixed on Roslyn’s face. “You Draydon’s niece, huh? Purdy, aren’t ya?” Eyes gleaming with a lurid light, he reached for her auburn hair, although Roslyn recoiled, stepping back.
“Mebe, ya’d like to see me fuck the bitch now, eh? Gonna be a lot a fuckin down here when my friends join me. Her hot little quim’ll be dripping. Lips’ll be swollen from gagging on cock.” The man’s hairy lip curled as he spoke. “Get her ready for Drago’s dungeon, huh? Take that arse ‘o hers; that’s what the bitch wants.” He moved to the girl’s side and pinched her chin in his fingers. Then he grabbed a bound tit and shook it hard, ending with a brutal twisting of her inflamed nipple.
A pained expression replaced the passive one on the girl’s face, but she made no sound.
“In’t that right, whore?” he shook her chin again. “Hum, those purdy lips tell me so.”
“Yes, sir!” she finally blurted back.
“Yeah, that’s what I like ta hear.” He turned to Rosyln, “So, you jus leave us to our fucking, milady… Go pour yerself some tea, huh?” He twisted off the word milady, enough to make Roslyn cringe and draw back one more time. Despite the fact that he was three feet from her now, she could feel his hands crawling all over her body, ripping at her clothes to grovel over her aching breasts.
“You are scum!” Roslyn suddenly burst out, then she gathered her skirts in her hands and moved toward the open cell door. Before she could exit, the cell bars were slammed in her face, while a mocking fellow on the other side smiled at her with his broad, toothless grin.
“Open the door, sir!” she commanded.
“Ooo, ya orderin me.” She smelled the liquor on his breath.
“I said, open this door!”
Laughing a big belly laugh, the man let go the bars and stepped away, allowing Roslyn to pass through.
Though she wanted to run like the wind, she remained poised enough to walk back through the prison, past the sleeping drunk, past the cold and barren cells until she took the stairs toward daylight, happy to breathe fresh air again. Emerging from the prison, she walked in a different direction than she’d come, moving through a short corridor that entered onto the castle’s large courtyard, where the activity of a busy day swirled in around her.
“So, what would the lady be doing in her Uncle’s dungeons?”
So lost in her own impassioned thoughts, Roslyn barely heard the man’s voice. Only after taking a few more steps did she turn about, half expecting this voice to be just her imagination playing tricks and no one would be there. But, yes! There was a man behind that voice, a very handsome man indeed.
“And whom are you?” she asked, as she surveyed the kindly young fellow. By the look of his shirt, his trousers and vest, he was not a noble like her Uncle, but perhaps a merchant. His clothes were simple, but finely made. The features of his face were refined, his skin clean and shaven, his hair of a tawny brown shade—a far cry from the vermin populating the prison below. Though still shaking off the repugnant scene in the dungeon, she didn’t give the man time to answer, but continued walking into the courtyard, where the tradesmen and servants were doing their daily business.
Though she’d rather have been by herself to gather her wits, the young man moved in beside her, answering her question: “I am Markus Leeds.”
“And should you, Mr. Leeds, be addressing a Lady to whom you’ve not been properly introduced?” She spoke with a great deal of reserve in a way she rarely did, feeling utterly annoyed that the young man persisted with her. She was not ready for pleasant conversation.
“Perhaps no more than you should be walking unescorted through the market, might I add after visiting the castle’s bowels. That is no place for a lady.” He was smug, but perfectly correct in his judgment.
Conceding the issue, Roslyn sighed and stopped to address the man properly. “It would please me, if you would not mention this to anyone. I have my reasons, and you would be polite to let those reasons remain my secret.”
“As if your movements are not known to your uncle?”
“Are you his spy?”
He laughed. “No, I am not in your Uncle’s confidence,” said with a wry twist.
“Well, then, he’ll hear what he hears. I have my reasons for today’s visit to his dungeon.”
“The girl, I presume?”
She was taken aback that he would have such an uncanny grasp of her recent excursion.
“And if I was?”
“You would be wise to let that matter rest?”
“She was then a despicable traitor to my Uncle’s house.”
“She fell away from his requirements.”
“Requirements? You talk in riddles.”
“You’re young and have much to learn about the way our world works. Indeed, you may, by your noble birth, be spared of the fate granted to most women in your uncle’s realm. I should pray that’s so, as fine a rose as you are.” He sounded as though he were courting her; in that manner, his blue eyes twinkled teasingly. But then, he spoke so sincerely.
“What fate do you speak of?”
“I speak only of what I know and will not embellish the matter beyond the facts, but there are those who decry the subservience of the female under your uncle’s gaze. Surely, you’ve noticed that fact.”
“I have not been here long enough to notice much of anything.”
“And perhaps your recent misfortune has preoccupied your time.”
“Perhaps so.”
“Then, I advise you to take notice of your new home and its unique customs.”
“It would certainly help me if you were to elaborate on this issue,” Roslyn pressed.
But Leeds was not entirely comfortable with the length of their discourse and decided to cut it off with a gracious exit.
“I have likely said too much already, milady. I wish you well in your stay here.” He bowed. “Perhaps, our paths will cross again. I need to be going. I would recommend your hasty return to your chambers within the castle, perhaps from the back entrance where you will be least noticed. And do heed my warnings.”
The man left her, disappearing into the crowd seconds later, leaving Roslyn unsure from which direction. What an odd conversation! And so clouded in mystery as to leave her unsure if Markus Leeds was an angel or a villain. He was unduly anxious for her when she was not anxious herself. But sensing some truth to his warning, she fled back the way she came, passing the dungeon steps quickly and making her way to her chambers, hopefully unseen.
Chapter Two
Ripped Asunder
“Ah! Milady, where have you been!” A flushed looking Celia rushed forward as her mistress entered the upper hallway.
“I have been exploring,” she returned simply, then her eyes lighted with some earnest on the maid. “You look flustered.”
“I could not find you!”
“As if you are tied to me and must follow my footsteps wherever I go?”
“I did not mean it that way, milady. It is just that…” she took a deep breath, then collapsed into her mistress, crying.
“What is the matter, Celia!”
“I am so ashamed!” she sobbed.
“Ashamed, why?” Roslyn pressed, pushing the fair-skinned maid away enough so that she could see her face.
Celia stared around nervously. “Not here, milady.”
Although the corridor was empty, Roslyn ushered the young woman into the privacy of her chambers. They sat facing each other in chairs by the window, a private tête-à-tête between confidents. “Now tell me!” she insisted of her maid, her voice hushed. “What has you so distraught, so ashamed?”
“Oh, milady…” she started as if she were about to cry again, then managed to contain her emotion, “I was as ordered—doing laundry with the other maids—minding my own work, and saying nothing really, when I was, quite suddenly, singled out from the rest and scolded in the most demeaning fashion. I have no idea what I had done wrong
. The mistress accused me of not working fast enough, but I know that I was tending to matters with the same care and speed as the other girls. I could hardly believe the accusations.”
“My dear, Celia, you have been known to daydream,” Roslyn said kindly, in an attempt to calm the distraught girl.
“But not this time, I swear to you,” she came back single-mindedly. “I was not in the wrong.”
“Then you should let the matter rest and be more careful when you are under the watch of the laundress; she sounds like an unpleasant woman to me.”
“But how can I let the matter rest, I was not just scolded,” she took a deep breath, her big eyes moistening again, “I was caned on my arse, on my bare arse!”
A look of shock replaced the placating expression on Roslyn’s face. “Is that so?”
“You don’t believe me?”
“I did not say that,” she thought a moment, “but I should see your marks.”
Celia wasted no time in rising from her chair, turning her back to her young mistress and raising her skirts. There, plain as day, were at least six, if not more, deep welts in the girl’s ample posterior. Oh, how they shone against the pristine white of her flesh!
“Come closer, girl,” Roslyn ordered. Celia obeyed only to have her mistress graze her hand over the wounds quite deliberately. “They are still hot to the touch.”
“And hot to my senses, too, milady,” she said, sounding as if she were about to break into another sob.
“Hush yourself!” Roslyn stopped short her hysterics.
Celia stood up, trying hard to contain her woe, while Roslyn ran a loving hand over the swollen skin, feeling from that fine flesh a most pleasurable warmth transmitted from the girl to her.
“Does that seem so bad?” she wondered aloud, as the caress became more intense.
“No, milady,” Celia’s breathy voice replied.
Roslyn had to refrain from kissing the injured skin, from wondering how it must have looked to see her maid bent at the waist and taking the kind of rough punishment that would create such blemished flesh.
Damsel Page 2
