Hers To Cherish (Verdantia Book 3)

by Knight, Patricia A.

  “Sir, may I speak?”

  Ram gave a tired sigh. “Pansy, in the confines of this villa you have freedom of speech and movement. Just don’t talk my ear off and stay within the call of my voice.”

  “Yes, Sir. Thank you. I . . .” The small pixie hesitated and hesitated.

  “Speak!” Ram barked and immediately felt like a brute when she leapt in place and then cowered abjectly. He scrubbed his good hand over his face and tried again. “What were you going to say?”

  “Before I was abducted, on my world I was a senior medica,” she blurted, “a highly-trained medical practitioner. There was an ointment I compounded that had miraculous healing properties, particularly for stim-whip injuries.” Pansy glanced at a white-lipped Steffania balancing rigidly on the stone-tiled ledge of the tub.

  Ram looked at Steffania a little more closely as he turned off the faucet. “Check the contents of our medicine cabinets and then give me the list of ingredients we’re lacking. I’ll make sure you get them.”

  Pansy’s one still usable violet eye found him, and her distorted lips twitched in what might have been a smile. “Thank you, Sir.”

  “I’d hurry with those ice packs. The villa has no electricity. The ice will be melting as we speak.” The tiny beauty nodded and left the bathroom. He turned to a silent, motionless Steffania. Ram was certain it hurt her to breathe.

  “Our spies have no eyes or ears. Now, explain,” he said to Steffania.

  “I was coming to find you to remove the téad de ghrásta. I intended to lie. Tell you the ropes chafed. In truth, they aroused me and that angered me.” Her head drooped. “My morning had been vile. I was already angry. I saw Mestrios brutalizing that poor woman.” To add to her misery, Steffania felt her eyes become heavy with threatening tears. “My temper got away from me.

  Ram grunted. “What a surprise.”

  “I am sorry, Ramsey. My lack of self-control could have brought us both down. If you hadn’t come when you did, I would have told him everything.” Steffania lifted welling eyes and tear-spiked lashes to him. “I am sorry.”

  “Hmmm, yes. I’m sure you are,” he muttered. “Turn. Show me your back.” Ram winced at the torn, swollen welts making a large ‘X’ on her back. A flush of pure rage ran through him at what had been done to her. “The marks scoring Mestrios’ chest were your doing?” He began to daub gently at the raw stripes scoring her delicate skin.

  “Yes.” Steffania stifled a whimper.

  “Next time aim lower.”

  Her laugh died in a gasp of agony. “I did find out something useful. Kella was very upset about the questions I asked yesterday. That’s really why he was whipping me.” She choked in pain, and Ram stopped with a sigh. There was little he could do now that wouldn’t add to her torment.

  “The questions you asked about DeAlbero and Narr?” he said.

  “Yes,” she whispered. Her body trembled visibly.

  “Open your mouth.” Ram placed several pain pills on her tongue then held a glass to her lips. “These are pain meds. Swallow, and then go lie on the bed.”

  He followed her into the large bedroom and watched her climb painfully onto the bed. “I’m going to cover you with a light blanket, Steffania. From the way you’re acting, your body is going into shock. The pain pills will kick in soon, sweetheart. We’ll clean your back then. Just try to lie still.”

  She nodded mutely and turned her head away from him.

  “I am very unhappy with you, but we will address it when you have recovered,” Ram murmured.

  Pansy padded softly into the bedroom, bringing a sheet of paper.

  “Is that your list?” Ram asked.

  “Yes, Sir.” She handed it to him.

  His eyes ran down the page. “I can send for these when the evening servants come to service the villa.”

  “Sir.” Pansy’s voice came haltingly. “May I serve you? What may I do to help you?”

  Ram let out a long sigh and dropped his head to his chest. “Yes, Pansy. Help me out of these filthy clothes.” He held his arms away from his body, and Pansy began to remove his dirty, padded, synth-leather jacket.

  “Sir!” she gasped. “Your hand!”

  “Yes. Let’s hope your ointment is as good as you say.”

  Pansy began to strip him of his synth-leather pants. As she snapped open the buckles of his high protective boots, she murmured, “Shall I attend you in the bath, Dominus?”

  Steffania stiffened under her blanket at Pansy’s question. Ram knew well enough it would be only a bath. Pansy didn’t “do it” for him – not like a certain, feisty redhead. He required submission sexually, but otherwise? Give him a woman with a spine. “Yes, Pansy, attend me in the bath and then back to your ice packs until dinner.”

  When the servants brought the evening meal, Ram tapped the male who seemed to be in charge on the shoulder and handed him Pansy’s list.

  “Also, as you can see, we are without power. It was like this when I returned from training. Send some service people to repair it immediately.”

  “Yes, Dominus DeKieran. We are terribly sorry, Sir.”

  Sometime later, with the house glowing in the recently restored light, Pansy found Ram. He sat in a comfortable chair in the living space, watching an info-vid on the upcoming games. The vidcaster mentioned DeKieran several times as a dark-horse favorite in the betting.

  “Sir.” Pansy held out a shell-pink jar of fresh-smelling ointment. “If it pleases you, I would treat your hand.”

  With a grunt, Ram offered her his right hand, keeping one eye on the info-vid. She began to rub the ointment into his palm gently, with small circular movements. Every nerve in his hand shrieked with pain at even the most delicate of her touches. Pansy flashed regular, wary glances his way. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair and she leapt back, dropping the jar. Ram tried not to growl. He didn’t hit women – well, not unless they were armed and swinging at him.

  “I am not going to hit you.”

  “But it is very painful, Sir, I would not blame—”

  Ram tried very hard not to growl. “I am not going to hit you. Resume.”

  From her reaction, he hadn’t soothed her fears. With a silent nod, Pansy sank back in place on her knees. She treated his arm the same way as his hand, stopping when she got to his shoulder. Capping the jar, she leaned back, eyes downcast.

  “You should notice improvement in an hour or so, Dominus. If it pleases you, I will do this again in another three hours.”

  His hand already felt better. Whatever was in the cream quieted the hysterical nerves. Now instead of a host of flesh-devouring insectoids, there were only a few dozen. “Thank you. Come torture me again in three hours.” Ram eyed the young woman, thoughtfully. “Have you treated your face with this?”

  “Oh, no, no, Sir. I assure you, I wouldn’t do that. The ointment is not for my use.” Pansy immediately knelt forward and shrank lower in obeisance.

  “I require you to use that cream on yourself until you are healed.” Ram kept his voice as neutral as possible.

  “Oh! Yes, Sir, I didn’t think. Of course it cannot be pleasing to look at me.”

  “No, that’s not – ” He closed his eyes and inhaled, letting it out slowly. “Thank you for your service, Pansy. Please see to Steffania and come back in three hours. Make sure both of you eat and drink something.”

  “Sir,” she acknowledged. Head downcast, she slowly rose from her knees and left the room.

  Gods! Give him a certain sarcastic, tempestuous, insolent, disobedient—and self-sufficient—redhead. What could any male find attractive in someone so submissive and subservient as Pansy? He just found it draining. What the fallout from Steffania’s whipping would be, Ram didn’t know. But if Strom Kella had broken Steffania, he’d break Strom Kella. The last bastard who fucked with those under the protection of Ramsey DeKieran was cosmic dust. He had seen to it personally.

  Chapter Five

  Seventy-two hours later, an almost complet
ely recovered Steffania stood at the front door to the villa and impatiently watched for DeKieran and Pansy to return. Steffania had lived in hell the first twenty-four hours. Her back had felt as if molten lava bubbled on it and every small movement tripled and quadrupled her agony. The ointment Pansy soothed on Steffania every three hours around the clock worked miracles. But, Steffania’s barely muffled screams of torment during the initial applications had drawn a grim-faced Ramsey to her bedside. He had held her tightly to his chest, cradling her and murmuring words of encouragement through each brutal ordeal. Somehow, his presence had given Steffania comfort and the strength to endure the treatments. I wanted to be strong for him. How pathetic is that?

  The ointment that worked such miracles on Steffania’s back did the same to Pansy’s face. The petite slaaf was stunningly beautiful and worse, lit up from within when in Ramsey’s presence. Steffania rolled her eyes. She looks at him as if he’s a fricking god. The doll-like beauty could not do enough for Ram, leaping to anticipate his needs and worshipping quietly at his feet in between times. Like a faithful pet. Gratitude to Ram for her rescue filled Steffania, but she couldn’t ever picture herself fawning over his every need. She needed sexual submission to satisfy her own particular appetite for carnal fulfillment, but she’d never be any man’s slave.

  Ram had not slept in the bed with Steffania since the day of the whipping. Other than holding her for treatments the first twenty-four hours, Ram had remained remote, aloof, ordering her to stay in the bed and recover. And truly, why would he need her? The horny bastard has the shrinking violet. She wondered if he enjoyed Pansy sexually and delighted in having his every whim anticipated. Probably. Men. She snorted. Melancholy pervaded her at the thought of Pansy in the scenarios Steffania had played out with Ram and that furthered her smoldering resentment. Groveling midget.

  Pansy served him in the bath and brought him delicacies to eat and drink. Pansy massaged oil into his tired body in the evening and dressed him in his practice armor. It was Pansy who left with him in the morning and Pansy who returned with him at night. Pansy, Pansy, Pansy!

  Steffania felt indebted to the woman, but an entire constellation of discontent filled her, worsened by the awareness she was jealous. Jealous over the horny bastard! Steffania snarled quietly. I’ll get over it. This assignment will end, and I’ll move on. And yet, here she was, standing at the front door peering out like some dutiful housewife, waiting anxiously for her lord and master to return. Well, fuck this!

  She whirled angrily from her post at the door and marched to the bath. Turning the faucet on full, she adjusted the temperature and poured a generous dollop of oil into the water pounding into the tub. As the bathroom filled with the sound of running water, she stripped and sank into the foam. With arm gestures punctuating her statements, she expressed herself vociferously about stupidly subservient women and infuriatingly arrogant men.

  “I see you still have not grasped the efficacy of guarding your tongue.”

  Steffania sat up with a gasp and turned. She hadn’t heard Ram come in. I can’t believe I’ve done this again. Her shoulders drooped. She dropped her head into her hand and then looked up. “Evidently not. Just kill me now.”

  Ram shook his head slowly, a tiny smile curling one corner of his mouth. “I wouldn’t dream of killing you, sweetheart. For what I have planned, I need you alive.”

  The wicked look in his strange blue eyes set her heart beating faster.

  Shit, shit, shit.

  Ram spoke over his shoulder to the ever-present Pansy. “Bring me something to eat and drink then you may have the evening to yourself. Don’t disturb me until morning.”

  “Sir,” Pansy said and disappeared.

  Ram walked into the center of the room and began to undress

  Steffania watched the easy play of his muscles revealed clearly by the cyber-suit as he stripped off the heavy, padded guards on his legs, abdomen, groin and shoulders. He dropped them in a pile in the middle of the room. That unkempt, feral look works for him. Dirt and sweat streaked his face and collars of dark grime filled the creases of his neck. Sweaty curls of dark hair brushed cheeks that were in sore need of a razor. And he really needs to shave twice a day. Ramsey raised his head and lifted one eyebrow then rubbed at his shadowed chin thoughtfully.

  Right. Comm-linc. Damn-it-all! She was discovering the hard way that if their proximity was close enough it didn’t take much to “direct” a thought to Ramsey.

  Accompanied by the ripping sound of the hook-and-loop material that sealed the cyber-suit, Ramsey stripped nude. He left piles of dirty gear and sweat-stained clothes strewn about the marble floor then sauntered to the edge of the tub and stepped in. Sinking slowly back into the water he submerged himself, then rose to the surface in a splashing cascade and scraped the soapy water from his face. Extending his arms on the ledge of the huge tub, he leaned back and closed his eyes with a soft groan. He circled his right hand, opening and closing it in a fist.

  Steffania hadn’t thought past the fact that Ramsey had stopped the man whipping her. The pain from her own lashing had consumed her entirely. But in the last day or so, she had noticed Ram favoring his right hand and the “shrinking violet” rubbing ointment into it. Her memory belatedly supplied the picture of a hand grabbing the falling lash—Ramsey’s sword hand. Knowing how it had affected her, Steffania shuddered at the thought of the agony that Ramsey must have gone through, not just from the lash, but from the practice bouts since.

  “Does your hand still pain you?” Ram opened his eyes and silently studied her. Steffania began to squirm as the silence lengthened. “I am sorry,” she offered. {DeKieran, look, I know I blew it. I’ll be a good little slaaf from now on. I swear it.}

  Ramsey grunted and began to soap himself. “I’m sending you home, Steffania. You have passage on the Estrella Racha. It leaves in three days.” {I’ve notified DeTano. They’ll send a shuttle to Triton for you.}

  Paralysis set in and she forgot to breathe. {DeKieran, don’t do this. Sent home from a mission? I’ll lose my captain’s bars. I’ll have a permanent black mark on my record. Don’t do this.} “Please, don’t do that. I’ll be the best slaaf you’ve ever had. I promise,” she whispered.

  His gazed locked on her. “I don’t believe you can. Your temper is too volatile, and you lack self-discipline.” {It’s better you get busted to private than all the way to dead. Your recklessness endangers both of us. I don’t care how egregious a crime you witness on this suck-ass planet, you don’t drop your cover.}

  Steffania shook her head. “I’ll prove it to you. Give me three days.” {Do your worst. If I take what you dish out, let me stay? Please? I beg of you…} She examined his face for any sign of softening. His harsh features revealed nothing.

  “All right. Three days.” {Whatever I want, whenever I want—you fully compliant. The first hint of disobedience, one murmur of complaint and you’re on that liner back to Verdantia. Understood?}

  Steffania dropped her eyes. {Understood.} “Thank you.”

  Ramsey gazed at her unmoved. “Since you seem to be fully-recovered, there is still the matter of my punishment for your disobedience.”

  She looked at him warily. “Yes?”

  “Dry yourself and wait for me in the bedroom. Stand, center of the room, feet apart, shoulder width, hands behind your back.”

  Steffania stood up from the water and nodded her head. “Dominus.”

  “Oh, and Steffania, leave your hair up off your neck. One of the things I will do is bind you.”

  ~ ~ ~

  She felt as if she had been standing in the damn bedroom for an eternity. The wait was part of her punishment, she was certain. Her shoulders ached. Temptation whispered to drop her arms to her sides and shake them out. But the way her luck had been running, that’s when Ram would enter the room. A ponytail high on her head held the heavy weight of her hair off her neck. Ram’s final comment that he would bind her fired her imagination into creating endless scenarios,
each more erotic than the last. Hot arousal thrummed through her. The longer she stood there, the hotter it burned.

  At that thought, Ram walked into the bedroom, nude, carrying a large black satchel. She gave thanks she hadn’t moved. “At ease, Steffania, but remain where you are.”

  “Yes, Dominus.”

  He dropped the bag on the bed. The contents clinked softly inside. Opening it, Ram pulled out a number of items and arranged them on the bed. From where Steffania stood, she could only imagine what items that bag might hold and the heat inside her flared higher. He turned to her, holding a black cloth.

  “Resume your stance. You may let your arms hang at your sides.”

  When she was still, he blindfolded her. “Sometimes, being blindfolded disorients people. If you cannot remain balanced, tell me and I will provide you a support.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Good. If that changes, tell me. I require you to control your reactions. Whatever I do to you, I require you to remain silent and unmoving. I will take you sexually for my pleasure. This is punishment, so whether or not you receive satisfaction is entirely up to me. Do you understand me, Steffania?”

  “Whatever you do to me, I don’t speak. I don’t move. I am being punished and should expect no pleasure. Sir,” she added as an afterthought.

  “I will wrap parts of your body in téad de ghrásta for my pleasure. I could bind you so that movement was impossible, no matter what I did to you—but that would defeat my purpose. The only restraints you will wear for the next three days will be your desire to please me.” {Your desire to complete this mission.}