Maiden and the Monster

by Michelle M. Pillow

  “I won’t demand your blood just yet,” he said softly, denying her his dagger. Instead, Vladamir clasped her outstretched hand and pulled it to his chest over the beating of his heart. Not stopping to think of the consequences of his actions, he swung her into his arms. Shifting her off balance so she fell to the side, he encased her within his embrace. She was so small and fragile to him as she trembled in surprise. His body lurched, wanting this. He bent down and pressed his mouth against her parted lips, unable to resist her temptation a moment more. He needed to feel her heat, her soft lips.

  The duke ran the fingers of his free hand into her hair and pressed her to him. The sweet petals of her mouth parted as she sought her breath. She moaned lightly. His tongue daringly traced the line of her lips and her slender body molded into his as if it had been carved for him to hold.

  Vladamir had been a long time without the comforts of a woman’s embrace and was a man long used to taking what he wanted. Eden clutched his tunic as he held her to his chest, feeling her intimate heat along his thigh, burning him. He pushed his leg against her, eliciting a soft moan. Innocently, she backed her hips away from his searching. Unable to resist, he grew bolder, forcing his thigh between hers. He massaged her slit through her clothing, smiling slightly when her breath deepened.

  His cock brushed her side eager to be set free. He rubbed harder and her legs wavered, loosening their grip on him. She copied the gentle rocking of his body and her sudden show of desire fueled his own as she became soft and pliant under his hands. Pressing his hips into her, he undulated his body along hers, mimicking the thrusts he desperately wanted to give her.

  “Ah,” she moaned softly. The sound was music to his ears.

  Vladamir pushed her up against the wall. Trapping her, he reached to grab her breast in his palm as his free hand worked down over her hip to pull up her skirt. Unable to stop, he thrust his hard cock against her stomach. He started to deepen the kiss but she moaned, her back arching.

  The sound was his undoing. His cock surged from the pressure of rocking against her. Hot fluid filled his braes as he climaxed inside them. His lips stopped moving on hers. The kiss was never deepened. Without warning her, he let her go, jerking back.

  Eden stumbled and fell against the wall. One hand fluttered to her stomach and the other to her throat in a protective gesture as her breasts lifted with deep breaths.

  “‘Tis sealed,” he stated harshly, embarrassed by how he’d lost control. He stopped her protest with the delicate press of his fingers. Her lips were moist and swollen from his kiss. He drew his hand away, needing to get away from her.

  Chapter Four

  “M’lord, she cannot be found. ‘Tis as if she disappeared.” The knight tried to stand his ground against the fury of his master, but lowered his head slightly when he witnessed the man’s building wrath. “We searched everywhere.”

  “Obviously not everywhere if she is still missing, you dimwitted fool,” came the harsh reply. “Look again. Look harder.”

  “It won’t do any good, m’lord. There’s no trace of Lady Eden. We have searched the forest to the south, the marshes to the north. There’s no evidence that she has passed. None of the villagers have seen her, or they aren’t talking if they have.” The knight rested his hand lightly on the narrow sword at his waist. He scratched the shortly cropped blond hair behind his ear with his gloved hand before suggesting timidly, “Methinks we should wait fer notice of a ransom.”

  “I don’t care to hear your opinion.” The Earl of Hawks’ Nest stalked up to the soldier who dared to defy his order. He swung a beefy arm and backhanded the man across the face, sending him sprawling into the dirt. Then, turning around in circles, he spied a dog lying nearby in some straw. The animal gnawed absently on an old bone. Storming to the animal, the earl kicked the dog in the gut. The mongrel yelped and scurried off across the bailey.

  For a moment, the earl didn’t move, finding no pleasure in watching the dog run off. No one moved to help the fallen man as he gathered himself to his feet. The knight stood, not daring to fight back. Lifting his head proudly, he remained silent.

  Clifton glared briefly at his castle wall in need of repairs. The uncovered stone was beginning to crumble. Inside, the great hall’s floors were lined with straw rushes, but were constructed of dirt and not stone. His castle was falling apart around him. He needed money—and quickly.

  With his daughter missing, the servants grew lazier in their duties because she wasn’t there to direct them. Dust settled in every crevice, litter lined the bailey floor and the garderobes omitted a foul odor he could no longer ignore.

  The earl wore an undertunic of fine cream-colored linen with tightly fitting sleeves at the wrists, over which he wore a crimson overtunic of fine wool with sleeves that reached only to his elbows. The elaborate gold trim of large florid design was frayed a bit at the cuffs of his sleeve, exposing the fact that the tunic was old. His brown braes were faded at the knees and buttocks, which he tried to hide with the length of the overtunics. However, when he walked, the worn spots showed through the slit in the side.

  Sighing at the thought, the earl rubbed his forehead before saying, “I won’t hear what you cannot do. Find my daughter. She couldn’t have gotten far without help. If needs be, make example of a few villagers. Then see if they will talk. If they don’t—take their children and imprison them!”

  “You heard your master’s order.” Lord Luther came up to stand beside Clifton. “Find my fiancée.”

  The earl swung around to glare at Luther. He frowned before clenching his fists and baring his teeth. He didn’t appreciate the interference though he’d grown used to Luther’s meddling.

  Luther was a tall man, towering over many of his peers, and was an odd match to Clifton’s coarse nature and shorter stature. But with his height he hadn’t gained width. He was overly slender with cheekbones that were sunken into his face, making him undesirable to women. Spoiled dreadfully by his late mother who raised him while his father had been away at war, he had a nasty temperament.

  But their appearances weren’t all that contrasted the two men. Clifton was a titled man and a great landholder. He was respected amongst his peers as a fearless leader, though he mostly sent men in his stead to the battlefront, choosing instead to handle the more civilized politics of war as an ambassador does. The late King Aethelred of Wessex respected him as a loyal ambassador and the earl liked to think that Aethelred’s successor, King Alfred, felt the same reverence for him. He’d spent years traveling to foreign countries, meeting with dignitaries. He was a noble member of the Witan often being called to lead them in their decision making. And he was poor.

  Luther had wealth and lots of it, but he didn’t have a castle or a large contingency of fighting men. He had no land to speak of—save a small manor made of wood. Due to his great fortune and the luck of familial connections, he was considered a noble, although he wasn’t officially titled. He wasn’t on the Witan and he was only well-known by the knights he fought with as being a type of man who would do anything to get what he wanted. Luther wanted power.

  Clifton had no male heirs of his own, his wife having died after delivering twelve stillborn boys and Eden. The earl needed Luther’s fortune to keep his line and Hawks’ Nest together. Luther wanted the power and prestige that came with marrying the earl’s only living child and thus inheriting his title and land.

  “Go!” the earl hollered unnecessarily with an exasperated dash of his fist. After the soldiers departed to do as they were told, Clifton turned to his daughter’s intended. “We must find her, lest there can be no alliance.”

  “We will find her and the man who did this.” Luther narrowed his gaze to watch the men ride through the castle gate. His sunken eyes were blank as he glanced back at the earl.

  “Eden wouldn’t have left on her own,” the earl returned with a dark frown. “She knows her duty by you. She wouldn’t run from it.”

  Luther didn’t speak. He nodded
his head in slow agreement.

  “Any news of the handmaiden, Lynne?” Clifton inquired.

  “One of the villagers reported seeing her pass through afore Eden even disappeared. The servant girl merely ran off with a lover,” Luther responded bleakly. He shielded his eyes as he looked over the yard in distraction. “Methinks ‘twas a cotter from the marsh settlement.”

  “Stinking lot of peasants the marsh cotters are,” the earl grumbled. He dismissed the missing servant girl with a wave of his hand. “That Lynne was always strange.”

  Luther’s lips curled into a snarl. “I’ll ride out myself with your men and find m’lady. She couldn’t have gotten far. I cannot sit aside and watch their ineptness a moment more.”

  “Yea, Luther, you do that,” the earl said in mounting irritation. He kicked at a loosened stone by the gate. “For ‘tis your future you ride after. No marriage, no title.”

  Luther frowned. “With no Eden, there will be no other choice for you, Clifton, but to give me the title.”

  * * * * *

  Eden scrunched up her nose and pulled her skirt closer to her waist, trying in vain to keep it out of the black soot. The kitchen hearth looked as if it hadn’t been cleaned since its making. The stone was marred with the burned remains of past meals.

  Her tunic gown was of poor quality but constructed of very thick wool. It was a servant’s garment and less glamorous than she was used to, but under the circumstances she didn’t care. She was just glad to get anything so long as it was laundered.

  Sighing, she thought of the many colored wimples and veils she’d owned at her father’s home. The earl saw to it that she was well clothed as to befit her station. So much so that sometimes Eden felt that what her father lacked in love, he tried to make up for with gifts. The last gift he’d given her was a beautiful cream-colored tunic of fine linen. It was to soften her disposition as he told her the news of her betrothal to Lord Luther. It was to have been her wedding tunic.

  Those days are over. Now I am less than a servant. I am a prisoner.

  Eden scolded herself for the whimsical thoughts and focused her attentions on the task at hand—cleaning Lakeshire Castle. The old black cauldron which hung within the fireplace reeked of fish porridge—the only meal she’d been served. Feeling the eyes of the kitchen servants boring into the back of her head, she ran her hand over the brim of the cauldron, knowing her fingers would be covered with grime before she even looked to them.

  The fireplace was but one example of the disrepair and neglect of Lakeshire Castle. It began with the cobwebs in Eden’s new and old chambers and grew steadily worse from there. Eden had optimistically thought that the poor condition of her first prison was because it was a prison and the chamber hadn’t been in use before her arrival there. But she grew disheartened as she saw the abovestairs passageways and the condition of her new, larger chamber—a chamber that had been set aside for her as the duke promised.

  Abovestairs, the stone walls were dusty and chipped. The tapestries were rotted, the straw mattresses were musty and the gauze hanging from the canopied beds was decayed. Belowstairs, the main hall fared little better, even though at first glance it appeared cleaner than the bedchambers.

  Turning around in disdain, she sighed and looked coolly at the gathered servants. Eden eyed each separately before speaking. “I ordered this cauldron and fireplace cleaned afore I came back. ‘Twas nearly two hours past and it hasn’t been attended to.”

  None of the servants answered and none moved to touch the offending cauldron. Eden wiped her fingers on the borrowed apron only to push her hair from her face with the back of her hand. She’d strapped the locks with a piece of leather so that it wouldn’t fall into her face while she helped to clean.

  “The duke bid me to act in stead of the lady of the manor. Do you wish to answer to his wrath? For ‘tis not only I who will suffer if this keep is not brought up to his approval.” Eden hadn’t wanted to resort to fear, but the servants refused to listen to her. She’d been struggling against their laziness all morning.

  At first she tried to get them to replace the rushes in the main hall with fresh scented straw, but they wouldn’t. Then she tried to get them to sweep the cobwebs from the rafters above the dining hall, yet still they resisted. It was the same when she tried to have the bailey cleared of debris and refuse. When she asked about the resident stonemason, she’d been laughed at.

  “I know not how many days his lordship will be gone. But I do know that if he doesn’t see a vast improvement in his keep…” Eden looked to her wringing hands in horror, purposefully leaving the apprehensive servants to their own imaginations. The effort wasn’t lost as the women gasped and mumbled amongst themselves. Gradually, one of the taller girls came forward.

  “M’lady.” The maid gave a small curtsy. “We don’t know how.”

  “You don’t know how to clean a cauldron?” Eden asked in disbelief. “How is that possible? ‘Tis a simple enough chore.”

  “What I mean, m’lady, is that we have not been instructed as to what our duties are. Which one of us shall clean the cauldron? Which one of us should replace the rushes?” The servant shrugged delicately in helplessness and glanced at her dirty feet to kick at a loosened stone. “All of us were sent here to work by King Alfred. Our village was ravaged by the wars and we had no home to go back to. The Vikings burnt our cottages to the ground. The king gave us the opportunity to work as servants to m’lord while he was here as his prisoner.”

  “What is your name?” Eden asked.

  No wonder this keep is falling apart. The master has had little to do with it.

  “Lizbeth.” The servant looked up briefly and then back to her feet. Taking the edge of her apron in hand, she tugged at a thread.

  “Does anyone know about cleaning the rushes?” Eden inquired of the group at large. One of the maids raised her tentative hand, glancing around nervously to see if she was the only one. “Excellent. You’ll be in charge of the task. Start a fire in the bailey and pick six to help you. The others will dust the cobwebs from the rafters. We shall begin our cleaning in the main hall and kitchen before we work our way abovestairs. I want this keep to sparkle afore his lordship comes home. I should think we would want him pleased with us.”

  Eden bit her lip in thought as she pointed to a pixie-looking maid, “Go find the stonemason. Tell him we need these loosened stones repaired at once. As you clear the rushes, inform him of any others you might find in the hall floor. It won’t do for the guests of his lordship to trip.”

  The maids giggled as they turned to the girl who had been instructed to get the mason. The woman’s face paled and she looked miserably at the castle’s new mistress.

  “Harold won’t take kindly—” the pixie began in dread of her task.

  “Tell Harold that he’ll be the first thrown to the monster upon the master’s return. Methinks he’ll do it fast enough.” Lizbeth put in before Eden could answer. The maids giggled. The pixie gulped but nodded her head in understanding.

  Eden tried not to frown at the way they viewed their master, but she didn’t wish to encourage them. Every time she thought of Vladamir, she didn’t think of him as a monster as she’d been wont to do at first. All she remembered was the feel of his hands on her body, the press of his lips on her mouth. Something had sparked between them—hot and potent. But then he stopped, pulling away from her before the final explosion in her body. Maybe it was for the best that she didn’t explode. Eden blushed as she realized the maids watched expectantly. With a wave of her hand, she commanded, “See to it.”

  The maids complied and filed out of the kitchen. At the noblewoman’s blush, a few of them whispered to each other in wonder. Eden pretended not to hear. Lizbeth shyly hung back and Eden turned to her with interest.

  “M’lady, his lordship will return two days hence,” the servant offered. “‘Tis all the time he ever stays away from the castle.”

  “Oh.” Eden wondered where he’d gone. �
�Then that should be plenty of time to whip this keep into shape, if we work hard at it.”

  “Would m’lady like me to tend to the cauldron?” Lizbeth hesitated. She kicked at the loose stone and stopped herself with a guilty glance up.

  “You may help me with it,” Eden directed with a firm nod. She struggled to pull the weighty cauldron off the hook and set it on the floor. “We will need water and lye if we are to do it right.”

  “There is a well in the bailey,” Lizbeth offered with a growing smile, “and plenty of lye in the larder.”

  “In the larder?” Eden shook her head in dismay. “By the food?”

  “We didn’t know where else to put it.” Lizbeth shrugged.

  Eden got the feeling that the maid stayed behind to do more than help her clean. Was this comely woman the duke’s mistress? Lizbeth was one of the more pleasantly featured servants. It would make sense if she was intimate with the duke. A pang of jealousy unfurled in her chest at the thought.

  ‘Tis not like I want the position.

  Eden forced a pleasant smile on her tight face, afraid that it would crack her skin with the effort.

  “Help me carry this to the bailey well,” Eden ordered. Suddenly, she found she wanted the girl’s company. She grabbed one side and looked expectantly at the servant.

  Lizbeth nodded and grabbed the handle, obviously surprised to see a lady of gentry dirty her hands with the household chores. As the women struggled out of the side door in silence, Lizbeth nodded her head past the small vegetable and herb garden.

  The scent of sage, parsley and chamomile was strong on the breeze as the two women hurried past it. The garden was small with a rough stone long-seat. Someone had left a basket by the base of the bench full of fresh vegetables—celery, onions, cabbage. Beyond the garden by the black stone wall was a large oak tree. The tree seemed somewhat out of place growing by the garden, but Eden assumed it was there because, like everything else, its master neglected it.