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She slipped each morsel under the veil and quietly chewed upon it. Now and again, the bells tinkled, as she repositioned her
slippered feet under the table.
They gazed upon her, his boon companions. A few too lasciviously, but he had anticipated a couple of them would struggle to maintain their good manners. As expected not one of them remarked upon her silence or veil, because they were accustomed to his practises. No prize, whether betrothed or not, should be exhibited indiscreetly. He recalled countless banquets, where the winning huntsmen had used pedestals, and on one occasion a gilded cage, to show off their quarry, which only served to encourage the guests to gloat and behave despicably. Gervais had always refused to sink so low as to treat any woman with such base contempt.
Sir Eustace, having served Gervais in a personal capacity, kept his comments on the subject matter, whereas Lord Caspian could not resist licking his lips and smirking. With the wine warming his belly, Caspian leaned on the table for a better view of Matilda.
“Is she fair or dark?” he asked Gervais. “I spy light eyes, is that not so?”
“Fair, she is.”
Caspian grunted. “Do you remember that Grecian girl, the one with piercings in her—”
“I do. And Lady Matilda has no wish to hear about her.” Gervais shot a warning glance at Caspian.
But Caspian had drunk too much. “I would take a wager that under that rich gown, your lady is bare, possibly painted. Remember that girl, the one who had enormous breasts and that devil—what was his name—stuck weights on them, then made her dance for us. You’re always hiding something, Baliol.” He sniggered.
Matilda’s shoulders stiffened. She turned to face Gervais and he caught through the fine weave of her veil, the parting of her lips and a snatch of breath. Far from repulsed by the descriptions of other women, Matilda was entranced by the macabre guises Caspian was intent on exalting. She was emboldened, it seemed, and wicked in her thoughts.
Gervais hid a smile. It wasn’t the men who risked his ire, but his woman. For if she came, lost control of her arousal, then all would know it. Yet, there was something exciting about having her exhibit her wantonness. The others would be jealous of Gervais’s good fortune; it was the nature of these men to cast aside virtues and applaud base behaviour. Once, he too was party to such desires, now he was aware that it would demean his lady and leave him with an unpleasant feeling in the pit of his stomach, one that was strange to him.
“I think, my love, you should be excused while we continue our boring discourse of matters of war and upheaval. You’ll find it most unappealing.” He took her hand and brought it to his lips.
The pulse was obvious, the damp heat in her palm, too.
“Yes, my lord. Thank you,” she said hastily.
The men rose, Caspian scowling, and she beat a retreat that made her bells jangle noisily. He wondered if she would manage to reach her chamber before fate struck and rendered her incapable. A question for later.
Chapter Eighteen
She reached her room and tore off the veil. Sara was on her heels and picked up the headdress from where Matilda had flung it.
Matilda lifted her skirts. “Help me. It must come off. Oh, Sara, be quick, I’m undone and...” She glanced down at her bare thighs. And wet.
“My lady, he said you must not remove it.”
“I care not. I cannot bear another moment of this... this torture.”
“If it pains you, my lady, then it must be removed.” Sara helped her out of her gown, revealing the harness and the pinked skin of her breasts and neck. The peak of each of her nipples was engorged and swollen, while below, the taut strap had rubbed her so much, she had created a liquid surrounding for it to glide against.
“Pain? This is beyond pain, Sara. It’s... it’s excruciating.” She tugged on the belt around her waist while Sara unbuckled it.
The relief came instantly. The weights dropped and with nothing to hold them in place, the two carved pears easily slipped out. The rest of the harness was quickly undone, and the whole tangle of leather and buckles clattered onto the floor.
Matilda sighed. “Now I can breathe, and move, and the cruel impediments are gone. I thought, out there, I would unravel and embarrass myself. It was so hard, Sara, to keep my mind from wandering and my body from sinking to the depths of depravity.”
“Well, at least the discomfort has gone.”
Had it? Pain wasn’t the issue, not in the way the Sara probably imagined it. Torture came in many forms and sometimes it was not the inflicting of pain that caused a person to betray themselves, but the anguish of unrequited satisfaction. She had learnt that with Father Mark when he’d whispered in her ear, telling her that she was depraved and damned if she sought relief in privacy. Only he, he’d declared, could bring salvation through suffering. She had disobeyed him frequently on that matter.
Naked and hot, she surveyed the spoilt harness. She bent and picked it up. “Hide it, Sara. Somewhere, anywhere, and keep its location a secret.”
“What?”
“I can’t have him use that on me again. I’ll not be able to save myself a second time. The moment those things are stuffed inside of me, I shall vacate all reason and humiliate myself.”
Sara stared at her, bewildered. “I don’t understand, my lady.”
