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“You’d assist your lord in this way?”
“I have before, but frankly, I only assist myself.”
Walking deep inside a maze of brown hedges too tall to see above, and too thick to see between the layers of gnarled bracken, Charlotte stumbled on a thick runner in her path, finding Sir Tristan’s hand reach down to grab her from the awkward fall. She brushed back again his chest. “Ah, thank you sir.”
So close again, breath mingling on breath, eyes coming to rest on the other. The kiss was natural and the clench of passionate arms followed easily, until Sir Tristan broke away—not rattled by the unanticipated act, but leaving Charlotte panting in fear.
“No, sir, this cannot happen!”
“But, it has milady, and I’ll certainly not apologize for what I do not regret.”
“I hope I’ll not regret it either, sir.”
“I will have more of you when the time is ripe for it.” He bowed and started out of the maze.
“But, sir,” she called to him in a whisper, “what if Mountbane should have seen us?”
“Then he would see.” He turned around walking backwards with a jovial expression on his darkly handsome face. “Watch your step, madam.”
“But, sir?”
He smiled, nodded, then turned and strode away. Charlotte’s jumbled words were in such disarray she couldn’t form them into any rational sentence. Meanwhile, her thighs rushed with spring and her whole groin brightened as though the hidden sun had finally found its place in the sky. It was the first such fire she’d felt in weeks—no, not in weeks, since three days before when the man had spanked her in the tower. Good lord, what was her body saying now? Oh, indeed, she’d had this man in bed several times in the midst of Mountbane’s orgies. But those quick moments could hardly compare to the energies they exchanged now.
Or then, perhaps… Her thoughts
betrayed her now with memories of every intimate moment they had shared. Heightened now, what a story they might tell. In the midst of all the fear she faced in her first months in Ilusia, Sir Tristan had been the one constant, whose steadiness had seen her through the worst of those mean times. How she counted on him. He stood like a sentinel to guard her path. But he was no father, instead a man of great lust, and more than lust, a man of true passion, the kind who loves more than fornicates, who respects more than serves out of habit. So it would seem. Why then would he betray his sovereign?
d
As surely as the winter ends and spring begins, the first real signs of the new summer brought out Charlotte’s passion. But driven now by something more than just her slavish servitude to the merciless lord of the Northern Ilusian province, Charlotte’s lust took new twists—some beyond her wildest fantasies to create.
In Mountbane’s chambers he held council with his lieutenants in the presence of his wife, who was now reduced to the servile slave position, on her knees bent over, her head touching the ground while her husband’s boot held it firmly in place.
“See what has come of us?” the churlish lord pointed to his reposed young wife.
“Has she disobeyed you, sir?” the nobleman Leonas asked. He was a comely fellow with golden hair he tied at his neck, and a softly sensuous face for a man of his station in this primal country.
“Hah!” Mountbane pushed his boot enough to make the woman wince, then jumped to his feet, striding about demonstratively. “Disobedience hardly describes the bitch’s rude behavior.”
“Then punish her,” Sir Tristan said simply. “If that’s all you brought me here to witness, I’ll be on with my life.” He moved to the door without a nod from his lord.
“I thought she should be returned to the dungeon and given to Caius,” Mountbane said, a few months of penance should suffice.”
Sir Tristan stopped at that. “Is that measure warranted?”
“Warranted or not, it is my prerogative. Take her.”
Tristan looked at Charlotte worriedly. “May I suggest an alternative—it has been some time since we used such measures, but perhaps it would suit your grace. She could be taken to the woodland retreat, and there spend the brunt of her penance on the stone dais.”
“Humph. A thought.” Mountbane’s eyes lit malevolently. “And then remain prisoner in the hovel until I feel she’s earned the right to return to my bed. Fine thought, you think?” He looked around at his other nobles.
“This might be a most advantageous circumstance for you both, milord. You have your wife thoroughly chastised, but still removed from the general riffraff in the dungeon, which could be a problem at the moment,” Sir Ellemore reasoned sanely. “With the influx of new slaves, Caius has been quite occupied. Certainly it wouldn’t do to have Mountbane’s wife lost in that confusion.”
“Oh, I don’t know. Perhaps it would do her well to be so disposed,” he said disdainfully. “But I like Sir Tristan’s suggestion even better,” he turned to the nobleman. “If you will oversee her purgatory, you can have her attended by some of my lessor fellows—break in a few new bucks with her backside and randy snatch. Be sure it’s as uncomfortable as hell—because hell she’ll feel from me if she hasn’t learned to keep her tongue and regard her slavish surrender as law.”
“She’ll be docile as a lamb when she returns, or you can throw me out,” Tristan assured him.
“I suppose the Lady Gwnyth will revolt?” Lord Harrow speculated.
