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Chapter Five
Big Fish
Given the alternatives, I was pretty happy with the outcome of the wrestling match, and Devon took so little interest in laying hands on me that it was borderline insulting.
But, though it was a relief, it was not all good news; I was still a prisoner, and being Devon’s responsibility came with its own trials. He treated me more like a pet than anything else, keeping me tethered on a long leash, walking behind his horse. He didn’t lash out at me, make crude jokes or try to grope me, but then he didn’t acknowledge me as a person in any way. I was just there. Perhaps that was the best I could expect, given that I was his prisoner, but it still felt dehumanizing.
And while Devon barely seemed to notice me, being his pet did not protect me from the attention of the rest of the group. The physical attention had ceased now I was Devon’s property, but the way that Vorst looked at me had a penetrative quality, as if he could see through my clothes. I felt uncomfortable under his stare, and I knew his imagination was working overtime, deciding what to do with me if he ever got the chance.
Devon didn’t look at me in such a way. He barely looked at me at all, and when he did then he would smile, as if to say ‘Good girl’. Strange, certainly, but there it was.
It was a little ridiculous that I shrank from the stares of the other mercenaries but was irritated by Devon’s lack of interest—it seemed as if there was no pleasing me. But in a strange way, Devon’s disinterest was as bad as the other’s interest; both, in their different ways, made me feel less than a person.
There was one moment, in particular, which made me wonder. Exhausted from my days of walking, I typically woke late, usually when Devon tugged at my tether to wake me, but on this particular morning, I had, for some reason, woken far earlier than usual, before the sun was fully up. Devon was already awake, seated beside me, toying with my tether between his fingers. In the still low sunlight, he couldn’t tell that my eyes were open a crack, and I was able to observe him through meshed eyelashes, without him being aware that I was watching, giving me a rare glimpse of my ‘owner’.
He was looking at me. Not with any particular expression on his face that I could make out, but still in a very different way to his usual disinterest. If I had to give a name to his expression, then I would have colored it as ‘contentment’. He was happy to simply watch me sleep. There was always a calmness about Devon, contrasting with the other mercenaries, but at this moment, I saw too a peace I hadn’t seen before. I’d previously observed that he didn’t seem happy in his task, that it was just a job, and I was now more sure of that than ever before. The unforced pleasure in his face now, watching me sleep in the sweetness of the morning, was a stark contrast to the calm but professional manner he adopted throughout the day.
Testing a theory, I stirred a little, tugging at my tether ‘in my sleep’, and Devon solicitously paid out more rope, anxious that I should not be uncomfortable. Of course, I’d heard stories about women who began to identify with their captors, or who even fell for them, and I’d always thought how weak and stupid those women were. But I understood them better now. I understood them, yes, but I was also determined that such a thing wouldn’t happen to me. Devon was my kidnapper, my jailer, my enemy, and if I got my chance, I would escape, even if it meant killing him.
Still, it was… eye-opening to see that look on his face.
***
As far as I could tell, Devon was the only one of the mercenaries who bathed regularly. He was scruffy, his hair disheveled, his clothes tattered, his face unshaven, but he preferred to be clean. And he preferred me to be as well.
This meant that when we were near one of the rivers that snaked across the wilderness, or one of the streams that trickled down from the mountains, then I was taken for a cold bath first thing. If ever there was an opportunity for Devon to legitimately take advantage of his position as my keeper, then this was it, because he certainly didn’t trust me enough to untether me.
When we walked off in the direction of the stream on one such occasion, I could feel the eyes of the rest of the group on me. I could feel their lust—they all wanted a look, and I shriveled up inside, away from their gazes. I could also feel their envy, directed towards Devon—why did he get to have all the fun? But none of them dared challenge him.
When we reached a place where the stream had conveniently pooled, Devon unwound a long stretch of my tether, that usually hung beside him from his saddle.
“There you go. Tug if you need more slack. I’ll be over that way.” He indicated a stand of stubby hawthorn bushes that acted as a natural shield to the pool.
“I…”
But before I could say anything more, he turned his back to me and strolled off casually towards the bushes.
“Oh, one more thing.” Devon turned back then, the genial smile still on his face. “Try anything and I’ll put you across my knee and give you a whacking that, I’m guessing, your father never did.”
I blushed crimson to the roots of my hair, putting my hands over my ass in preemptive protection.
“Just be good,” Devon advised, as he turned again and continued past the bushes.
After he was gone, I waited a moment, eyes still fixed on the hawthorn, waiting to see if he peeped around to watch me undress, but all that happened was that he started to sing. The song was not one I recognized—which was odd, as I’d heard many an old folk song when I lived in the mountains. Stranger still, he sang in a language I didn’t know and didn’t recognize. He didn’t have the best voice, and the language seemed an oddly guttural one to me, but the song had a pleasant jollity to it. There were worse accompaniments to a morning bath.
Crouching near the pool, I hastily disrobed and slid into the water. It was absolutely freezing and my whole body seemed to cringe inwards, but it also felt so refreshing after days on the road, easing the aches and pains of my exhausted body. After a little while, my teeth stopped chattering and I could focus on scrubbing some of yesterday’s dust and sweat off. Devon had generously adjusted the rope, so I was only tied by one hand, because washing with hands tied together was tricky.
As I washed, I kept half an eye on the hawthorn bush behind which my tether led. The singing had continued, but the song had now changed. Though the language in which it was sung remained unintelligible, this song seemed more mournful, with a keening tone to it that spoke of lost love—or at least that was what it said to me.
“Still there?!” called Devon, pausing mid-song. “Give the line two sharp tugs.”
I said nothing but did as I was told.
“Good girl.”
Treating me like his pet again. Maybe he should come over and scrub me like a dog. The thought lingered longer in my head than I liked and conjured up images and sensations that were thankfully blunted by the cold water. Why did this man have such a marked effect on me?
Putting Devon from my mind, I got down to washing my hair. Refreshing though the water was, I was now starting to feel that cold again and if I stayed in too long, I was going to get sick.
