Boyett-Compo Charlotte - Wind Tales 01 (20 page)

least when he turned away again, stoically facing the rear of the stable as his captors finished tying his

wrists to the uprights.

“Go back to your room, Marie,” she heard her fat-haired man who stood nearby.

“This is not what I want,” she said.

“This is what will be,” her father snapped. “Adultery is punishable by the lash; he will be lashed."

“Cut him down,” Marie ordered. “Now. This instant."

Kaelan looked around again. He was panting from the exertion of the fight—and the fear of the pain he

expected to feel-and every breath he took seemed to be torn from him.

“He's hurt,” Marie said, guessing correctly that her husband had at least one broken rib from the fight.

“He's going to hurt more,” Sinclair growled. He strode up to his daughter, gripped her upper arm and

attempted to lead her to the door.

“NO!” she snarled, jerking her arm away. “I don't want him whipped!"

“It is not a matter of what you want, Marie,” her father retaliated. “It is a matter of Tribunal law!"

“You can't do this!"

“I can and will,” Sinclair countered. He glanced around, found one of his personal bodyguards, and

motioned for the man to take his daughter.

Marie tried to slap the burly bodyguard, but the man easily—and gently—batted her hand away. Before

she could try to maul him again, he hefted her onto his shoulder and took her screaming and kicking from

the stable.

“She isn't well,” Hildy said, flinging a look at her mistress’ father.

“Then see to her,” Sinclair barked. He put a hand in the middle of the servant woman's back and

ushered her out of the stable. Once she was beyond the opening, he closed the door and shot the locking

bar into place.

* * * *

Forty lashes.

Forty vicious applications of red-hot agony that dragged down his back and laid the flesh open to bleed

and tear further apart.

Forty stinging fingers clawing their way through muscle to sear forty paths of excruciating sensation to the

very marrow of his bones.

And forty days of lying on his belly: fever-ridden and close to death while Marie, herself, tended his

wounds with a Healer-prescribed astringent that was almost as painful as the lash had been when it was

poured on his lacerated back.

“When you are well,” he would hear her say over and over again as he lay semi-conscious and in so

much pain, her words came to him in waves of distorted sound, “I will have them string you up and I will

do the lashing myself this time, Kaelan Hesar."

He didn't doubt her words. They became a litany she spoke each and every day and held the ring of

truth that told him she meant to see him suffer far more at her hands than he had at her fathers. That she

cared for him so diligently did not make him think for one moment that she would not carry out her threat.

She would see him hail and hearty before she crippled him for good.

“I am going to castrate you, Hesar,” she chanted. “I am going to castrate you."

He didn't doubt that, either. Now and again, she would reach under him, clasp his shaft, and hold him as

though weighing what it would take to slice the member from his body.

And there was nothing he could do to keep her from doing as she'd said-even had he had the strength

and health to do it—for he was bound spreadeagle on one of the guest room beds: wrists and ankles tied

tightly to the four posters. The only time he was released was when he begged them to allow him to use

the chamberpot. Four times a day they would untie him, turn his agonized body over, drag him

up—dangling weakly between two massive guards—and allow him to relieve himself. Most of the time,

the pain would be too much and he would pass out even as his urine trickled down his legs.

“Have you no shame?” Hildy would rant at him as though he had done it on purpose. Her hands were

like vices on him as she cleaned him.

He saw no one else save the guards, Hildy and Marie. Marie's father had decided to stay with her

awhile and now and then Kaelan could hear the man railing at his daughter.

“You could have killed him!” Marie had once shouted at her father.

“If he dies, he dies,” Sinclair had quipped. “All the better for you, I suppose, if he does."

Kaelan had wanted to die. That first night as his torn body seeped blood and his wounds were cleansed

and the hellish astringent worked into the lacerations, he had screamed until he was hoarse. He had

prayed for death as Marie's long nails had trailed down his wounds.

“Did you enjoy your coupling, Kaelan?” Marie whispered in his ear as he sobbed. “I hope you did, for it

will be the last you ever do, my love."

He had wanted to die.

On the forty-third day after his lashing, he woke to a grim gray dawn where snow pelted the windows

and a cold draft flowed over his naked back. Only his hips were covered with a thin blanket and he was

shivering. Since he had no pillow, it was somewhat easy for him to lift his head and peer around the

room. He was alone and he had to urinate so badly his teeth were aching. There was no way for him to

call the guards; with his hands tied, he could not reach the bell pull. He laid his head back down, hoping

someone would come soon.

An hour passed and he had all but made up his mind to piss on the damned bed. Even lying in cooling

piss was better than the ache in his bladder. When at last the door opened, he looked around and found

Marie coming toward him with the bottle of astringent.

“I've got to pee,” he told her.

“That can wait."

“No, it can't,” he said, stubbornly.

“I've decided I won't lash you after all,” she said as though he hadn't spoken.

Kaelan barely heard her. “Marie, please. I've got to pee."

“Nor shall I castrate you this time."

He craned his head around. “This time?” he questioned, his attention caught.

“I have decided that I shall keep you here. In this bed. Tied as you are.” She thought about that for a

moment, then shrugged. “Except on your back.” She poured some of the astringent on a rag; the smell

was sharp and biting .

“Keep me here?” he repeated. “Why?"

Marie smoothed the astringent-soaked rag over his backs. “To mate with you, of course."

Kaelan went as still as death. “You can't be serious."

If she had heard him, she gave no sign. Her hands worked gently over the deep scars that had already

formed. “I shall come in twice a day, perhaps three times a day, and get you ready.” She didn't see the

look of incredulous shock that remark was generating on his face. “Then I shall straddle you and have

you until you fill me."

The prince's mouth dropped open. He pulled against his bonds, suddenly angry at the way she was

talking to him and the robotic way she was acting. “Have you lost what mind you had, Marie?"

“I shall keep you like this until I have conceived and then I will castrate you.” she said it in such a matter

of fact voice, the words were chilling.

Kaelan had long suspected Marie was barren. He doubted any man could get her with child and he

certainly had no desire to do so. The thought of having to lie there at her mercy, day after day, month

after month, or—the gods forbid—year after year until she realized she was infertile, made a shiver run

down his spine.

Marie looked away from his back, met his shocked gaze and took it for one of sheer ecstasy. “You will

like that, won't you, Hesar?” she mocked him. “To be serviced like the priceless stud you believe

yourself to be?"

“You're insane,” he told her.

“I've heard she's married, now,” Marie purred. “Your Chalean whore."

Kaelan's world tilted slightly off kilter. Each time she mentioned Gillian, his heart still lurched in his chest

and he felt the pain of what could have been even more keenly than ever.

“A Rysalian nobleman, I've heard. From the House of Ben-Alkazar.” She put a finger to her lip.

“Vashon, I believe his name is."

Kaelan closed his eyes and lowered his head. The pain in his bladder could not equal the pain in his

heart. He knew Vashon Ben-Alkazar well; the man was honorable and considered to be a prime catch in

his homeland. If he, himself, had had to pick a husband for Gillian, he might well have chosen Vashon.

But the thought of Gillian in another man's arms, lying beneath another man's body, hurt Kaelan far

deeper than the searing lash had hurt him and he groaned.

“You have to urinate, don't you?” Marie said, as though she had just remembered his request. “Ned!

Stefan!"

The two guards entered and, without asking, came to the bed and began to untie Kaelan. Their stony

faces never revealed any emotion and their steely eyes were completely devoid of compassion as they

moved to Kaelan's ankles and untied them.

“When he has finished, turn him to his back and tie him down,” Marie ordered. “He is healed enough to

lie that way."

“Does your father know what you're planning to do, Milady?” Kaelan snarled from between clenched

teeth.

Stefan kept Kaelan's arms in a cruel grip behind the prince's back as he dragged him from the bed and

Ned retrieved the chamberpot.

“I doubt he would care,” Marie said sweetly. She was staring avidly at Stefan's bulky physique.

“What if you don't conceive, Marie?” he asked.

“I will,” she said. Her gaze slid to her husband. “I will keep trying until I do."

Kaelan was weak from the loss of blood as well as the great physical pain he'd suffered at Sinclair's

hands. There was no way he could escape these two burly men and he knew it. He clenched his jaw

throughout the humiliating ordeal of pissing in front of these two strangers even though neither man acted

as though the situation was beyond the normal.

“He's finished,” Marie said. “Tie him."

Kaelan was manhandled to the bed again. He knew it wouldn't do him any good to fight so he lay

stoically still as his hands and feet were re-tied to the four posters of the bed. Ned reached down and

drew the covers over his nakedness and for the first time made eye contact; there was something akin to

pity in the beefy man's face before he turned away.

“Did you know,” Marie asked as the door closed behind the two guards, “I experienced something very

strange when Papa brought you back from the stable that night?” She sat primly in the chair beside his

bed, folded her hands in her lap, and cocked her head to one side as she looked at him.

“What was that?” he grumbled. He wished she'd go away and leave him alone for the bond on his right

wrist—the hand Ned had tied—was loose.

“It surprised me, actually,” she continued. Her lips stretched into a slow, wondering smile. “I found I

have feelings for you, Hesar."

Kaelan's brows came together. “What? Utter loathing, Marie?” He eased his right hand around within

the confines of the rope and almost whooped with delight when he found he could more than likely slip

his hand free with a little maneuvering.

“When Rolf took my virginity, he did not make me feel the bad feelings you do when you take me,” she

said.

The prince looked at her. “Virgins rarely feel anything except minor pain, Milady and I doubt Rolf de

Viennes would have taken care to provide you with any pleasure, anyway."

“His touch was glorious,” she said, thinking of the tall blond man. “Most respectful.” Her eyes narrowed.

“Not like the vile groping I experience at your hands."

He could have told her of de Viennes’ reputation. Of how the man kept a tally of the virgin blood he'd

shed over the years. Of the man's boasts that he could pierce a maidenhead and be done with it in less

time than it took to spit. But from the wistful look on his wife's face, he knew she wouldn't believe him.

“But you,” Marie said, staring at him, “make me feel the bad feeling."

“It isn't bad, damn it!” he snapped at her. “It is a normal feeling you have when we mate, Marie."

“My grandmother warned me I would not like what my husband would do to me.” Marie nodded. “She

said I would endure the filthy act in order to get with child. She said only whores took pleasure in

coupling."

Kaelan grunted. So that was why the woman was so torn about sex. On the one hand, she felt the

pleasure and satisfaction of the act and on the other, she felt guilty about enjoying it because her beldame

of a grandmother had told her she should not.

“I may find what you do to me disgusting, but the pleasure it causes I can not deny.” She stood up and

looked down at him. “You will have served your usefulness when you get me with child."

The prince ground his teeth as he stared up at her. He waited for her to say more, but she simply turned

away and walked to the door. As soon as she was gone, Kaelan began to work his hand free of the

rope.

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Chapter Twenty-Three: Holy Dale Manor: The Present

Kaelan had fallen asleep as he told his tale. His fever was back for his face was shiny with sweat. Nick

eased him down in the bed and covered him, motioning Gillian to silence, then he joined his sister by the

fire.

“He's had a bad time of it,” Nick commented as he stroked Brownie's head; the big mutt was lying with

its muzzle on Nick's knee.

“She died on Kaelan's birthday, on the Solstice as I recall,” Gillian said. She stoked the fire and pulled

an old shawl she'd found downstairs around her shoulders. “Five years ago this week."

“Aye,” Nick replied. He glanced at the man on the bed. “I wonder why he stayed."