The Fall of Lady Westwood (13 page)

Arnaud shook his head, scowling. Sophie looked away again as the Lady played fingers through the humid cleft of Tani’s buttocks, the nails lightly scratching at the shrinking anus.

The rope was definitely loosening from around the pommel. Her eyes darted to Arnaud then back again. She thought she might just be able to do it. Sophie took a small step toward the Lady’s horse.

“Easy, Tani,” the Lady lilted, her tone soothing. “Just a little something for your troubles now.”

Sophie winced as the Lady’s long-nailed fingers stroked through the dark split of Tani’s sex, her fingers glistening as she spread the moisture up on to the anus.

“Stay still, girl,” Escott murmured, his hand rubbing lazy circles on Tani’s tense back.

“You know.” The tip of the Lady’s finger circled the moisture into the delicate skin of Tani’s anus. “Sandra
was
rather disapproving of Farrier’s man, Lucien. I still wonder why. I find him delightful.”

“He has that effect on some, Mistress.” Arnaud inclined his head.

“She agreed to accompany us on the trip in the fall. I can’t wait.” The Lady’s finger nosed into the anus and Tani jerked, her hips twisting.
“Mm, very tight.”

Sophie gulped, wanting to look away, but her eyes refused to budge from the sight before her.

“Ah, ah! Oh!” Tani panted.

“There girl, push back now. That’s it.” The Lady looked up at Escott. “Never use her here, do you?”

Escott shook his head, his eyes glued to the finger slowly disappearing into Tani.

“No, no, don’t tighten, dove. Bear down.” The Lady’s other hand moved between Tani’s thighs, rubbing the woman’s clit in slow circles. “There we are! Good girl, just let me in now.”

When the Lady’s finger was fully bedded, all the way to the last knuckle, she began a slow twisting.

“Very tight here, Escott. I haven’t the faintest idea why you don’t avail yourself of this luscious ass, but you should at least start using the saddle strap.”

Escott smiled, his eyes sparkling. “Yes, Mistress.”

“Arnaud, you should loan him that nice one with the good stout plug built in.” The Lady craned her head from around a curved hip, her finger still moving within the writhing Tani. “Hop down and give me a hand here, Arnaud. I think we should give Escott some pointers for his next stable block visit with this lass.”

The instant Arnaud’s feet hit the ground, Sophie dashed for the Lady’s horse, careful to avoid treading on the rope. She heard a surprised sound from the Lady, and a curse from Arnaud. Reaching the horse, for a moment she considered trying to hop up in the saddle. She thought better of it, knowing she’d be caught before she even made it up, and instead uncoiled the slack length from the pommel.

She could feel Arnaud close, so she dashed away through the plowed dirt, stumbling in the furrows. She knew the field would help neutralize some of Arnaud’s speed advantage, but not if she went sprawling in the dirt herself.

Chancing a glance behind her, she saw the Lady mount her steed, and Arnaud, for some reason, appeared to have abandoned the chase. Escott, his jaw dropped in surprise, had an arm around Tani’s waist, the woman looking back over her shoulder.

Sophie considered whether to make for the nearest track then back to the road, but decided against it knowing she’d be run down within minutes. She heard the tramp of hooves behind her, but oddly they didn’t seem to be getting closer. She looked back once more, cursing the awkward gait her bound hands forced her into.

Lady Westwood, sitting high in her saddle, was indeed riding after Sophie. Her lips were a thin line, her eyes squinting in the bright sunlight. But rather than taking after Sophie at a gallop, she seemed to be simply walking the horse, unhurried. Even though she staggered through the uneven ground of the thick, plowed soil, Sophie was actually increasing the distance from her pursuer. The long rope dragged behind her as she fled, slowing her down, so she tried gathering it up as she ran.

She scanned wildly around, hoping to find something, some way out. All around her was more farmland, as far as she could see. She saw the occasional figure in the distance, working the land, but knew she’d find no succor with any of them. They’d likely turn her over to the Lady, seeking to curry favor with her. A look behind her showed the Lady still riding after her, in no hurry whatsoever. Sophie, already starting to tire, realized what the Lady already knew: the chase could have only one end.

Still Sophie ran; she had no choice. She’d never go willingly back to that monstrous Lady. Maybe she’d run until her heart burst, and the hell of her captivity would end, her soul free to find her Owen in the next life. But whatever happened, she’d be damned if she was going to cooperate with the “Lady” anymore. She’d never be reduced to a dumb animal as poor Tani had so obviously been.

Glancing behind her again, her heart dropped. The Lady had sped up to a trot and was steadily drawing closer. Worse, the cruel Lady held something up with her hand, a short length of chain with cuffs at each end. Still Sophie ran, cutting across dirt tracks, through soft grooves of furrowed earth, and across fallow fields of cracked, hard soil. Bits of rock were in her shoes, galling the soles of her feet, and the sun beat down upon her pitilessly.

She heard the clop of hooves growing louder, and looked over her shoulder. Arnaud, his horse at full gallop and kicking up great gouts of dust, passed by the Lady. The overseer was high in his saddle, rage in his eyes.

Sophie darted to her right, hoping to use a length of dilapidated sun-bleached fence as an obstacle to the horse. But Arnaud closed the distance before she even reached the fence, the shoulder of the horse barreling into her back with bone-crunching force. She sprawled, bouncing and rolling in the dirt. She rolled over onto her back, wheezing. It felt as if the very breath had been sucked from her lungs, and she felt paralyzed with the effort it took to breathe.

Arnaud was off his horse and crouching by her within moments.

“Can’t … breathe,” Sophie choked out. Her heels dug into the dirt, her whole body tense.

“Knocked the wind out of you did it, bad girl?” Arnaud turned her over, her face pressing into the dirt. “You’ve worse to look forward to Sophie, don’t doubt it. How could you be so stupid?”

The Lady finally reached them, her white steed snorting around his bit. The Lady slipped out of her saddle.

“Here, Arnaud.” The Lady threw the length of chain to the overseer. “Put her in these. Should cure our little runner of her need to explore.”

Sophie’s breath was slowly returning to her, and she coughed, trying to blow some of the dirt from her face. Her lungs ached, and her heart hammered in her chest. She tried to raise herself up, but Arnaud pressed a heavy hand to her back, pushing her back to the ground.

He unbound her wrists, but only for a moment, for he then brought her legs up and tied her ankles together. Then he bound both of her wrists to her struggling feet. She’d seen calves and hogs immobilized in the same way.

“Bastard,” she snarled, spit flying from her lips. “Stop! I don’t deserve this!”

She didn’t care if her struggling got her in worse trouble; she was going to resist, no matter what happened. Maybe if she proved too difficult the Lady would tire of her and send her back to her father. She knew it was a foolish dream, but it was all she had. She had to maintain a glimmer of hope somehow, else she’d fall prey to despair.

Arnaud cuffed her across the cheek, the hot flash of pain stunning her into silence, her ear ringing. She spit at him, but he was crouched too far back for her to hit him with it.

The Lady appeared in her vision, dropping to one knee directly in front of Sophie. The Lady grasped Sophie by the hair, hauling her head up, scalp burning. She stared into Sophie’s eyes a moment, the dancing, malevolent joy in them plain to see. But the hard line of her jaw betrayed the anger there too, just under the surface of her beautiful, cruel face.

“Let — me go,” Sophie grunted. It felt like her hair was being wrenched from her scalp, the pain worsening by the second.

The Lady slapped Sophie’s face, hard. Sophie gasped, grunting at the sting of the blow. She struggling vainly against the grip, and opened her mouth to yell. How she hated the cruel woman!

The Lady slapped her across the other side of her face, even harder this time, the crack ringing out across the empty field and stars bursting behind Sophie’s eyes. She tried to shake her head to clear her vision, but the Lady’s grip held her fast.

“Have you had enough, girl?”

Sophie felt the fist in her hair twist and she screamed at the searing pain. She was sure several strands had ripped from her scalp. “Yes, I’ll stop! Please, no!”

She started crying, ashamed and hating herself at the same time. The pain was what made her cry, but she knew the Lady would think it was from fear. The agony in her scalp was overwhelming, and she wanted to do anything, anything at all, to make it stop.

“Well then,” the Lady said, drawing near until their noses almost touched, her breath warm on Sophie’s tear-stained cheek. “I think it’s time we teach servants what happens to them when they disobey.”

Chapter Nine

House Westwood

“T
he men are inside, Marshal,” Taidon said, keeping his voice low. “But we don’t have much time. They can’t stay under the
humbrae
for long.”

Valery paced in the shadows just beyond the road, keeping eyes on the entrance to the manor. The road, lined with guttering torches to light the way, led straight up to the open manor entrance. Guards, perhaps fifty yards from where Valery and Taidon stood, were posted to either side of the maw of the open portcullis. The steel of the guards’ halberds glinted with torchlight.

Rather than watching the road, the guards seemed more intent on what was happening in the courtyard inside. A young woman, totally naked, was stretched up on her toes, her arms lashed overhead to the arm of a wooden gibbet. Her head hung between her arms, her long wet hair covering her face. She stirred, turning a bit, exposing more of her back. She’d been given a serious whipping. Welts and stripes of crimson were ribboned across her flesh, some of the marks wrapping around the ribcage on one side.

The whipping did not discomfit Valery; he’d given the same to his devoted Rayja many times before. What nearly stopped him in his tracks though was the beauty of the girl. Her curves, her lustrous hair, the aching vulnerability of her physique called to him in much the same way Rayja’s had the first time he’d spotted her naked, terrified form on the auction block in Druas.

He regarded humans as little more than food generally, but his body servant Rayja had awakened something in him. Perhaps there was more to the species than he’d always thought? The idea disturbed and fascinated him all at once. Now, this was another human, this whipped girl, who seemed to call to something within him (the iron bar of his erection the most obvious manifestation of it).

Some younger members of his race sometimes talked about a mystical connection that was present with certain humans, but the older, more experienced among the
nocturne
dismissed such an idea as mere agitation by ignorant, impetuous youngsters.

“Taidon, tell the—”

He saw a woman approach the nude captive.

“Is that her, Taidon?” Valery’s voice growled.

“It is, Marshal.”

The woman was striking, a blood red dress flowing around her willowy form. A high collar emphasized the graceful neck. Her hand stroked the tracery across the captive’s back, and the nude woman jerked. Valery could well imagine the gasp of pain such touch would elicit on raw, newly whipped flesh. He’d enjoyed the tactile pleasure of it often enough with his own body slave.

“Marshal, we should strike now.” Taidon’s voice was urgent, excitement just under the surface.

Valery scanned the manor’s defenses. Dozens of soldiers, each of them armed with crossbows, were arrayed on the battlements above.

“Not yet, Taidon. We stick to the plan.”

Valery was not about to needlessly sacrifice any of his men with an all-out assault if he could avoid it.

“Smash and grab only then,” Taidon muttered, not quite able to wash the disappointment from his voice.

Valery cracked a smile, the enamel of his teeth gleaming in the low light. “Cheer up, Lieutenant. If we succeed, maybe we’ll have more than one pheasant to bring in from the hunt.”

“You mean—”

“If we can do it, take any captives that present themselves. We’ll be traveling slower on the return trip, since we won’t be able to go near the roads. A few extra ‘companions’ on our journey won’t matter.”

Taidon nodded, his gaze firing with lust.

Valery had been impressed with his Lieutenant’s ability to drive the men onward. He’d never seen a strike group move across open country as swiftly as theirs had. They had paid for it of course; the men were uniformly exhausted. However, a short rest and the lifeblood of the last two of Laird’s captured patrolmen revitalized them enough such that Valery had confidence the mission could be completed successfully after all.