Bertrice Small - The Innocent

THE CAPTIVE
WALES 1154-1155

“So," Isleen de Warenne said, "you have returned at last, and you have the little nun with you. Put her in the deepest and darkest of your dungeons! I have explored them, and they are deliciously rat-infested, my lord. Let her pray to God to keep from being eaten alive."

"Do not be absurd, my pretty bitch," Merin ap Owen said. He slid from his saddle, reached up, and lifted Elf down. "Our captive will be housed in my private apartments until her ransom is paid. That way I can be fairly certain you will not allow your evil nature to harm her and cost me a pretty penny."

"I should rather be in the dungeons," Elf snapped. She was cold. She was hungry. And she had had quite enough of Isleen. Holy Mother of God! Why had her brother not seen the creature for what she was?

"No!" Isleen’s voice had an edge to it. "You cannot keep her in your own apartments, my lord. You allow no one there, not even me, and I at least am your mistress."

"I cannot trust you, Isleen. Your desire for revenge is greater than your common sense," Merin ap Owen replied.

"Revenge?" Elf’s voice was tired, but outraged. "You want revenge upon me? For what cause, you murdering witch?"

Isleen was startled by both Elf’s tone and her attitude. This was not the meek and gentle little nun she remembered. "If," she began, "you had married Saer-"

Elf cut her short. "I should be as dead as my brother right now! Do you take me for a complete fool, Isleen, that you think I do not know what you planned in order to have your cousin and Ashlin?"

"My ladies, my ladies," Merin ap Owen said, his dark eyes dancing with amusement. They would come to blows if he did not stop them now. While eventually he might allow it for the amusement of those in the hall, this was not the time. "Cease your argument." He turned to Isleen, his fingers caressing her jawline. "I am master here, my pretty bitch. Remember it, or I will make certain that you do in a manner I promise you will not like. Do you understand me?" He smiled, then addressed Elf. "You cannot trust Isleen, my lady Eleanore. She will harm you given the chance, because she is basically ruled by her emotions. Do not allow yourself to be alone with her at any time. Do you understand?" He tipped Elf’s face up to his glance.

The silvery eyes glared back at him. "Do you think I do not know what she is, my lord?" Elf said coldly. "You may trust I will not seek her company or bear it willingly unless I must."

He laughed. His little captive was like a wet and spitting kitten, but he was wise enough to realize that the kitten had very sharp, claws, and would use them if provoked. "Let us go into the hall," he said. "Are you as hungry as I am, lady?"

Elf nodded.

"Good!" Merin ap Owen said, and taking her hand led her into the room and up to the high board, where he seated her on his right, much to Isleen’s outrage. His mistress took the place on his left, not at all pleased, which only increased his amusement. "Food!" the lord of Gwynfr Castle roared, and immediately a line of serving men hurried forth with platters and bowls. A young boy filled the goblets, which were set at each place.

Elf noticed that the goblets were of heavy silver, decorated with black onyx. There were silver plates and spoons at each place. She wondered from whom he had stolen them, for the castle itself was a half ruin. The meal was more than decent. There was fish, game, poultry, and lamb, accompanied with lettuces, bread, butter, and cheese. Elf did not stint herself. She was ravenous, and the food was good. She ate and drank until she was filled. When she had finished, she said bluntly, "I will want a bath, my lord. I am still badly chilled and have been traveling four days. Have someone take me to my apartments."

"By the rood, little nun, you have grown bold," Isleen said scathingly. "A bath? Do you think this is a palace?"

"Unlike some, I have been taught to bathe regularly. I do not cover my body in scents to disguise the odor of being unwashed," Elf said sharply. She was surprised at the fierceness in her breast against Isleen de Warenne, but she realized if she showed the slightest weakness, Isleen would be on her like a beast on its prey.

Merin ap Owen chuckled. "Can you care for yourself, my lady Eleanore? The only women here are you, my pretty bitch, and Arwydd."

"I am not some helpless creature, my lord. Remember, I was raised in a convent to do for myself. I had no servants until I returned home again to Ashlin. I can take care of myself, and I want neither Arwydd, nor that creature attending on me."

"Let Arwydd at least help you haul the water for this bath you so desperately desire, my lady Eleanore," he told her.

Surprised that he would expect her to carry her own bathwater, but refusing to give way in the face of Isleen’s smug glance, Elf said, "I should appreciate the help, my lord."

"Go along with the lady Eleanore, then, Arwydd. You know where the tub is. Set it up by the fire in my apartments," he instructed the servant calmly. "The lady Eleanore will sleep in the little chamber next to mine. While she is bathing, see the room is prepared."

"Yes, my lord," Arwydd said dutifully. Then she looked to Elf. "Will you come with me, my lady?" Her voice was devoid of any emotion.

Elf arose and followed Arwydd from the hall.

"Do you mean to spoil the bitch, then?" Isleen asked jealously.

"I hardly think making her bring enough water for her bath up two flights of stairs and then having to heat it herself is pampering the lady," he replied dryly. "Besides, it will give me a few moments' entertainment watching her bathe. I have never seen you bathe, my pretty bitch."

"Do you mean to have her, then?" Isleen demanded. Her tone was extremely pettish, and she glared at him.

Merin ap Owen smiled a slow smile, rendering the handsome side of his face even more handsome, but he did not answer her. Instead he said, "Stand up, Isleen, and place your palms flat upon the table, even as you bend your body well over."

Isleen stared at him. "You did not answer my question," she said harshly. "Do you mean to have the little nun?"

Merin ap Owen stood, yanking his mistress up by her long golden hair and forcing her body down into the required position. Leaning over her he said, "Shut your mouth, Isleen. If you refuse to obey me instantly again in front of my men, I will be forced to kill you!"

"Jesu!" she half whispered, "you do not mean to take me here before the entire hall, do you?"

In reply he lifted her skirts up slowly, tucking them into the back of her neckline. He had always thought Isleen had a particularly fine bottom. Now he viewed it at his leisure, running his hands over the smooth, round globes of flesh. When she shivered, he inclined himself again over her body and murmured softly in her ear, "Ah, you have been faithful to me this time, my pretty bitch, haven't you?"

"Did you think any of your men would service my needs after you hung those two fools before your little foray into England, my lord?" she returned scathingly.

"Are you ready for my pleasure?" he demanded.

"Nay," she said softly.

"Then, I must see you are prepared," he told her with a chuckle. He stood again, and raising his hand brought it down hard upon her buttocks.

Isleen squealed sharply, and the men at the trestls below the high board now looked up with interest, several of them grinning and making lewd gestures with their hands.

"For each time you cry out," he told her, "I shall add an additional two strokes. I shall now render you twelve instead of ten, my pretty bitch." His hand descended upon her hapless flesh again, smacking her until the correct number of blows had been properly delivered and her buttocks were a bright pink. "Are you ready for me now?" he said.

"Yes!" Isleen cried out, and then gasped as he thrust himself into her female channel. "Ahhhh!" She shuddered, feeling his thick manhood probing her lustily.

He laughed as she ground her hot bottom into his groin. "You are the perfect whore, Isleen," he told her as he eagerly pumped her. His fingers gripped her hips, leaving red marks on the white skin. He used her hard, making her cry aloud again and again as his men watched avidly, their mouths open in admiration, some of them even fondling themselves in their excitement. Finally Merin ap Owen was well satisfied, and he withdrew from her.

For a long moment Isleen lay prone over the table, and then with a deep sigh of satisfaction, she arose. "You are a fine lover, my lord," she told him, pulling her skirts down. "I will wager the little nun will not satisfy you as I can."

He sat back down again and drank deeply from his goblet. "Are you jealous, my pretty bitch?" he asked her mockingly.

"Why will you not imprison her?"

"Because she has done nothing to displease me," he replied. "She is a gentle and good lady. I have no quarrel with her. I simply want a ransom from her husband. It is a business transaction, my pretty bitch. Nothing more."

"Then, why not give her her own rooms?" Isleen persisted.

"Because, as I told you earlier, I do not trust you; and because there are no other rooms fit for a lady such as the lady Eleanore," he said. She was jealous, and it amused him to taunt her.

"Then, give her my apartment, and keep me with you," Isleen half pleaded. "I would be at your complete disposal, my lord, and eager to do whatever you wished me to do." She caught his hand in hers.

"Nay, my pretty bitch. It is better that the lady Eleanore is where I am, and where all know I permit no one else to enter," he replied. "My prisoner is very beautiful, and I would return her to her husband as I found her. Or almost," he mocked his mistress.

"You think her beautiful?" Isleen felt her temper rising. He had never called her beautiful, but he thought the little nun beautiful? "I never before heard it said that Eleanore de Montfort was beautiful, my lord Merin. It is I who am considered a beauty." Isleen preened at him, smiling winningly.

"You are pretty enough," Merin ap Owen told her, "but you are not as beautiful as the lady Eleanore. I know the English consider golden hair and blue eyes such as yours a standard of beauty, but I do not. I find the lady Eleanore with her silvery eyes and pale red-gold hair, her translucent skin, her sweetness of expression, far more beautiful than your common prettiness. Has no one ever told you that? Or have all the men in your life fallen at your feet in awe of your golden and sapphire coloring? You are as wicked as I am, Isleen. That evil is beginning to show through in your face. The lady Eleanore, however, has a good heart, and that is what shows in her fair face."

"You are falling in love with her," Isleen accused him.

He laughed harshly. "Nay," he said. Then he stood again. "I am going to my apartments now, my pretty bitch. Come, and I will see you to your chamber so I may be certain to know where you are." He pulled her up, and dragged her from the high board.

Isleen swore virulently at him as they went. "You are a dog, Merin ap Owen. I will not play your bitch for much longer if you do not treat me better. Have a care! You are bruising my wrist. Owwww! Do not pull me by my hair, you bastard!"

In the narrow stone hallway of the castle, he pushed her against the hard wall, banging her head as he did. "Listen to me. You belong to me and me alone. You are no better than a slave, Isleen. You will do what I say, when I say it, as long as it pleases me. I will tell you when I am through with you, and not you me." His fingers dug cruelly into the soft flesh of her shoulder. "Do you understand me, Isleen? " His dark eyes blazed at her.

Isleen was afraid in that single moment. This man was like no other she had ever known. He terrified her, and yet she adored him with every fiber of her being. She would not let Eleanore de Montfort steal him away and ruin her life yet a second time! She would make Merin ap Owen love her. She would! "I understand, my lord," she said low.