The Scarlet Shackle Page 3

  “Please, I’m trying to find my master!” cried Julia, fighting back hysterical tears.

  The woman was old, but she was much larger than Julia and had a grip of iron. “And he might be fool enough to believe that, coming from such a pretty face. Not so much if he waits and searches a bit...”

  To Julia’s horror, the woman dragged her inside her house. Her husband was inside and was quickly recruited to the scheme, and so Julia was locked in an inner room, to pace and weep for what seemed like hours.

  Long after nightfall the couple unlocked the door, harnessed her and told her to lead them to the house of her master. She was delivered to the house steward, who fetched the Master at once.

  Marcus burst into the hall, and she could see he kept his composure only by great effort. His shirt was open as if he had dressed quickly, his hair was loose and disheveled. For all her fear, her heart leapt at the sight of him. He turned to the steward and said in a steady, tight voice, “Take her to the stable and lock her in. Leave her there for me.”

  The steward dragged her roughly outside, across the lawn to the stable. He said nothing, just left her standing inside the door, and locked the great iron bolt.

  Some moonlight coming in the skylight illuminated the place dimly. Julia heard the horses shifting in their stalls, their quiet snorts. She saw the whip on its hook. She contemplated what was about to happen and her greatest horror was that she would never be able to dissuade Marcus from believing she had run away.

  Tears streaming down her hot cheeks, she took off the blue dress. She took off her slippers and even her underclothing, till she was utterly naked. Then she went to face the wall where her master had whipped her, and leaned against it, her palms pressed to the splintery wood, and waited.

  There was noise at the bolt and lantern light poured into the stable. She did not turn to look at him, but listened to his approaching footsteps. Before she could take a breath he had come to her side and seized her face roughly in both hands.

  “Do you mock me?” he cried.

  “My Lord—” she began, but was cut off by his hand slapping her face.

  “Do you mock me with your supplication?” he shouted, his voice nearly breaking with rage.

  “No, no my Lord!” Her cheek was flaming from the blow and her tears flowed anew.

  Marcus’s eyes burned, searching hers. She wanted to drop to her knees but was afraid to move. Then he cried, “Back against the wall!”

  She resumed her position and waited for the whip to strike. To her surprise the blow fell not on her back but her buttocks, and it was so hard that the very first stripe made her flinch violently. But she bit her lip and tried to be silent, far preferring the pain to the look of betrayal on her master’s face.

  Three more blows came, and then his voice, tight with anguish, “So quickly, so quickly you forgot you are a slave. Deceiver!” The next blow was vicious, and Julia cried out in spite of her best efforts.

  Then Marcus grabbed her and pulled her away from the wall, turning her in his hands to face him. It was surreal to her, standing there naked in his grip, her buttocks throbbing. She dropped her gaze to the floor in shame. Marcus let out an incoherent grunt, then dragged her across the straw-strewn floor. To her disbelief, he sat down on the stableboy’s bench and threw her, face down, over his lap.

  It was the closest she had ever been to him, lying naked over his thighs, and she longed to wrap her arms around his calves and kiss them and beg for mercy. But she knew she didn’t dare speak. And in the next moment she felt his bare hand slap the welted skin of her left buttock. The fact that it was his hand and not a weapon moved her strangely in spite of the pain. He spanked her again, harder so she would flinch, and then a third time with all his might so that she cried out. Then he did likewise on the right buttock, till the pain shot down her thighs white hot. She began to sob, overwhelmed by pain and despair.

  But what Marcus did next was the strangest of all.

  Julia braced for the next blow but it did not come. Instead she felt his hot hand smooth lightly over her buttock, as if he caressed the welts. It stung, but his hand was smooth.

  She felt her womb dissolve. Soft heat blossomed inside her. Her master’s hand smoothed across and over to the other cheek, stroking it gently. Julia’s sobs fell silent. Her inner walls burned for him. She felt she was losing her mind.

  Then Marcus struck her again, not so hard this time, and Julia couldn’t tell if it was pain or pleasure she felt. He followed the blow immediately with another feather-light caress, and she moaned, arching her back. Marcus struck again, then stroked her. She watched her arms wrap around his calves and felt her hips thrust. She had lost all self-control.

  Then she felt his fingers slide between her legs, and she knew he found her swollen and wet. The single stroke of his finger over her clitoris made her whimper.

  “So,” he said, in a dark, cold, beautiful voice, “you claim to desire me.”

  “My Lord—” she began, but he cut her off with a hard slap that made her welts cry out. She fell into inarticulate sobbing.

  Then his hand slid down her bare back, and the feel of it on relatively uninjured flesh was like pure heaven. He stroked her with his palm, then with the tips of his fingers alongside her spine. Arousal filled her womb in a wet flood, her sobs became gasps of pleasure. He struck her hard against across the buttock, but before she could take a breath, his fingers dipped between her legs again. And this time they remained.

  Julia let out a long, almost inhuman moan. The lasciviousness in the sound amazed her. Then Marcus seized hold of her hair and with his other hand lifted her up. He worked her body around so she sat on his lap, her back against his chest.

  He put one hand over her mouth. “Speak not to me,” he said in her ear. Then his other arm crossed down over her breasts and his fingers probed again between her legs.

  It was ecstasy. Julia was so aroused in heart and body that his caress was already nearly more than she could bear. The bruised flesh of her bottom ached against her master’s breeches but even that felt delicious. She spread her thighs to give his fingers free access to her dripping folds, her hips thrusted forward then dropped, thrusted and dropped, and as the sweetness mounted she tipped her head back against his shoulder.

  Then all at once he stopped. She turned her eyes to him, feeling the blessed tension in her body dissolving away horribly, leaving a yearning ache behind.

  The black eyes stared back at her. “I should leave you in this agony of dissatisfaction, should I not?” he said, with a haughty lift of one eyebrow. His hand rested still over the swollen mound of her sex, and she felt her blood pound under it. Marcus lifted his other hand from her mouth and said, “Plead to me.”

  She was glad to cry out to him, “Master, my beloved Lord, please touch me again, please, I can’t bear it!”

  “Shall I caress you?”

  “Yes!”

  “Shall I beat you?”

  “Yes, yes...just your touch, as you will, my Lord, just your hand upon me...”

  She saw his eyes soften, then seem to harden again by sheer force of will. He spoke again, his voice cold. “Say you love me.”

  She felt she was pouring out her soul to him. “I love you, I love you, my Lord Marcus.”

  His fingers stirred. The arousal rushed back through her like a potent drug. He stroked her until her thighs began to shudder and a flush came over all her skin. “Do you love me, slave?” Marcus murmured in her ear, his voice sweet and liquid like honey.

  The orgasm seized her as she said the words, over and over, “I love you, oh I love you, oh my Lord, I love you I love you...” And Julia dissolved in sobs of sorrow and bliss.

  When she had recovered herself enough to control her limbs, she tried to turn and take him in her arms. But at once he rose to his feet, pulling him with her. He held her shaking body by the shoulders and looked down into her face. His aspect was utterly cold. He released her.

  “Hold out your ha
nd,” he instructed, meanwhile reaching under his shirt for the chain.

  Julia obeyed, extending the arm that bore the garnet cuff.

  Marcus fumbled roughly as he unlocked it, then tore it off. He snapped the bracelet shut in his hand and stuffed it into a pocket.

  Julia could only assume the worst possibly meaning for this gesture. Then her master spoke again: “I’m going. Get dressed now, I will send the steward for you in five minutes. Not another word.”

  He spun on his heel and went to the door, swiftly unbolting it and locking it behind him. Julia stood alone, her body humming with the aftermath of his blows and caresses, new tears welling in her eyes.

  Later Julia would decide she had truly lost her mind. The first few minutes after the encounter were a blur: she had scrambled, sobbing, into her clothes...the steward had come for her...she had run up the stairs to the slaves’ quarters, barely able to see through the blur of her tears. The room was empty save for Penelope, who looked up at her with shock and maternal concern. Julia could do nothing but fall on her bed and weep into the pillow.

  She felt Penelope’s hand on her back. “Child, what’s happened? Did the Master beat you so hard?”

  Julia shook her head and was unable to reply. She felt the bed shift as the older woman’s weight settled on the edge of it. Her shame made her want to be alone, but her confusion was worse. In a moment of madness she rolled onto her back and wailed, “I’m in love with the Master, Penelope!”

  The kitchen slave put her hand to her mouth. She stared down at Julia a moment or too, then seemed to compose herself. “So it seems to you,” she said. “He is a kind and handsome man. And he has not used his position to take advantage of you, which comes as no surprise to me.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Julia, lifting a corner of the blanket to wipe her nose.

  “He has always been a man of great principles. I never seen him strike a slave in anger, nor been unfair. I never thought he’d take a scarlet, either. But if he did, to my mind it would be for the company, not so much the rest.”

  Julia sniffled. “He hates me. He thinks I ran away, but honestly, Penelope, I would never—”

  “But I don’t suppose he gave you a chance to say so. The man has his pride.”

  “I don’t even understand why I wouldn’t run away. I must be in love with him.”

  Penelope put a hand on Julia’s arm. “It must be confusing, being the property of a man in such a way, especially if you find him good-looking, and kind.”

  “Is he kind? I think rather than he is horribly cruel.” Julia forced herself to sit up.

  “What did he do that was so cruel?”

  Julia found she could not answer this. She remembered the feel of his gentle touch on her abused buttocks, and she shuddered. Why did he try to confuse her so? Did he know there was no way he might have been crueler? His fingertips stroking her...

  “I think he hates me,” she said again.

  “If he hated you, why would he be in such a rage at losing you?” asked Penelope. “Perhaps the man is just as confused as you. Ask me, I think it should drive a man mad to own another human. It goes against nature. Perhaps that’s why this war goes on and on, the buying and selling of folk has made them all mad.”

  Surely it’s driven me mad, thought Julia. She shook her head. “I love him,” she said again. “May the gods save me.”

  * * *

  She rose the next day to learn that the Master had left on business, and was to be gone at least three days. The news was an agony to her. She went to the steward in terrible agitation and asked if she were to be sold. He told her Lord Marcus had made no mention of her in his instructions for the house.

  Penelope bent the rules and allowed her to help a bit in the kitchen. The older woman couldn’t bear to leave Julia to hours of boredom and nothing but her tortured thoughts. Even so, she had far too much time on her hands to think, and her emotions ran the gamut from dawn till dusk.

  Sometimes she loathed him for having used some strange technique to seduce her will and make her desire him. Sometimes she felt he was lonely and she had failed him terribly, perhaps even broken his heart. Then she would laugh at herself for thinking he cared that much when she had no reason for it. Then she would cry because he didn’t love her, and her heart was utterly in chains to him, and she didn’t even know why.

  The third night, very late, Julia was unable to sleep. She rose from the bed and crept quietly to the door, opening and shutting it with great care. Once in the hall she felt a giddy freedom. All the household was sound asleep.

  She found herself making her way to the Master’s private chamber, that room she had once thought would be her frequent dwelling, which in fact she had never seen. She tried the door and to her astonishment, it was unlocked. The chambermaid’s oversight, surely. Julia slipped in quickly and closed the door behind her.

  The room was smaller than she expected, with dark, soft carpet and a large moonlit window overlooking the street. She turned slowly around, looking at the shadowy furnishings. The bed was large and covered with a velvet counterpane of some dark color, and many pillows. She put her hand on one corner...then she saw the chifferobe. She moved stealthily, opened the door with great care and was relieved that the hinges were silent.

  Inside hung the Master’s clothes, his breeches and jackets and his soft shirts. A wafting breath of his scent came to Julia’s nose, and she trembled. She buried her hands between two shirts, and then leaned her face into the fabric and inhaled. She took an armful of shirts and pressed her breasts into them.

  Why must I love him, why must I burn for him so? she wailed inwardly. Indeed, the yearning was driving her mad, and coming here had been an awful mistake. These reminders of him only made the longing worse.

  Like a woman possessed, Julia pulled her sleeping shift off over her head. Naked, she drew a handful of shirt sleeves up against her skin, sliding the cloth over her breasts and throat and cheeks. Then she pulled one shirt, a full, soft white one, out of the chifferobe. She slipped it over her head, inhaling deeply of the scent as the cloth tumbled over her. She wrapped her arms around herself and whispered, “My Lord Marcus...my Lord Marcus...”

  It was like a dream. She walked slowly to the bed and pulled back the bedclothes. His body had lain here, perhaps his sweat was still here, in the sheets, and these pillows had been brushed by the sweet breath from his lips. Julia slipped under the covers and wriggled deep down into the soft mattress. Marcus’s scent was everywhere. As her body warmed the bed she pretended it was his warmth. She pulled one of the pillows on top of her, imagined it was his weight...

  Only his weight would be so much heavier. His body, so strong and lean, his shoulders so broad, all of him so large she felt she might be dropped inside him and never found again. She lifted her hips against the pillow. If only he would take her, as he should, as was his right...if only he would pierce her, fill her with that mysterious hard organ she had never seen.

  Julia rolled onto her side then, and put her hand on her own buttock, where she could still feel the welts from her beating. She stroked herself, thinking of his hand so large, so hot, so smooth. She thought of his fingers, of his dark eyes, of his lips whispering soft words in her ear. Be my slave, Julia...give me what is mine, Julia...I love you, Julia...

  There was a sudden, distant stirring of noise that Julia could not place. She sat up, terrified. A couple of small thuds. Then steps on the stairs. She should try to hide, but there was nowhere to go and no time...perhaps the noise would pass by. But in a moment the door of the room opened with a quiet click, and candlelight flooded in.

  He spotted her at once. Julia gasped, clutching the blanket to her chest. Marcus set down his satchel and closed the door behind him.

  “This is well,” he said in an ambiguous tone, “I see my pleasure slave has warmed the bed for me.”

  “My Lord!” cried Julia, and could find no other word.

  He approached the bed and stood o
ver her, making her feel small. “Why do you wear my shirt?”

  His voice was so sweet to her ear, his presence so wonderful, she couldn’t bear to face his anger again. No reply seemed helpful, so she sat dumbfounded.

  “Speak,” he said, and Julia thought there was some small suggestion of compassion in his tone.

  “I could not bear being apart from you,” she replied breathlessly.

  Marcus studied her face, the flame of the candle reflected in his black eyes. “You didn’t run from me, did you, Julia?”

  She shook her head.

  Marcus set down the candle on the bed table. Then he sat down on the bed next to her, facing outward towards the wall. He simply sat for a moment, then bent down to pull off his left boot. As he did so, he said, “I can think of no earthly reason why you should love me, yet some sense tells me you do.”

  He cast her a glance. She nodded, silently. He returned to removing his other boot. “I laid you naked across my lap and beat you with my bare hand, and this made your loins weep with love for me? Why do you not hate me?” He dropped the boot and faced her. “Speak.”

  “My Lord, you thought I ran away from you, and you pulled me into your lap and pleasured me. Why do you not hate me?”

  At this, much to her disbelief, her master smiled. “Shall I reply honestly? Because you are intelligent and lovely and inquisitive, and you wept at my displeasure, and I saw your buttocks blush red from the blows I gave them, and I loved them. I saw you writhe under the pain of my lash, and I wished to see you do the same from the sweetness of my fingers. Whether you had meant to abandon me or not, I wanted to please you, I wanted you to burn for me in an agony of yearning.” He paused, sighed, lowered his chin and then raised it again. “Now answer your master’s question, Julia.”

  “I do not hate you because...because I adore you.”

  Marcus rose from the bed, pulling off his jacket, folding it, laying it across a side chair. “And why do you adore me?”