Dr Casswell's Student (19 page)

‘Please,’ I begged, wriggling from his grasp, ‘I am alone, please just let me go. I really have to go.’ But my appeal was lost on him.

Saob, if indeed that was his name, was a rough giant of a man. He grabbed my arms and snatched them back behind me, while the first slob caught the fastenings at the neck of the petticoat and ripped it open to the waist.

His eyes widened at the sight of my naked breasts. The treacherous night air hardened the nipples instantly.

‘Oh by Christ, such pretty, pretty jewels we have here,’ he slobbered drunkenly, running his rough work-hardened palms over first one poor breast and then the other. He lifted one to his lips and drew the nipple deep into his mouth. ‘Seems we have struck real lucky tonight, my old friend,’ he mumbled thickly around the tormented bud.

Behind me, Saob slipped a hand across my ribs to join the slob in his explorations and cupped the other breast, while the first still sucked long and hard. This second man was older, thicker set, with a full beard and smelt of beer and sweat and tobacco. His younger companion, suckling still, made puppyish noises of pleasure as he ran his tongue around the hardened peak of my dugs.

‘If you ask my opinion, young Jacob,’ the older Saob slurred, ‘there’s plenty of her for us all. Get her on her hands and knees. Five of us can tup her at once if you know what you’re doing. Get her down and I’ll show you want I mean. Come on, she’ll need to be well wet though.’ He spat into the palm of his grubby hand.

Jacob pulled away and snorted, his top lip curling. ‘You want to share her? All at once? I’d rather take turns, and as I found her I’ll go first.’ He turned his bleary attention to me, but still spoke to his companion, ‘Just see this…’ he croaked. While he’d been licking and tonguing my nipples he had gently slid his hand against my quim, where the moisture, I knew, already coated his thickset fingers. He lifted his hand to show those glistening fingers in the light of the fire and to prove he needed no assistance.

But to my horror, despite his refusal to share, his companion Saob pushed me down onto the rough soiled straw without any further ado. ‘Just as you like, cousin, but let’s get on with it. Night moves on and we’ve to be up early. You can have the wench first. Do as you will with her, and then the rest of us will take our turn. Nothing fires a man’s blood like watching another tup a wet and willing wench. Away with you, boy, to the job in hand.’

Jacob dropped to his knees beside me and then sucked on his fingers, slick with my juices, his face the image of pleasure. ‘A fair deal, cousin. I would drink awhile at this particular well, I think.’ He wriggled forward until he was between my legs, and spread me wide open.

If the truth were told I would wish to heaven that the events of the next few hours could be wiped from my mind, but it cannot be so. As the moon and the stars moved slowly through the firmament, I knew that whatever else happened I had to keep my wits about me so that when I had the chance, I could slip away from my lust driven captor. I prayed as Jacob pulled me closer that that moment would come soon.

Jacob eagerly lifted the tattered remains of my petticoat and slapped a wet kiss on the seat of his desire, breathing me in, his tongue working back and forth across that throbbing slit. His caresses went on and on until I thought I might die. If I had expected anything from my chance encounter with the drunken workmen, pleasure was most certainly not amongst the things it might have been.

While Jacob lapped at my quim, taking his fill, kneeling beside me, Saob caught hold of my hair and dragged my head into his lap, guiding his grizzled cock deep into my mouth with one meaty paw. I had little choice but to suck the old journeyman dry.

Jacob, meanwhile, had lit a beacon fire in my belly with his lips and tongue that threatened to rage out of control and engulf me. As I began to lose myself he thrust his fingers deep. My body grasped him tight, and then all was lost. Before the waves of pleasure had finished washing over me, Jacob spread my legs wide and mounted me, driving his raging shaft home, and then lifting my legs up onto his shoulders so he could drive deeper still. The man’s thrusts were so fierce I bayed in pain, but this only seemed to egg him on.

In my mouth and under the touch of my fingertips, Saob began to thrust raggedly too, dragging me hard up against him, so when finally his seed pumped into my mouth he succeeded in almost choking me. But this was no more than a beginning.

Between my legs, Jacob took no more than seconds to follow Saob’s example, and came with a vengeance, filling me to the brim with his frothing juices. I opened my eyes as the first intense waves of passion passed, and was stunned to find I was looking up into the faces of Jacob and Saob’s compatriots and fellow travellers.

The unnerving huddle of men had the look of hounds on the scent of a young vixen; bright eyed, trembling with excitement, slavering over my exposed and sweating body.

And then, under Saob’s watchful eye, they did indeed take their turns with me. One, two, three and more at a time, filling quim and mouth, hands and arse with their distended cocks, their filthy slack lips and kisses, their fingers molesting my breasts and belly. They were all over me, their raw animal passion so all-consuming I thought I was finally lost beneath a dark sea of unending, faceless, nameless desires.

By the time they were finally sated, there was no part of me, or my petticoat, no fold, no crease, no part of my body or soul that was not wet or stained with the seed of those wild, dark travelling men.

My saving grace was drink, for between each round with me they re-filled their flagons and drank deep and hearty. They had been drinking long before my untimely arrival and it is well know that strong drink and passion soon drives a man into a deep slumber. I struggled to keep my wits about me until Jacob finally pulled me close and threw his cloak over us both.

‘Let us take a little sleep, lass,’ he murmured, the words thick with beer and good wine. ‘Soon we will begin again.’

As soon as his eyes, their lids so heavy, settled on his cheek I eased myself out from under his weighty arm, found the blanket he’d dragged off me earlier and, wrapping it tight around my shoulders, headed back to the castle.

It might be better to go back though the secret door. I was just pondering what best to do when, to my complete surprise, I saw a familiar figure sloping across the courtyard.

‘Father Orme,’ I whispered under my breath, a little afraid in case I woke the travellers. Clutching the blanket tight around me I hurried across the yard, managing to sidestep the sleepy guard who was accompanying the elderly priest without any difficulty.

‘Father Orme, is that you?’ I cried out in relief, catching hold of his robe.

‘Get off me,’ the old man snapped angrily, shaking my hand free. ‘Alms will be given after morning prayers… get back. I’m now off to my bed. Guard! You…’ He swung round to see me off with his staff, raised it, and then recognised my voice or me and stopped mid-swipe. ‘My God! Beatrice, is that you?’ he spluttered, waving the guard away. ‘By all the saints, what has happened to you? Let me look at you, girl.’

He lifted the lantern he was carrying and peered at me. His face told me everything I need to know about my appearance. It was all too much. I staggered forward, feeling faint.

‘I have to talk to my master,’ I whispered, tears bubbling up behind my eyes. ‘I have learnt this night of a plan to murder him. Please, Father, please take me to him. Her ladyship plans to have him killed at first light when he and Lord Usher go hunting. She has hired mercenaries to lay in wait by the river. I know it sounds like madness, but Arturo has betrayed him. Please Father, please.’ The words tumbled out like water.

Orme’s face softened. My legs finally buckled and he beckoned the guard closer to pick me up.

‘Come back with me, child, and I will get you cleaned up. You are feverish.’

‘You will tell him, won’t you?’ I begged, even as the darkness of unconsciousness threatened to engulf me.

‘Yes, yes,’ he asserted, but I feared he was just humouring me.

‘If she succeeds,’ I said as firmly as I could, ‘she plans to have you killed too. She and Arturo have hired assassins from the house of Carun. She thinks it’s your fault she had to wed in the first place, and wants you dead for it.’

At last I had the old man’s undivided attention. Father Orme stared down at me. ‘Does she indeed?’ he said thoughtfully, rubbing his bony chin. ‘Does she indeed?’…

Sarah pushed her chair away from the desk and stared at the computer screen, as if seeing it for the first time. She had typed every word of the doctor’s carefully recorded translation in, but knew it had been an unthinking process; every shred of her consciousness, every molecule of thought and feeling had been with Beatrice de Fleur on her quest to save her master.

She felt tense and angry from reading of the poor girl’s brave encounter with the drunken journeymen. And her stomach was knotted in case now, having escaped from her tormentors, Father Orme would not believe her, or help her by warning his lordship about the danger from Arturo and the hired assassins from the house of Carun.

What had dragged her away from the loose-leaf folder and the unfolding saga was the sound of the door opening. Sarah looked across the room, almost as if she was waking from a long, dream-filled sleep.

Chang indicated the landing. ‘I thought we would go for a walk,’ he said, waving her to her feet.

Sarah stared at him in total astonishment. ‘A walk?’ she repeated dumbly. It seemed such an unlikely thing for him to suggest, and the elegant red coat-dress and high heels she was wearing from the day before hardly seemed appropriate things to wear in the great outdoors.

But Chang could not be so easily dissuaded. ‘That’s right,’ he said, holding out a hand in invitation. ‘Oscar and me thought you might like the chance to explore the grounds while you’re here.’

Sarah felt her colour draining, there was something about the way he spoke that suggested there was a lot more to his invitation than first appeared. She got to her feet unsteadily; sitting for so long without moving had given her pins and needles.

‘I’ll just get my jacket,’ she said, indicating the wardrobe. ‘I won’t be a minute.’

Chang shook his head. ‘You needn’t bother,’ he said mysteriously. ‘You won’t be requiring it.’

Sarah didn’t know what to say to him, and decided on nothing.

He indicated the open door. ‘If you please, the others are already waiting.’

When they got downstairs Sarah’s worst suspicions were confirmed. Chang led her away from the main house along a broad, covered walkway that led down towards a vast greenhouse. Although sheltered from the autumn wind the walkway was far from warm.

The red dress seemed thin. Sarah shivered.

Chang waved her along. ‘Not very much further now,’ he said.

She glanced up. A little way ahead, Oscar, Oliver Turner’s handsome Nordic chauffeur, was keeping watch by an ornate set of double doors that were designed to retain the heat and which led down into the hothouse.

He was dressed in cream jodhpurs and a crisp white open-necked shirt. He smiled warmly as she approached. ‘You’ve still got a few minutes to get away,’ he said with a grin, pushing the first of the doors ajar for her.

‘I beg your pardon?’

Oscar pulled a face. ‘To get away. Didn’t Chang explain the rules to you? Amelia is already inside. Lots of the others are in there too. You’re the last of the hares to arrive.’

Still Sarah hesitated. She was totally confused.

‘Hare and hounds, Miss Morgan,’ Chang whispered menacingly. ‘Perhaps you are familiar with the principles of the game? You run away and we give chase – it’s simple enough. We always play in the glasshouse when we can. While the cats are busy in the big house, the mice – if you can call us that – take full advantage of whatever little diversions can be arranged.’ He nodded at her high heels. ‘I’d take those off if I were you. They’ll make it very hard to run. Ah, here we are, the rest of the hounds have arrived.’

Sarah looked over her shoulder. Walking along the covered path towards them, with a strange and unnerving air of determination, were at least half a dozen other men of all shapes, sizes and ages. They were men she didn’t recognise, but who she guessed were chauffeurs or valets; servants of Oliver Turner’s guests.

Her jaw dropped and she instinctively backed away. Chang was deadly serious about the game. He and Oscar looked her up and down, and for the first time she saw they had the avaricious eyes of blood-lusting predators ready for the hunt.

She shot a fleeting glance at the approaching pack and sensed their blood was up. They were eager for the chase too, and she had no doubt they had all already imagined the pleasure and pain of what might follow when the hares were caught.

Some instinctive survival force switched on deep within her mind and before she quite knew what she was doing, she kicked off the shoes, pushed open the heavy door of the great glasshouse and hurried inside.

She ran down the first flight of steps onto a broad semi-circular brick paved area, set with palms in ornate tubs. The intense cloying blanket of humid heat hit her like a body blow. The air was heavy with the perfume of the flowers that clung to trelliswork suspended from the walls, and which grew up in stunning displays of pinks, yellows and oranges amongst the banks of foliage in enormous raised beds. The lush tropical heat was all-engulfing, and she was instantly bathed in a sheen of perspiration.