Lock (3 page)

Murmurs of approval floated across the crowd of villagers watching the spectacle. Sparrow felt a blush rise in her cheeks as she tore her gaze from the men to glance at Shea-Ann who stared, a satisfied smile on her lips.

“Now this is what I call entertainment,” said the older woman.

“I think it’s a disgrace,” Sparrow muttered, yet she watched in fascination as another slave—female this time—joined the men. A beaded vest concealed her breasts, and she wore a short leather skirt. Her wrists were manacled, and she bore the brand of murderer on her left bicep. A long, blond braid dangled over her shoulder as she paused in front of the men. One of them approached her from behind. She leaned her back against his muscled chest as he unfastened the ties on her vest so her breasts popped free. He squeezed the globes and rolled the nipples between his fingers while the other man knelt in front of her and lifted her short skirt. He ran a tongue over his lips before covering her clit with his mouth. The woman moaned, arching backwards, lost in the ecstasy of one man’s mouth and the other’s hands.

“I can’t believe this.” Sparrow’s lip curled with disgust.

“How much for the pair of them?” bellowed a short, gray-haired woman standing close to the platform.

One of the bounty hunters laughed. “Probably more than you could afford!”

“Give us a quote!”

“Fifteen hundred silver pieces for both of them.”

“What about just one?” the woman shouted.

“Sorry. They’re being sold as a set.”

A lithe redheaded woman whom Sparrow recognized as a fur trader waved her hand in the air. “How much for the woman?”

The bounty hunter laughed. “So that’s your flavor, is it, Miss? I’ll let you have her for two hundred gold pieces.”

The fur trader narrowed her eyes. “One hundred.”

“Come now! Look at her! She’s built for strength and endurance.”

Sparrow noted it certainly appeared that way. The blond slave stood between the men, writhing with passion, her hands roaming over the bulging shoulders of the slave lapping her pussy. She tilted her head, biting the earlobe of the man squeezing her breasts and rubbing her nipples with the pads of his thumbs.

“One fifty!” the redheaded fur trader called.

“One seventy five!” the bounty hunter argued.

“All right, one seventy five!”

To the crowd’s disappointment, the bounty hunter motioned for the other guards to stop the slaves’ love play as he stepped down to settle the bargain with the fur trader.

“What are they doing now?” Sparrow asked Shea-Ann.

Two bounty hunters dragged a tall, blond man to the platform and chained him between two thick, wooden posts.

“Damn,” Shea-Ann said. “The punishments are beginning.”

“Let’s get out of here,” Sparrow suggested, but the crowd closed in behind them, pushing them nearer the platform.

One guard stood behind the prisoner whose face tensed with terror. The guard raised his whip and snapped it, slicing the blond’s flesh. He gritted his teeth in silence for one more blow, but on the third slice he bellowed with pain.

The bounty hunter in charge of the auction returned to his place on the platform and called out to the crowd, “This man is a horse thief, wanted in the kingdom of Upper Kenna. Unless anyone wishes to speak for him, he will be punished up to fifty lashes!”

The whip hissed and the prisoner screeched.

A woman behind Sparrow said, “I think I’ll speak for him. He looks big enough for wood cutting but was screaming like a tortured cat before the third lash fell. He’ll be simple to control.” The woman’s voice rose to a bellow. “I speak for him! I offer ten silver pieces!”

“The Emperor of Upper Kenna will give us twelve!” the guard called back.

“You’re going to quibble over two lousy silver pieces when you’ll have to drag his arse back to the Kennas, feeding him along the way?”

“A silver piece is a silver piece!”

The whipping guard pulled back his weapon, but the bartering guard held up his hand, signaling a pause in the beating.

“Eleven silver pieces. No more,” the woman stated.

“Sold for eleven silver pieces!” The guard shook his fist in the air. “Cut him down, tie him up, and deliver him wherever this woman would like. Bring up the next prisoner!”

A shorter, thicker man with curly red hair was fastened to the posts.

“This man is wanted for highway robbery in Zaltana. He tried to strangle the wagon driver.”

Another guard tore the shirt down the prisoner’s back. The lash whistled in the air as the bartering continued. “Twenty five lashes is his punishment! Twenty five and the mark of a thief burned on his chest!”

“I was only trying to feed my family!” the redhead screamed as the lashes fell in rapid succession.

“Ten gold pieces!” A middle-aged woman called out. “What’s in his pants alone looks like it’s worth it!”

“Sold for ten gold pieces!”

“She’s right about that,” Shea-Ann whispered to Sparrow. “Looks like he has a tree branch in those breeches.”

Sparrow raised her eyes to the heavens. “This is the most disgusting display I’ve seen since my brother was king. I’m going.”

“Me too, in another moment.”

Ten more slaves were paraded across the scaffold. Most were sentenced to whippings, some were tortured with hot pincers, some branded, and others stretched on a rack set up behind the whipping posts. Many women bought the prisoners out of their punishments, glad for free workers or bed mates, even if they were condemned. Slaves required little more care than animals, and the women of Blue Hollow liked their personal freedom. Some of the prisoners suffered longer than others, particularly the unattractive ones. Some were courageous and refused to scream while others screeched before the first strike landed.

“With all those bloody backs and burned body parts, my business will be flowing,” Shea-Ann remarked. “Still, I can’t believe some of these men are being bought. There are a few who deserve death.”

“I’ve had enough of this.” Sparrow was about to turn away when the next prisoner caught her attention. Though chained and shackled, it still took ten guards to drag him up the steps and hitch him to the poles. Tall and barefoot, he wore only a loincloth. His limbs were long and muscled, his broad chest and back littered with old scars. A shaggy gray and brown beard sprouted from his face, and dark, kinky hair streaked with white dangled over his shoulders and back in matted tendrils. His eyes, the pale blue of bird’s eggs, shot defiance and rage but held no hint of fear.

Sparrow heard several women murmur over the man’s raw beauty, but no one spoke for him. Strangely, the guard didn’t announce the man’s punishment or ask for a bid.

A third guard stepped forward, carrying a scourge consisting of several strips of knotted leather. The crowd grew quiet as the punishment began. Sparrow counted twenty-five blows before she whispered to Shea-Ann, “I wonder why they haven’t asked for a price on him?”

The smaller woman chuckled. “No one’s likely to pay it. If I’m right, that’s the pirate Lock the White. He’s a devil. Any woman would be a fool to bid for him.”

Sparrow glanced at the pirate’s slashed back. Blow after blow fell until blood dripped down what was left of his skin, darkening his trousers and staining his boots. Other than a blinking of pale blue eyes and a sheen of sweat on his face and chest, the pirate revealed no sign of pain. Sparrow had lost count of the strikes of the whip, but she knew most men would have shrieked already.

“How much for him?” she shouted, scarcely recognizing her own voice.

Shea-Ann grasped her arm and hissed, “Are you crazy!”

“We cannot take a bid yet,” the guard told her.

“Why?”

“He’s sentenced to death, but if we sell him, the punishment is reduced to torture until he faints.”

Sparrow’s brow furrowed as she stared at the pirate’s upright posture and stoic expression. He didn’t look ready to scream, let alone faint.

Several moments passed before the first signs of pain appeared in the form of blood dripping down the pirate’s forearms as he strained against the manacles holding his hands above his head. A second guard joined the beating, his whip wrapping around the pirate’s waist, leaving a bloody trail over his stomach and side. He staggered almost to his knees, his arms stretched to the limit above his head. He struggled to right himself amidst the storm of knotted leather, his chest heaving with each ragged breath.

Sparrow’s hands balled into fists, her heart pounding in her throat. The guard claimed this man’s punishment wasn’t death, but if the pirate didn’t lose consciousness soon, the severity of the beating would surely cause internal damage.

“If you don’t let me bid on him, he’s going to be useless!” Sparrow shouted to the guard.

“These orders come from Zaltana. You know how their ruler feels about his word being obeyed. In case you don’t know, woman, this is Lock the White, pirate, murderer, thief, and I wouldn’t doubt rapist and child molester too, though those crimes have never been mentioned.”

The crowd murmured. Several woman turned away from the sight of the pirate’s shredded back. Sparrow wondered how he’d managed to stand again beneath the violent onslaught.

“Come on, let’s go.” Shea-Ann grasped Sparrow’s hand and tugged. She jerked away from her friend.

* * * * *

Lock wondered how much longer his legs would support him as he jerked himself upward, using the manacles as leverage. He’d lost count of the blows long ago, and though he was accustomed to pain, he’d never felt anything like this. The guards wielded their weapons well, managing to make their whips land directly in previous cuts until he felt as if the blows were slashing at his very skeleton. He’d meant it when he’d said he’d rather die than be a slave, but with each strike of knotted leather, the idea of being shackled to a mistress became more appealing. When he heard that his punishment would continue until he passed out, he knew he wouldn’t live to see the sun set. Lock had never fainted in his life, though there had been more than one time in his childhood when he’d wished for oblivion.

He tried focusing on the horizon, tried separating his mind from his body. Though he felt hot enough to dissolve into the cracks in the bloody platform beneath him, he resisted the urge to shiver, the urge to shriek. If he’d been a praying man, he’d have prayed for unconsciousness.

The beating stopped suddenly, and he was released from the post. He fell forward, managing to catch himself with his hands, agony hotter than the sun shooting up his arms, seeping into his shoulders and what was left of his back. Tears of pain sprang into his eyes, His vision momentarily darkened, but it cleared too quickly. He pushed himself to his feet as guards half-dragged him across the platform toward the rack. Beneath the deadly device, coals were arranged for the fire. The thought of heat against his torn flesh instilled a fear in him he’d never experienced before. His strength returned in a blind rush, and he pulled hard on his bonds, dragging both guards to their knees.

Several more bounty hunters jumped on him, grasping his chains and hauling him to the rack.

From somewhere in the crowd, he heard a woman’s voice bidding on him, and he nearly laughed, giddy from pain and the realization that his nightmare—the one which had inspired him to spend years conditioning himself to torture—had actually come true.

One of the guards approached with a heated blade and carved symbols around both of Lock’s arms. To keep from crying out, he bit his lips until he tasted blood, the smell of burning flesh making bile rise in his throat. If he vomited while strapped to the rack, he’d choke to death.
What a humiliating way to die
, he thought.

“How much is Zaltana giving you for him?” the same woman’s voice called again.

“More than you can afford, Missy!”

The coals were lit beneath the rack, and as the heat grew, Lock struggled against his bonds. He gasped until his throat felt raw, his heart threatening to explode before the flames actually reached his flesh. The whip fell across his abdomen and he mewled, sickened by the pathetic sound but unable to force it back down his throat. Another whip flicked at his chest, but his limbs were pulled so tightly he couldn’t so much as flinch.

Why hadn’t he drowned with the rest of his crew?
Because that’s how my life has been from the first
…

* * * * *

Sparrow stared in horror at the spectacle on the platform. She wondered how the pirate was still conscious when she felt ready to faint herself. What more could they do, short of killing him? The coals grew hotter, and she saw the first flames springing to life.

“I’ll pay for him with jewels from the royal family of RedHorne!” she shouted.

Shea-Ann’s jaw dropped. “You can’t do that! It’s all you have left from…”

Sparrow shot her a look that would have stopped a charging war horse in its tracks.

“That family was unseated years ago. How did you come by such jewels?” The bartering guard sounded suspicious.

“She was a RedHorne Princess!” one of the villagers called to him.

“I want to see the jewels, then,” the guard said.

“Stop damaging him first.” Sparrow stepped forward. “As it is, I’m already paying for destroyed merchandise.”