Wages of Sin

 

WAGES OF SIN

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

By

Kate benedict

 

 

 

Wages of Sin first published in 2000 by

Chimera Books Ltd. Published as an eBook in 2011 by Chimera Books Ltd

www.chimerabooks.co.uk

Chimera a creation of the imagination, a wild fantasy

 

Digital Edition Converted and Published by

Andrews UK Limited

www.andrewsuk.com

 

New authors
are always welcome, or if you're already a published author and have existing work, the eBook rights of which remain with or have reverted to you, we would love to
hear from you
.

 

This novel is fiction - in real life practice safe sex

 

This eBook is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher's prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published, and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. The characters and situations in this eBook are entirely imaginary and bear no relation to any real person or actual happening.

 

Copyright Kate Benedict. The right of Kate Benedict to be identified as author of this book has been asserted in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyrights Designs and Patents Act 1988.

 

 

‘Faster, Alex! Faster!' urged Jane, thwacking his flanks smartly with the short quirt in her hand. The hot, silken muscles clenched and flexed between her thighs, sending quivers of excitement spiralling through her body, and the horse surged forward in response to the small heels drumming against his sides. She laughed with exhilaration and crouched down on his neck, her long auburn hair streaming backwards as they thundered over the long sweep of grass beside the coppice.

She should be at home, like a dutiful daughter, helping her mother supervise the servants as they swept the winter's accumulation of stale rushes from the floor and replaced them with the fresh, sweet-smelling ones the carter had delivered yesterday. Her nose wrinkled at the thought. The whole place stank of smoke, dogs, and the ancient food - and God alone knew what else! - that had been carelessly dropped to rot underfoot over the long dark nights.

It had been a matter of moments to make up her mind and tiptoe out of the hall like a sneak thief, only breathing once she'd reached the safety of the stables. She laughed again as she thought of the expression of outraged respectability on the young groom's face as she'd swung up on to Alex's back without benefit of saddle or bridle. Well-born young ladies were expected to ride sedately side-saddle, accompanied by an equally sedate maid, not behave like hoydens. Ignoring his protests, she'd grinned at him mischievously and, with a final jaunty wave, wheeled out of the yard - to freedom.

Alex was slowing now, his first energy spent. Jane allowed him to drop to a canter, enjoying the fresh green morning. Sun dappled the grass and she inhaled the still, cool air, savouring the signs of spring. White flowers studded the branches of the hawthorn and bluebells covered the ground beneath the trees like a sweet-scented tide.

Guilt washed over her at the thought of her poor mother, stuck at home in the middle of all the muddle and stench - and no doubt wringing her hands with worry, lest her stepfather, Thomas, find fault with her housekeeping. Jane's face darkened. The man was a braggart and a bully, taking a sadistic delight in terrorising his unfortunate wife. Nothing was ever to his satisfaction: the beer was too thin; the meat either over or underdone; the servants too well-fed, pert and idle. In a thousand little ways he made her mother's life a misery, as if to make up for his lower birth by proving himself her master in every other way.

Jane sighed again. There was nothing she could do about it. Women were chattels to be given in marriage wherever their fathers - or in this case, His Majesty, King Henry VIII - deemed fit. Her mother had been handed over in reward, as easily and as thoughtlessly as some cheap gewgaw at Saint Audrey's Fair. You want a well-off widow with her own estate? Here! Take her - and welcome!

Her lips tightened. The only thing Thomas - she could never think of him as ‘father' - was generous with was his fists. A slap for a maidservant too slow with the serving. A buffet for the manservant who spilt the wine. And though her mother never said anything, Jane could draw her own conclusions from the dark fingerprints that sometimes appeared on the white skin of her arm, or the puffy lips that were swollen from more than over-enthusiastic kisses. The secrets of her mother's bedchamber were not happy ones, going by their consequences.

She brightened. She might not be able to change her mother's life, but at least she could bring a little taste of pleasure into it. She would pluck an armful of bluebells and carry them home to her as both gift and apology. Tugging Alex's mane, she brought him to a halt beside the coppice. The grass was sweet and fresh. Even without a halter, he would remain, gently cropping until she returned.

The ground was soft underfoot and the scent of flowers dizzying in the morning sunlight as she wove her way into the coppice in search of the prettiest ones. Reaching a small clearing, she flung herself down on the smooth grass with a sigh of contentment, her green dress blending with her surroundings and giving her a sense of invulnerability. She smiled, remembering how when she was younger, she and the other children would put fern seed in their shoes to make themselves invisible and how her mother would pretend not to see her as she danced around the bedchamber pretending to be one of the Little People.

Lying on her back she stared dreamily up at the birds flitting in and out of the canopy of trees above her. Spring was the time for mating - and in a month's time she would be mated too. The dressmaker had already finished her gown of cloth-of-silver and she would walk down the aisle of the tiny church, her wild red hair streaming down her back, to show that she came proudly virgin to her husband. She smiled. She was luckier than most. She had been betrothed to Ralph since she was four.

She sighed. Handsome Ralph with his dark hair, his warm brown eyes and merry smile. They had known each other since they were children and loved each other almost as long. Hers would be no loveless match of convenience, followed by an unwilling bedding. Their marriage might be designed to link their two families and join the estates but, on her wedding night, she would give her young body to his with joy and pleasure.

At the thought, a pang of excitement ran through her. The private place between her thighs, which still throbbed from her wild ride, moistened, and her breath came thicker in her throat. Her nipples stood out hard against the rough cloth of her bodice and she pulled it down to release her breasts, one hand idly stroking them as she thought of Ralph's eager lips against her warm flesh. The night before she had stood naked in front of her mirror, trying to see herself through his eyes, admiring the way her white body looked in the candlelight: the sweet fullness of her breasts, with their rose-coloured tips; the soft curve of her hips, and the way her red maidenhair blazed like a flame at the juncture of her slender thighs.

The throbbing between those thighs was more demanding now. Glancing round to ensure she was still alone, she pulled her skirts up to her waist, spreading her legs on the cool grass. The warm sunshine lit her auburn hair like a bonfire, and its warmth tantalised her already overheated skin. Tentatively at first, she stroked the soft cleft, shuddering at her own touch. She knew it was a sin to pleasure herself and her impure act would have to be atoned for at her next confession - but it was such a sweet sin, and the sensations radiating out from her exploring fingers swept her doubts away.

She gasped as she slid one finger inside herself, feeling the hot wetness grip it. She moved it gently in and out, her thumb stroking the hard nub which had sprung erect at her touch, and the craving grew. Her hand moved faster and another finger joined the first, widening the moist opening. Even that, however, was not enough to satisfy the hunger that tormented her.

Eyes closed, she groped around for the quirt she had dropped when she first lay down. Her fingers closed over the thick smooth handle. Parting herself with one hand, she pressed it against her eager cleft, moaning at the sweet ache of her body's resistance. She arched her back, there was a sudden, swift pain, then it slid smoothly and easily inside and she groaned with pleasure as its hard length filled her. This was how Ralph would feel on their wedding night.

Her hand moved faster now, pushing the quirt in and out, her hips pumping in time to the thrusts, while the other fondled her swollen nipples. She writhed and whimpered as one final stroke brought her blessed release and she sagged back against the warm earth.

The sound of a laugh brought her bolt upright with shock, frantically tugging her clothing back into place. Heart beating, she looked round with frightened eyes, then relaxed slowly. There was no one there. It must have been a bird calling. Even so, she flushed scarlet at the thought that someone might have seen her brazenly caressing her own body and she scrambled to her feet, smoothing down her skirts. Perhaps it was time to go home after all. She quickly gathered a bunch of bluebells and wended her way back through the coppice to the place where she had left Alex.

He was still there, peacefully cropping the spring grass - and none too pleased to be recalled to his duties, either. She was forced to use her quirt, its handle still sticky from its earlier service, to remind him of his manners. Cradling her flowers in one arm, she urged the horse on and they jogged sedately home again, the rosy glow on Jane's cheeks the only reminder of her wanton behaviour in the woods. She would creep back as quietly as she had crept out - and no one would be the wiser.

She was wrong.

‘Mistress Jane! Mistress Jane! Where have you been?' gasped old Alice, panting up as fast as her bulk would allow her. ‘We've been looking everywhere for you. Your lady mother is frantic and as for your father-' her eyes rolled round fearfully, in case he was in the vicinity ‘-he is quite beside himself with rage.'

‘Much as usual then,' Jane said ruefully. ‘Though, the Blessed Virgin knows, one of him is quite enough to be going on with.' She smiled at the elderly woman who had been her nurse and was now her lady's maid. ‘Calm yourself, Alice. I am here now. No doubt it is all a storm in a cup. I'm sure the rushes were laid just as well without me.'

‘It isn't that,' began Alice, wringing her hands. ‘It's...'

‘God's blood girl, where have you been?' demanded her stepfather, striding up, his heavy features mottled red with fury. ‘The entire household has been hunting you this hour past.' His eyes ranked over her, taking in her shabby green gown, with its damp hem and grass-stained skirts. ‘Sir Harry is in the solar with your mother and you're gallivanting round the countryside looking like a kitchen slut! Get to your chamber and make yourself presentable.' He stamped off again, almost knocking Alice over.

Jane's lips curved in a happy smile. Sir Harry! Ralph's father - and no doubt, Ralph with him. She slid lightly from Alex's back and patted Alice's withered cheek. ‘Well, woman? What are you waiting for?' she demanded. ‘Come and help me into my best gown.'

Grinning happily, Alice puffed after her young mistress.

 

‘There, my lovely, what do you think?' Alice beamed, holding the hand mirror up to show Jane the back of her head. Jane nodded in satisfaction. Her wild locks had been tamed, smoothed into thick coils and entwined with strings of freshwater pearls that sat like dewdrops on the shimmering hair.

‘Beautiful,' she replied. ‘Thank you.' She got to her feet in a rustle of petticoats and walked across to the long mirror to see the full effect. She smiled at her reflection. The rich amber velvet of her gown complemented her auburn hair and swung like a heavy flower with every step. The wooden corset that Alice had laced as tightly as she could manage thrust her breasts into prominence over the low-cut, square neckline, and the embroidered stomacher emphasised the neatness of her waist. The long sleeves belled out gracefully, concealing her hands so only the fingertips showed beneath them. The very latest fashion, according to her dressmaker, who had her news directly from a cousin who served at court.

‘Set by Mistress Boleyn,' the woman had said proudly. She had lowered her voice then and glanced around before continuing. ‘Though some say ‘tis to disguise a deformity of the hand and that she's a witch.' Her eyes widened with a mixture of horror and delight. ‘Using her black arts to entice His Majesty away from good Queen Catherine.'

Jane smiled again and twirled in front of the mirror. Black arts or no black arts, it was a pretty style and she was sure Ralph would appreciate it. She bit her lips and pinched her cheeks to bring colour to them, then turned and dropped smoothly into an exaggerated curtsy. ‘There,' she said, smiling at Alice. ‘Will I do?'

‘Beautiful, lovey. Just beautiful,' beamed Alice, one gnarled hand fondly stroking Jane's russet hair. ‘But be quick now. They're waiting for you.'

With a final smile at her old nurse, Jane hurried along the gallery and into the solar.

Her mother's anxious expression disappeared as soon as Jane entered the solar, the worry-wrinkles smoothing out of her pale face, to be replaced by a proud smile. Sir Harry was standing by the window that overlooked the great park, talking earnestly with her stepfather. They both looked up at her entrance and she sank into another curtsey, smiling at them demurely from beneath her lashes. The wild girl who'd lain pleasuring herself on the woodland sward might never have existed.

‘Ah, Jane,' smiled Sir Harry, revealing a mouthful of rotting teeth. ‘As pretty as ever.' He bussed her on both cheeks and she was hard put not to recoil from the revolting stench of his breath. She forced a smile, her eyes searching the room. Where was Ralph? Hunting? Hawking? Surely not. Even with their wedding so close at hand and the rest of their lives in front of them, he wouldn't have missed a chance of seeing her. Perhaps he was indisposed.

‘You are well, my lord?' she asked. He nodded. ‘And Ralph?' she went on eagerly. ‘He is well too?'

His expression darkened. ‘Ralph's dead,' he said bluntly. ‘Damned boy.' He snorted. ‘Always was a weakling. Took after his late mother.'

For a moment the room went dark and she thought she was going to faint.

Ralph? Dead? Impossible. How could he be dead? He was but seventeen, with his whole life before him. Their whole lives before them. She stared at him, her green eyes huge in her white face. ‘Dead?' she whispered.

‘Sweating sickness,' grunted Sir Harry. ‘A sennight since.'