Wages of Sin (17 page)

‘I have broken you in gently,' he muttered as he stalked towards the door. His lip curled in a sneer as he stood on the threshold, his voice becoming grim. ‘Next time it will not be quite so easy to earn your fee. As for that other bitch, Ursula, nobody damages my property and gets away with it. I shall deal with her tomorrow.'

The heavy oak door crashed shut behind him and Jane sagged back on the pillow, cursing her foolish tongue. He had been more than generous with his gift of the convent gardens in return for sharing her bed. Why had she asked for more? She blushed with shame. He was right. She had acted like a tavern whore, begging a few extra coppers for her favours. Her colour deepened as she remembered how willingly she had rutted with him, whimpering like a bitch in heat. In truth she was worse than a whore. No self-respecting tavern slut would have responded quite so eagerly to her customer's attentions.

The pain which had eased beneath his soothing fingers, and been forgotten entirely in the throes of passion, rushed back with a vengeance. She groaned again, this time with discomfort. Despite the soothing marigold salve every lash on her back stung and throbbed, the pain increased by her activities. Even the muscles between her thighs ached where she had wrapped her legs around Sir Edmund and held him to her.

Rolling over she buried her head in the pillow, praying for sleep - and oblivion.

It didn't come. As soon as she closed her eyes and began to drift off she jerked awake again, sure that Mother Ursula had returned to finish the job she had started. Even the light from the candles, still burning in their sconces, failed to dispel the shadows in the corners and she gazed at them fearfully, in case they hid the Mother Superior's avenging figure.

She must have slept eventually, for when she became conscious again sunlight was falling across the foot of the bed and the candles were nothing but waxen stumps. Dull and heavy-headed, she swung her legs to the floor and limped painfully across to the window.

The castle was already about its business. One of Martha's skivvies was scattering corn to the chickens that pecked around the kitchen door. A groom was leading a horse across the courtyard, stopping every now and again to check its left foreleg for injury. Two men-at-arms leaned against the wall, guffawing at some jest or other. In the corner three more were hammering away at a wooden structure. She turned away.

One of the maids must have entered while she slept, because her ewer was full of water that still held a trace of warmth. Pouring it into the basin she took a soft cloth and dabbed gingerly at her aching body. Standing naked in front of the mirror, she twisted her head to see her back, and sighed with relief. The network of fine lines was already fading and though the bruises remained, they looked worse than they actually were. For all her frenzied attack, Ursula had done no lasting damage.

She slipped into the green velvet gown, wincing as the material touched her welted skin. Sir Edmund had already enjoyed the pleasures of her body - and made it very clear that he fully intended to sample them again. There was no point now in trying to disguise her attractiveness. Walking slowly and with care, she made her way down to the great hall.

Sir Edmund was already there, seated at the high table with a dripping chunk of meat in his hand and a tankard of small ale at his elbow. At her entry he looked up and stared at her, unsmiling. A quiver of nervousness churned her stomach. With that black eye patch he looked like some ruthless corsair king; one whose word was law and who would order her keelhauled without a second thought.

‘I am pleased to see you have recovered from the worst of your ills, my lady,' he grunted, and she breathed an inaudible sigh of relief. He waved a hand towards the seat beside him. ‘Sit down and eat,' he ordered. ‘You will need a full stomach for this morning's business.'

She stared at him blankly, barely aware of the kitchen maid who scurried to place food and drink in front of her. ‘What do you mean?' she asked.

He chuckled. ‘What a forgiving little creature you are. Perhaps the convent was the proper place for you after all.' His sharp teeth tore into the meat and once more she was reminded of a wolf. She watched, fascinated, as a trickle of meat juice, still blood red, ran down his chin. At last he stopped chewing for long enough to answer her question. ‘Why, Mother Ursula's punishment, of course.'

She stared at him in dismay. God help the poor woman. Whatever she had done, she was surely going to rue it now. ‘Wh-what are you going to do to her?' she blurted.

‘Wait and see,' he replied simply. ‘Now eat!'

Jane picked up her meat and took a tiny bite, the food turning to ashes in her mouth. She took a gulp of ale to wash it down, almost gagging at the bitter taste. Under his hawk-like gaze she forced herself to finish the meal.

‘Good,' he muttered, wiping his greasy fingers on the front of his doublet. ‘Now let us be about our business.' He stood up, made a mocking bow and held out his arm. Reluctantly she laid a hand upon it. He covered it with his other hand, masking his steely grip under the guise of courtesy, and led her through the arched doorway of the hall and out into the sunlit courtyard.

At first the light blinded her. But as her eyes adjusted she drew a breath in a ragged gasp. In the corner where the three men had been hammering stood a set of stocks, and in the stocks, her head and wrists trapped, was Mother Ursula! She was already spattered with muck and kitchen refuse and there was a purple bruise swelling above one eye, where someone had thrown a stone. But her face was defiant as she watched their approach. Gathering her saliva, she spat at their feet.

Jane turned to flee, but Sir Edmund held her rigid. ‘Oh no, my pretty one. I want you to see this.'

Frightened to move, Jane watched in horror as he strode across the remaining few paces and stared down at Mother Ursula. ‘Well, madam,' he said. ‘An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth, isn't that what the Good Book teaches?' Her head moved in a barely perceptible nod. ‘Good,' he went on, ‘perhaps you will learn that lesson better with a little help.'

He clicked his fingers and one of his men hurried forward. Jane gasped again as she recognised the object he was holding. It was the whip Mother Ursula had used on her the night before. The other woman recognised it too, and began to twist in a frantic effort to break free. Her struggles were useless. The top-piece of the stock held her in place as firmly as a bar of iron.

Sir Edmund took the whip and brought it down on the palm of his hand. Jane jumped as the crack echoed around the courtyard. The sound brought her out of her fearful trance and she hurried forward to grip his sleeve. ‘Please,' she begged. ‘Please don't do this.'

He brushed her off like a fly and she found herself being hustled back to her place. Smiling, he continued as calmly as if her protest had never occurred. Walking round behind Mother Ursula he reached out with one hand and ripped the gown from her back as if it had been made of paper. It fell in ragged tatters at her feet, revealing her scrawny white body, and her face flamed with rage as the men standing round the courtyard laughed and jeered.

‘Touch my property, would you, you sullen bitch?' Sir Edmund snarled. ‘I'll teach you!' His words were punctuated with the sound of leather on flesh as his arm rose and fell, scarlet weals blossoming on Mother Ursula's sallow skin. Jane closed her eyes and prayed it would soon be over, as the nun's shrieks filled the courtyard.

At last it was.

She relaxed and breathed a sigh of relief, but too soon.

‘Right, lads,' Edmund announced. ‘She's all yours. Do with her what you will.'

There was a whoop of glee as the first man hurried forward, his hands already scrabbling at the fastenings of his breeches. As Jane watched in horror he peeled them down to reveal a pair of skinny white buttocks, and an already rampant member jutting from beneath his homespun jerkin. Kicking Mother Ursula's legs apart he took his prick in one hand and spat on the other, rubbing the spittle over its swollen head till it gleamed in the sunlight. He spat again, thrust two fingers roughly into her gaping cleft and pushed them in and out until he was satisfied.

Grinning, he moved between her trembling legs, rubbed his cock against her, then thrust himself inside, his hands pinching and kneading her breasts as his buttocks jerked in a parody of the act of love, while his mates cheered him on and Mother Ursula screamed in outrage.

It was over in seconds and he pulled out, his seed dribbling down her thighs as the next man came to take his place, his prick already out and at the ready. Jane looked at the line of men, their faces filled with savage lust, eagerly awaiting their turn. There had to be ten of them, at least. She turned away, sickened, only to see that Sir Edmund was watching avidly, his expression mirroring theirs.

She turned and fled to the safety of her room, banging the door closed behind her and leaning against it, panting. It was no good. Through the open window she could still hear the woman's shrieks of pain and humiliation as the men took their pleasure of her helpless body.

Covering her ears to blot out Mother Ursula's cries, she flung herself on the bed, her stomach knotting with fear as she remembered the cruel lust on Sir Edmund's face.

Next time, it might be her!

 

 

 

Mercifully, the tortured sounds died away at last. Cautiously Jane rose from the bed, walked to the window and stared down. The courtyard was empty now, the jeering crowd dispersed. The stocks stood empty. Nothing at all remained to show the scene of depravity that had just been enacted. It might all have been a wild nightmare that disappeared at the first moment of waking.

The sound of movement startled her and she whirled round, her heart pounding in her chest. Sir Edmund was at the door, lounging idly against the frame, his arms folded. How long had he been standing there, watching her unobserved? And, more to the point, what did he want? She straightened her shoulders and summoned up her failing courage.

‘What brings you to my chamber, my lord?' she asked, sketching a brief, mocking curtsy. ‘Did seeing that poor woman abused put fire in your loins? Do you wish to collect another payment of my debt?' She indicated the bed with a wave of the hand. ‘Perhaps I should lie down and spread my legs. Is that what you want?'

‘That “poor woman” as you call her, tried to kill you,' he pointed out grimly. ‘Had you forgotten so quickly? As to her punishment, she should count herself lucky she ended in the stocks instead of on the gallows. Servicing a few sturdy fellows is a small price to pay for one's life.'

He ran his eye over her flushed cheeks and heaving bosom and smiled slyly. ‘Perhaps you are the one with the fire in your loins.' He glanced at the tumbled sheets and raised a quizzical eyebrow. ‘May I point out that you were the one who suggested I bed you?'

‘How - how dare you?' she spluttered, turning an even brighter crimson. ‘What do you think I am? Some wanton slut?'

His grin widened. ‘Madam, we have already established what you are. And an accomplished one at that.'

She bit her lip in shame, remembering the night before when she had writhed mindlessly beneath his body. Stung by the recollection she flung her head back and glared at him, her lip curled scornfully. ‘And if I am a whore, who made me one? What does that make you? My whoremaster?' It was his turn to flush.

Delighted by his reaction, she hurried on. ‘And what about my payment?' she demanded. ‘How do I know you will keep your promise? For all I know you are some common cheapjack who will bilk me of my rightful dues.'

His face tightened. ‘Madam, I am a gentleman. I have given you my word.'

‘Hah! And how much is that worth? Talk is cheap. As far as I am concerned your promise is worth as little as the breath it took to utter it.'

Stiff with outraged pride, he drew himself up to full height and stalked towards her. Before she had a chance to move he had seized her shoulders and pulled her towards him. ‘I warn you, my lady,' he hissed, his breath hot on her cheeks, ‘don't push me too far. Just remember, between these walls I hold the power of life and death.'

She shivered in his grip. His mouth came down on hers, warm and wet, while one hand plunged into her neckline and roughly fondled her breasts, teasing her nipples into hardness. She could feel his manhood thrusting against her belly, even through the padded codpiece. She moaned deep in her throat as her lips opened in response and she sagged against him, her eyes flickering and closing.

With a cruel smile he flung her from him so hard she staggered and fell backwards on to the bed, her skirts tangled about her legs, one breast spilling from her dress. She stared up at him, wide-eyed in disappointment.

‘See?' he sneered. ‘Scratch a lady and find a whore. Why don't you admit it? You wanted me as much as I wanted you. Perhaps you didn't find this morning's little exhibition as distasteful as you claim.' With a final scornful glance he stalked from the chamber.

Groaning with humiliation, she rolled on to her belly and buried her head in her pillow. He was right. The vision of Mother Ursula's pale body jerking as it was ravaged by all those men, the swollen members thrusting between her parted thighs, came back uninvited into her mind. Sickening though it was to admit it to herself, beneath her horror ran a thin thread of shameful excitement.