Chapter Eight

 

House Westwood

 

Sophie awoke to the sound of the lock turning.

She never in her wildest dreams imagined such an innocuous thing would elicit such dread — and something else. She could hear it as if time had slowed to a crawl: the tumblers moving, the barely audible scree of metal on metal. Then the air pressure in the dark cell that passed for her sleeping quarters changed; a rush of cooler, fresh air to mix with the humid closeness that had surrounded her all night.

“Up, girl. We’ve work to do today.”

She’d come to hate his voice, the overseer. She hated his whip more, but his voice every morning was the first confirmation to her that this really wasn’t just a nightmare.

This existence, this horror, was actually happening.

He kicked at her bunk. “I said, up. Don’t make me get you up.”

How she’d like to claw out his eyes, shove that hated whip down his throat.

She stumbled out onto the cold stone floor, her toes curling. Her wrists were sweaty and itchy under the leather of the cuffs, and she tried in vain to scratch under them, even with her wrists bound together in front of her. The overseer grabbed her by her bare upper arm, and marched her down the narrow central corridor of the servant’s quarters. She could hear some of the other servants still sleeping soundly through the barred windows of their cell doors.

It was early. It was always early.

Arnaud, the overseer, seemed to take great delight in rousing her first, so that Sophie would know the others still slept peacefully while she began her daily toil.

He dragged her through the common dining area and out into the chill morning air of the yard. She felt her breasts moving under the threadbare mockery of her sleeveless shift as he dragged her stumbling form along at a brisk pace. She was thankful she’d not been hobbled, which would have made keeping up with his long strides all but impossible.

She shuddered at the bite of the cold, and he chuckled. “Buck up, girl, you’ll have something to warm you up soon.” His grin was crooked, cruel eyes peering at her from dark, sunken hollows, his black hair was cropped close to his skull. She thought he might once have been a handsome man, but the ravages of time and the corruption of his soul seemed to her to have twisted his features; it had wrung out any warmth, leaving only cold, hard edges.

Peering up at the battlements above, she could see the occasional guard leaning over the stone of the inner rampart, looking down upon them. The sun had only just risen, the grass of the inner courtyard still laced with tendrils of smoky mists. She heard the neighing and grunting of the horses from the stable block, wondering who could be stirring them this early.

Arnaud stopped by the well, pointed to the trough set out nearby. “Get in, girl. Mistress wants you cleaned up.” He unlocked her hands but left the leather cuffs on her wrists. The rectangular trough, constructed of rough-hewn timber was half-filled with water.

He didn’t really expect her to …

“Come on, get on with it. Mistress will be ready in a few minutes. Don’t make her wait.” He shoved at her shoulder, his other hand fingering the leather tail of his whip.

“Sir — it’s too cold.” She looked up pointedly, lowering her voice. “Everyone will — see.”

Arnaud burst out in a peal of laughter so hardy she heard it echo off the interior courtyard walls. “Girl, we’ve seen all you have to offer before. You’re really still bashful about this?” His eyebrows were raised, the mockery and satisfaction in his gaze all too evident.

Cheeks flushing, she lowered her eyes. He stood close to her, the handle of his whip raising her chin so that he could gaze into her eyes. “If you aren’t in that tub in the next ten seconds, you’ll find yourself going in with a tight dozen. Which is it to be, girl?”

Her fingers flew to the buttons of her shift, and she shed the garment, trying to ignore the murmuring she heard from the watchers above as her erect nipples were exposed to the morning light.

She would get through this, as she’d gotten through every other day in this horrid place. One day, one minute, one second at a time.

Thoughts of Owen helped her during the darkest times. She wondering what he was doing at that very moment, wondering if he thought of her, longed for her as she did for him. She thought about how he’d see her now though. Would he see her as damaged, defiled even? Would he still desire her after the hell she’d been put through in this nest of perversion?

But there was more than that wasn’t there? More than she wanted to contemplate. It had to be the influence of this place; her demonic Mistress and her depraved friend the Countess. It had changed her somehow, perhaps in much the same way she thought Arnaud had been changed.

She yelped, violently shaking as she lowered her naked form into the frigid water. She washed herself as fast as she could, the cold seeping deeper into her with every second, stabbing into her skin like daggers. She stood to wash between her legs, her nipples so hard they ached, the icy water running in chilling rivulets down her skin. She flushed crimson at the clapping she heard from the soldiers on the wall. It sounded like there were more of them now, but she didn’t have the heart to look up at them.

Arnaud paced just a few feet from the trough, watching her the whole time. The cold of the water was soon too much, and she scrambled out of the trough, the water sloshing over the side to splash her ankles. She clutched her arms over her breasts, bent over in an effort to preserve what warmth was left in her blood.

Arnaud merely looked down on her a moment, pleasure in his gaze. She couldn’t fathom how he found such joy in her misery, how a soul could be deadened to such an extent? She wanted to feel pity for him, knew she should, but instead, she nursed a burning rage, held tightly in check. Sophie wanted to make him pay for her humiliation, even if he was just a pawn in Lady Westwood’s games. Arnaud was her daily torment, the source of the now routine humiliations that had almost numbed her. He may have only been following orders, but he didn’t need to take such pleasure in doing it. He didn’t need to relish her degradation.

“Please, Sir. I — n-need … ”

He threw a cloth at her. It was merely a swatch of thick cotton, really, but it would have to do. She vigorously scrubbed the icy water from her skin, trying to ignore the fact that she stood naked in a courtyard in broad daylight, the avid gaze of dozens of men upon her. She would cry her shame out later, alone. Now though, she wasn’t about to give them the satisfaction.

As she bent to dry her legs, Arnaud laid her shift over her shoulder, flicking a dripping nipple as he did so. “Meet me in the stables, girl,” he said, walking away, twirling the deadly length of his whip.

Dread uncoiled in her insides; nothing good happened in the dark stable block. She had enough memories of her torment there to last a lifetime. Still, she knew she’d be the worse for it if she didn’t obey. She’d learned it paid to be obedient; it meant less pain, less humiliation.

So Sophie righted her shift as best she could, her eyes downcast to avoid meeting the gaze of the guards, and made her way to the gloom of the stable block.

As a young girl, she’d loved horses, the atmosphere of stables always engendering feelings of excitement and adventure in her. What could be better than bounding onto your strong steed to fly like the wind across the countryside?

Now, she fought the sick dread that sank in her belly that merely setting foot in the stable elicited. She walked down the dim corridor that ran down the center of the building, looking into each stall as she passed. She found Arnaud in the large open room that served as the tack and harnessing area for the draft horses.

She froze when she realized he wasn’t alone.

“Ah, there is our charge,” Lady Westwood said, just climbing up onto the saddle of her favored horse Osiric. “Care to take a stroll this fine morning, my dear?”

“Yes, Mistress,” Sophie whispered, every ounce of her being wanting something, anything, other than that.

“Splendid! Unfortunately, your new admirer the Countess won’t be joining us. She asked me to bid you a fond goodbye though.” The Lady turned to Arnaud. “The Countess — and Sophie — will be accompanying us on the fall retreat to Farrier’s stead, though. They will have a happy reunion then, I’m sure.”

Arnaud grinned, enjoying Sophie’s discomfiture.

Sophie dared a glance up at the Lady. The noblewoman was dressed in a deep tan colored jacket, the collar lined with fur. The jacket buttoned up to the base of her slender throat, and was attractively form fitting, highlighting the elegant curves of the woman’s body. Her ivory jodhpurs, tucked into the gleaming black leather of riding boots, seemed nearly skin tight. Her rich chocolate tresses were tied back into a thick braid. As was the case the first time Sophie had encountered her, the Lady was armed with a short sword, the elaborately decorated scabbard crossing her hip. She held the reins in one gloved hand, the terrifying length of a riding crop in the other. Her brilliant smile, on any other person, would have been dazzling. Sophie found it chillingly predatory; the cat finally spying her chosen victim.

As he approached her with a coil of rope in his hand, and Sophie’s heart began to gallop. He manacled her wrist cuffs together, affixing the rope to the cuffs in several knots. He finished by using the rope to yank hard on her wrists, ensuring she was securely bound. He smiled at her, patting her cheek. She suppressed the urge to bite his hand.

Arnaud handed the length of rope attached to Sophie up to the Lady. She wrapped the rope around the pommel of her saddle, pulling on it to seat it well. Arnaud made sure the Lady’s saddle was secure, then climbed up on his own horse, a black brute that dwarfed the Lady’s swift-footed steed.

“Let’s have a walk,” the Lady said, winking at Sophie and shaking the reins. “I’ve something to show you.”

The horse moved out of the stables, the rope hauling on Sophie’s arms. The leather of the cuffs bit into her wrists harshly, and she chewed into her cheek to prevent crying out. In order to keep up she was nearly running, walking just wasn’t fast enough. Determined not to be a victim — or at the very least not appear to be a victim — Sophie raised her chin, intent on preserving what little dignity she had left. She consoled herself with the fact they’d at least allowed her clothing!

The two riders moved out across the now bright courtyard, and passed through the main gate. Sophie kept her chin firm, but couldn’t help but lower her eyes as she passed some of the guards. She felt their heated gazes crawling all over her, especially her traitorous bouncing under her shift. The cursed rope raised her arms too high to allow her to shield the globes, and now their languid movement was there for all to admire. The injustice of her treatment, as it had countless times before, galled her, and she had to swallow down the bilious unfairness of it all. She wasn’t sure how things could get worse for her, dragged along behind a horse like some mangy dog.

She soon found out how wrong she was.

The Lady and Arnaud moved their horses to a slow trot, and Sophie had no choice but to run after them, terrified she might her footing and be dragged through the dirt by the merciless rope. Soon her lungs were burning, and she was breathing hard, sweat pouring from her body under the early morning sun. The riders took to one of the dirt tracks that led out from the central manor like spokes on a wheel. Cropland stretched out in all directions as far as the eye could see. Here and there were the simple, thatched or sod-roofed huts that the bonded farmers lived in. Pens for various livestock were attached to the huts, and occasionally she saw farmhands, wearing their distinctive broad straw hats.

She remembered the times she’d worked alongside the hands at her father’s farm, sharing a much needed drink from their canteens. Owen had always managed to get himself placed nearby, even if it was a broad field being planted by dozens of hands. Soon, she realized it hadn’t been coincidence that kept him near. Eventually, she realized, she wouldn’t have had it any other way, even if she’d never tell him.

How stupid she’d been!

She stumbled, and the rope went taught, pulling on her arms with an aching twinge of pain. A yank much harder than that, and she feared she’d find herself with a dislocated shoulder.

“Pay attention, girl,” Lady Westwood said, twisting around in her seat and smacking a hand onto the taut rope. “Look to your left.”

Arnaud’s chuckle was just audible above the clop of hooves.

Sophie scanned the field to her left. There was nothing planted yet, and she wondered if it might be fallow. Then she spotted something. She tilted her head, ignoring the cruel hauling on her wrists.

“What … ” she whispered.

The riders left turned on to a smaller track that passed between individual plots, drawing her closer to the confusing sight in the field. The Lady and Arnaud slowed their mounts to an ambling walk. Sophie would have been grateful for the comparative respite for her exhausted legs and burning lungs, but what greeted her in the field beyond banished those thoughts from her confused, fearful mind.

There was a woman and a man in that field. The woman was naked, her flesh fair pouring with sweat.

No, she wasn’t entirely naked.

As Sophie drew nearer, she could see that the woman had some sort of harness about her, black leather clasping her tightly round her waist and hips. Her very long, rather pretty hair was tied back with a ribbon of white, the bright color striking against her tanned, sweat-slicked skin and silky black of her hair.

Lady Westwood and Arnaud pulled their horses to a halt, Osiris shaking his head side to side. Sophie lowered her arms as the rope grew slack, sighing with the relaxed tension in her limbs. But the two figures in the field commanded her attention.

Sophie blinked, not quite believing what she was seeing, the mortified shock (and if she were honest with herself, the fascination) making it hard for her to get her mind around what she saw.

The woman was pulling a plow.

Attached to her hips were metal shafts that reached down to a stout length of wood, itself banded in what looked like iron or rusted steel. Three heavy metal wedges encrusted with soil dug into the ground directly behind her, leaving shallow, uneven furrows in her wake. Straps from the woman’s harness ran up and across her torso, framing and squeezing full breasts. Her generous, muscular buttocks flexed and bunched behind her as she struggled with the heavy burden. Her hands gripped the bars tightly, her wrists wrapped in thick cuffs that were chained to the shafts. The slim muscles of her forearms stood out in tense relief against the strain of pulling the plow. Thin leather straps wrapped like snakes around and down the woman’s powerful thighs. Heavy boots covered her feet, ending just below the well defined, bunching calves. A thick black leather collar wrapped around the throat, forcing the woman to keep her chin up. A faint chiming could be heard on the warm breeze.

Sophie swallowed in sympathy when she realized were the sound was coming from. Small shiny bells were clipped neatly to the turgid nipples; the constriction of the clips had turned the tender flesh a dusky, inflamed red.

A deeply tanned man, his arms corded with sinew walked alongside the struggling female, speaking to her in soft tones. He was at least a head taller than the woman, his faded indigo shirt plastered to a broad, sweaty back. The wide straw hat shrouded his face in shadow under the high mid-morning sun.

Arnaud raised a hand. “Escott, come—”

“No, Arnaud,” the Lady said in a low voice. She extended her crop toward Sophie. “Look at the girl. She can’t take her eyes off them.”

Sophie averted her gaze from the toiling woman, chancing a glance at her cruel Lady. The noblewoman was beaming, mirth dancing in her eyes. Arnaud watched Sophie too, a finger tracing the braided leather of his whip.

Sophie looked back at the farmhand and the harnessed woman, unable to stand the cold regard of her Lady and the hated overseer.

The woman was struggling, bending over almost double, the blades of the plow unmoving in the dirt. She jerked forward once, twice, her buttocks squeezing mightily, but the blades appeared to be stuck fast.

“Ach, girl,” her tall companion said, unclipping a broad piece of flexible leather from his waist. He clasped the girl by her upper arm, his tight grip turning her bronzed flesh white, and stooped down slightly. He tapped the leather against her protuberant buttocks. A warning.

Sophie noticed that the lower half of the woman’s broad buttocks shone a congested red, unlike the rest of her sun-kissed skin.

The woman strained harder, grunting. Her lips pulled back, exposing the white of clenched teeth. Still, the plow refused to budge.

The leather cracked against the woman’s buttocks, a shiver passing across the flesh of her haunches. She yelped and the cords of her hamstrings stood out starkly as she continued to struggle.

“Come on, Tani. You can do it now” The man’s voice was low, urgent. “Pull.”

“Please,” the girl grunted.

Sophie could see a tear track down the girl’s cheek to catch at the corner of her mouth.

The paddle slashed up again, the sound echoing like a shot across the empty field, lifting the dense flesh of the bottom in its agonizing embrace. The woman keened, her voice gurgling as she threw her head back. Her buttocks clenched tight, loosened, then tightened once more.

Lady Westwood’s white steed blocked her view of the woman and Sophie looked up, squinting against the sun.

“Interest you does it, Sophie? Would you like a term in the fields with our trusty Escott?”

Arnaud laughed, reaching out to stroke his horse’s neck

“No, Mistress,” Sophie whispered, trembling at the very thought of it.

“Then you will listen and obey, won’t you?” She could hear the threat in her Lady’s smooth voice. “But there is something else isn’t there, girl?”

Oh no, please.

The Lady leaned down, her crop stroking Sophie’s cheek, the leather cold and menacing. “If I were to run my fingers through that juicy cunt of yours, I might find a veritable lake there, wouldn’t I?”

Sophie gasped. “No.”

The Lady smiled, the flat end of the crop playing over the tips of Sophie’s breasts. She held her breath, trembling. She felt so helpless with her arms bound to the horse. If she could just get the rope free somehow, she could run. But where would she run to? Home? She didn’t even know where home was. When Miriam had taken her, Sophie had been lashed securely to the rear of her Lady’s saddle as if she were so much cargo, blindfolded and gagged, then hauled away from her beloved farm to the hellish manor. She’d only known in the most general sense where Westwood Manor actually was — but she hadn’t a clue how to get back home from there.

Arnaud hailed the farmhand Escott, telling him to bring Tani over to them.

The Lady lightly flicked the flapper of her crop against Sophie’s right breast, fire burning into her skin. The Lady pulled the horse around again to return to Arnaud’s side.

Sophie watched as Escott unchained the woman’s wrists from the shafts. He spoke to her in hushed tones as he did so, the woman’s head hanging low, but Sophie was too far away to make out the words.

“Kind of you to come visit us, Mistress,” Escott said, bowing his head. He held a chain in one hand, the links attached to Tani’s bound together wrists. The woman held her hands in front of her naked sex, her eyes lowered. Sweat continued to pour off of her, mixing with the tears on her cheeks. Escott brushed a strand of hair out of Tani’s eyes, and stroked her chin.

Sophie was confused by his seemingly caring gesture; moments before she’d watched him pitilessly paddle the woman as if she were but a dumb farm animal. With palpable dread, Sophie glanced at the plow, now bereft of its beast. She shuddered.

“How’s she been working today, Escott?” The Lady slid from her saddle, unbuttoning the top two buttons of her jacket. “Arnaud tells me you’re actually seeing some progress with her.”

Escott nodded, looking upon his harnessed charge with fondness. “She has her good and bad days, Mistress.” He held up the flexible paddle. “But this makes sure she gets her quota done.”

Arnaud nodded, clearly approving of the farmhand’s methods. Tani swallowed, her head hanging.

The Lady looked over at Sophie with a glint in her eye. “Amazing the results one gets from such … encouragement.”

Sophie firmed her jaw. She wouldn’t make things easy for the sadistic noble. Prisoner or not, Sophie still had her dignity. For now.

The Lady strolled over to Tani, raising her chin with the shaft of the crop. “Does she perform satisfactorily in other ways as well, hmm?”

Escott flicked a glance up at Arnaud. “Mistress — I’m not sure—”

“Oh come now, man,” the Lady said, stroking the crop across Tani’s breasts, stirring the little bells clamped to the nipples. “I know you don’t spend that long in her stall simply to feed her.”

Escott dropped his gaze, flushing. “No, Mistress.”

“Well then,” the Lady said, smiling at the farmhand. “How so? Does she fuck well? Is she obedient?”

“She found it difficult in the stables at first,” Escott said, his hand caressing Tani’s shoulder. “But she adjusted soon enough.”

The Lady tapped the shaft of her crop under a harnessed breast. “Quite a bit more enjoyable stabling this one than one of the horses, eh Escott?”

Arnaud’s laugh rumbled, and the farmhand smiled. Tani whimpered, shifting her weight, her hands twisting in her cuffs.

“Shh now,” the Lady said, stroking the upper slopes of Tani’s breasts. “Don’t fuss, girl. I’m sure your Escott takes very good care of you doesn’t he?”

Sophie could see the deep blush suffusing the bound woman’s face even as she lowered her head, nodding.

“There is one thing, Mistress,” Escott said, his expression turning serious. “We could use more help.”

“Oh?” The Lady walked around to the rear of Tani, looking down.

Sophie hated the Lady being behind her; it almost always resulted in pain. “Yes, we — well — with only one of her, it just takes too long to plow. The oxen are three times faster, and pull a stouter blade.”

The Lady glanced over Tani’s shoulder at Sophie. “Well, when Lord Westwood returns after harvest, we’ll be visiting my friend Farrier. His man Lucien trains women of this sort.” The Lady reached around chucking Tani under a breast, sending the globe bouncing. Tani hung her head lower, but stayed very still.

“Mistress, if you’d like to bring … another.” Escott licked his bottom lip. “Then we could make much better time. More than double the quota Tani manages.”

Lady Westwood leaned in close, her lips nearly brushing Tani’s ear. “What do you say to that my bound beauty? You may speak.”

“If it pleases you, Mistress.”

Sophie was surprised at the soft, but rich voice.

The Lady planted a gentle kiss on Tani’s moist cheek. “It does, Tani, it most certainly does.”

Arnaud cleared his throat. “With two, we could have them plow your gardens rather than having it done by the farmhands. Would free them up to help with the harvest.”

The Lady nodded, glancing down once more. “Escott, you seem to have been rather free with the paddle here.” She crouched, and Tani flinched as the Lady’s fingers felt the welts. “This big bottom is rather well-cooked.”

“Yes, Mistress,” Escott said, shrugging. “Sometimes it’s the only thing that works.”

The Lady stood once more, and moved back around Tani. She tucked the crop under her arm, peeling off her riding gloves. “Turn Tani. Stop there.” The woman now faced away from the group and Sophie suppressed a gasp.

The woman had a strong, trim back, cinched cruelly by the broad leather girth around her midsection. Her hindquarters were very well muscled, but still retained soft feminine curves. The bottom half of both cheeks were furnace red, overlaid with darker welts in places. She could see a rivulet of sweat break from the bottom of the girth to meander down a welted cheek. She wondered if it stung the sorely tested flesh. She felt a sudden urge to run her hand over those broad buttocks, soothing the scorched skin.

What was happening to her! She shook her head and looked away.

“Sophie,” Arnaud growled. “Is there something else more interesting to you?”

She shook her head, and turned her gaze reluctantly back to the poor woman.

“Bend over, Tani,” the Lady said. “No. At the waist. Put your hands on your knees.”

Tani turned her head. “But Mistress, the belt—”

“Just do it, girl.” The Lady took her crop in hand, whisking it through the air.

“Yes, Mistress.” Tani bent over, and Sophie could see the stiff belt dig painfully into the firm belly. Tani gasped as the leather creaked.

“That’s better, girl. You know the penalty for questioning me though.”

The crop whistled down, snapping across the center of both proffered cheeks. The flesh bounced, and Tani whimpered, clenching at the smart. The cleft shrank to a thin line, then yawned open, the strong thighs shaking.

“What’s all this trembling? This is a mere tickle compared to what your devoted driver has given you.” The Lady glanced up at Escott, winking.

“I’m sorry, Mistress. It—” Tani swallowed a sob.”—it hurts.”

“As well it should, Tani.” The Lady traced the darkening welt with her fingers. “We can’t let you go soft on us, can we?”

“No, Mistress.”

Escott leaned close to the miserable woman’s ear, his voice a whisper. “What do you say, Tani?”

Sophie could hear the poor woman sniffling. “Th - thank you, Mistress.”

“My pleasure, girl.”

Sophie wanted to look at anything but the abuse of the poor woman, but she felt Arnaud’s hard gaze upon her. Her eyes moved to the pommel on the Lady’s horse. Did the rope look like it had loosened?

“Such cheeks,” the Lady breathed, palming both of Tani’s buttocks, caressing the burning flesh. “I wonder what Lucien would do with these if you were to go up for a term?”

Tani began shaking all over, her thighs working together. “Oh Mistress, please no! I’ll do anything. Please!”

“Tani!” Escott laid a hand on her back. “Be still.”

“Relax, girl.” The Lady stroked a palm over the curve of Tani’s hip. “Your services are too valuable to let you go to the intake. Lucien has more than enough bottoms to ply his trade on as it is.”

Arnaud turned his horse, bringing it over to stand in front of the bent-over Tani. “Farrier says he’s got four women for Lucien’s intake this fall.” His lips turned up at the corners of his mouth.

Tani sighed as the Lady eased the broad buttocks apart, exposing the dusky bottom hole to the sun. “Four is it? Who’s being sent up I wonder?”

Arnaud lifted a hand from the reins. “I believe Lord Galdan’s daughter-in-law is one of them.”

The Lady smiled, shaking her head. “I knew she’d be sent up, eventually. Galdan says she gives his son nothing but fits. She’s been recalcitrant with providing him an heir, as well! Even Galdan’s patience has limits.”

Arnaud shook his head, scowling. Sophie looked away again as the Lady played fingers through the humid cleft of Tani’s buttocks, the nails lightly scratching at the shrinking anus.

The rope was definitely loosening from around the pommel. Her eyes darted to Arnaud then back again. She thought she might just be able to do it. Sophie took a small step toward the Lady’s horse.

“Easy, Tani,” the Lady lilted, her tone soothing. “Just a little something for your troubles now.”

Sophie winced as the Lady’s long-nailed fingers stroked through the dark split of Tani’s sex, her fingers glistening as she spread the moisture up on to the anus.

“Stay still, girl,” Escott murmured, his hand rubbing lazy circles on Tani’s tense back.

“You know.” The tip of the Lady’s finger circled the moisture into the delicate skin of Tani’s anus. “Sandra was rather disapproving of Farrier’s man, Lucien. I still wonder why. I find him delightful.”

“He has that effect on some, Mistress.” Arnaud inclined his head.

“She agreed to accompany us on the trip in the fall. I can’t wait.” The Lady’s finger nosed into the anus and Tani jerked, her hips twisting. “Mm, very tight.”

Sophie gulped, wanting to look away, but her eyes refused to budge from the sight before her.

“Ah, ah! Oh!” Tani panted.

“There girl, push back now. That’s it.” The Lady looked up at Escott. “Never use her here, do you?”

Escott shook his head, his eyes glued to the finger slowly disappearing into Tani.

“No, no, don’t tighten, dove. Bear down.” The Lady’s other hand moved between Tani’s thighs, rubbing the woman’s clit in slow circles. “There we are! Good girl, just let me in now.”

When the Lady’s finger was fully bedded, all the way to the last knuckle, she began a slow twisting.

“Very tight here, Escott. I haven’t the faintest idea why you don’t avail yourself of this luscious ass, but you should at least start using the saddle strap.”

Escott smiled, his eyes sparkling. “Yes, Mistress.”

“Arnaud, you should loan him that nice one with the good stout plug built in.” The Lady craned her head from around a curved hip, her finger still moving within the writhing Tani. “Hop down and give me a hand here, Arnaud. I think we should give Escott some pointers for his next stable block visit with this lass.”

The instant Arnaud’s feet hit the ground, Sophie dashed for the Lady’s horse, careful to avoid treading on the rope. She heard a surprised sound from the Lady, and a curse from Arnaud. Reaching the horse, for a moment she considered trying to hop up in the saddle. She thought better of it, knowing she’d be caught before she even made it up, and instead uncoiled the slack length from the pommel.

She could feel Arnaud close, so she dashed away through the plowed dirt, stumbling in the furrows. She knew the field would help neutralize some of Arnaud’s speed advantage, but not if she went sprawling in the dirt herself.

Chancing a glance behind her, she saw the Lady mount her steed, and Arnaud, for some reason, appeared to have abandoned the chase. Escott, his jaw dropped in surprise, had an arm around Tani’s waist, the woman looking back over her shoulder.

Sophie considered whether to make for the nearest track then back to the road, but decided against it knowing she’d be run down within minutes. She heard the tramp of hooves behind her, but oddly they didn’t seem to be getting closer. She looked back once more, cursing the awkward gait her bound hands forced her into.

Lady Westwood, sitting high in her saddle, was indeed riding after Sophie. Her lips were a thin line, her eyes squinting in the bright sunlight. But rather than taking after Sophie at a gallop, she seemed to be simply walking the horse, unhurried. Even though she staggered through the uneven ground of the thick, plowed soil, Sophie was actually increasing the distance from her pursuer. The long rope dragged behind her as she fled, slowing her down, so she tried gathering it up as she ran.

She scanned wildly around, hoping to find something, some way out. All around her was more farmland, as far as she could see. She saw the occasional figure in the distance, working the land, but knew she’d find no succor with any of them. They’d likely turn her over to the Lady, seeking to curry favor with her. A look behind her showed the Lady still riding after her, in no hurry whatsoever. Sophie, already starting to tire, realized what the Lady already knew: the chase could have only one end.

Still Sophie ran; she had no choice. She’d never go willingly back to that monstrous Lady. Maybe she’d run until her heart burst, and the hell of her captivity would end, her soul free to find her Owen in the next life. But whatever happened, she’d be damned if she was going to cooperate with the “Lady” anymore. She’d never be reduced to a dumb animal as poor Tani had so obviously been.

Glancing behind her again, her heart dropped. The Lady had sped up to a trot and was steadily drawing closer. Worse, the cruel Lady held something up with her hand, a short length of chain with cuffs at each end. Still Sophie ran, cutting across dirt tracks, through soft grooves of furrowed earth, and across fallow fields of cracked, hard soil. Bits of rock were in her shoes, galling the soles of her feet, and the sun beat down upon her pitilessly.

She heard the clop of hooves growing louder, and looked over her shoulder. Arnaud, his horse at full gallop and kicking up great gouts of dust, passed by the Lady. The overseer was high in his saddle, rage in his eyes.

Sophie darted to her right, hoping to use a length of dilapidated sun-bleached fence as an obstacle to the horse. But Arnaud closed the distance before she even reached the fence, the shoulder of the horse barreling into her back with bone-crunching force. She sprawled, bouncing and rolling in the dirt. She rolled over onto her back, wheezing. It felt as if the very breath had been sucked from her lungs, and she felt paralyzed with the effort it took to breathe.

Arnaud was off his horse and crouching by her within moments.

“Can’t … breathe,” Sophie choked out. Her heels dug into the dirt, her whole body tense.

“Knocked the wind out of you did it, bad girl?” Arnaud turned her over, her face pressing into the dirt. “You’ve worse to look forward to Sophie, don’t doubt it. How could you be so stupid?”

The Lady finally reached them, her white steed snorting around his bit. The Lady slipped out of her saddle.

“Here, Arnaud.” The Lady threw the length of chain to the overseer. “Put her in these. Should cure our little runner of her need to explore.”

Sophie’s breath was slowly returning to her, and she coughed, trying to blow some of the dirt from her face. Her lungs ached, and her heart hammered in her chest. She tried to raise herself up, but Arnaud pressed a heavy hand to her back, pushing her back to the ground.

He unbound her wrists, but only for a moment, for he then brought her legs up and tied her ankles together. Then he bound both of her wrists to her struggling feet. She’d seen calves and hogs immobilized in the same way.

“Bastard,” she snarled, spit flying from her lips. “Stop! I don’t deserve this!”

She didn’t care if her struggling got her in worse trouble; she was going to resist, no matter what happened. Maybe if she proved too difficult the Lady would tire of her and send her back to her father. She knew it was a foolish dream, but it was all she had. She had to maintain a glimmer of hope somehow, else she’d fall prey to despair.

Arnaud cuffed her across the cheek, the hot flash of pain stunning her into silence, her ear ringing. She spit at him, but he was crouched too far back for her to hit him with it.

The Lady appeared in her vision, dropping to one knee directly in front of Sophie. The Lady grasped Sophie by the hair, hauling her head up, scalp burning. She stared into Sophie’s eyes a moment, the dancing, malevolent joy in them plain to see. But the hard line of her jaw betrayed the anger there too, just under the surface of her beautiful, cruel face.

“Let — me go,” Sophie grunted. It felt like her hair was being wrenched from her scalp, the pain worsening by the second.

The Lady slapped Sophie’s face, hard. Sophie gasped, grunting at the sting of the blow. She struggling vainly against the grip, and opened her mouth to yell. How she hated the cruel woman!

The Lady slapped her across the other side of her face, even harder this time, the crack ringing out across the empty field and stars bursting behind Sophie’s eyes. She tried to shake her head to clear her vision, but the Lady’s grip held her fast.

“Have you had enough, girl?”

Sophie felt the fist in her hair twist and she screamed at the searing pain. She was sure several strands had ripped from her scalp. “Yes, I’ll stop! Please, no!”

She started crying, ashamed and hating herself at the same time. The pain was what made her cry, but she knew the Lady would think it was from fear. The agony in her scalp was overwhelming, and she wanted to do anything, anything at all, to make it stop.

“Well then,” the Lady said, drawing near until their noses almost touched, her breath warm on Sophie’s tear-stained cheek. “I think it’s time we teach servants what happens to them when they disobey.”