His Captive, His Conquest by Ashe Barker

Chapter Four

Should I speak to her? Offer words of comfort, perhaps?

Stephen had been awakened by the unmistakeable sound of muffled weeping. He shoved himself up on one elbow and peered through the predawn gloom towards the corner where his unhappy captive lay.

She had drawn the blanket up around her. Only the top of her head was visible. She was scared, of course, and probably very sore as well. No doubt she felt she had plenty to cry about, and he supposed she was right.

“Flora?”

The sounds ceased at once.

“Are you all right, little Scot?”

No reply.

“I know that you are awake, Flora.”

At last, she answered him. “I am quite all right. Thank you.”

“Are you warm enough?”

“Quite warm enough,” she sniffled. “Go back to sleep.”

“That is difficult, with you sobbing over in the corner.”

“Well, whose fault is that?” came the grumpy retort. “I would be perfectly happy not to disturb you further, my lord. You need only permit me to return to my people.”

“That will not happen, Flora.” He sat up properly. The very first pale fingers of light were already piercing the darkness. It would be dawn in a short while. Stephen sighed and swung his legs out of the bed. Since he was awake, he might as well get an early start on the day. It was not as though he lacked for things to do.

He reached for his trousers and dragged them on, then he lit a lamp. Next, he ambled across to the hearth where the last embers still flickered. He threw a couple of logs into the glowing ashes, then bent to hold out his hands to soak up the warmth as the fire crackled into life.

“Work to replant our maize and barley begins at first light. I shall need to go and rouse your people and set them to the ploughing and sowing. I doubt they will bless me for my trouble. You may consider yourself fortunate to be allowed to remain in your bed.”

“I could work, too,” she protested from beneath her blanket.

“I doubt that, after your experiences of last night. Best that you rest and recover. I shall have food brought to you. Do you need to visit the privy before I go?”

Her gasp of outrage would have been comical, but he knew she would soon regret her misplaced modesty.

“Flora, I may be gone for hours, and no one else will untie you. Unless you mean to soil your own bed, I suggest you take advantage of my generous offer while it remains open to you.”

She emerged from beneath the blanket, her hair a glorious tangle of russet curls in the dim lamplight. Her eyes were red rimmed from her weeping. “You are heartless, my lord English. I hate you.”

“So you have said. Am I to assume by your decision to emerge from your cocoon that you do, after all, require a few moments in which to conduct your ablutions?”

She held up her bound wrists. “Will you at least release me for that?”

He went to crouch beside her, again choosing to ignore her obvious discomfiture at his bare chest. He would keep his word regarding not forcing himself upon her, but that did not mean he intended to pander to her modesty whilst she remained his captive. She would become accustomed to seeing him in a state of undress, just as she would learn to accept her own nakedness in his presence.

Her lessons in that regard would continue at once.

“Your hands will remain bound, but you may move freely about the chamber, though for a few minutes only, so do not waste them.” He loosened the rope from the ring set into the wall. “There is a bucket at the end of my bed which you may use.”

“Am I to have no privacy?”

He merely grinned and straightened, then offered her his hand to assist her in getting to her feet. “I suggest you get on with it, Flora. I have scant time to waste.”

Her attempts to keep hold of her blanket as she rose were doomed from the outset. Moments later, she stood naked before him, covering her breasts with her hands as best she might. Stephen tilted his chin in the direction of the bucket, then returned to his own preparations for the day.

To his credit, at least in his own opinion, he did not watch her while she set about the necessary tasks. By the time he had donned his undershirt and tunic and pulled on his boots, she was attempting to wash her hands and face in the bowl of fresh water provided for that purpose. He let her finish, then flung her a dry flannel.

“Are you quite done, now?”

She dried her hands and patted her face with the cloth. “Yes, I believe so.”

“Then, you may thank me for my consideration regarding your needs.”

Her response was a distinctly unladylike but, he thought, a thoroughly Scottish, snort. She set off back to her nest on the floor.

“I believe the words you were looking for were ‘thank you, my lord’.”

She slanted him a fulminating glare. “Go to hell, English.”

“Flora, stop.” He did not raise his voice, but his tone brooked no argument. He had brought many a hardened soldier to heel with it, and this fiery little Scot proved to be no exception.

She halted in her tracks. “Yes? What now?”

He raised one eyebrow. “I had hoped you might have benefitted rather more from my attentions of yesterday, but I see your manners remain sorely lacking.” He remained where he was, seated on the edge of the bed and beckoned to her. “Come here, Flora.”

“Why?” She tilted her head up but could not conceal the expression of alarm which fluttered across her delicate features. “Wh-what do you mean to do?”

“I mean to continue your education. Come. Here.”

She moved slowly towards him. “Not the birch again…”

He shook his head. “No, not on this occasion. This morning, you will practice a little humility.”

“I am sorry,” she began. “I did not intend…”

“I do not consider ‘go to hell, English’ to be in any way ambiguous. It is clear what you intended.”

She stood before him, biting back yet more tears.

“Kneel,” he commanded.

“I beg your pardon.”

“I said, kneel. Get on your knees. Now.”

“Why would I kneel to you?”

His smile was cold. “Because I have told you to, and you are about to learn the merits of obedience.”

“I… I…”

“Do as I say, Flora, or be prepared to accept the consequences.” Her had not specified what those consequences might be and had no intention of doing so since her own imagination was likely to be far more severe than anything he might decide upon.

He watched with interest as her emerald-green eyes darkened. A myriad of emotions and fears were writ plain upon her face as she succumbed to the inevitable and sank to her knees.

“That is better, though I trust you will accomplish it more speedily next time I instruct you to kneel. In the future, if I command it, you will assume this position, here, at the foot of my bed, and await my further instructions. Is that perfectly clear?”

“Yes,” she muttered.

“Louder, and with a degree of conviction, if you please.”

“Yes, my lord. Perfectly clear.”

“Look at me, Flora.”

Her gaze had been on his boots, but now she lifted her chin. Her mossy eyes were glistening, but she managed not to break down. Yet.

“Spread your knees apart, girl.”

She blanched and opened her mouth to protest, then clearly thought better of it. Her knees parted, though not by much.

“Wider.”

She obeyed, though with obvious reluctance. No matter, she had done as he had instructed.

Stephen leaned forward. “Good girl. Now, open your mouth.”

Her brow furrowed, but again, she did as she was told. Progress, indeed.

Stephen placed the tip of his middle finger between her lips. “Do not even think of biting me, girl, or you will regret it so bitterly you cannot even imagine.” He pressed further in, only withdrawing when she started to gag. “Well done. You see, it is easy to obey, if you try. And far less unpleasant than the alternative.”

He lowered his moistened hand and placed it upon the triangle of bright-copper curls at the apex of her thighs. “Do not move, Flora.”

“Please,” she mouthed. “Please, do not…”

He slid his hand between her folds, taking care to ensure that the finger already slick with moisture from her mouth stroked the delicate lips protecting her entrance.

“Do not hurt me. Please, not in that way…”

He met her gaze, recognised the terror in her eyes, and paused. “Am I hurting you now?”

“N-no, my lord.”

“If I do hurt you, you will tell me, and I shall cease at once. Yes?”

“Y-yes,” she whispered.

He traced the entrance to her channel, then eased his hand back a little in order to seek out the tiny pleasure nubbin which nestled between her folds. Her slight gasp let him know when he found it, and he slowly circled it with his dampened finger.

She might be afraid, but there could be no mistaking the tell-tale wetness gathering between her thighs. Had there been no sign of arousal he would not have pursued the point, but the evidence was plain enough. He continued to stroke and caress the soft lips until she closed her eyes and began to sway.

“Am I hurting you yet, Flora?”

“No, my lord.” She ran the tip of her tongue across her lower lip, then the upper.

Her pleasure nub had swelled under his touch and was now peeping out from between her folds. He could see it from where he sat, plump and needy and seeking more of his attention.

He pulled his hand away and waited until she opened her eyes again. This time, her expression was one of confusion and… yes, frustrated desire.

“Open your mouth again, Flora.”

She obeyed him readily enough.

He lifted his hand, now soaked in her juices. “Lick.”

“My lord?”

“Lick,” he repeated. “Taste yourself on my fingers and remember that I can bring you pleasure as well as pain. Obedience earns you pleasure. You will want to obey, will you not?”

“I…”

He lowered his voice. “Lick my fingers, girl.”

It was all Stephen could do not to groan out loud when she curled her little tongue around his middle finger and lapped her essence from his skin. Her eyes were closed, and she grasped his wrist with her still-bound hands to hold him steady as she worked. Eventually, she raised her gaze to meet his eyes once more.

“Good girl,” he told her again. “You may return to your bed, now.”

* * *

“Where is the girl?”

Stephen looked up from his bowl of porridge to find Lady Katherine seated opposite him. He bade her a good morning before returning his attention to breaking his fast.

“Sir Stephen. I insist that you tell me where she is and what you have done to her. Must I go to your chamber to find out for myself?”

Stephen liked Lady Katherine Bramwell. He liked her very much, though he had not yet chosen to speak to her of marriage. The king’s wishes, however, were never far from his mind. He supposed that one day, they would wed, but he did not find himself especially excited at the prospect. Thus far, he held the strong suspicion she felt much the same way. They had become friends, but neither aspired to more. By mutual but unspoken consent, they shared this keep and rubbed along very nicely. His role was to defend it against attacks from north of the border, and hers was to manage the household. They both performed their duties exceptionally well. It was an excellent arrangement in Stephen’s opinion, and Katherine seemed perfectly content also.

But it would seem, not this morning. Katherine was, by and large, a convivial companion, though she seemed unusually exercised as she confronted him across his breakfast table.

Stephen paused, his spoon halfway to his mouth. “I assume you are referring to Flora.”

“Is that her name? The Scottish captive you carried off to your chamber last evening? The girl did not look to be more than eighteen or so summers.”

He supposed that would be about right, though he had not enquired as to the girl’s age. Stephen shrugged by way of a response and took another spoonful of his porridge.

“Have you… hurt her? I insist upon knowing what has become of that child. I had never considered you to be a man who might… who might take advantage in such a vile manner, but I really must—”

“Katherine. In the name of all that is holy, be quiet.” He had much to deal with this morning and really did not need this.

She paused, but the respite was fleeting. “I shall not be quiet. I will not stand for such… such brutality. My brother would never have contemplated such an outrage. It makes us no better than animals. The Scots may be savages, but we are not, sir. I really must insist—”

This time he silenced the tirade by fixing Lady Katherine with a glare. “The girl is unhurt, and will remain that way, unless you consider a birching to count in such a matter. You will agree, I hope, that she did earn herself that, at least.”

“I am aware that she bit you, and I would not expect such an act to go unpunished,” Katherine conceded.

“Then, we are in agreement, my lady. And now, if you will excuse me, there is the matter of our crops to attend to.” He set aside his bowl and got to his feet. “I am sure that you, too, have much to occupy you.”

“You will not object, I trust, if I were to visit the girl myself.”

Her paused. “Why would you do that, Lady Katherine?”

She rose also. “You may be lord here, but until you marry, I am still lady of this keep. A lone female under this roof is my concern.”

He narrowed his eyes but could not entirely fault her reasoning. And perhaps the girl would welcome some female companionship, though he did not imagine Lady Katherine would offer much by way of comfort. She harboured no love of the Scots, especially since her brother’s untimely end.

“Very well. She will doubtless be hungry and in need of her breakfast so you may take it to her if you wish. But you are not to torment her in any way.”

“Torment her?” Lady Katherine scowled at him, an expression he rarely observed upon her usually pleasant features. “That is not my intention at all.”

“I am glad to hear it since that is my privilege alone. The door is locked, but you will doubtless have a key.” Lady Katherine possessed keys to every lock in Elborne, as far as he could ascertain. “And the wench is bound. You are not to release her.”

Lady Katherine bowed her head. “As you wish, my lord.”

* * *

Flora peeped out at the sound of the key turning in the lock. She expected to see the marquis, but instead was confronted by a slender, dark-haired woman. Her visitor was clearly of noble birth since her gown was of fine velvet and her face was framed by a fashionable hood of the type Flora knew was worn at both the Scottish and English courts. Her own visits to Holyrood Palace in Edinburgh had been infrequent of late, since her father claimed that she was needed at home and could not be spared for gallivanting about the country, but she could not be accused of failing to observe the fashions there.

Flora did not at first recognise the woman, but as soon as she spoke, the memory of last evening rushed back.

“I am Lady Katherine Bramwell,” the woman announced. “You may recall that we met briefly last night, when you… arrived. My brother was the late marquis, Sir John Bramwell.”

Flora nodded. She remembered the diminutive woman who had confronted the marquis at the foot of the stairs. Lady Katherine’s intervention had availed her nothing, but she had, at least, tried. Flora was also aware of the death of the previous marquis in a skirmish with the Fenwick clan. There had been a raid on Elborne land, some sheep had been stolen, and the marquis had given chase with just a handful of men. They had been ambushed close to Kelso Abbey when the fleeing Scots had turned on their pursuers. The ensuing fight was short but decisive.

Flora remembered her father’s fury when he learned of the events, fearing that the wrath of the English would descend upon all the border clans. That had not happened, but the arrival of Sir Stephen to assume the vacant title was, in Flora’s opinion, the next worst thing.

“I heard of your brother’s death. I am sorry for your loss, my lady.” Not entirely empty words.

“Thank you.” The lady entered the chamber. “Sir Stephen thought that you might be hungry. I brought you some food.” Lady Katherine signalled to a servant hovering behind her in the doorway. “Set the tray down over there.”

The girl rushed past her mistress to deposit a platter bearing a mug of buttermilk, an apple, a lump of cheese, and some bread, though not of the superior quality Flora had enjoyed last night since this morning’s offering was made from the darker, rye flour usually eaten by the poorer classes. Clearly, Lady Katherine did not consider her ‘guest’ worthy of the best fare. Still, it was wholesome and would fill her belly.

“Thank you, my lady.” Flora gathered her blanket about her shoulders and knelt up. “I wonder, could you set the tray a little closer, please?”

“Of course.” The servant had scuttled off, so Lady Katherine picked up the platter herself and set it upon the floor beside Flora. “I am aware that Sir Stephen punished you for your misdemeanour yesterday.”

Flora hesitated as she reached for the apple. “He did, my lady…”

The lady eyed her with an appraising and not unsympathetic look. “You appear not to be unduly incapacitated by the treatment you have received.”

“No, my lady.”

“But still, you will be sore.”

“A little,” Flora lied. In truth, her backside throbbed like the very devil, and she did not expect to sit in comfort for days, if not weeks.

Lady Katherine perched on a settle closed to Flora’s pallet and produced a small jar from her pocket. “This is a salve which I generally find helpful in relieving discomfort. It is especially efficacious in soothing bruised skin. I wondered if, perhaps, you might like to make use of it.”

“Thank you, my lady.” Flora took the remedy and removed the lid to inhale the aroma. She detected oatmeal, and raw apples, along with other herbs she did not recognise.

“Would you like me to assist you in applying it?” Lady Katherine offered, though not, in Flora’s opinion, with a great deal of enthusiasm.

“No, thank you. I shall manage for myself, I think. Later, when I have eaten.”

“Very well. I trust you have sustained no other… harm whilst here. Sir Stephen assures me that you have not.”

Flora took a bite of the apple, then paused to chew it. “You do not believe him?” she observed.

Lady Katherine bowed her head. “I do, since I have no cause not to, but I would hear it from you.”

Might this English lady prove to be an ally after all? Perhaps Lady Katherine could be prevailed upon to assist in her escape, if Flora could but convince her of the necessity of it. “He has not harmed me, yet, but I fear…”

“He has promised that he will not, and his word can be trusted. You need not fear on that score, Flora.”

Flora swallowed her disappointment and tried a different approach. “In that case, do you know what he does mean to do with me, my lady? Why is he holding me here?”

“Alas, he has not confided that to me. I suggest that you ask him. And if you manage to obtain an answer, pray share it with me.” The woman rose and straightened the velvet of her gown. “I must go. Please, enjoy your breakfast, and if you require anything else just call out. A servant will likely be within earshot and bring word to me.”

“Thank you, Lady Katherine. Oh, there is one more thing before you leave…”

“What is that, Flora?”

“Would you bring the privy bucket closer to my pallet? I fear I may have need of it again before the marquis returns.”