His Captive, His Conquest by Ashe Barker

Chapter Five

Stephen shaded his eyes with his hand and observed the progress in the meadow beyond. Thirty Scots, less the one who currently resided in his chamber, toiled in the field planting cabbages and carrots.

It was too late in the season to restore their grain crops, but Stephen hoped to make up for the loss with fresh vegetables which might be preserved in brine. At a pinch, flour could be milled from acorns. It was not pleasant fare, but the people of Elborne would not starve. And he had not entirely abandoned the notion of seizing grain from Scottish settlements over the border. Some would consider such action to be natural justice, but it did not sit well with Stephen and would be a last resort.

“’Tis slow work, my lord.” Harry Fairclough nudged his own mount up beside Stephen’s stallion. “They make reluctant farmers, these Scots.”

“They are keen enough on their own land, I daresay. The sooner they plant what is required, the sooner they can return to their own villages. And if they do not work, they will not eat. Make sure they appreciate that.”

“Aye, my lord.” Harry urged his horse forward and cantered over to the men supervising the labour to impart his lord’s latest instructions.

The Scots were outnumbered by the English farm workers who laboured beside them. There had been much discontent among the villagers at having to repeat the backbreaking toil, but for the most part they appreciated the necessity. The work had to be done, so they got on with it, though not without letting the forced labourers know what they thought of the entire affair.

It was only the first morning and already skirmishes were frequent. Stephen had had enough of it already and ordered that any English labourer who failed to control his anger would forfeit one tenth of his share of the harvest.

Tempers had cooled, and the cabbages were getting planted. Stephen was satisfied, and he had other matters to address.

He waited for Harry to return, then the pair of them set off at a canter. They were joined by a dozen men-at-arms and embarked upon a routine patrol of the border. The other lowland clans would be well aware of the situation at Elborne, and there were many who would see fit to benefit from the situation by making lightning raids on Elborne lands while they believed the lord to be distracted with his ruined harvest. Stephen meant to disabuse them of any such notions.

It was late afternoon by the time they returned to Elborne, having dealt with three opportunist reiving parties, all from the Fenwick clan, who had mounted wildcat attacks on outlying farms. The Scots had lost several men, but Stephen’s soldiers had all returned safely.

He was well pleased with his day’s work, especially when he paused to assess the progress made in the fields surrounding his keep.

Three weeks. A month at most.

Then he would release his captives and send them scurrying back over the border.

Stephen made his way across his hall in the direction of the stairs, beckoning to his squire to follow. The lad was a younger son from the Percy family, sent to Elborne to train as a knight under Stephen’s guidance. His duties included care of his lord’s armour and assisting the marquis in and out of it. Stephen entered his chamber, the youth close on his heels.

If young William Percy was surprised to see a naked Scottish female ensconced upon a pallet in the corner of his lord’s private apartments, he did not see fit to remark upon it. Flora, on the other hand, was more vocal.

“Where have you been the entire day, English? Is it your intention to starve me to death or have me expire from the cold?”

“Ah, the fire has gone out, I see. William, if you would be so kind…?” It was the middle of summer, and even though they were at the northernmost extreme of the realm, Stephen did not consider the weather to be unduly inclement.

The lad set to restoring the fire, and soon a cheery blaze crackled in the hearth. Meanwhile, Stephen stepped out into upper corridor and summoned a passing serving wench whom he instructed to bring food from the kitchens. He returned to be greeted by his captive’s furious scowl from beneath her blanket.

Ah, well, another lesson in appropriate manners seems to be called for…

But first, he needed to be out of his heavy armour, and he would not be averse to a pleasant bath. He would usually require William’s assistance for this but determined upon another course. Discipline came in a variety of forms, after all.

He stood motionless, his arms at right angles while William rushed about unfastening buckles and loosening straps, then the lad lifted the breastplate, cauldrons, faulds, and gauntlets from his body. The youth set each piece down with care, ready to be polished.

Flora glowered at Stephen throughout the proceedings and did not even appear particularly mollified by the arrival of a platter bearing a generous slice of meat pie and some boiled cabbage. She ate her meal while young William assisted his lord in the removal of his cuisses and sabatons.

Clad now in just his undershirt and trousers, Stephen ambled over to where Flora dusted the few remaining crumbs from her fingers. He had opted to restrict her to the vicinity of her pallet by means of a simple rope about her ankle, though her wrists also remained bound. He dropped to his haunches to untie the rope and allow her the freedom to move about the chamber but decided against freeing her hands just yet. He considered his next move and opted for a simple approach.

“William, would you have a tub brought in and warm bathwater carried up from the kitchens, if you please?”

“Of course, my lord.” The lad hurried off to make the necessary arrangements, to return a few minutes later dragging a large, oval-shaped tub. He set it before the fire, then went to hold the door open as a succession of servants trooped through, each bearing two buckets of steaming water which they emptied into the tub.

It took the servants several minutes to fill it but eventually the work was completed.

“Leave three or four full buckets close by, then you may all leave.”

The servants filed out, but William remained. He flung open a chest set against a wall and withdrew a pile of linens which would serve as towels, and a piece of soap wrapped in a cloth.

“You may leave those and go about your other duties, William.” Stephen had been lounging against the wall, his arms folded, observing the coming and going, but now he drew his undershirt off over his head. He handed the garment to the squire. “Take this, too, and have it laundered.”

“My lord? Do you not require me to…?”

“Not on this occasion, thank you. I have other assistance at my disposal.” He sent a sardonic smirk Flora’s way and was gratified at the flush he observed suddenly engulfing her astonished features.

The youth departed with the shirt and closed the door behind him. Stephen took the precaution of locking it before unfastening his trousers.

“No, You cannot… Oh. Oh!”

The shriek of panic from the pallet ended in a gasp. Unconcerned, Stephen kicked his trousers off and, completely naked now, sauntered over to the tub.

“You may cease cowering over there. Come here and assist me at my bath.”

“I will not, sir!” She closed her eyes and turned her face away for good measure.

“If I am obliged to come and get you, we will start the proceedings with you upturned over my lap and your bottom as red as your face.”

“It is… it is not seemly for an unmarried woman to perform such a task,” she protested. “I shall remain here, and I will not look, I promise.”

He chuckled. “I hope you will look, Flora, since I prefer you to be able to see what you are doing. Stop wasting my time since you surely know by now how that will end. I require your assistance, and I require it now.”

She arranged her previously belligerent expression into something more contrite. “Please, do not make me do this.”

“We have not known each other very long, girl, but in our admittedly short acquaintance, have you ever known me issue you with an instruction I did not mean to have you carry out?”

“No, but—”

“Come here. Now.” His tone hardened. He would brook no further debate on this matter. “My palm is twitching already, wench.”

That last was sufficient to winkle her out of her nest and bring her scurrying to stand before him, still draped in her precious blanket.

“Put the blanket back on your bed. You would not wish to get it wet, after all.”

She obeyed him, this time without argument, and returned as naked as he was. Her gaze remained fixed on some point in the vicinity of his left ear.

“Never let it be said that I am not a gentleman. Would you like to take the first bath, Flora?”

She shook her head. “I do not require a bath, my lord.”

“Perhaps not, but you might enjoy it.”

“No, I would not.”

He shrugged. “As you prefer.”

Stephen bent to check the temperature of the water, found it to be suitable, then stepped into the tub and sank down into the gentle heat. He leaned back and sighed. A warm bath at the end of a trying day was one of his greatest pleasures. He suspected this one would be even more enjoyable than usual.

“Use the cloth wrapped around the soap to work up a lather. You may start on my back.”

“Y-your back?” she squeaked.

“Yes. My back. And be quick before the water cools.”

If he had ever been attended by a more reluctant bathing assistant, he could not call the occasion to mind. But, she obeyed, which suggested to him that he was making progress. His little Scot clearly preferred not to earn herself another spanking, at least, not quite yet.

She set to washing his shoulders, then ventured lower, as far as his waist. She was obliged to reach below the water to complete the task and had to replenish the soap regularly.

“There. You are clean.” She held out the soap and flannel for him to take.

Stephen ignored her offering. “Well, my back is, I daresay. You may do the rest now.” He lifted one leg out of the water. “You can start there.”

She clenched her jaw and regarded his limb with all the enthusiasm she might summon up for a sea serpent emerging from the waves to devour her whole. But she did as she was told.

And, he decided, she made a fetching sight, her breasts bared for his view and her delicate fingers caressing first his foot, then his calf, then his knee, and finally his thigh. Her hips were rounded and delightfully plump, tapering to a slender waist. Her buttocks still bore the marks he put there last night, though the redness was fading somewhat since he last took note, when she had crossed the chamber that morning to use the privy.

He patted her rump, and she spun around with a squeal. “Do not touch me. You said that you would not…”

He grinned at her. “What I actually said, you might recall, is that I would not take your virginity by force, and I will not. But I said nothing about looking, about touching. Nor, indeed, about giving you pleasure as I did this morning.”

“You did not give me pleasure. You terrified me, and threatened me, and… and…”

“You tasted your wetness for yourself, Flora. I saw it. I felt it. You may lie to yourself, but do not lie to me.”

She gnawed on her lower lip, and he thought he detected the first hint of more tears.

“Soon, we shall establish the truth of the matter. Meanwhile, you have work to finish.” He lifted his other leg for her ministrations.

Flora sighed and applied the soapy flannel to his foot. She took her time, but even she could not make the task last forever.

“You have almost finished,” he prompted her when she sat back on her haunches and stared gloomily at his chest.

“Surely, you can do that part for yourself, my lord.”

“I could, yes, but I do not choose to when I have you here to do it for me.”

“Please…”

“Do not worry, little Scot. I do not bite, which is more than can be said for you.”

He regretted the jibe the moment he uttered it. Her expression crumpled, and she buried her face in her hands.

“You beat me for it,” she gulped, “and I apologised. You said you accepted my apology. I thought it was over with.”

He reached for her, cupped the back of her head in his hand, and drew her closer. “It is over.”

“Then, why do you not forgive me? Why do you constantly threaten me and punish me? I just—”

“I am sorry, Flora. It was a jest, but a misplaced one. I did not mean to upset you.”

“Then, why am I here?” she wailed, tears streaming across her cheeks. “Why did you not send me back to the barn after… after…?”

“I told you. I enjoy your company.”

“You enjoy tormenting me. Frightening me. Humiliating me.”

He supposed that was true.

“But I will not harm you,” he reminded her, his tone gentle now. It was little enough by way of reassurance but would have to suffice.

“I want to go home.”

“And so you shall. I mean to release your people when they have finished putting right what was ruined. You will go with them.”

“Wh-when? When will that be?”

“A few weeks, I expect.”

“Weeks?” she squealed. “You cannot mean to imprison me in here for weeks.”

He shrugged. “Then, do not think of it as imprisonment. Think of it as… a respite. You will be fed, very well, in fact. You will have plenty of opportunity to rest and to… to…”

“I shall be bored to death. Can you imagine how it feels, to be secured in one spot for hours on end, with nothing to do but stare at the walls or sleep?”

In truth, he could not. He could not recall any period of idleness in his own life. There was always a battle to fight, an enemy to subdue, a castle to protect.

“Well, you have something to occupy you right now. You have yet to complete my bath.”

“I shall not wash your… your…”

He waited, one eyebrow raised. “My what, Flora?”

“Your… man’s parts,” she finally concluded.

“Ah, you mean my cock. And my ballocks.”

She flushed scarlet. “Yes. Those.”

His hand still cupped the back of her head. He pulled her closer, then smiled. “I think you will, little Scot, since I have instructed you to do it and you have come to appreciate the wisdom of obedience, have you not?”

She met and held his gaze. He detected fear, and resentment in her mossy eyes, but something else, too. Resolve, perhaps? And… yes, he was sure of it. Curiosity.

“There is only you and me here, Flora. What happens between us is private, no one else’s concern.”

“Nothing will happen,” she insisted. “Nothing…”

“It is already happening, little Scot.” He drew her closer still, close enough that her breath fluttered against his face. “This is happening.”

He brushed his lips over hers. It was a chaste kiss, if it could even be so described, the merest whisper of a caress. Her mouth was still damp from her tears, he tasted the salt, paused to lick the tang away, then slanted his mouth across hers once more.

She was rigid at first, her body stiff, resistant, fighting him. Then, she softened. Her lips parted. She let out a small sigh and lifted her bound hands to cup his chin.

Stephen drew back. Their eyes met again, and he smiled at her. He suspected he might be almost as confused as she was.

“You are a beautiful woman, my Flora, though I imagine you have been told that many times.”

She shook her head. “No. I am just…”

He kissed her forehead. “Trust me, Flora, on this if nothing else. And now we have established that, shall we finish our task?”

She had managed to drop the flannel at some point, so Stephen fished it out of the bathwater and handed it back to her. She took it, rubbed it on the soap, and began to wash his torso.

Her hands were gentle, tentative, but she was thorough. Every plane and contour of his chest was carefully soaped, then rinsed. She would gather water in the flannel, then squeeze it over his skin, and watch as the rivulets flowed back into the tub.

She reached his waist, the limit of what was concealed beneath the surface of the water, and stopped.

“I cannot go any further. The water…”

“Continue, Flora,” he growled. Please…

She trapped her lower lip between her teeth, hesitated for several moments, then reached beneath the surface.

His cock lurched to attention when she wrapped the flannel around it and started to slowly move it up and down.

Dear, sweet Jesu…He clenched his fists and fought for control.

“Is this all right? Am I doing it correctly?”

“Oh, yes, Flora. Perfectly all right…” Has she no idea?

He closed his eyes and let his head drop backwards to rest on the rim of the tub.

Flora continued her task, slowly but surely bringing him towards ecstasy. When she would have reached lower to cup his balls, he grasped her wrist.

“Enough. I believe I am clean, now.”

“Oh. I see. Shall I pass you a towel?” She peered at him, her head tilted to one side, the very picture of innocence, but he was convinced he detected a gleam of satisfaction in her emerald gaze. The wench was taunting him.

Had he not given his word, she would already be on her back screaming his name whilst he ploughed inside her. But he had promised, and, fuck, but he had brought this upon himself.

“Yes,” he managed to grind out. “A towel…”