Dr Casswell's Plaything (25 page)

Sarah picked up her briefcase and dropped her shorthand pad inside. ‘I could do it when we get home. Usher and the farmer’s boys, and what happens when Beatrice gets back to the castle.’

A slow smile crept onto Casswell’s face. ‘My dear girl, why didn’t I think of that before? It’s so simple, and they won’t know how it all ends.’

Sarah smiled, feeling pleased with herself, as Casswell reached out and gently touched her cheek. ‘Now, before we leave I want to take a quick look at the abbot’s treasures, and then we’ll go. This time tomorrow we could be back at Casswell Hall.’

Sarah stretched, feeling better already, and looked across at the crate that contained the section of pillar Mustafa had presented Casswell with, as a ‘gift’. ‘Are they going to have that shipped back for you?’ she asked.

‘Don’t worry,’ Casswell said, seeing what she was looking at. ‘I’ve already arranged to have it taken to the airport. Chang will sort it.’

She glanced towards the chest. ‘Interesting?’ she asked.

He nodded. ‘Oh yes, there are some amazing things in here, and most of it is far too good for that heathen Mustafa, and his tin pot museum.’

Sarah looked at him affectionately; she knew how passionate Casswell was about his precious research. ‘You said you could help him get it translated,’ she reminded him.

‘Indeed I did, Sarah,’ Casswell agreed. ‘Come on, it’s time we went back to the Weissmans.’

‘But I thought,’ she indicated the trunk, ‘I thought you were going to look at the papers.’

Casswell smiled. ‘Don’t worry, there is all the time in the world,’ he told her.

Was this some spiritual reflection on the nature of time, Sarah wondered, or did it mean they would have to come back to Turkey in the future? She hoped with all her heart that he had not meant the latter.

The following afternoon, Sarah relaxed in the sumptuous surroundings of first class with a glass of chilled champagne and the final pages of Beatrice de Fleur’s diary, and it seemed that Sarah was not the only one going home.

…We are close now to the castle. Usher’s groom says perhaps a day, two at the most before we reach the borders of my master’s land. But all is not well and I am afraid that we may be forced to turn back. There is a sickness in the air, a fever that has laid low half the population, it seems. Lord Usher is determined to go on with our journey, as it appears that the worst of it has passed, but his serving men are less certain and are more eager to turn for home.

I am torn, but for different reasons. I want nothing more than to see the man who was my love and my lord, but as the miles unfold I fear more and more what my fate will be once we arrive. Even the prospect of sickness does nothing to shake those fears and doubts and wonderings. If the Lady Cassandra sees me, what will become of me? This time I fear her fury, this time there will be no return to the convent – and if my master sees me first will he be strong enough to save me from her wraith? Will he even remember me? The miles only compound my fears.

At last, as night fell, we came upon an inn that I recognised. It can surely be no more than half a day from the castle walls.

And it is here that my worst fears fill me. As we are shown to the stables Usher talks to the lad who works there. Mentioning that we are come for the wedding feast at the castle, the boy grows pale. It seems that even those folk up at the castle have not been spared the rigours of the fever.

He beckons Usher closer, and I push my way through the horses and his entourage, too anxious, too fearful to worry about whatever punishment Usher might see fit to mete out for impudence.

The marriage of the lord of the manor, which should have been a time of joy, is a time of gloom and tragedy, and glancing nervously over one shoulder to make sure that none were listening save Usher and I, he says in a whisper, ‘There is those as feels it is a terrible omen for the match. His betrothed, she is not well liked, folk say she is in league with dark forces.’

‘What of the lord of the manor?’ I asked. ‘What of his lordship?’ Usher casts me such a glance, I know only too well that I am overstepping the mark and yet can do nothing but beg for news of my beloved.

The boy shrugged. ‘I cannot tell you, people have stayed close to home over the last few weeks and had to deal with their own tragedy. They have no news of events up at the castle.’

As night falls Usher summons me to his chamber. He was sitting before the fire in a tub of hot water. His face is pale and drawn, both I believe with anger at my forwardness in the inn yard, but surely too for fear of the fate of his old friend.

He had his manservant pour me a glass of wine and indicated the fine four-poster bed that graced one corner of the room. But there was something more; laid out upon it was a fine red dress, and a corset of the finest black silk, boned and laced, beside high boots and a long black hooded brocade cloak.

I looked across at him, uncertain.

‘I had thought to give you this as a gift, pretty trinkets to wear when we ride into the castle tomorrow, something to make that bitch Cassandra sit up and take notice and make your master realise what a fool he was, but now I have no idea what awaits us.’ He looked up at me, and for an instant our eyes met and we both knew the words that went unspoken.

I slipped out of my robe and knelt beside the wooden tub, soaping my hands and working them over his muscular frame. For all my nights and days in his company I had never seen Usher totally naked before, his body is much scarred with the mark of the blade – a warrior and a soldier – as was my lord. I felt sobs press up into my throat and then remembered my place there; a willing slave to a strong and superior master. I lowered my gaze and set about the task of bathing him.

As my hands slipped down over his broad shoulders he pulled me to him, a wave of water splashing out onto the wooden floor.

His face was an unreadable mask. ‘And if tomorrow, girl, there is no home for you, for whatever reason, then you will come back with me. Do you understand?’

I nodded, there were no words to describe the feelings his promise evoked in me. But before I had time to order my thoughts he caught hold of my hair and kissed me hard, making me cry out, more water splashing over me.

Wet now, my hair dripping, Usher nodded to his serving man, who picked me up bodily and set me in the tub alongside him. It was the most pleasant of sensations. The water was warm and soft with soap and between them they began to wash me, hands exploring my sex, my breasts, and the curve of my hips and bottom.

The feel of the water between us added something more to their dark game. T’was no time at all before the manservant slipped off his clothes and stepped in the tub alongside me. I turned to soap his muscular thighs, my mouth and lips seeking his pendulous cock and heavy balls, fingers closed tight around his manhood as Usher pressed his hand between my thighs. I groaned and felt him kneeling, seeking entry, and with a hand between my legs I helped to guide his throbbing shaft home into my wet and eager quim.

It seems that in that moment, held between them, caught up in their desire, I forgot what lay ahead of us. There was a certain wildness in the air, and when they were spent, wet and dripping suds the two men carried me to the great bed and continued to take me between them with tongue and fingers and cocks and I, lost in the place of lust and hunger, satisfied the two of them as best I could with quim and mouth and hand. It was almost day afore we finally slept, a tangle of limbs slick with sweat and the heady perfume of mating…

‘Not finished your champagne yet?’ Casswell looked at Sarah, and she realised she had barely touched the glass she was cradling.

Casswell pulled the jacket she had been wearing over her lap, and slid his fingers up over her thigh. Sarah knew better than to resist; she was aroused and she could not help but gasp as his hands slipped under her skirt and a thumb brushed her clitoris. She saw the man in the seat over the aisle was watching them keenly. Casswell, it seemed, knew too, and pushing her jacket and skirt up a little higher, prised her thighs apart so the stranger could just glimpse the soft pinkness of her sex.

Sarah moaned; Casswell’s touch set her alight, and knowing they were being watched added another dimension to it. His caress began to find a rhythm, and he resisted her efforts to slide a hand onto his crotch.

But just as she began to relax and lift her hips in time to his fingers, he smiled and cruelly moved away. ‘I’m just going back to check on Chang,’ he informed her.

Sarah stared at him, bemused and frustrated. Casswell got to his feet, and whispered in his most convivial tone to their eager observer, ‘Would you like to keep my seat warm for a while?’

The man’s eyes widened, but he needed no second invitation. As he stepped across the aisle he brought with him a travelling rug, and settling into the seat next to Sarah, draped it over both his lap and hers.

Then, wasting not a second, he feverishly tugged her skirt even higher so that she was totally exposed to his touch, and began to stroke the rise of her mound, gently toying with her sex lips. With his other hand he guided her fingers beneath the blanket to his tented groin, used them to unzip his fly, and wrapped them around his throbbing cock.

He began to explore her, tentatively at first, stroking the delicately moist flesh between her thighs, dipping in and out of her, seeking the hardening ridge of her clitoris. He was eager and totally focused on exploring her, and despite her chagrin, she gasped softly as her excitement began to mount. His hand guided hers, working with her up and down his pulsing shaft, as if there was some chance she might forget that he wanted to enjoy a little pleasure too.

Sarah worked diligently on the stranger’s cock, knowing Casswell would expect nothing less from her, one hand pumping his foreskin up and down, holding it tight in her fist, while with her other she burrowed into his open trousers and underwear for his heavy balls. He hissed, fighting to suppress any outward display of the pleasure he was experiencing so as not to alert anyone, but clearly delighted by her skilled touch and not quite able to believe his incredible luck.

Sarah saw Casswell return, take the stranger’s seat and, selecting the in-flight magazine, begin to read, his apparent indifference somehow intensifying her shame. Beneath her fingertips she felt the man’s scrotum tighten, felt the surge and spasm of his orgasm, felt his sticky seed seep down over her hands, and at the same instant was astonished to find herself coming with him, grinding her hips against his fingers, gasping and breathless.

The two of them sat quietly for a few minutes, then the man took a white linen handkerchief from his jacket pocket, slipped it under the blanket and wiped both her and himself. Sarah then straightened her blouse and smoothed her skirt down over her thighs, and without a word being spoken between them, he got to his feet, exchanged seats with Casswell for the second time, and Sarah, still trembling, turned to the next page of Beatrice’s diary.

Casswell pressed the button for a stewardess and ordered more champagne. He looked pleased. ‘Chang’s fine, and so is my gift from the museum,’ he said, with a broad grin.

Sarah looked at him, knowing full well that he had hated the reproduction pillar.

The grin widened. ‘Which is currently in residence somewhere in the depths of Mustafa’s precious vault.’

Sarah’s eyes widened. ‘But I saw the crate being loaded at the airport.’

Casswell tapped the side of his nose conspiratorially. ‘Indeed you did,’ he acknowledged. ‘The crate was loaded, together with the documents lent by the obliging abbot.’

‘The manuscripts from the chest?’

Casswell nodded. ‘Chang filled the abbot’s precious red leather box with some of the things lying around the vault,’ he disclosed. ‘That little creep Aziz said he hadn’t had a chance to have half of them dated, catalogued or translated anyway. So now he will.’ His expression was almost as unreadable as Chang’s always was. It was just a mischievous glint in his eyes that revealed his delight. It seemed that justice had been served, after all.

And now there was only Beatrice. Sarah took a sip of her champagne and turned to the next page.

…I dozed fitfully all through the dark of the night, woken by Usher or his manservant as they stirred and found me there ready for their every want. It seemed as if we were all three of us clutching at life, our desire and our hunger seeing off the darkness that hung over the end of our journey. It was both a relief and a worry when the sun finally rose.

There was no putting off the last miles of our journey. I washed in the cold water left in the bath on the hearth, and dressed in the finery Usher had given me. He watched me and for once acted as the maid who helped me fasten the laces of the corset that cinched in my waist, and then helped me slip the final scarlet dress over it. T’was not a modest churchwoman’s robe, but the gown of a favoured mistress, a courtesan, a harlot.

When my hair was dressed and decked Usher looked me up and down. ‘You look truly magnificent, Beatrice, and whatever becomes of us today nothing can take away this moment.’

My eyes filled with tears. It was the first time he had called me by name. He unfastened the leather collar I had worn since he saved me from the clutches of Sister Judith, and from a twist of velvet set upon a side table brought out a fine metalled choker set with precious stones.

‘A gift,’ he murmured, pressing his lips to my neck as he fastened it tight shut.