Innocence Enslaved (14 page)

When she took a step, he took several, moving back to the center of the clearing. She dared one last glimpse over her shoulder at his extraordinary physique, turning fully when with ease, he tossed the heavy blade to the other man. She froze, gawking like an idiot at the muscles flexing in his arms and shoulders.

Long moments passed and she still didn’t move. Then the shorter man cleared his throat and jerked his chin in her direction. Corbet twisted his head enough for his golden gaze to bore into her.

“I said now, Emilia.”

This time, with the warning beneath his command unmistakable, she snapped to obey, but as she took a hurried step backward, her heel caught on a large rock she hadn’t noticed before and she stumbled. After righting herself, she looked up in time to see his white teeth flash brilliant against his tanned skin.

“Do you need help finding your way?”

“No, sir,” she replied with a squeak.

“Then I’ll see you at supper.”

The amused laughter of the other men who had stopped and were observing broke through the spell his half-naked, sweat-gleaming, magnificent form had cast upon her. Whirling about, she retreated at double the speed of which she had arrived. She didn’t stop until she was back in the front yard, then paused to catch her breath and cover her flushed face with her hands. Zounds! Why did she embarrass herself so every time they met?

Helpless to halt the discomfited feeling and the fire in her cheeks, she searched for distraction. Spying the hill he had mentioned, she thought a trip to the stream might be what she needed, but as she came even with the far side of the house, she caught sight of an overgrown flowerbed that was sorely in need of tending and changed her mind. Hard work, that’s what would take her mind off her perpetual feather-headedness around him. She headed that way and spent the remainder of the day weeding.

The second day went much the same way, although she made sure to rise with the others and get to the kitchen in a timely fashion. Afterwards, she bathed and slipped into a pale green cotton gown Alice had laid across her bed, having scowled ferociously at the dirty stained state of the yellow one of the day before. She also found that she’d left an apron, a not so subtle hint to take more care with her clothing henceforth.

When she left the house, she wisely steered clear of the woods, moving to the right instead, intent on investigating the extent of his stable. But she was distracted, this time by sounds of laboring and people busily coming and going from the sheds and cottages surrounding the main barn. She spent the rest of the morning discovering his leather works. It was fascinating, each building serving a different purpose in the process, from the hide storage—which she didn’t linger in due to the pungent smell—to the tanners shed, and then to the final step of the process, and from what she witnessed the most exacting, changing simple leather into usable goods. She stopped first at the shoe shop where two cordwainers toiled. One man looked up as she entered through the open door.

“If you’re looking for Master Corbet, lass, he was in the carving shed earlier.”

She only nodded vaguely in reply and stood for a long while as he burnished a lovely pair of ladies’ riding boots dyed to a deep, gleaming mahogany.

“You do beautiful work, sir,” she acknowledged as she looked around at the shelves filled with turn-shoes, slippers, and boots, in almost every size and color one could imagine. “Do you make more than shoes here?”

“Aye, belts, satchels, some leather armor, but Master Corbet specializes in saddles; you’ll see some of his work in the carving shop next door.”

Curious to see more, she moved on. She was disappointed when she didn’t find him there, but an older man was working with an odd sort of curved knife, carefully carving a pattern into a long strip of leather. He eyed her as she walked in but didn’t stop in his work. Looking around she saw beautifully etched finished pieces from satchels to saddlebags, and a goodly number of gleaming and meticulously hand-tooled saddles. On the wall behind the man hung a leather mural with an intricately carved depiction of a battle scene.

“You are a true artist; never have I seen such detail.”

The man chuckled, “If that were only true, girl. I came too late in life to be so skilled. That is the master leather carver’s handiwork.”

“Oh, is he about? I’d like to meet him and perhaps watch him work.”

“No, Master Corbet stepped out about an hour ago. Heading to the stables, I believe.”

Her eyes shot back to the mural. “Master Corbet did that?”

“Aye, specially requisitioned as a gift for King Nordman, himself.”

It dawned on her then that they called him master, not because he was a slave owner, but because he was a master craftsman, a highly skilled artisan in his trade. A successful merchant, a skilled artisan, and as adept with a sword as any knight she had seen. Add to that he was respected by his men, and in her eyes a hero—rescuing fair maids at auctions and others against an evil lord was the very definition of a hero in her mind—and Emilia was beginning to realize that Corbet had a depth to him she hadn’t begun to uncover.

She wished the man a good day and left for the stables, hoping to learn more about this enigmatic man who was her master, no matter that it was in name only. Drawn to the small group of spectators standing at the fence of the front paddock, she found him working with a horse, a fairly wild one, she surmised, by the way he snorted, whinnied, and shook his head in agitation. Joining the half-dozen men, she watched along with them as man and beast battled for dominance. Lean, strongly muscled and covered in a sheen of sweat—each gorgeous in their own way—they made wide circles, sharp cuts, and completed mid-level jumps in the fenced-in area. Emilia, who had watched her father and brothers work with horses many times at home, noticed he was as proficient at riding as everything else. He held the reins loosely, relying on them very little while guiding the animal mainly with a shift in his body weight and the pressure of his knees.

After about half an hour, Corbet rode over to the gate, dismounted, and tossed the reins to the stable hand who was waiting. His eyes connected with hers and he started toward her as the young man led his horse away. His head tilted slightly as he considered her perch upon the top rail. Although she’d taken such a posture many times at home, she recognized it wasn’t very ladylike and his grin told her he had noticed.

“Emilia, are you staying out of the way of flying swords today?”

“I’ve made it a priority, sir.”

As usual, she felt heat creep into her cheeks. He chuckled, taking heed of that as well.

“I was but teasing, sweetling.” The endearment didn’t help allay her blush, but he didn’t comment on it further. “I’d like to have a few words with you tonight after supper. I’ve a few stops to make this afternoon, but will be home before your bedtime. I’ll have Alice fetch you.”

“Very well, sir.”

As yesterday, he raised his hand and brushed back some hair from her face. This time she managed not to flinch. His fingers were callused as they grazed her cheek, but his touch was gentle. “You’ve gotten too much sun. Your cheeks are pink, as is your nose. Ask Alice or Muriel for a bonnet, next time.”

“Yes, sir.” She was sure much of her pink was from his nearness rather than the sun, but it warmed her insides that he would notice and care.

“Yesterday, did you find the stream I mentioned?”

“No, sir, I found the flowerbed, instead.”

“Ah, so it was you who cleared that out? I wondered.”

“I hope I didn’t overstep.”

“No, that mess of weeds and briars needed some attention. Alice and Muriel are good with vegetables, not so with flowering plants. Thank you.”

“I prefer keeping busy.”

“There’s another in the courtyard off the main hall. If your boredom overtakes you again, feel free.”

“Thank you, sir. I shall see to it. I enjoy gardening very much.”

Abruptly, he put a hand on the rail by her hip and leaped effortlessly over the fence. She hardly had time to adjust to him being on the other side before he spanned her waist with his strong hands and plucked her off the fence. With ease he set her down in front of him.

“Turn around.”

Remembering the last time he’d given the order, she peered up at him in confusion. “Excuse me?”

He didn’t explain, instead taking her gently, but firmly by the upper arms and doing it himself. With her back to him, he extended his long arm across her shoulder, his forefinger pointing across the big yard. His head dipped low on the other side, his breath tickling her ear as he said, “Straight ahead, beyond the top of the hill, there you’ll find the closest thing to heaven on God’s green earth.” She tried to place blame for the shiver that went down her spine on a cool breeze, but it was the middle of July. The responsibility lay squarely on the wide shoulders of the striking man at her back.

He lowered a large hand to the small of her back and gave her a gentle nudge forward. “Go see for yourself. I’ll see you this evening, little one.”

She found the stream, and spent the day on the cool bank, her thoughts full of all things Corbet and her infatuation for him that was growing by the day, perhaps by the hour. She got back to the house in time to primp before the small looking glass in her bedroom, wanting to look her best. But that evening, his summons never came. She waited, going to bed only when the other women crawled into their beds, though she didn’t find sleep, not right away. Instead, feeling heart sore and foolish because of it, she thought about home and family. Missing them terribly, it only made matters worse. Silent tears ran down her temples, soaking her hair and her pillow, before her dreams finally claimed her.

* * *

It had started out as a slow drizzle, progressing to a downpour by the time he and his drenched mare rode into the barn well past midnight. What had begun as a good day had ended as dark and gloomy as his mood when it was all said and done. Trips to town usually did that. He loathed what Lancore had become and the center of the evil was the increasingly vile and lascivious seat of its power, the town surrounding the earl’s manor. He avoided it like the plague, going only when business necessitated.

He’d gone today to meet Drake, the friend of his who traded in spices and who traveled as frequently as he did, including Melbourne as one of his regular stops. Word at the inn where he usually stayed was that he hadn’t arrived yet. That meant another trip the following day. Although he hated to go back so soon, it was imperative that he send word to Emilia’s family, and Drake was his best chance as he trusted him implicitly.

That hadn’t been what had fouled his disposition, however. It was running into Cedney, the brewer’s wife, and Lorna, who had wed the innkeeper. They had practically ambushed him in one of the shops trotting out their daughters for his inspection. Plague take them both. Once he’d gotten away, he’d run into two other marriage-minded mamas as he’d made other stops. It was the same way every time he went to town. As he stomped through the yard toward the house, he ignored the puddles and rivulets of mud caused by the evening storm, only realizing he should have paid closer attention when he arrived at the back stairs and saw that his boots were caked in filth. Grumbling, he sat on the stoop in the rain and pulled both of them off, not willing to endure Alice’s fussing if he tracked the foul stuff through the house.

In his bare feet, he moved silently through the kitchen and the main hall, plodding up the stairs with a muted thud thanks to the carpet. He slowed as he passed the women’s room, pausing briefly to listen. Dark and quiet.

Moving on, he wondered what Emilia thought when he hadn’t called her to his study a second time after promising to have a discussion. He’d decided a lecture on her response to his spanking could wait—forever perhaps. So it was probably a good thing he’d been delayed and tonight’s discussion had been postponed as well. In fact, he thought it best to avoid his study altogether from here on out. For in truth, the little redhead had been on his mind far too much of late. And the image of her bent over his desk to receive her lashes was what popped into his head more than any other, often unexpectedly and with very poor timing. Visions of her gently rounded thighs glistening with the proof of her desire flashed unbidden in his mind too. As did the thought of driving his cock into her ripe body, taking her as no man had ever done before. Of being enveloped by her wetness as her slick, tight channel firmly gripped him. It made him as hard as a fire iron, as he was now, which was an embarrassing state to have to try conducting business in.

In his room, he pulled off his sodden clothes and washed the mud splatters from his arms and face. Then, with a beleaguered sigh, he flopped onto his bed, a device of torture these past few nights. He vowed to keep his urges under control as his honor wouldn’t allow him to take her innocence and return her to her family, and a future husband, despoiled and unchaste. And he wouldn’t consider the alternative, not again, not after Sara.

Today had convinced him to use her to his advantage, however, and tomorrow, with a second trip to town in his future, he would enact his plan and maybe, at last, get some peace.

With one arm beneath his plumped-up pillow, he stared at the ceiling considering how she would react to his lessons on how to play the perfect pleasure slave—in theory only, of course. He chuckled, imagining the flash of alarm in her green eyes and how her pretty pink lips would fall open when he told her. That started his thoughts in a direction not conducive for sleep. Rolling onto his other side, he tried to think of other things: frigid winter baths in the stream, the stench of the cowhides in the drying shed, and Cedney Bartlett’s ugly daughter. In minutes, he was asleep.

* * *

She came to him, a stunning smile on her lips, as pretty as the first time he saw her.

“Sara!” he called, running toward her.

“My love…” Her lips moved, saying more, but he couldn’t make it out. Suddenly, her image began to fade.