Marri's Approach (Brackish Bay) (6 page)

The other man shrugged. “I don't go to the market, man. That's what I have a wife for. She handles all that.”

The first guard turned back. “I think you've got it wrong.”

Dawn shrugged. “We'll check anyway.”

They let us in. We sauntered along the streets, giving Dawn time to look around and identify the way to the market. It wasn't hard; it was smack dab in the middle of the outpost. There she asked around for the fabric merchant, and sure enough, he had plenty of inferior goods from Tornaku, but almost nothing from Cinitar left. I fingered the woven fabric while Dawn argued with the merchant briefly. After a bit, she turned off in a huff. We followed, and made our way to the bridge that led to the island.

It was a great, long, tall bridge, a testament to the skill of the craftsmen Roy had been able to entice to his House. I marveled at the structure as we approached. Thick square pylons sunk deep into the river were spaced widely enough for several boats to pass between them at the same time. The arching top edges were high enough that they wouldn't impede even the tall sailed boat we had come on from Cinitar. The bridge itself had a sturdy railing, giving safety to the pedestrians as well as the horses and carts. There were only a few of these occupying the bridge at the time we approached and were halted by another guard.

“I haven't seen you before.”

Dawn cocked a hip and immediately adopted a pissed off attitude. “You haven't? What the fuck is wrong with your eyes? I was with Rari on the island just last week! You don't
remember
me?”

“Er—”

The other guard whistled from his side of the bridge. “I wasn't on duty last week, little mama. You want to leave your mark so that you
know
I won't forget you?”

Dawn spit in his direction and proceeded to step onto the bridge. The first guard blocked her way with his spear.

“No, sorry. Rules are rules. I have to either recognize you or you have to be with someone I recognize.”

“I'm Rari's best rabbit hunter, fool! Let me pass!”

He squinted at her face. “I don't remember you.”

She sighed, and gestured impatiently at us. “How about any of them? You going to tell me you've never seen any of them before, either?”

It was a highly risky move. If he'd been one of the ones who'd seen me— I held my breath. Fortuna, let the scarf be enough, please?

“No. I'm sorry. I don't recognize any of you.”

Dawn proceeded to have a full-fledged screaming riot of a meltdown. If I hadn't known better, Fortuna, I would have thought the woman had gone mad.

I edged away from her, waiting. A cart came up, and the second guard gave them a nod before continuing to attempt to console Dawn. Unobtrusively, I began to follow the cart. The rest of my patrol began talking over each other, trying to quiet Dawn and reassure the guards. After a while, Petunia slapped her across the face, picked her up and slung her over her shoulder.

“We'll take her back to Rari. I'm sure she'll have something to say about the lack of discipline she's displaying. We're so very, very sorry for her behavior.”

They walked away, while Dawn continued to hurl invective until I was too far over the bridge to hear them anymore. I bet she enjoyed that, Fortuna. I nodded at the people in the cart as I passed it on the way to the main buildings on the island. If all went according to plan, Petunia would take Dawn back out of the outpost, while Carol and Zarilla would get lost in it.

In the meantime, Fortuna, I need somewhere to hide. I walked away from the shore, admiring the fishermen and their fine, sculpted muscles gleaming in the brilliant sunlight. It wouldn't do to be recognized by the textile artist or the rest of her family, so I stayed on the opposite side, heading in the general direction of the main house. Nearly there, I saw a woman hanging clothes on a line. She wore white, and I was reminded of what Sarafina had said about Jessica's death.

Fortuna, I never did find out—was Jessica the queen William had mentioned? It wouldn't do to be ignorant. Still, I couldn't help loitering a little longer. Her hair was long and straight, blowing out behind her a bit in the wind. I paused and watched her bend and stretch, her body lithe. It made me smile to imagine her naked. I could see a sort of banked fire in the way she moved, as if this mundane chore were far too tame for her.

She turned around and stared at me. I froze, my brain unable to formulate a response.

“What are you doing there? Get your ass over here and make yourself useful.”

“Yes, madam.” I trotted up to her and began to copy her movements, hanging clothing on the line.

“Rari usually trains hers better than to stand about when there's work to be done.” Her tone was acidic.

“Yes, madam. I'm sorry, I was mesmerized.”

She snorted. “Don't try to flatter me.”

“It's true.”

“Thank you.” The acid hadn't receded, and I wasn't sure if she was being sarcastic. I decided to merely keep my mouth shut. After a while, the basket was empty, and she picked it up. “Who were you coming to see?”

“Gerard.”

She tipped her head at me and raised an eyebrow. “Gerard isn't here. He went to Rari's place.”

Ah, Fortuna, you're a slimy toad changeling.

“Did he? I—must have missed him.” She grinned now, feral and dangerous. I involuntarily backed up a step. “I'd best be getting back, then.”

She laughed. “Oh? So soon? I thought you'd like to come in and meet with Roy. Don't you know? He's the governor of this House, of this island, and all of the land surrounding on either side of the river. I'm sure he'd like to listen to all your suggestions, Marri.”

I swallowed hard. This one I can't blame on you, Fortuna. I bet William spilled the beans, the old bastard.

“I'm sure he would like to hear my suggestions. It would be my—great honor. As soon as I have compiled all of them. I have to visit each part of his holdings, first, of course.”

With each word I was backing away, but she followed me, her eyes dancing. I reached for my daggers, and then caught myself. It would definitely not do to harm one of Roy's slaves. Not at all. I backed farther, noting the chain collar and numbered padlock on her throat, and the chain belt.

She held out her arms. “I've seen that look before. Do you want to cut me?”

And suddenly, inexplicably, I did. The
wanting
surged through my belly and ignited my loins as I saw the predatory smile shift to sensual, and the scars crisscrossing her skin gave me the scope of her desire.

“Gods. I—” I swallowed hard, releasing the handles of the daggers, spreading my hands apart. “No. I don't want to hurt you. I want—I want to—”

I grabbed her shoulders and yanked her to me, kissing her hard on the mouth, biting her lips, and then I was where I needed to be. I spun her, releasing her so she lost her balance and fell into a stand of reeds near the water, and then I was off, running towards the far side of the island. Her outrage echoed around me. Great, Fortuna, just what I needed.  A woman scorned.

I ducked into a cellar and hid behind a stand of shelves where a neat corner had been formed. It had likely held a barrel or something of similar size, so I fit quite nicely. Of course, I was also trapped, but I figured night would be the best time for my escape. All I needed was to remain undetected until then.

I hate waiting, Fortuna.

Chapter 4

I found myself drifting as I waited. The damp earth was cooler in the cellar, and my skin prickled with the strange temperature. I leaned against the wall and shivered. I couldn't smell much of the preserved foods in jars, nor could I see what they were through the opaque clay, but I could smell the loose food in barrels, the onions and potatoes, the carrots and apples, the oranges and pears, dried berries, jerky, and salted meats. It was enough to remind me that I hadn't eaten since the morning. Still, I dared not move. No one had seen me duck into the cellar, but I still had to escape detection when someone came down for food for supper. Inspiration struck, and I wiggled out to find a loose sack. There, Fortuna. Now I'm a bag of rice tucked in the corner. It wasn't the best of disguises, but it was better than nothing.

The day dragged by. Every so often I would hear shouts or raised voices, but no one thought to check the cellar. Thank you (for once), Fortuna.

As the light began to fade, the door banged open, and I heard footsteps descending, then a giggle.

“Not here, sir. What would Lauren say?”

“Lauren will say,
Nanette, what took you so long? If you don't hurry up, you'll get a spanking
.”

She gasped. “No, sir, please, I'm so sore.”

There was a grunt and a sharp intake of breath, then a soft fumbling sound.

“Then be a good little slave and open up for me.”

“Yes, sir!” Another grunt slid into a moan. “Please, sir!”

“Please, what, little slave? Fuck your asshole?”

“Oh, yes, sir, just please, oh!”

There was a breathy, panting, rhythmic sigh. I felt my own cunt start to ripen and drip. Gods, how long has it been, Fortuna? Way too long. I need a man as of last week.

“Good girl, Nanette.”

She whimpered, and my cunt clenched. Fortuna, you are a tease! I wondered how obvious it would be if I pressed fingers to my aching clit. Hmmm. Probably best not to move at all. If something I did interrupted their fucking, thwarted desire was a sure-fire way to get the harshest sentence available. So I remained stone still, barely breathing, listening to the soft slap of his hips on her ass and the rapidity of her breath. I could just imagine the picture. I couldn't help it; I peeked.

It was glorious. Her big breasts were spilling out of the loose fabric of her dress, and her creamy ass was spread and gripped in his rough, tanned hands. She held onto a sturdy shelf in the corner, her eyes closed and her unevenly chopped blonde hair flopping with each thrust. She moaned, her back arched and her cunt unsuccessfully pressed towards him for greater pleasure. His overalls were tangled around his boots, and his chest was broad, muscular, and incredibly yummy. Fortuna, if you have the chance, would you mind delivering that one to my bed? I bit my lip at the sight of his cock ramming into her little asshole, and clamped down on a shudder. I could smell her arousal. But he didn't let her come.

What a jerk, Fortuna! Instead, when he finished grunting and spending inside her, he pulled out and washed with a cloth he must have brought with him. He wiped her off, then pulled her up to standing.

“Good little slave. I enjoyed that. If you do well helping Lauren this evening, you'll get more tonight.”

His face was so stern and handsome, I wanted to bite him, but hers was soft and lush. She had wide eyes with trembling lashes, and soft lips that ached to be kissed. I hummed sub-vocally.

He didn't kiss her. He turned and left, leaving her to pull herself back together both physically—oh, Fortuna, would you look at those breasts?—and mentally. She seemed disconcerted, off balance. Then she took a deep breath and began to gather the jars and loose items she must have been requested to bring, piling them into a basket by the stairs. I noticed she wore the same sort of collar the other woman in white had worn—a chain with a numbered padlock.

I wondered what her story was. Still, their interlude gave me fodder for thought during the empty time until it was full dark, and I found myself pressing my knuckles hard against my lips, rocking them against my clit until I could feel the wetness damping the inside of the leather.

Finally—finally!—it was dark. I crept towards the stairs and listened. Nothing but the rushing of the wind. Nanette had closed the cellar door when she left, and I had a moment of panic that it was locked, but it turned out not to be. I pushed it open, a millimeter at a time, until the wind caught it, and it slammed it open. I leapt into the darkness at the sound, running until I was hidden by a copse of trees. Just in time. My heart beat against my ribs as I watched a guard run over, weapon in hand, to inspect the cellar. Would they have shot me on sight?

I waited, leaning on a sticky evergreen trunk, for my heart to slow down while I forced my breath to steady. Did they see me? I wasn't sure, but I didn't want to take the chance. I slipped around, my steps light and silent, even here, even in the dark, even in the unknown woods. I smiled. Thank Mother for me, Fortuna. I really do need to write to her.

Once I was past the trees, I crouched, then crawled through the reeds. There had to be a boat somewhere. I saw the dock in the distance—too far, and there were people around it, too many lights. Surely there was a little boat somewhere? I was near despairing when I saw it. Fortuna, when I die and see your face, I'm going to kiss you.

It was a small rowboat, just big enough for one or two people, and there were oars in it. It hadn't been moved in months, I could tell, and there was a harpoon in the bottom of it. Clever. I looked around. Here, crocodile, crocodile, crocodile. Come to Marri and let her warm you by the fire. Snorting at my own fancy, I untied the boat and pushed off. The oars made slappy, lapping sounds, but the river was louder in going around the rocks at the head of the island, so I felt safe in remaining unheard. It was difficult rowing crosswise to the current, but I didn't feel like having to spend a day walking back to the camp, so I struggled with the oars. My arms burned and my hands began to hurt, the wood rough with disuse. I began to whisper my poem to myself, the one my mother used to sing to me, the one that had been the source of my comfort in every trying time in my life.

It wasn't personal.

O, Fortuna,

like the moon

you are changeable,

ever waxing

and waning;

hateful life

first oppresses

and then soothes

as fancy takes it…

I grunted in time with the beat of the words, imagining, as I did, that they spilled out of my mouth like ink, swirling around my arms from hand to hand, wrapping down my torso and spiraling around my legs from foot to foot, spinning back up to settle, calmly, around my throat.