The Princess and the Rogue (16 page)

“I will send men with you,” said Sir Brenden. “You may have to fight your way there, too.”

“If the princess’s ruse worked, they will be confused. Morgaine will order most of her guard to surround her for protection.”
But she’ll have the princess and Scarlett as well,
the outlaw thought. “Still, we have to hurry. Help awaits but we must allow the men we expect to breach the castle. Juliet told me how.”

Sir Brenden picked a squad of men and sent them on their way.

* * *

Rand and a small band of the princess’s personal guards hurried down the passageways that Juliet had described. The hidden gate to the escape tunnel was in the far southwest corner of the castle on a subterranean level. They didn’t encounter opposition until they reached the end of a hallway. Then a squad of the red countess’s men appeared, blocking their way.

“Stand aside,” said Rand.

“For you?” said their leader. “Not likely.”

He drew his sword. Rand and his men followed suit. The fight was engaged and the hallway rang with the sound of clanging swords. It was close quarters fighting, but it was something the castle guard had trained for. Rand fought with a sword in one hand, dirk in the other, lunging, then stabbing, then slashing with the dirk as he backed his opponent down the narrow hallway. Before long the countess’s men had been defeated. There were no survivors.

Rand lifted the heavy bar that secured the tunnel door. The portal had been well hidden behind a cabinet in a room below ground level, just as Juliet had described. When he opened the door, there was no one there. Dru was to have led Vargus and his men through the tunnel from the other side. It shouldn’t have been hard to recruit men. There was not only Vargus and his band; many of the townsfolk knew of Rand LaFlors and his reputation. With the news of what had transpired this morning surely spreading through town, the citizens should have been anxious to join an effort to rescue their princess. So where were they? He listened and stared into the gloom. After a few anxiety-filled moments, he saw faint flickering lights down the tunnel. Someone was coming. Help was at hand.

Chapter Twenty

Scarlett and Juliet stood nervously in the center of the room while Morgaine paced. In her hand she absently twirled a short whip. The girls could not keep their eyes off of it. Seven leather thongs like thick bootlaces dangled from its black handle. Every now and then the countess would slap the thongs against a piece of furniture. The sharp thwack made them jump. The other worrisome thing in the room was the presence of two heavy wooden frames. These were tripods formed from a tilted ‘A’-shaped front piece supported by a single rear leg. A round bolster, secured by pegs, spanned the front legs of the ‘A’ at about waist height. It looked like the perfect device for securing a victim for a whipping on the buttocks. The men had been dismissed to stand guard outside, but Morgaine’s female attendants remained. Both Scarlett and Juliet recognized some of them.

“So you both claim to be the Princess Juliet,” said the countess, pacing back and forth. “One of you may be, but the question is, what is the purpose of this deception? What did you hope to accomplish?” She turned her back to walk away, thinking out loud. “Why did you come back?” Then she whirled around suddenly, eyes glaring. Both girls flinched. “And more important, who did you bring with you and what are they doing?”

Neither Scarlett nor Juliet said anything.

“Cat got your tongue?” She walked around behind the princess and Scarlett. “We’ll see. Strip them and put them on the whipping frames.”

Hands seized them. Among Morgaine’s attendants were stout matronly women whose strength far exceeded what Juliet or Scarlett could muster. Before they knew it, their clothing had been stripped off and tossed aside. Naked from head to toe, they were fastened to the flogging frames. There were manacles at the apex of the frames into which their wrists were clamped. Their legs were kicked apart and their ankles tied to opposite legs of the triangle. In this posture they were partially bent over, the bolster forcing them to thrust their buttocks out, a nice presentation for the whipping that seemed certain to follow.

“Well, well. Very nice,” said Morgaine, once the ropes had been tightened. Juliet and Scarlett were stretched out on the frames, naked and exposed. She inspected the girls, slyly patting each on the bottom. “I think it will be delightful to hear these two scream under the lash. Ahh, the succulence of youth. Just look, Moll, at the roundness of these bottoms. Imagine how the flesh will quiver under my whip.”

Moll’s gaze focused on her mistress, her eyes shining bright with expectation. Scarlett and Juliet looked around. All of the women looked on in excited anticipation of what was about to happen.
They enjoy seeing young girls whipped,
thought Scarlett.

“Now, I will ask again, which of you is Princess Juliet? Think carefully before you answer.”

“I am,” said Juliet.

“No, I am Princess Juliet,” said Scarlett. It came back to her what Rand had said, that they were to keep them occupied, keep the confusion going to buy time as long as possible. He had warned that the consequences of their ruse might turn out to be very unpleasant for them.

“Very well,” said Morgaine. She handed the whip to Moll and stood facing the girls. “A few dozen lashes each,” she said. “Then we’ll see.”

As the stout matron took the whip from Morgaine’s outstretched hand, a broad smile spread across her face. “It will be my pleasure, my lady.” She took a stance beside Juliet and measured her distance. Juliet took a breath and closed her eyes. Her body tensed. The woman drew her arm back, running the strands through her left hand. The whip seemed to hang in the air for a moment, then sped through the air with a swishing sound. It landed on Juliet’s hindquarters with a sharp thwack!

“Ahh!” Juliet pressed forward into the frame as far as her bonds would permit. It was a vain attempt to diminish the target area. The strands of the whip had licked off her backside. Red weals formed.

Scarlett was next. A white-hot blaze of pain erupted across Scarlett’s bottom as the whip struck. How was she going to be able to stand this? It was worse than the episode in the dungeon.

Juliet anxiously swiveled her head, watching Moll prepare for another lash. When it came, she flinched and cried out. The sting was overwhelming. It seared her backside as though it had been tapped with a hot iron.

With measured solemnity, Moll delivered the lashing, moving from Juliet to Scarlett, then back again. Each time she went through what seemed to be a familiar and practiced procedure, taking a stance, drawing the whip strands through her fingers, rearing back with her arm, and applying a stroke to the quivering buttocks of a princess. The sounds heard in the stone chamber were the whoosh of the lash, the thwack of its impact on flesh, and the cries of the girls.

Tears welled up in the eyes of both girls as the awful sting escalated. Their bottoms felt as though they were being flayed as they squirmed helplessly in the bonds holding them to the whipping frames. The flogging continued at the pace set by the burly matron. A swish… crack! applied to the writhing backside of Scarlett was followed seconds later by an identical lash to Juliet’s naked bottom. A dozen lashes would soon be completed and the questioning would begin anew. What would they do then? Where were their rescuers?

Morgaine next instructed her servant to lash also their upper thighs and backs, and a different kind of pain was visited on the young women as previously unspoiled skin felt the stripes of the whip. But that was not the worst of it. Failing to get the answers she wanted, Morgaine told her burly maidservant to bring the whip up from below, to strike in the tender folds of the girls’ quims. The red countess smiled as earsplitting shrieks echoed off the stone walls when the whip struck between the legs, into a woman’s most tender place. For the princess and Scarlett, it was sheer agony.

Morgaine paced casually behind the weeping girls. Their buttocks, backs, and thighs were wealed with red stripes and they sobbed and hiccupped, sagging weakly in the bonds that held them to the frames.

“Care to tell us now which one of you is Princess Juliet?” said Morgaine. “We have all night, but I’m not sure your tender skins can take it. Perhaps I should leave you here now and we’ll resume in the morning, hmmm?”

Midway through the lashing, Tomas Cramden had entered the tower room.

“You seem to have done a thorough job, cousin,” he said. The east tower was isolated and Cramden had no idea that fighting had broken out below.

“They are tougher than they appear, my Tomas, but eventually they will tell us why they are here. Have you dismissed the petitioners for the day?”

“I have done so. The castle is secure. But in the streets the people are beginning to talk. Crowds are massing. The gossip is that the princess has returned and with her, a twin. There is much confusion, Morgaine, and the people don’t like your men all over the keep in such force.”

“Don’t worry, Cousin Tomas. Soon we will have our answers, the king will die, and you will be regent. You will install me as your most trusted advisor and my men will replace the king’s guard and the constabulary in Kingsgate. And remember, I will have an army of Ieryn at my beck and call. Westvale will be ours.”

Juliet froze as she heard this chilling admission of treachery. The Ieryn in Westvale. Their old enemy at the gates, as these two had planned? What would become of her and Scarlett? What would become of her people?

Chapter Twenty-One

Roland and Sir Brenden approached the king’s chambers. They were met by a contingent of red-liveried men-at-arms in a large anteroom.

“Stand aside,” said Sir Brenden. “We are here to deliver medicine to the king.”

“No one enters the king’s chamber except his physicians,” said the captain of the troop. “Those are our orders.”

“Given by whom?”

“By Lady Morgaine.”

“She has no authority here. I command you in the king’s name to stand aside.”

“You’ll have to go through us to get to the king. We follow only the countess’s orders.”

“That won’t be a problem,” said a determined Roland, drawing his sword.

Weapons clashed. The ringing sounds of blades clashing created a cacophonous din. Roland made straight for the leader. He proved to be no match for a knight who had fought beside Richard against the fierce Boschii. Roland parried a thrust, then slashed sideways, the blade finding the man’s neck. He dropped like a stone. Seeing no one else in front of him, Roland kicked open the door and rushed into the king’s chamber.

The king lay on his back, head propped up on pillows. His face was gray, the color having been leeched out by the slow-acting poison. His eyes fluttered and he tried to sit up, but Roland could see it was a struggle.

“I hear fighting,” he said in a weak voice. “Who are you?”

Roland drew the vial from a pouch. “I am Sir Roland Ferris of Durham, sent here by Richard of Angleterre. You are suffering from an insidious poison, sire. With the help of your daughter and some friends, we have procured an antidote.”

“My daughter? Where is she?” The king perked up with the mention of his daughter.

“She was abducted by Morgaine, but she is here now. You have been the victim of a plot concocted by your high minister. He meant to poison you and marry the princess, but we have stopped him.”

“Cramden?” The king tried to process what he was hearing.

“Yes, in collusion with Morgaine of Bathen.”

“Morgaine,” said the king and a look of understanding passed across his features.

The knight lifted the king’s head with a hand to the back of his neck. “Drink this. You must take all of it.” Roland placed the vial against the king’s lips and he drank. Once he had drained the vial, Roland eased his head back on the pillow. The king closed his eyes and for several moments Roland wondered if he had not passed. Then color began to return to his face. His eyelids fluttered open, this time with considerably more brightness than before. He sat up and looked around.

“I feel like I’ve awakened from a dream,” he said. He examined his limbs. “I couldn’t move my arms before. I was so tired.” He started to get out of bed.

Roland moved to his side so as to assist him. With the knight’s help he rose on unsteady legs. “Go easy, your majesty. You have been bedridden for weeks.”

“I feel my strength returning, sir knight. What was the fighting I heard?”

“Morgaine brought her men into the castle with the permission of Lord Cramden. They dismissed your personal guard and took over. We had to fight our way through them to get to you and give you the antidote.” As he spoke, Roland noticed that all was quiet now. The fight had ended.

“So, do they hold the castle now?”

“Possibly,” said Roland. “I would guess that, in any event they have your daughter.”
And my Scarlett,
thought Roland. That had been the risk, that in creating the necessary diversion, Scarlett and Juliet would be seized. But where would they be held captive? One obvious location would be the cells below, where he had found Scarlett before their escape. The cells were out of sight, out of hearing. He would check there. However, the castle was a huge fortress, a keep meant to house the citizens of Kingsgate in the event of attack. It would take forever to search it.

“We must find her at once,” said the king. Already some strength had returned to his limbs, and he had started to dress himself. While the king prepared, Roland looked outside. Bodies lay haphazardly in the antechamber. Most were still, but some writhed on the floor, still alive but obviously in pain. Sir Brenden and his men stood in the middle of the room, swords in hand, surveying the aftermath of the fight.

“Sir Brenden, where are Morgaine’s quarters?” It had occurred to Roland that Morgaine would have commandeered the most luxurious and most secure area in the keep for her personal space. Next to the dungeons, this was the next most likely place for the countess to keep her prey.