Wages of Sin (13 page)

In an instant they were down from their horses and descending on the huddle of nuns like wolves on a flock of sheep. The sisters scattered, shrieking, but were captured one by one by the laughing, hullooing mob. Jane stared at the nightmare scene in horror.

As she watched two jeering men brought down Sister Michael. As one held her the other fell on his knees between her straddled legs, fumbled with his breeches, produced his swollen cock and rammed himself into her. Her screams echoed off the high stone walls as he ravaged her unmercifully.

Sister Ursula had been grabbed by a grizzled giant of a man who tore her night rail from her with one huge hand, bent her over like a rag doll and plunged himself savagely between her buttocks. Her mouth gaped in a silent howl as he pleasured himself in her helpless body.

Jane had only time to feel a flicker of satisfaction at her tormentors' fate before she was seized and satisfaction was replaced with terror. One man grabbed her breasts, hands squeezing and kneading the soft flesh, while another slipped his arm round her waist from behind and his rough fingers pushed between her thighs. Foul breath seared her neck and she struggled frantically, the linen binding falling from her head. Her long red hair spilled out and one of them grabbed it, pulling her head back as his companion's wet lips slobbered at her nipples. She closed her eyes and waited for the worst.

‘Hold hard!' bellowed Sir Edmund, his voice cutting through the bedlam like a knife. Silence descended on the courtyard - and suddenly she was free, her captors standing sullenly beside her. Breasts heaving, she stared up into Edmund's amused face.

‘Why, if it isn't the busy-fingered wood nymph,' he drawled. ‘A juicy bird to find amongst these dried-up old hens.'

She gaped at him in total incomprehension. What was he talking about? Then realisation dawned. Her mind raced back to that long-ago spring morning when she'd lain on the cool grass, her skirts about her waist as she explored her budding body. The laugh she'd thought she'd heard, and put down to some bird calling in the woods, had been no figment of her imagination. He had been there - watching her! Her face flamed as brightly as her hair.

‘This one's mine,' he announced, slipping from the saddle and reaching for her. She took a step back and spat at him like an angry kitten.

‘Touch me at your peril,' she warned. ‘I am no leman to be taken with impunity.' She glared at him haughtily. ‘I am Lady Jane Montague. Lay one finger on me and my stepfather, Sir Thomas, will make you pay for it.' This was no lie - but not because her stepfather held her in any affection. She was his chattel as much as any of his other possessions and his pride would brook no interference with those. He might kick his dog, but heaven help any other man who did the same.

An uneasy expression crossed Sir Edmund's face. It was clear he wanted her - but not at the price of a feud with her stepfather. Temptation warred with prudence.

Watching him struggle with his indecision, Jane held her breath. A sudden movement distracted her. At the gates some of the villagers, alerted by the arrival of strangers, had gathered, staring aghast at the scene of devastation before them. At the front was the child whose leg she had stitched, clutching his mother's skirts. He was still thin and pale, but he was healthy - and standing unaided.

Her heart smote her. What would happen to these people if the convent was no longer there? Who would feed them? Who would tend to their ills? She made up her mind.

‘I will be your whore,' she said boldly. ‘On one condition.'

Sir Edmund stared at her in amusement. ‘Oh, yes? And what might that condition be?'

‘A whore receives payment in return for her services,' she said. ‘And for my payment, I want this convent.'

His eyebrows rose and he whistled through his teeth. ‘You put a high price on your favours, my lady,' he exclaimed. He ran his good eye over her shapely body and made up his mind. With all his acres of land, what were a pile of old stones and a couple of fields to him? ‘Done,' he agreed. ‘If you please me, you may have it, but not all at once. You may earn it piece by piece - and you may find the price is high.'

She ignored his warning. He was ugly, but not misshapen. He looked clean and not too old - and after all, she could always close her eyes. With all those innocent lives at stake she could force herself to bed with him. She shook her head ruefully. After all she had been through since that morning when he had watched her pleasure herself, what else could he do to her? ‘Done,' she echoed, spitting on her hand and holding it out to shake on the bargain. He leaned from the saddle and, as his hand touched hers, she felt a strange pang of excitement run through her.

‘Right, back into the saddle, lads,' he ordered. Reluctantly his men left their prey and mounted up. Sir Edmund looked at the sisters huddled together again, whimpering and holding their ravaged bodies. A fat one caught his eye and he smiled to himself. Armed only with a ladle, she'd fought like a tigress. Two of his lads were nursing a fine set of bruises and regarding her with disgruntled respect.

He looked at Jane. ‘Who's that?' he demanded, pointing at the nun.

‘The convent cook,' she replied.

‘We'll have her, too,' he said flatly. ‘I'll need a decent cook for the castle kitchens - and she looks like a good recommendation for her talents.' Without further ado she was hauled on to the back of a packhorse, squawking with indignation.

‘We'd better have a lady's maid for you, too,' he said thoughtfully. He looked speculatively over the timorous nuns. ‘Pick one for yourself.'

Jane smiled wickedly. Revenge was indeed sweet. ‘I'll have her,' she said, pointing at Mother Ursula, who glared back, hatred gleaming from her pale grey eyes.

‘A good choice,' replied Sir Edmund approvingly. ‘I think Oswald has taken a fancy to her.' He winked at the grizzled giant who grinned back, revealing a mouthful of rotten teeth. ‘She can warm his bed as well as serving you.'

Oswald slid from his horse again, lumbered over and scooped up the struggling, shrieking Mother Superior and deposited her in front of him on his saddle. Holding her in place with one hand, he amused himself and his companions by groping between her skinny thighs with the other.

Sir Edmund held out a hand and Jane took it, leaping up lightly behind him. As the cavalcade trooped from the courtyard she waved gaily at the others she was leaving behind. Excitement welled up inside her. She had saved the convent and the villagers. She had escaped a stultifying existence as a nun, and she had seen her tormentor, Mother Ursula, humiliated and humbled.

A slight frown creased her brow. Of course, she still had to keep her bargain. She clicked her fingers and dismissed the thought with a merry laugh. Giving her body to Sir Edmund? In comparison to what she had undergone, it would be easy!

At long last she believed that nothing could go wrong...

 

 

 

As the small cavalcade trotted along euphoria cheered Jane. In her new-found freedom from the claustrophobic walls of the cloister the world seemed to be freshly minted. Even the crisp autumn air seemed fresher. It had been May when the heavy gates of the convent closed behind her, the fields just turning green with new growth. Now the harvest was over and they lay golden with stubble in the mellow October sunshine. Peasants, gathering the last gleanings, turned to watch as Sir Edmund's party passed and, in a fit of exuberance, she smiled and waved.

The journey was remarkably short. It seemed strange to think the castle lay only two miles away. She could have walked there in a morning. Yet, trapped within the convent, it might as well have been in a different country, a thousand miles away.

They passed through a small wood, the trees scarlet and russet in the sun, and the road began to grow steeper. As they trotted out from beneath the canopy of autumn leaves Jane got her first glimpse of the castle, and her fragile feeling of well-being dissipated as quickly as morning mist.

It sat on the hilltop like a dark stain on the golden landscape, a brooding nightmare of turrets and towers. The stone teeth of the castellations and battlements seemed to bite at the sky. She shivered. This was no comfortable country mansion. It was something older and more sinister.

‘Almost there,' Sir Edmund called, spurring his horse forward. The sudden change of speed jolted Jane forward, and she was forced to grab on to him to prevent herself from falling. She grazed his codpiece, felt something stirring like a snake beneath a rock, and jerked her hand away as if it hand been burned. Through her humiliation she felt the vibration of his laughter.

Her breasts bobbed with the horse's rhythmic jogging, their tender nipples brushing against the rough material of his cloak. She was horrified to find herself becoming aroused, her nipples hardening and her vulva moistening in response to the unexpected stimulation. Heat began to radiate from her groin and her eyes half-closed as she gave herself up to the tantalising sensations.

The sound of their hooves clattering over the drawbridge brought her back to reality and, as they rode beneath the portcullis, her budding desire was quenched as effectively as if a bucket of icy water had been flung over her. The sun was blotted out and she shuddered, gritting her teeth to prevent them from chattering. The dark stones on either side seemed to reek with ancient blood and she had the horrible feeling that if she only concentrated hard enough she would be able to hear distant screams echoing from the past.

The feeling eased slightly as they rode out into the sunshine of the courtyard again. Eased, but did not entirely fade. The courtyard was a small oasis of light in a desert of darkness. Black stone walls rose sheer on all sides, arrow-slits peered down like narrowed eyes, and the doors which led off to different parts of the castle either gaped like half-open mouths or remained tightly shut as if concealing some evil secret. It was like being swallowed by some mythical monster.

Sir Edmund obviously felt nothing of this. Gazing round in satisfaction at his new possession, he gave the order to dismount. Sighing with relief his men did so and the silence of the courtyard was suddenly broken by the hubbub of a dozen different voices.

A shrill shriek of outrage rose above it all and Jane stared at the little drama unfolding before her. Oswald, to ribald cries, was hauling a struggling Mother Ursula from the back of his horse. Handling her like a sack of flour, he dumped her unceremoniously on her feet, so hard that her teeth rattled, then stood back in amusement. It was a mistake. Recovering instantly she flew at him like a fury, her fingers curved into claws, and the grin was wiped from his face as she sank her nails into his face, leaving four bleeding lines scored into his grizzled cheek.

For a moment he was frozen with astonishment, then with a roar of rage he seized her and flung her over his knee, pulling off the cloak she had been wrapped in to reveal the pale globes of her bottom. ‘Scratch me, would you, you little wildcat?' he panted. ‘Well, I'll draw your claws for you.'

As she wriggled and kicked he raised his hand and brought it down with a thwack on her exposed flesh, leaving a massive handprint on her buttocks - first in white then in red as the blood rushed back. She screamed again, this time in pain. His arm rose and fell again and again, until the cheeks of her backside were as scarlet as those of her face. Her writhings had obviously excited him. Still gripping her with one hand, in case she made a break for freedom, he pushed her from his lap and began to fumble with his codpiece. Jane gasped as he produced his male member; purple, swollen and almost two hands-breadth in length. Mother Ursula recoiled in horror, but he shoved her to her knees, gripped her by the scruff of the neck and pushed her face towards it.

‘Here's the answer to your prayers,' he said, chuckling. ‘Chew on that, instead of your holy bread.'

Mother Ursula's eyes watered with tears of humiliation and she gagged as he forced himself into her mouth, while his companions roared their encouragement. Jane watched with fascinated dread as the fat length of his cock slid in and out between the woman's reluctant lips. Grunting and pumping his hips he moved faster and faster until, with a groan, he withdrew at the last minute. There was a ragged cheer as his prick jerked and spasmed, splattering Mother Ursula's face with his seed.

Indifferent now, he pushed her aside, adjusted his clothing and strode off, barking orders. Still kneeling in the dust, Mother Ursula wiped the defilement from her mouth and cheeks and glared up at Jane. Only her eyes were alive in her bone-white face, and Jane shuddered inwardly at the expression of hatred in them. She was the one who had brought Mother Ursula to this place and this humiliation - and if the woman had hated her before, it must surely be nothing to what she felt now.

Entertainment over, Sir Edmund clicked his fingers and the audience broke up and set, grumbling, about the task of unsaddling. Beckoning to Jane, he strode through the half-open door of the main hall, only to stop in shock.

‘God's teeth!' he exclaimed, wrinkling his nose in disgust. ‘The place is foul!'

Jane stared around in dismay. Dust coated every surface and cobwebs hung in festoons from the corners. The rushes stank, and nothing remained of the furniture but a few items too heavy to carry or broken remains deemed too worthless to take. The previous owner might have died a traitor's death, but his family had taken everything they could carry before they fled. What little they'd left had obviously been scavenged or smashed.