Wages of Sin (16 page)

The day passed in a whirl of pleasant activity. For the rest of the morning she supervised the gathering of rose petals from the neglected garden and set about making pot pourri in the still room. After a hearty midday meal she rode down to the convent and appropriated needles, linen and silks; luxuries she had been denied under Ursula's heavy hand. The afternoon she spent in the solar, happily planning out her embroidery.

In the evening she dined alone in her room, free from the lewd stares of Edmund's men. Yawning, she sat comfortably in front of the fire, sleepily watching the patterns in the flames, and when she finally crept into her bed, alone, she was soundly asleep within seconds.

She awoke with a scream as pain lashed through her. Terrified and disorientated, she groped for the covers to draw about her - and discovered that they had gone, leaving her unprotected, save for the thin material of her night rail. She stared at the shadowy figure looming over her in the semi-darkness. Had Edmund returned so quickly? Another tongue of pain lashed across her tender breasts and she writhed in agony against the crumpled sheets. As her sight adjusted to the dimness she saw her attacker clearly, and gasped in horror. Illuminated by a solitary candle, Mother Ursula's face glistened with the sweat of madness. Her coif was gone and flashing eyes glared down at Jane from her shaven skull. Her lips were pulled back in the grin of a rabid bitch and flecks of saliva gleamed on her chin.

Jane shuddered and recoiled. Mother Ursula's grin widened even further as the claw holding the short-handled dog-whip rose to deliver the next blow. The lash whistled through the air to cut a fine red line across Jane's quivering belly and she moaned and curled herself around the pain.

‘Thought you'd got away with it, didn't you?' snarled Ursula. ‘Well, you were wrong, my fine lady. How dare you humiliate me!' Her voice rose in a crescendo of self-pity and insanity. ‘Me, your Mother Superior!' Reaching down she ripped the thin night rail from Jane's shrinking body, revealing the girl's creamy back and smooth pale buttocks.

The whip rose. The lash wrapped itself round the curve of Jane's hips and another tongue of fire licked her cringing body. Mother Ursula cackled with glee. The horrifying truth dawned on Jane. This was no ordinary whipping. The madwoman intended to beat her to death! She whimpered with fear, but self-preservation goaded her into action. Ignoring the pain she pushed herself to her knees, swayed for a moment, then lunged towards her attacker.

Mother Ursula easily evaded Jane's feeble hands, then lunged herself, knocking Jane backwards. Her head banged against the bedpost and everything went grey. Through the mist of semi-consciousness she barely felt the rain of blows or saw the madness in the other woman's face as she groped for something heavy to finish the job she had started.

Dreamily, Jane watched as the heavy iron candlestick rose in the air and began to descend in the final killing blow. She stared up in dull resignation and waited for it all to be over.

The blow never came. From out of nowhere it seemed, a hand grasped Mother Ursula's wrist. Hissing and spitting with frustrated fury she struggled to break free, but to no avail. The candlestick was wrenched from her fingers and dropped at her feet, the candle, which had miraculously stayed alight until now, finally flickering out. Jane's rescuer dragged Mother Ursula's arms behind her back and bundled her, still cursing and spitting, out into the corridor and the tender care of two men-at-arms.

Still dazed, she stared up in complete incomprehension. Sir Edmund appeared to be staring down at her.

She blinked and rubbed her eyes. When she opened them again, he was still there. ‘But... but I thought you were attending your dying uncle?' she stammered.

‘Stupid old fool,' he snorted in response. ‘He was no more dying than I am.' He waved a dismissive hand. ‘A surfeit of damned lampreys was all he suffered from. Half a day in the stool-room and he was as healthy as an ox. We were barely two hours on the road when we met the second messenger coming to inform me of his miraculous recovery.'

Jane closed her eyes. ‘Thank God,' she said fervently. ‘If he had not - and you had not returned when you did...' Her voice trailed off into silence as she realised that, for her, his uncle's recovery truly had been miraculous. Without it, she would have died as well.

She opened her eyes again and stared up at him in gratitude. ‘And thank you, my lord. Still, at least my ordeal is over now.'

His cruel laugh startled her into fresh terror. ‘Oh no, my pretty one,' he said, shaking his head. ‘You're wrong there.'

‘But I don't understand,' she whispered. ‘Wh-what do you mean?'

‘What do I mean, my lady?' he scoffed. ‘I mean that your debt is due and that I intend to start collecting.' He smiled down into her horrified face and slowly began to unbuckle his belt. ‘Your ordeal has only just begun.'

 

 

 

‘Please, please, I beg you,' Jane whispered, backing as far away as the bed and her aching body would allow. ‘Do not hurt me any more. I could not bear it.'

Sir Edmund stopped, a frown crossing his face, and strode to the door. ‘Candles!' he bellowed. ‘Now.'

There was the sound of hurried conversation, followed by that of scurrying feet, then light filled the doorway as two servants hurried in, carrying a brace of candlesticks each. ‘Put them down there,' he ordered. Bobbing a hasty curtsy they hastened to obey, then stood waiting for further instructions.

He glared at them, tapping his foot impatiently. ‘Well? What are you standing there for? Be about your business.' He paused. ‘No, wait. Bring me clean cloths, salt water and some marigold salve.'

Once they had finally gone he turned back to the bed. ‘Let me look at you,' he commanded. Clutching the remnants of her night rail to her in a vain attempt to conceal her private parts, Jane did as she was told, groaning as every movement set off fresh pain. She rolled on to her stomach and buried her head in the pillow, ashamed both of her weakness, and the fact that she was stretched out naked and helpless before him.

He stared down at her, his eye following the soft curve of her shoulders, half-hidden by the tangle of auburn hair, down to the indentation of her narrow waist, the voluptuous swell of her hips and her long smooth thighs. A soft whistle escaped from between his teeth as he saw the damage Mother Ursula had inflicted upon the slim young body.

A network of fine red lines criss-crossed the soft creaminess of her flesh. In places the skin was broken and angry purple bruises bloomed. But it could have been much worse. Had that demented bitch had a horsewhip instead of a dog-whip, he would be looking down at a stiffening corpse instead of a warm breathing body. He reached for the ewer, poured water into the basin and dipped the cloth into it.

Seeing the sudden movement from the corner of her eye, Jane stiffened in apprehension. ‘What are you going to do?' she croaked through dry lips. ‘Are you going to beat me, too?'

He gave a harsh bark of laughter. ‘Don't be ridiculous, girl. Why should I beat you? Only a madman would ruin a mare he wishes to ride. And I intend to ride you well and long. No, girl, I'm only going to tend your wounds.' He lifted the dripping cloth from the basin. ‘Prepare yourself,' he ordered. ‘This is going to hurt.'

Jane winced and bit her lip at the first touch of the cloth, the salty water stinging the broken skin. Then she groaned with pleasure as the coolness soothed her throbbing flesh. Beads of water trickled slowly down her flanks, like an icy caress.

Once her wounds were washed he dabbed them dry with unexpected gentleness. Finally, he scooped up a generous helping of marigold salve and began to apply it.

Jane gasped again, this time with pleasure as his hard hands stroked and kneaded her from nape to ankle, lingering on the smooth curve of her buttocks. The pain was fading now, to be replaced by a warm tingling. His fingers dipped delicately between her thighs, grazing the soft lips of her sex, and she drew in a ragged breath, feeling herself moisten at his touch.

‘Roll over,' he ordered, his voice husky with desire. Reluctantly she did so, holding the tattered remnants of her night rail against her, her face flushed with shame at the heat that pulsed through her. He plucked the thin material from her clutching hands and threw it to the floor. ‘God's teeth, girl,' he muttered. ‘How am I supposed to tend you if you try and hide yourself?'

He stopped, transfixed at the sight of her: the high round breasts with their enticing, unawakened nipples, and the triangle of flame-red hair that seemed to glow between her thighs like a beacon.

It had been her back that bore the brunt of Mother Ursula's punishment, but there were two ugly weals to show where her first blows had fallen. One lay across her belly and down the line of her hip, while the other had bitten viciously into the smooth flesh of her breasts, barely missing the tender nipples.

Sir Edmund traced the red line with his thumb and it was Jane's turn to gasp. Turning away, he dipped the cloth in the basin again and ran it over the soft curves of her body, watching in fascination as beads of moisture ran down her belly, disappearing into the brazen patch of pubic hair, and the tips of her breasts peaked and hardened as the cold water touched them. Swallowing audibly, he reached for the salve and began to apply it.

Jane moaned as his fingers strayed from their intended path. Taking each nipple in turn, he rolled them between finger and thumb till they stood out, hard and glistening against the soft white mounds of her breasts. Against her will, her thighs loosened and his other hand began to explore the wet warmth between them. Parting the flaming crest of hair, his fingers found the hot cleft of her sex, slid into it and began to move rhythmically. As he leaned over her his mouth replaced the fingers at her breast and he took first one and then the other between his lips, sucking eagerly as his tongue circled the tight buds. She moaned again, this time with pleasure.

Withdrawing, he stood up and began to fumble at his belt once more. Jane watched with heavy-lidded eyes as he dragged off his clothes and dropped them in a tumbled heap at his feet to stand before her naked.

She drew in her breath with astonishment. His broad shoulders and chest were covered with a thick pelt of dark hair, apart from a long thin line where the flesh twisted pink and gnarled. A sword cut - and one which had healed badly at that. But it wasn't this that made her gasp.

Her eyes followed the line of hair that bisected the muscular belly to where his manhood reared up as if it had a life of its own. Thick and swollen, it jutted from his groin like an iron bar, its purple tip so engorged with blood that the tight skin gleamed in the candlelight. She whimpered with a mixture of fear and excitement.

‘Please don't hurt me,' she begged.

He was not listening to her. Overcome with desire he flung himself on her like a wild beast. Kneeling between her legs he pulled them apart until the soft lips of her sex parted to reveal the glistening pink opening inside. He was ruthless in his exploration, his fingers plundering the secrets of her body.

Seizing her wrists he held them above her head as his heavy body pressed down, immobilising her, his chest crushing her breasts. She groaned as the head of his cock pushed against her throbbing vulva, then yelped as the full length slid slowly and inexorably inside her.

For a moment he was still, then he began to move, slowly at first then faster as her juices lubricated him and eased his passage. At each thrust the whip marks on her back shrieked their protest, but the discomfort served only to increase the wild sensations running through her, until she could no longer tell pain from pleasure.

Despite herself her back arched and she wrapped her legs about his waist. Her hips rose to meet each new thrust, pushing his thick prick deeper inside her until she was sobbing with anguished delight. He groaned deep in the back of his throat and she felt his cock jerk and spasm as he spilt his seed. A scream escaped her own throat as it triggered her release. Gasping and juddering she clung to him as her vulva clenched and unclenched about him, milking the last few drops from his wilting member.

With a groan of satisfaction he rolled off her body and collapsed on the bed beside her, still panting. ‘My God!' he rasped. ‘For an innocent from the convent you fuck like an accomplished whore!'

Jane wasn't sure whether to be pleased or insulted, but his words brought back their bargain. ‘I am delighted to have pleased you, sir,' she purred, rolling over and running a finger down the scar on his chest. ‘Now what do you intend to give me for my services?'

He grinned at her lazily and reached over to tweak one subsiding nipple. ‘The convent gardens, I think,' he said.

‘Is that all?' She pouted. ‘Am I not worth more than a few acres of ground?'

At her words his face hardened and he sprang from the bed as if he'd been stung. ‘I might have known,' he snarled, staring down at her in disgust. ‘You're like any other common whore - always looking for more.'

She gazed at him in dismay, regretting her hasty words as he reached for his clothes. With each garment he pulled on he became more distant until, by the time he was fully dressed, he was a stranger again. His face was set and hard. The gentleness with which he had tended her wounds might never have existed.