Wages of Sin (21 page)

Jane ignored his taunt. ‘Why have you brought her here?' she demanded.

He grinned. ‘A little notion of mine. I thought tonight's payment for your favours should be the chapel. Who better then to join us in our revels than the erstwhile mistress of the convent? Besides,' he went on, ‘I rather think she has a crow to pluck with you - which should add a little extra spice to this evening's entertainment.'

‘No,' gasped Jane, gazing beseechingly at him. ‘I beg of you, no!'

‘Oh, yes,' he said with relish. He touched the scar on his cheek, still crusted with dried blood where she had clawed him. ‘Did I not warn you that you would pay for this? Well, it is time to settle your reckoning.' He clicked his fingers. ‘Seize her!'

Mother Ursula needed no second telling. Grasping hold of the night rail she ripped it from Jane's back and hauled her from the bed. Her bony fingers dug viciously into Jane's arms as she pulled them behind her back.

‘Excellent,' purred Sir Edmund as he regarded Jane's naked, struggling body, admiring her heaving breasts and the way the firelight gilded her smooth flesh. ‘And now, the
piece de resistance
.' With a flourish he produced an object from behind his back. It gleamed dully, and Jane froze.

‘Wh-what is that?' she quavered. He shook it tauntingly before her eyes and it produced a musical jingling sound.

‘It is a hood, madam,' he explained. ‘If a falcon or a kestrel strikes out of turn, what do we do? We hood it, lest it strike again. Your claws drew blood today, my little bird, but I do not think they will again.' He glared at Ursula. ‘Hold her!'

She struggled even more frantically, but Ursula held her in a grip of steel as he slipped the hood over her head, plunging her into suffocating darkness. She gasped for breath, then sighed with relief as she found the mouth-hole and drew blessed air into her grateful lungs. At least they did not mean to kill her. With the grotesque beaked hood, she looked like some mythical creature, half bird and half woman. Totally disorientated as she was, every sensation was magnified. Jane was aware of each individual nail on Ursula's fingers as they dug into her, could feel each diseased breath on the back of her neck, feel even the firelight as it danced across her skin. She shivered, her nipples tightening.

The next thing she was aware of was Sir Edmund's husky voice. ‘Tie her to the bed. I would take my pleasure.' Within her confines, Jane relaxed. Perhaps her ordeal would be over sooner than she thought.

‘You said I could punish her,' whined Mother Ursula. ‘You promised!' The woman sounded like a bad-tempered child denied a sweetmeat. Jane tensed again, offering up a quick prayer that his lust would overcome him.

It was not answered. ‘I did, didn't I?' he purred in reply. ‘And a gentleman never breaks his word.' Jane could hear the twisted amusement in his voice as he used the same words to Mother Ursula as he had used to her. And her heart sank as she heard his next words. ‘Do with her as you will.'

The world exploded into pain as Mother Ursula pushed her face down across the bed, wrenched her arms above her head and bound her wrists cruelly tight, fastening them to the bed-pole. Her legs were still free and she kicked desperately, but to no avail. Blinded as she was, her flailing legs met nothing but empty air. A sharp fingernail ran the length of her spine, almost breaking the skin, and she tensed in fear, dreading what must be coming next.

She did not have long to wait. Mother Ursula's gloating laugh was followed by a high-pitched, whistling noise and Jane shrieked as the lash met her quivering flesh in a burning kiss.

Sir Edmund drew in his breath as a thin red line appeared across the trembling globes of her buttocks. Mother Ursula cackled and raised her arm again.

Jane jerked and screamed as another red line appeared, lower this time, as the lash licked the soft skin just below where the sweet curves of her bottom met the smooth thighs. Sir Edmund's mouth was dry and his prick throbbed within its confines.

Another blow and another. Jane's bottom and thighs gleamed rosily where the blood had rushed to the surface. The chamber was silent now, except for Jane's muffled moaning, the slap of leather on flesh and Mother Ursula's grunts of pleasure. The nun raised her arm again, then snarled with thwarted rage as Sir Edmund seized her wrist before the blow could fall.

‘Enough,' he ordered, pushing her away. ‘Do you wish to mar the girl for life? Or worse?' He grunted as he fumbled at his hose. ‘I do not wish to slake my lust upon a corpse.'

Jane whimpered again as he pulled her unresisting body round until she was lying face upwards. The movement had loosened her bonds a little, but they still bit into her wrists. There was no escape, no matter how hard she wrenched to free herself. She lay blind and helpless as his eager hands explored her body, wincing as he pinched her nipples until they began to rise. There was a pause, then she gasped as each teat in turn was enveloped in warm wetness. She moaned again, this time with reluctant pleasure, as his tongue circled one tight bud and his thumb stroked the other, teasing both into full hardness.

Bony hands seized Jane's ankles and pulled her legs apart. She tensed with fear as sharp fingernails scratched the soft insides of her thighs, creeping higher, towards her most privy place. What was Mother Ursula doing now? She braced herself for more agony.

It didn't come. Instead, she felt the soft lips of her vulva being parted and an eager tongue thrusting its way in, probing at first, then lapping at the hard nub at the centre of her being. The heat from her beaten bottom melded into the heat from her loins and she bit her lip, trying to suppress the wicked sensations. This was sin upon sin! Another woman licking at her private parts - and she was responding! Ursula slipped two fingers into the silky wetness and began to move them in time to her lapping tongue. Jane groaned and shuddered as waves of wicked pleasure washed through her, her hips rising to meet each new thrust.

Sir Edmund watched as Mother Ursula's tongue and fingers darted in and out of Jane's sweet cunny, her other hand plunging between her own thighs. He groaned aloud, his cock rigid with lust. Seizing the pillow he stuffed it beneath Jane's head, then straddled her upper body. Gripping her breasts he moulded them together and thrust himself between them, his thumbs still stroking their rampant crests as he rocked backwards and forwards.

Beneath her hood, Jane moaned again, no longer aware of who was doing what to her, but only of her own mounting pleasure. Sir Edmund gasped as he released her breasts and moved higher up the bed until his straining prick was pressed against the mouth-hole of the hood. She obediently opened her lips and drew him in, accepting the feel of the swollen head. She traced its smooth rim, then flicked its blind eye with her tongue, and it was Sir Edmund's turn to groan. His hips quickened as he plunged in and out of her snug, moist mouth.

Jane felt him swell, his loins shuddering, and groaned with satisfaction. The feel of the stiff prick thrusting into her mouth and Mother Ursula's eager tonguing had brought her to the peak of ecstasy. She no longer cared whether this was a sin, she only wanted it to go on until she exploded with pleasure.

His cock jerked and spasmed and she felt the sweet rush of his seed against the roof of her mouth. She swallowed greedily as her own climax took her, bringing her to shuddering release, and she sagged against the pillows as he withdrew, ignoring Mother Ursula's high-pitched moans as she, too, spent her solitary lust.

Sir Edmund was the first to recover and Jane blinked in dazed bewilderment as he pulled the hood from her head and smirked down at her. ‘It seems you found this more pleasure than punishment, madam.' His lips twisted in a sneer. ‘What a rampant little strumpet you are.'

He walked to the foot of the bed, kicked Mother Ursula and hauled her to her feet, her thin lips still glistening with Jane's juices. ‘As for you, bitch, back to the kennels with you.' He pushed her towards the door, then paused on the threshold, turning back to Jane. ‘They say that appetite grows by feeding. Perhaps next time we will find something more substantial to satisfy it.'

She stared after him in dismay, humiliation sweeping over her in a hot tide as she remembered how eagerly she had responded to him and, even worse, to Ursula. She groaned and tears of shame trickled down her cheeks. How much lower could she sink?

 

 

 

As Sir Edmund loomed over her, whip in hand, Jane started awake with a shriek of terror. Then stared round her room, blinking in bewilderment. It was empty. No whip-wielding monster. No Mother Ursula leering down at her as she prepared to abuse the helpless body before her. Nothing but the late morning sunlight gilding the wooden panelling. She sighed with relief and sagged back against her pillows. It wasn't real. It had only been a nightmare.

The discarded dress, still lying in a crumpled heap on the floor, brought the previous night's events flooding back to her and she groaned in despair. Reality was worse than any nightmare.

Her back still hurt from Mother Ursula's beating, but worst of all was the shame that scalded her as she recalled how she had responded to their attentions. Even now her nipples were hardening in response to the memory and the secret place between her thighs throbbed demandingly, aching to be filled again by his thrusting prick. She groaned out loud and leaped from her bed. The water in the basin and ewer was icy, despite the sun shining through the window, and she fell on it gratefully, shuddering as she splashed it over her overheated body as if she could wash the sin of lust away. Cold and shivering, but blessedly free now of her tormenting urges, she wrapped herself in the drying-cloth and opened the cedar chest.

The dress she chose was as ugly as it was practical. Dark, loose and high-necked, it enveloped her from head to toe, hiding her hips and breasts like a nun's habit. She sighed, reached for her girdle and encircled her waist, then picked up her comb. Wincing, she tugged it through the tangles until her long hair fell into loose curls that hung softly over her shoulders. What was the point of scraping it back in an attempt to make herself undesirable? She'd tried that once already and it had failed to work, but at least in this voluminous gown she felt, in some strange way, safe.

The day lay before her emptily; nothing but another stretch of tedious hours to be filled before Sir Edmund came again to claim his rights upon her terrified body.

Her head came up as a horrible thought struck her. The deed! What if he had not fulfilled his side of the bargain? Even worse, what if he had taken it back from Father Andrew and destroyed it? Nothing was beyond him. She shook her head to clear it. She was worrying about nothing. He had given her his word.

But, once lodged in her consciousness, the worm of worry gnawed away at her certainty. How could she truly trust a man who abused her so? He would no doubt find it amusing to lead her on, take his pleasure upon her, then cast her out with nothing. She bit her lip. She could not settle until her mind was put at ease. After a moment's thought the solution to the problem presented itself. She would visit Father Andrew and see for herself, thus easing her mind and filling in the empty hours at the same time. Two birds killed with one stone.

The decision made, she was instantly more cheerful - then her face fell. What if Sir Edmund refused to let her leave the confines of the castle? Her lips set in resolution. What the mind didn't know, the heart didn't grieve over. She would visit the priest, but not as Lady Jane. The enveloping gown already hid a multitude of sins, and with the hood of her cloak pulled up to hide her distinctive hair, who would notice a serving-maid about her master's business? She set about pulling on the worn old boots, grateful now for their cracks and scuffs. Maidservants did not wear fine Moroccan leather slippers.

Head bowed, she scurried along the corridors and out into the courtyard. The sun had disappeared behind lowering grey clouds and heavy rain had begun to fall. By the time she came to the door of the kitchen her hair was plastered darkly against her scalp and her skirts were spattered with mud. She looked like any other draggle-tailed skivvy.

The kitchens were the usual seething mass of bodies and it was the work of a moment to pull a shabby cloak from the pegs at the door and wrap herself in it, tugging the hood up about her ears.

A familiar voice stopped her in her tracks. Martha! Her disguise had been penetrated already; her adventure stopped before it had even begun.

‘Yes, you girl!' Jane turned and Martha glared at her without recognition. ‘And just where d'ye think you're going?' she demanded, hands on hips. ‘There's work to be done.'

‘The privy, ma'am,' mumbled Jane meekly, head still bowed. ‘I've got the bellyache.'

‘Well, be quick about it,' ordered Martha. She thrust a large basket into Jane's hands. ‘Here, do something useful while you're at it and gather them eggs on your way back.' She wagged a warning finger under Jane's nose. ‘And if I finds out you been hanging about talking to them men instead of getting on with your work, there's going to be trouble. Now get on with it.'

A large hand propelled her firmly out of the door and into the rain again. Jane scarcely dared to believe her good luck. If Martha didn't recognise her, no one would. And the basket would add to her disguise. Poor Martha; she would have a long wait for her eggs. Jane could only hope she did not choose to take her disappointment out on some other poor unfortunate.