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“You have now. Go.”

  “But.” The other woman began to protest, stopping when Jane reached for her arm, squeezing quickly. “As you wish Cook, she's done what we wanted her to do. No complaints there.”

  That was one thing at least. No complaints, less of a reason for Cook to add to her punishment and no chance of Davien being given a report that would lead to a stiff lesson at his hands. Yet, she still had to endure whatever it was that the cook had in mind before the matter would finally be laid to rest.

  “Go back to the sacking.” Emily all but pushed Celeste from her lap, forcing her onto her hands and knees with a grunt of pain.

  She didn't waste a moment to protest and crawled quickly back to the pile of sacking. Her breasts swayed with each hurried move, the full globes tugging towards the floor, nipples hard, her body flushed from the combination of the spanking and the shame she still felt. What did Cook have in mind for her? She'd been spanked, forced to pleasure a woman for the first time and now she had to face the mistress of the kitchen. A woman known for her cruelty, something she had already tasted briefly before being forced to crawl down into the root cellar.

  “Back up the stairs with the pair of you. Wash up though before you go back to work. I'll not have two dirty whores stinking the place out.”

  That was all the Jane and Emily needed, without a word they both fled from the cellar, not even looking back at the young woman who now remained on her hands and knees on the heavy sacking.

  “Well now, certainly looks like they put you to good use little slut.” The woman's cool gaze fixed on Celeste's trembling form. “But I don't think you've been shown just how low a slave here really is. Oh his Lordship does a good job at teaching the rules as far as he is concerned, but down here is where I rule. I may be his servant but here and in the kitchens I'm the Queen.”

  Her stomach rolled. “I understand Ma'am.”

  “You don't but you will before the day is over.”

  Somehow she had no doubt of that, especially with the look in the older woman's eyes. “Yes, Ma'am.”

  “Head to the sacking, ass up in the air.”

  Celeste didn't dare hesitate. She pressed her cheek against the sacking, straining to hear where the woman was within the room. The cook had something in mind, that much was obvious, though Celeste couldn't be sure just what was planned right now.

  “Yes, a nice bright pink color, still your ass would look better stuffed and a deeper shade of red.” The cook traced her fingers over Celeste's still throbbing ass. “Filled by a nice fake cock, worked all the way into that tight little ass of yours. How does that sound to you?”

  “Please Ma'am, don't.”

  “Why shouldn't I? Are you not a slave? Have you not been sent down to please me and the others in the kitchen?” The older woman grasped Celeste by the hips. “You're a slut, a whore, a piece of property for the pleasure of those better than you. And that, girl, includes everyone in the house from the Master right down to the lowest scullery maid.”

  “I... I know Ma'am. I'll try to please, I swear I will. But take pity, have mercy. I'm like you. Not rich, not born to station. Just someone who wanted to have a normal life. He stole me from my home, my family.”

  “Better you than me or one of my girls.”

  Is that what it boiled down to? Better this happen to a stranger, someone from another country, than one of their own people?

  “I have a home, family, friends, they'll be worried about me.”

  “And they'll assume you ran off with some fancy boy, or ended up dead. Doesn't matter either way. You'll never see your home again unless his Lordship decides to show you off there, so it's best you get used to the idea.”

  No hope, no sympathy and no sign of an ally in the cook or those who worked for her. “I understand, Ma'am.”

  “Ah girlie, you don't. Sit up now.” The woman's voice softened and by the time Celeste had sat down the Cook had taken a seat on a barrel. “You're not the first, but I can see you're not like the others he's had. They'd bowed down to his whims by now, body, mind and soul. Not you though. There's a fire in you, that's for sure.”

  A fire, a drive to find a way home, to break free of the cruelty this life offered her. “Yes, Ma'am. I just want to go home.”

  “I know, so did they, but they wanted him as well. Not you though eh? You have a brawny lad waiting for you? Someone who has your heart? Is that what keeps you going?”

  The Raven. His eyes, those dark piercing eyes that had held her for a brief moment.

  “Not really, Ma'am. There's someone I have my eye on, but I doubt he knows I exist.” Why wasn't she taking advantage of her the way the other women had done? Celeste peered at the woman closely, searching for some reason behind the Cook's choices.

  “I see, so not love of a man, then what is it that keeps you from accepting his wishes?” The Cook's gaze narrowed thoughtfully. “There has to be something.”

  “Home,” she murmured. “My home. It's not much, just a farm where my Dad and I live with my sister, but it's the world to me. I can't explain it, not really, but it's a place where I belong. I can walk through the fields there, work, look after the horses, see to the care of the kitchen, a dozen little things and know that it's my hand that's kept things running.”

  “Farm girl then?” A slight smile touched the woman's lips. “Never thought that of you, not with that hair and your skin.”

  “Did what I could to look after myself. Small treats, cleansing and the like, I don't have the beauty my sister has, she's the one the lads go after but then... ”

  “Then what? Ah, I see it in your eyes, she lets them lift her skirts?”

  Celeste nodded, shame flushing her cheeks. “She's free with her favors. Mystic has always been that way. Anything in pants and a few things out of them if half the rumors were right. My Dad wouldn't believe it though, not his daughter.”

  “Eldest?”

  “And favorite.”

  “Often the way there girlie.”

  Yes, it was, but it didn't change things. “I need my home. I can't imagine going through the rest of my life without seeing it again.” Despite the lack of clothing and the odd place that the two women now used as a meeting ground, there was something comfortable about the situation. Gone was the harridan Celeste had feared she would face and in her place was an almost sympathetic woman.

  “You can't always get what you want lass, surely you know that.”

  “But he had no right to take me away from my home.”

  “In his viewpoint he had every right. Your Master is a hard man, not one to be crossed. No matter what you think of him you need to be aware that he will not be refused. If he wants something or someone, then he will go for it and nothing is permitted to stand in his way.” One calloused thumb rubbed over the Cook's chin. “He's not the type to back down, I've seen him go through three women since I came here, not counting the one he had when I first arrived. Now normally a woman can count on being hounded by their Master, or by the men under his command, but not here. Those he pays wages to don't cross that line, they aren't fair game no matter what young Emily might think. He don't piss in his own back yard that one.”

  That made sense, however much she disliked the reasons. Picking up someone locally would have caused Davien problems in the long term. Authorities, or the local families might have banded together in order to deal with the situation. Or were the English a weak willed people? No, they wouldn't be that easy to control. If they had been then her people would have thrown them out of Ireland years ago.

  “What's going to happen to me?” She fought to keep the whimper from her voice and failed. “I want out of here, a chance to return to my family.”

  “That's not going to happen.”

  “And you, what do you have planned for me?” Her gaze focused fully on the Cook. “I've done you no harm, and you know what those women did to me. I tried to please them, I just— Gods I don't know what else to do.”

  “Me girl, not
hing this time. I'm not interested in a bit of sport today. Though you've given me an excuse to take a break, the girls upstairs will assume I'm enjoying myself so won't slack off and I get the chance to rest my feet. Busy life working the kitchens, would have thought a farm girl like yourself understood that.” Celeste did, but after everything that had already happened, all the pain she had been forced to endure, she had not expected a moment's respite. Yet now she could see that despite the lack of true interest from the Cook, the woman was still human, she still enjoyed a moment to relax away from the hustle and bustle of the ever-busy kitchen. “As for the Master, obey him, don't do things to anger him any further, bite your tongue and remember that he doesn't miss anything.”

  No, he didn't, she'd learned that the hard way.

  “And you?”

  “I'm the cook, as I said earlier this is where I rule. Yes, I answer to him but other than that I rule here fully.” The older woman smiled. “Up with you, time for you to have that bath he ordered.”

  The bath, nothing more than the bath now faced her, for whatever reason the cook had decided to show her some small level of mercy. “Thank you, for not taking advantage, I mean.”

  “That stays between thee and me, girlie. Is that understood?”

  “Yes, Ma'am.” She had no intention of spreading this moment's of kindness around. A weakness seen in the woman that ran the kitchens could cause problems beyond anything that she had known before. “I won't break that trust.”

  “If you do then I'll make your life a living hell.”

  As if it wasn't close to that to begin with.

  “Up those stairs slut,” the Cook snapped as she pushed to her feet. “Your bath will be ready for you soon enough. He wants you all cleaned and prepared for his guests so that's what we do next. On your feet, you can walk up there this time. No point in making you even more dirty than you are right now.”

  The bath, scrubbed down by someone else as if she lacked the ability to wash herself. His whim, his wish and that grated on her nerves beyond anything else she had experienced at his hand. Humility and acceptance, if she was to survive his plans she needed to learn both, or at least how to fake them well enough to avoid further problems.

  Silently, she pushed to her feet, lowering her gaze as she folded her hands before her lap. Calm, be calm, focused, meek, anything that would prevent them from hurting her further.

  The stone steps were cold beneath her bare feet, but she tried to shut it out the same way she needed to ignore the fate that awaited her.

  A dozen sets of gazes fixed on her naked and trembling form as she walked back into the kitchen, shivering and more than a little nervous at the thought of the bath.

  “Well now, that's done. Get the tub out, hot water, soap and brushes. This one needs a good washing down like his Lordship wants. Needs her all nice and clean for the arrival of his guests, he does, and he's not one that likes to be kept waiting. So up and at ‘em my lads and lasses. Get that water heated up now.”

  The large tin tub was hauled into the kitchen, then pushed to one side away from the busiest area of the room. Water boiled in huge pots over the open fire place, brushes and course towels were laid down by the side of the bath tub as the cook herself took position ready to scrub her down.

  Heated water was poured into the tub, a bucket or two of cold to make it safe for her to step into the tub.

  “In you get.” The older woman gestured to the tub. “Best we get you good and clean like he wants so you can return to him. He's a busy one is his Lordship.”

  “Yes, Ma'am.” She nodded and stepped into the tub, hot, almost too hot. A small hiss passed through her clenched teeth. She stood for a moment, trying to become used to the heat, relaxing as it seemed to fade to the point where she could lower down to her knees in the water.

  The brush rubbed over her flesh, forcing a soft cry of pain into being. Harsh bristles that almost bit into her skin. She tried to keep still as the brushes were worked over her body, the soap building up with each pass of the brush. A bucket of water was tipped over her head, cold. Ice cold.

  “Hush child. It won't take much longer. Now stand up.” The Cook grasped her by the arm, then scrubbed Celeste down with brisk strokes of the brush. Celeste fought to stand still as the woman worked the soap and bristles over Celeste's nude form until it turned a deep shade of red, small spots of blood beaded on her skin between the scrapes.

  “Hurts.”

  “Yes, it will do.” The Cook nodded. “Almost done though.”

  Good, she couldn't take it much longer. Sharp needles of pain, cold water that washed the soap from her form, more scrapes from the brush and still she tried not to move, not to fight the work the Cook was putting in.

  “Out you get.” The woman picked up the largest of the towels. “Come on, into the towel. Have to get that hair of yours brushed out as well. Never seen the like of it before. Like woven moonlight. No wonder he picked you out with hair like that.”

  “Moon touched, the Raven called it moon touched.” The Raven, would he even recall her name now? It had been some time and might be a year or more before she managed to find her way home again.

  “The Raven?” The older woman wrapped the towel tight about Celeste's body, rubbing her down briskly. “Who's that?”

  “A rogue, nothing more than a rogue of the roads. The Raven is well known back home, I ran into him once.” Heat touched her cheeks, her throat drying out as she tried to put her thoughts into words. “Not that I mean anything to him. He barely knows I exist.”

  “Long enough to talk to him though.”

  And share a kiss. That brief caress of lips against lips, his arms wrapped about her body, the way she had felt in that moment had been a bright light to shield her from the darkness her world had become.

  “Yes, long enough to exchange a few words. Nothing more than that. I'm nothing to him.”

  Only his moon touched lass, nothing more.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Her skin glistened from the bath, still red in places, raw in others but the combined affect of the bath water and the scrubbing brush, along with the soap, had left her skin over sensitive. Something he now took advantage of. Davien Blood walked slowly around her bound form, tugging on the cords that crossed her body, then brushed his finger tips over her breasts, sending a soft shiver through her form.

  “Good, they shouldn't slip.”

  Her gaze hardened at his words, jaw clenching. Did he honestly believe she cared if they slipped or not?

  “Kneel.” Davien pointed to the rug at the side of his favorite chair. “You know the position. Stay silent and wait. I have work to attend to. Papers I have to go through. My guests will arrive soon enough and when they do I wish them to see the tame little beast I now own.”

  Tame? Is that what he thought she was?

  “I know you will want to squirm with those sweet little additions to your outfit, but you know not to move without my permission. Break it and you'll be punished.” He turned back to the papers that were now scattered across the desk.

  Additions. That was one word for it.

  Wincing she moved quietly to the side of the fire, easing to her knees, but each step forced the double penetration of carved oiled horn deeper into her body. A thick belt held them in place, but it didn't prevent her from feeling the effect of their presence.

  If it had been just the fake cocks in her body she might have been able to deal with it. Sure it wouldn't have been easy, but the rest, those interesting little additions made ignoring it near impossible.

  A cord had been bound about her upper body, circling her breasts, forcing them into swollen mounds trapped between the cording. Small clamps had been screwed into place on her nipples, her arms bound behind her back wrapped in leather until her breasts where forced out. Pain, discomfort and now the knowledge that she wasn't to move without permission despite the need to squirm that now wracked through her bound form, all combined to put her in a position she hated.


  A bound, helpless and obedient slave that had to bend to his whim or face the consequences.

  She settled down on her knees, feeling the two plugs slide deeper into her body as she parted her thighs and tried to rest back on her heels. Her shoulders ached with the leather that bound her arms into place, and now the cords slipped just enough to bite into her body.

  Celeste closed her eyes, trying to find a way to shut it out.

  Focus on something else. If she did that then maybe it would become easier?

  Sounds. The fire crackled in the hearth. Small pops that carried sparks into the air, she didn't have to have her eyes open in order to know that. She'd sat and watched fires more times than she cared to count. Tiny sparks, smoke that carried upwards through the chimney, a warmth that chased away some of the doubts of the day.

  The world slipped away for a short while.

  Memories. The kitchen in the farm house, bread baking, herbs hung up at the rafters where they would dry for later on in the year. She wasn't here, in this place, this hellhole, she was home, safe amongst those she cared for. Those few who did actually mean something to her. Not her sister, but her father, for all his faults, was someone she still loved.

  Did he even know she was gone?

  Or did he just miss the fresh bread and home cooked meals?

  Her jaw clenched, sex rippling about the plug that had been forced into her body. A low whimper threatened to spill from her lips but somehow she swallowed it. Silent, obedient and still. She could do this. No matter what, she had to pull this off or he would make her pay over and over again, punish her in front of his guest, humiliate her until she prayed for death.

  How would he do it though?

  Would he whip her? She knew he had a taste for using things like the whip and the crop. No, that would be quick. Too quick for the sort of thing he had in mind for her.

  How could she know though?

  She glanced up towards the table, her gaze lingering on the dark haired man who sat and worked his way through the papers scattered across the wood. The quill scratched a path over the papers, a soft sound indicating where the majority of his focus appeared to be.