At His Throat, a Promise (22 page)

Harte.

Harte, who seemed so fragile. William did him a disservice by assuming that. Harte was
strong
. Harte had been through more than William or Ellis by far. Harte wasn"t a retiring little flower.

He was a warrior, a survivor. Maybe his previous bratty, pushing ways had been a method of self-preservation, but he didn"t need to resort to putting up that wall anymore. It was enough that William cared about him, that he had a place to belong.

He only had to be a slave, and that was a beautiful submission, if only he"d follow through.

Instead of telling Harte to simply not do it again, as Ellis had 185

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feared for a moment he would, William nodded thoughtfully.

“Come with me. Both of you. Harte, Ellis will be watching.” Harte nodded and slid off the bed. He and Ellis both waited as William used the bathroom, and then they followed him from the room.

Stopping in front of Harte"s bedroom door, William said, “Put on your casual tunic.”

Ellis felt a jolt of apprehension. The casual shift was one that could easily be replaced if stained. Was William intending to hurt Harte that badly? Could he stand to watch?

He reminded himself of the praise William had given him about being a good master and decided that he would do his best to deserve it.

When Harte came back out in the lighter shift, he looked no more nervous than he had in the master"s bedroom, which had been minimal. Ellis hoped that Harte didn"t think he"d be getting a whipping; William must have come up with something that could
actually
serve as punishment.

William led them down the hallway and past the stairs. At the end of the corridor, two doors down from the room William had originally chosen for Ellis, William opened a door and gestured for them to precede him.

Harte went in first and immediately knelt in the middle of the room. Ellis looked around. It seemed to be a completely normal, unassuming bedroom, not unlike the master"s in size and décor.

There were more than a usual amount of chests and armoires, and Ellis had to wonder what the room concealed. When he looked up and saw the chains hanging from the ceiling, it became clear this was not just another guest bedroom.

There was a large leather armchair facing where the person in 186

AT HIS THROAT, A PROMISE

the chains would stand, and Ellis knelt beside it, assuming that was where William would rest or perhaps watch.

William passed the chair and stood beside Harte. He touched his cheek gently, and Harte leant into the tender touch.

“Get on the bed,” William said. “On your belly, in the middle.” Harte rose to do his bidding. The sheath rode up to about mid-thigh, draping easily over Harte"s softly curving bottom and back.

Ellis hoped William would keep his resolve and not get distracted.

“Put your hands flat on the mattress beside your head. Bring your legs close together.”

Harte followed the instructions without question, turning his head to one side so Ellis could see half of his face. He didn"t seem scared, but he obviously wasn"t comfortable.

“Ellis,” the master said softly. “How are your feet?”

“My feet, Sir? They"re fine.”

William hummed and then pulled Ellis up, seating him in the leather chair. Ellis looked in confusion at the master, but obeyed when he was directed to stay sitting.

William moved back to the bed. Harte stiffened but seemed to force himself to relax. “Why are your feet bandaged, Ellis?”

“I cut them on something sharp, Sir.”

“And why were you walking barefoot over things that could cut you?”

Ellis halted a squirm. “Because I was looking for Harte, Sir.”

“Looking for Harte,” he said musingly. He trailed a finger over the back of Harte"s thigh, all the way down to his foot, ending at his toe. Harte twitched but didn"t otherwise move. “Why were you looking for Harte?”

“I saw him going into the forest, Sir, and I was worried that he wouldn"t be able to find his way out.”

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“Was he running into the forest?”

“I think so, Sir.”

“Harte!” William said loudly, making both slaves jolt. “Why did you run away?”

“I was scared, Master. And confused.”

“Are you scared now?”

“No, Master.” Too quickly.

“Confused?”

“No, Master.” Resigned.

“Why are you being punished?”

“Because I… I lost my temper and yelled at you and at Ellis.

And because I ran away.”

“Why do you think I"m punishing you for those transgressions?”

Harte seemed to struggle with the question, and Ellis didn"t blame him. William obviously wanted him to be honest, and Harte was thinking about what the master
wanted
to hear—not really realising what William wanted was the truth.

“To make me a better slave, Master.”

Or maybe Harte did realise.

“Very good, Harte. That"s exactly right. I will hurt you, but I will not harm you, do you understand? You will not derive pleasure from this. I imagine you will struggle with learning not to backtalk, to hold your tongue. That is as much my fault as yours.

But you will
never
try to run away again.” Harte"s voice broke when he asserted, “Never.”

“Five strikes for speaking violently out of turn. Five strikes for running away. Two strikes for making Ellis follow you and get hurt in the process. One strike to absolve you for whatever additional guilt you feel for not being a good slave.” 188

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Harte let out a choked cry at the last. Ellis thought he might have been thinking about asking for more absolutory strikes, but he remained silent.

William walked to a cabinet on the far side of the bed, and Ellis knew Harte was itching to turn his head to see what instrument would be used upon him. William pulled out a long, light-coloured cane, on the thin side and with a shiny black grip. Ellis shuddered.

“Count them,” William said, his voice kind now.

The first strike of the cane elicited immediate reaction. Even as Harte cried out, “One!” he tucked his knees underneath himself and gave a broken cry.

The strike had been on the soles of his
feet
.

“Straighten your legs or I"ll bind you,” William said. He placed his hand on Harte"s back, just enough reassurance, because Harte gingerly straightened his legs. He put his hands back in the position William had directed, though now they clung to the sheets.

The second blow was counted and followed quickly by a third.

Harte"s entire body reacted from the shock, but he didn"t lose count, and he didn"t try to bring his feet away, though it was a visible and full-body effort.

After the sixth strike, and two more attempts to hide his feet, Harte gave a horrible cry and turned onto his back, holding his hands up. “Please,” he begged, face wet with sweat. “I"m
sorry.
”

“I know you are, Harte,” William said. He sat on the bed and cupped Harte"s face. “I"ll give you a minute to collect yourself, but then we have to finish, all right?”

Harte started panting and William admonished him. “Deep breaths, not shallow ones.”

After a moment, Harte nodded and stretched out again.

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Ellis admired the courage it took to willingly offer his body for such punishment. This was not the type of pain that could be transmuted into pleasure, Ellis could see that plainly.

Harte bravely counted out four more stripes before he begged to be bound. By this time, Ellis himself was sweating and gasping each time the cane fell. The bottoms of his feet were itching, and he pulled them up onto the seat as if to protect them from imaginary abuse.

William looked over at Ellis, and Ellis could see that he did not want to continue the punishment. That was interesting because Harte had mentioned on several occasions that William enjoyed punishing Harte. Whipping him, flogging him, even caning him.

But those hadn"t been
real
punishments… they"d been foreplay.

He did, however, seem to enjoy binding Harte.

Harte"s feet were tied together and then bound to his wrists, so he was effectively hog-tied. There was very little give, but he"d only be bound for three more strikes. Harte"s relief at not having to hold himself steady was evident in his heavy sigh and the loosening of his muscles.

“I"m ready, Master,” Harte said before William could ask.

Two rapid strikes rained down, the first of which Harte was forgiven for not counting because it had been followed too quickly.

Harte"s body strained and struggled, and he was openly sobbing, but he didn"t ask for any sort of mercy. Which was probably for the best, because William might have given it, even with one strike to go, and that would have been exactly the wrong thing to do.

Harte was gasping and making weak, whimpering noises, and Ellis had to close his eyes for the last blow. It wasn"t any harder than the rest, but it just seemed so… final.

When he opened his eyes, William was untying Harte. Harte 190

AT HIS THROAT, A PROMISE

was trembling and his face was tearstained, but he had a small, proud smile. Ellis realised this was very likely the first real punishment he"d suffered at William"s hand. He had every reason to be proud. Ellis himself had no doubt he"d be a wailing ball of pain by that point.

“You did so well, Harte. I"m so proud of you.” William"s hands were running all over Harte"s body as if assessing him. Harte clung to William like a wet cat, his grip unbreakable.

William gestured for Ellis to come over, and he did, crawling onto the bed gently so as not to jar Harte. Harte was curled into William"s lap with his feet awkwardly in front of him. As Ellis moved closer, he could feel the heat roll off of them. They were very red, but the stripes weren"t actually that bad. Only one, across the instep on his left foot, seemed to be bruising.

“Master, it hurts,” Harte whispered.

“I know it does. But did you learn?”

Getting right down to the heart of the matter, Harte said, “I"ll never, ever run away again.”

William"s arms tightened around him, and he kissed Harte on the mouth. “I know, sweetheart.”

Ellis had never heard William use a pet name with Harte before. It suited him. Sweet Harte. Ellis leant over and kissed Harte"s damp forehead. “You"re so brave,” he said, cuddling up to him.

William opened his embrace enough for Ellis to be included.

Harte"s body gave little jerks and shivers, but under the gentling of his and William"s hands, he soon calmed down and actually fell asleep.

Harte didn"t so much as stir as he was settled in the master"s own bed. The blankets were carefully arranged over him so that his 191

AT HIS THROAT, A PROMISE

feet were uncovered.

Ellis couldn"t resist pressing another kiss to Harte"s cheek. He hoped the slave had found a middle ground between outright defiance and insolence—cute though it may be—and complete immersion in submission. Harte"s passion and playfulness was an important part of who he was, but his need for discipline was strong as well.

He wouldn"t be damaged by this, not physically and not spiritually. Harte was made of sterner stuff.

William retreated to his office while Nell fed Ellis. He almost couldn"t eat what she heaped onto his plate, but he tried because she was sweet and he didn"t want to disappoint her.

Ellis realised, and it came as quite a shock, that Harte wasn"t the only slave whose paradigm needed shifting.

He pushed his plate away, even though there was food left.

There was no point in stuffing himself.

Nell didn"t seem upset—she patted him on the shoulder, same as always, and took his plate away. Ellis frowned at himself.

He was just about to open his books—missing the lesson the night before had made him feel a little behind—when William came into the room. He looked tired, or maybe weary was a better word. Sitting silently, he looked at Ellis, who offered a smile.

“Harte is very lucky to have a master like you, Sir,” Ellis offered, hoping it didn"t sound like praise—it wasn"t his place to give that.

William looked at him a little oddly, but before Ellis could unravel the reason, he said, “Up for a short lesson?”

“Of course, Sir.” Ellis knew his excitement was showing. The one-on-one lessons were always fun because Ellis didn"t feel like he was holding Harte back, who had learned much of the 192

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information already.

“You"re really showing an aptitude for law,” William said.

“Have you given any thought to a specialty?”

“No, Sir, not really. Though, I don"t think I"d like to be a defence attorney. Nor a corporate one.”

William looked thoughtful. “I think you have the brains for both. I think defence would wear you down, turn you into something I"d much rather you didn"t become. Corporate law would be a waste of you.”

Ellis secretly thought he might like to be in prosecution, like William. William might seem as though he"d be in defence, with his no-nonsense toughness and determination, but he worked for Spire, and Ellis thought that was commendable.

“Or perhaps environmental, though you might have to apprentice with another master, I haven"t much experience in that field… ”

The master seemed to be talking to himself more than Ellis, but Ellis nevertheless realised what this conversation was really about.

William wanted to know his thoughts on specialisation because he was going to choose another master for Ellis, one suited to his learning needs.

Ellis suddenly didn"t feel up to a private lesson anymore.

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Ellis had, in his time with his previous master, known slaves to become resentful and bitter over punishments. There was always a general aura of dissatisfaction and unfairness around punishments.

Some slave got off too easily, some were punished too harshly for the severity of the offence, most just did not like being punished—