Crimson's Captivation (12 page)

A guard collected Uric and pushed him down
the hallway. He shoved Uric into his small quarters and ordered the
young man to not to say a word or he, too, would get the lash. Uric
scrunched into the corner, looked away from the door, and, as
instructed, he didn’t say a word.

Sergen was led to the bathing room and the
caretakers immediately began the preparations for the lash. They
oiled his buttocks and attached leather cuffs to each of his
wrists. The ropes attached to the cuffs were knotted behind his
back and the slack thrown over his shoulder.

Moments later, Darya was brought in, still
protesting, still fighting. She threatened her caretakers that if
any harm came to her, she’d seek her revenge. “I am the daughter of
the countess. You have no right,” she said repeatedly as the led
her toward the far end of the room. The caretakers ignored her,
oiled her buttocks, and prepared her just as Sergen was prepared,
except afterwards Darya was dressed in a light robe, whereas Sergen
was naked.

Sergen spoke loud enough for Darya to hear
him across the pool. “Listen, my lady. I will receive the lash
first. Do not watch. Just close your eyes or look away. Don’t even
peek.” Sergen made his way to her. Even with his hands tied behind
his back, his male caretakers were hopeless to stop him.

Darya’s early protests and threats had given
way to a soft sobbing. “Will it hurt?” she managed to ask between
sobs.

Sergen brushed his massive frame against her
petite frame. “Yes. But you will only receive one or two lashes. Do
not fight it. When the strap lands, cry out loud so the countess
sees and hears your pain. Ask for mercy. Let her know that she has
won.”

Darya lifted her arms and felt the weight of
the leather straps. She placed her hands on Sergen’s hips and
leaned into him so that her head rested on his chest. “Sergen, I’m
not sorry for what I’ve done. You’re amazing and I do love
you.”

“Neither am I, my lady. Not the least sorry.”
He leaned down and kissed her on the cheek. “But this is no time
for pride. Do as I suggest and let the countess know she’s won. It
will be far easier on both of us.”

Two guards entered the room and collected
Sergen and Darya. Darya found some inner strength deep inside and
managed to stop her sobs. By the time they entered the courtyard,
her head was held high and she cast an evil eye in her mother’s
direction.

The countess sat in a wooden chair on the
north side of the courtyard under a large yew tree. Her back was
stiff, her chin squared, and she didn’t look directly at her
daughter. “Begin!” she shouted.

Darya watched as Sergen was led to the
lashing frame in the center of the courtyard. The frame consisted
of two poles about six feet apart and nine feet high with a single
header timber across the top. To her right, her mother sat and
watched as the guards collected the rope from the cuff on Sergen’s
right hand, tied it to the joint were the pole and header met. They
pulled the other rope tight, tied it in place to the point where
Sergen was balancing on his tiptoes in the middle of the frame.
Crimson, Sena, and Uric were brought out and ordered to stand near
the countess.

The temperature outside had dropped
dramatically and the cool air wrapped around Darya like an arctic
shawl. Her nipples pushed hard against the robe and she shivered.
She could see her exhales escaping, they floated away as dainty
streams of white puff. She tried to control her breathing, but
couldn’t. She had watched a lashing before, but this was different;
this time she would know the burn of the strap. Just the thought of
it almost brought her to scream out for her mother’s forgiveness,
but she held her tongue and stared straight ahead with a sense of
pride and rebellion.

A eunuch entered the courtyard. Darya saw the
strap’s handle in the eunuch’s right hand; its leather strap snaked
around his forearm, wrapped around his neck, and dangled near his
feet. He approached Sergen from behind, looked at the countess, and
waited for the order.

Darya closed her eyes as Sergen had told her
to do.

The countess raised five fingers and the
eunuch uncoiled the leather strap, letting it fall and twist on the
ground like a wicked serpent. He drew it back over his shoulder and
hesitated a moment. Then the strap tore through the air with a
whooshing sound before it landed on Sergen’s right buttock with a
crack. The sound echoed off the small enclosure of the courtyard
and ricocheted in Darya’s ears. She clenched her eyes tighter and
the sound alone tested every nerve she had. It seemed to seep in,
looking for frailty in the young girl, but she held fast. She
didn’t say a word or open her eyes.

Sergen tightened his jaw, gritted his teeth,
and waited for the next lashing. Then the sound again, the strap
cut through the air. Whoosh, crack! When it landed, it set his
flesh on fire and he collapsed into the straps that bounded his
wrist. He pulled himself up, was back on his tiptoes and he didn’t
make a sound when the fifth lash brought welts across both cheeks.
Darya, as Sergen requested, never looked.

Crimson, Sena, and Uric couldn’t bear to
watch and found the ground before their feet after the second
lashing. They only heard the remaining three. Crimson was the most
detached during the lashing. As she stared at the ground, she
thought of Sergen and how they were together just hours before in
the countess’s bedroom. She thought how it felt then, and now, it
seemed empty. It taunted her. She couldn’t help but feel that her
previous life held something better, something more. She closed her
eyes, trying to remember.

Suddenly, the courtyard was quiet. None
seemed to want to acknowledge it. Sergen’s hands were untied and he
was pushed toward the countess. He dropped to one knee in front of
her.

“Will you test my resolve again, Sergen?” the
countess asked.

“No, my lady.”

“Very well. Kneel beside me. I want you to be
part of my daughters’ punishment. You will prove useful.”

She leaned toward him, grabbed the thick of
his bicep, and whispered, “Just know, my dear Sergen, I could have
taken your manhood today and I warn you, do not test me again.”

She motioned to the caretaker near Darya.
“Bring her forward.”

Darya pulled away from the caretaker. It was
obvious the caretaker was uncomfortable, even afraid, of
manhandling her. He stopped and looked at the countess, who nodded
and unsympathetically waved her hand in the direction of the
lashing frame.

Darya scowled at her mother, but didn’t say a
word. She pulled her cuffed hands away from the caretaker and
without escort walked up to the lashing frame. She tossed one rope
and then the other over the joints and header joist and watched the
loose ends sway back and forth. She gave her mother a deep gaze as
she waited for the ropes to be secured.

The caretaker secured her to the frame, then
removed her robe and set it aside. The coldness of the air wrapped
around her and seemed to reach her bones.

“Sergen, how many lashes does my daughter
deserve?” The countess asked aloud. “Before you answer, know that I
have a number in mind. If you suggest too low a number, then I will
certainly double or triple it or who knows. How many?”

Sergen hung his head low, trying to find the
right answer. If he answered, “none,” the countess would become
angry and take it out on Darya. If he answered, “one,” she would
accuse them both of not learning their lesson. He quickly answered,
“Two, my lady. I think two is fair punishment. She is young and
this is her first lashing. The coolness in the air makes the
punishment far worse.”

Darya was shocked. She expected Sergen to say
“none,” but kept her gaze on her mother until she saw her raise her
hand. Darya closed her eyes and lowered her head.

The countess indicated two fingers.

Darya heard the eunuch approach her from
behind, his lash snaking across the ground. The eunuch quickly let
the first lash cut through the air. When it landed on Darya’s skin,
she gasped and lost her breath, she struggled to get it back with a
deep inhale. Her head wilted on her shoulders and fell toward her
chest. Her eyes were closed but they seemed wide open. The strap
stung, but she didn’t cry out as Sergen had suggested. She found
this first lashing erotic for no particular reason other than she
was completely naked and helpless. This, for some reason, excited
her and she had never considered being spanked as an erotic event,
but now it seeped in. Those thoughts quickly went away when the
second lash landed and brought tears to her eyes.

Darya lifted her head, caught the salty tear
with her tongue when it ran past the corner of her lips. She looked
toward her mother and shouted, “Are you pleased, Mother?”

The countess smiled a twisted smile that
revealed some uneasiness. “Pleased? Do you want another?” she
countered.

Darya wanted to rebel and say “yes.” But she
knew better. She knew her mother’s sinister side.

“No.”

“No, what?”

“No. I don’t want another.”

“Then I am pleased.” The countess stood,
motioned to the caretakers with her hands as she spoke. “Take this
one back and cleanse his wounds. Take the others back to their
quarters. Take my daughter to the bathing room and cleanse her
welts. Then take her to her room. I will suffer no more
insolence!”

The countess watched as they were collected
and removed from the courtyard. She didn’t say a word, convinced
that her point had been made and taken seriously.

Chapter III

~ Blunder and Restitution ~

The generals were still distraught at the
king’s choice to head into Poland. As politely as they could, they
one by one through the night tried to change the king’s mind. The
king for the most part ignored them while respectfully
acknowledging their concerns. Finally, he had had enough and closed
the conversation with an order that it was not to be discussed and
that everyone should retire for the night.

He woke early the next morning to select his
one hundred men. By the end of breakfast, he had selected the one
hundredth soldier for his troop collection and ordered all of them
to be ready for movement at noon. He next focused on the orders for
the quartermaster. “You have three hours to equip my men with
horses, stakes, blessed silver crosses, and the necessary
provisions for a week long trek into Poland. Furthermore, I require
civilian clothing for the men.”

The request was unorthodox, but the
quartermaster was up to the task. He sent twenty men to raid the
abandoned homes of Narva for civilian clothing while he focused on
the collection of supplies and provisions. Minutes before noon, he
had everything in place near the south gate of the camp. He found
the king huddled with his generals and interrupted them with a
salute. “Sir, the requested provisions are ready and the civilian
clothing has been collected.”

Rehnschiöld, still massaging his sore thumbs,
approached the king, “Sir, I see that you are intent on this
suicide mission. Am I to go with you?”

“No, Karl. You stay with the generals and
report back to Sweden for supplies and men. You are in command
until I return. Allow the generals to move forward with our plans,
but no matter what, keep the supply line open to Sweden and be
watchful of our flanks. Leave reports of our successes and failures
at the headquarters in Riga. I will read them when I return and
catch up with you soon.”

“Yes, sir,” Karl said, somewhat relieved that
he wasn’t expected to tag along. He offered, “Why not travel to
Riga and take a boat to Gdansk. That would put you just north of
Poland and cut your trip in half. King, your mapped path takes you
along the Russian front and through unmapped forest.”

The king inspected the last bit of provisions
while Rehnschiöld spoke. He placed his hands on Rehnschiöld’s
shoulders. “Your concern, Karl, is noble. Yes, I thought of it, but
there is a chance another blizzard will blow across the Baltic and
trap me and my men at port in Riga. While not as efficient, it’s
far more plausible that I’ll make better time over land. I know the
path through Russia is sparsely occupied, mostly young forests and
flatlands. You do understand why I must do this?”

Rehnschiöld didn’t answer. The king reached
into his breast pocket, found the letter and map. He placed them in
Karl’s hand. “Find Viktor in Riga and give him this travel plan. I
received word that he accepted the commission I offered and he
should be there. Tell him to catch up with me as soon as he
can.”

“Yes, my king.” Rehnschiöld busied himself by
checking the harness and reins of the king’s horse and then quietly
disappeared.

Exactly at noon, the king called his troop to
order and lined them up in formation. He approached them on
horseback and spoke as his horse snorted and prodded in front on
the men. “Men, we are strong, well trained, and well equipped. We
are heading south into Poland, not for land, not to break the
Lithuania alliance. Our mission is not to conquer. Our mission is
that of rescue. We are moving south to rescue my sister, Crimson,
from the horrors of the trade.”

The men’s apprehension rippled through the
formation. The king’s eyes paced the men like a caged tiger; his
eyes stalked each man and waited for the murmurs to cease. When the
men quieted, he continued, “We will not wear the uniform of Sweden.
We will not receive any additions of men or have a supply line.
Many of us will not return. But men, we will achieve this mission.
We will rescue the young princess.”

He pointed the nose of his horse to the
south, “Prepare yourselves and mount near the southern gate. We
move in ten minutes.”

As the troop of men passed Pskov, the town of
purling waters, the snow began to let up and they made good time
until they reached the Velikaya River. The king consulted with his
second in command, who had just returned from a survey of the
river. He reported to the king that it was a torrent of nearly
frozen water. “Sir, it rushes as if it were angry. There is no safe
way to cross. I suggest we move further west.”