Crimson's Captivation (3 page)

The voyeurs and the bidders saw Crimson
orgasm. They watched as her body tightened then relaxed, slight
convulsions and her hips slowed to a series of small shudder
motions as her bottom fell deep onto the thighs of the stud. The
bidding halted and Crimson, now, belonged to Tor of Russia.

The chambermaids wiped the sweat from
Crimson’s brow and upper lip. They removed her from the platform
and lifted her heavy arms. She wanted to see the stranger. She
wanted to lay eyes upon the man who had brought her such pleasure,
but the chambermaids quickly bound her wrists behind her back and
two guards grabbed her elbows. The guards lifted her off the
ground. The double doors to the gallery opened.

Crimson expected to be carried back to the
bedchamber, to take a left after exiting the gallery, but the
guards turned right, and escorted her down another hallway.

Chapter II

~ The Pursuit Begins ~

Viktor, nephew of Christian Albrecht of
Holstein-Gottorp, fled Germany at the age of fourteen and
befriended Princess Sophia, the daughter of King Charles. He loved
his homeland, but quickly grew tired of the infighting of the
German Nobility. He knew at an early age he wanted to travel the
nations of Europe and find himself. He spent most of his time at
Karlberg or in the provinces nearby, hunting, fishing, and
mastering close combat techniques. In most ways, he was privileged
even though he never asked to be treated as a noble. He had access
to Karlberg palace, the King and Princess Sophia.

In the court of King Charles, the young
Viktor had first-hand observation of the partying that dominated
the young king's days and nights before the great northern war. It
was because of their shared existence and their closeness in age,
that he and Crimson found a kinship and became lovers in their late
teens.

Princess Sophia was a heroine of sorts among
her countrywomen. With her refusal to accept an arranged marriage,
she brought the concept of romantic-love to the surface, and this
idea quickly spread to women in the nearby countryside. It raided
their thoughts and desires. It left internal conflict and something
new, something called idealism and enlightenment. It was also well
known that the arranged marriage to the Crown Prince of Hanover was
refused so that the princess could focus on her relationship with a
young noble named Olof.

Secrets like these can’t be kept secret,
especially if they involved royalty. Royalty and nobility were
favorite subjects of gossip, and the rumor leaked. But as always,
actions either proved or disproved any rumor. Her actions proved
the rumor, and her fellow countrywomen were aghast and pleased at
the same time. The combination of motive and bravery, the obvious
rebellion by their princess, exploded on the tips of tongues of
those in her court, and the secret tiptoed its way to the far
reaches of the kingdom.

Idealism enraptured the hearts of young
girls. They knew what to do with love even if their men did not.
Liberation is often contagious and this one was no exception, women
became masters of their own province in the bedroom and demanded
more from their mates.

Sophia introduced Viktor to Crimson during
the deep freeze of February. Viktor recalled Sophia’s request
playfully bouncing off the large marble veneer that made up the
hallway of the palace, ‘Viktor, darling, there is someone you must
meet.
’
He had just returned from tracking wolves near the
outskirts of Solna. He was tired and hungry, but could never refuse
Sophia. Sophia envisioned herself a matchmaker but not of
pre-arrangement or force. She was a matchmaker of love and
illumination, of destiny. She believed in romance, she was
enthralled by the concept of hope, not hope as a promise, but
something beyond a promise. Sophia respected sacrifice and saw
sacrifice as the purest form of nobility.

Sweden was essentially icebound during the
depths of winter and, with little to do outside, Viktor
halfheartedly followed Sophia into a large room off the main
hallway to find several women sitting in the glow of a
shoulder-high fireplace. The kindling snapped and popped as the
women discussed fashion, the prospects of war, and their favorite
topic’s, love and sex, between their sips of tea.

Although introductions were a necessary
formality as a matter of etiquette, he immediately found Crimson
ravishing. Her presence captivated him and held him prisoner as he
sat for hours among the dreadful conversation of the ladies.

Viktor had no interest in fashion or the
inner workings of the rumor mill but stayed just to steal
inadequate glances of Crimson. A young man’s romance reveled in his
mind. ‘
What do her lips taste like? How would she feel in his
arms? Only her laugh is more intoxicating than her smile.
’ He
found Crimson’s every movement, her every action provocative and
sensual. The conversation rolling off her tongue, over her ruby
lips, her opinions, everything she did inspired his longing stares.
He couldn’t look away and found her quick glances in his direction
flirtatious and inviting. Enamored, she was the smoky mist that
drifted as cloudscapes in his emotions. She was the softness of
clouds in his vibrant blue world.

During the following spring, they snuck their
first kiss in the unfinished Baroque garden in the courtyard behind
the palace. There was heat in their kiss, and Viktor supposed that
if the snow weren’t already melting, they would have certainly
melted it. When their lips parted Viktor was immediately
captivated, and he couldn’t remember a day that he didn’t think of
Crimson, or a night that he didn’t fall asleep dreaming of her.
Even when he trekked out to the countryside alone, everything
seemed to remind him of her. Crimson had stolen his heart; he had
no hope of ever getting it back.

One evening, during a loud and raucous party
thrown by the young king, he and Crimson followed an imbibed
chambermaid and soldier into the garden behind the palace. They hid
behind a hedgerow and watched the new lovers under the moonlit sky.
The two lovers giggled and teased each other until their flesh
glowed with each playful touch.

“Do you see them, Viktor?”

“Yes.”

“Isn’t it amazing?”

“We shouldn’t be watching, Crimson.”

Crimson was enthralled as she watched the
soldier lay flat on the ground. The chambermaid straddled, and then
kissed him. The collar of her dress was pulled to her elbows
exposing her breasts and they gleamed under the moon’s light. Her
nipples stood erect and carried the moisture of the soldier’s wet
mouth and they kissed, deep kisses, his tongue slipped through her
tender lips to find hers. She moved to his side and lowered his
pants, and pleased the soldier with her hands and mouth. Crimson,
as she watched them, wondered what a man tasted like, what he felt
like on the chambermaids tongue. Was it like a wet French kiss,
exhilarating and seductive? Crimson smiled, knowing the woman had
complete control over the soldier.

Viktor was silent and motionless as he
watched the couple, but he noticed Crimson drew on heavy breaths.
Crimson reached out and squeezed Viktor’s hand. She guided it to
her chest and pressed it against her cleavage.

“Do you feel the rapid thud of my heart?”
Crimson asked.

Viktor was too timid and pulled away. He
snuck down the hedgerow back toward the palace.

Crimson stayed behind and watched the two
lovers. Something about the encounter appealed to her deepest
liking. Something awakened inside her as she watched the entangled
bodies and studied the strength of the soldier’s thrusts. She
listened to the lover’s passion-indebted moans. Crimson lost her
breath when the chambermaid fell onto the soldier in what appeared
to be a peaceful death. Then she smiled as the chambermaid giggled
and kissed the soldier’s collarbone. They were whispering to one
another and Crimson wanted to hear what they were saying. “What
could they be saying to one another after what she just witnessed?”
It had to be something about heaven, something about how close they
were to it.

Since their introduction, Viktor and Crimson
were inseparable. They spent most of their time together, often
sneaking away to steal kisses, and their relationship deepened.
Crimson loved the clandestine meetings.  The kisses were
exciting because she didn’t know where they might lead, how far
they would go.

Several months later, it started with a kiss,
and then his hands roamed. Soon Viktor found the natural courage of
a man, and he and Crimson made love under a willow as the sun
lowered in the sky and sparkled in ginger flame across the waves of
Lake Karlberg. The world seemed to drift away. It seemed to
dissolve into a sentient mist that dewed their naked bodies. It was
a dance of persuasion. His palm, having barely enough force to move
a feather, caressed the small of her back, the nape of her neck.
His mouth found the lobes of her ears, the tenderness of her lips,
and the firmness of her nipples. His slightest touch became a
powerful suggestion, which pulled her deep onto him. Interlocked
fingers guided them to the same starting place, encircling one
another, face to face, foot over foot. They were dancers in the
innate waltz. And then Viktor’s explosion, it forever changed the
verdant meadows of the boy within. It opened him to the world a man
perceives.

Afterward, they enjoyed the afterglow as they
leaned against the willow trying to assign words to the feelings,
trying to decipher their new world. Unable to put it to words, he
gifted Crimson a necklace, a gold chain with a single diamond,
saying it only had one diamond because he only had one heart to
give. She turned her naked back and asked that he clasp the
necklace around her neck, saying she wished the clasp would
magically fuse so that it could never be removed.

The next day, Viktor was late getting to the
willow for their planned meeting. The sun had disappeared hours
earlier, he had hoped Crimson would still be there but she wasn’t.
He understood: it was foolish to be caught outside the palace walls
after dark. When he arrived at the palace the following morning,
Crimson was nowhere to be found and he knew something was wrong. No
one had seen her and with the homeland’s preparation for war, all
efforts were dedicated to assisting Sweden’s allies. No one seemed
to care that she was missing. He cared, and he set out on his own
to find her.

He feared she had been taken prisoner by
Denmark forces or worse, had fallen victim to dark princes that
sheltered in the shadows of the forest. He also considered the
possibility that the reported bands of roving marauders, consisting
of deserters, exiled farmers, and criminals, were no longer on the
fringe of the kingdom's border but were now in the interior.
Maybe they had taken her. Maybe they were holding her for
ransom.

On the fourth day of his search, he found her
chestnut gelding near the province of Bolstomta. He checked the
animal for injuries, for signs of a scuffle, but the animal was in
perfect health. Crimson was known to have stayed in the Bolstomta
at times during the summer. He tethered the horse to his own and
rode into the village.

Many of the men from the village had, months
ago, been swept away to war. The sight of a young man, and a man of
obvious nobility, excited the mothers and they rushed their
daughters out for his inspection. One mother far too eagerly lifted
her daughter into the air; the child fell and landed on the path
before Viktor’s horse. The young girl felt sullied, embarrassed,
and looked to her mother for direction as she sat in the dirt.

Viktor dismounted, lifted the child from the
ground, brushed the soil from her cheeks, back, and kissed her
forehead. He patted her on the back and guided her toward her
mother. He grilled the womenfolk, focusing on the elder women and
their network of gossip.

“My dear women this gelding belongs to
Crimson of Karlberg. It is of grave importance that I speak with
her and I know she has stayed here before. Has anyone seen
her?”

The growing crowd heard his question but none
answered. The men of their village were off on the Baltic Sea or on
foreign lands giving their lives as conscripts. The remaining men
in the village were of little brawn; they were mostly earth and
grime, old age, and lacked that which offered any future for the
young women. This young man was refined, commanding, and groomed.
There was a power and a sense of confidence about him.

Most of the women of the province were young
and energetic but wore the affliction of hard work and worry on
their faces. Survival, as a sturdy constitution, had plagued their
daily lives and took its toll on their bodies. These villagers were
the true owners of the land—their Viking blood was pure and Viktor
respected them, they were the true continuity of the Sweden
homeland. Instead of answering, they primped themselves and
flirted. Viktor sympathized with the women but needed his
answer.

“My ladies, I implore. My bed is cold and my
world empty, my heart in despair. You are all lovely and tender but
it is Crimson upon whom my thoughts linger. Has any seen her the
last four days?”

An elder woman understood the young man’s
desire. She huffed and pushed her way through the crowd, shooing
the ladies. “Get, get. Leave this young man be, have you no shame!”
The crowd ignored the elder woman as they wooed over the young man.
Unable to clear a path through the crowd the elder woman shouted
over their heads, “My lord I have seen your Crimson!”

Viktor pushed his way through the crowd and
barked, “Leave, all of you! Now!”

The crowd scattered, the disheartened women
made their way back to their homesteads, fields, and stables. Back
to empty personal dynasties that needed the presence of a man.