Crimson's Captivation (6 page)

Viktor stared at the diamond in the palm of
his hand. He let the gold chain of Crimson’s necklace sift through
his fingers like fine sand. The clasp was broken and he feared the
worst. He kissed the diamond and placed it in his pocket. “What is
your suggestion creature? I’m not foolish enough to take you to the
shadows.”

“Not foolish but you must.” The creature
rotated under the blanket. “There! Take me along the tree line
north of here, away from the troops and, when I tell you the
answers, simply slap this animal on the ass and I will be off. You
will have your answers and I my safety.” A sucking sound from the
creature reminded Viktor of the fangs, of what this horror was.

Viktor thought for a moment. “Very well. I
will take you closer to the tree line but I have no qualms in
killing you.” Viktor untied the reins of the packhorse from the
stake and held them as they headed toward the tree line. He stopped
on a side road that bordered the rye field. “This is as close as I
will take you, give me the answers.”

The creature lifted the blanket just enough
to see the forest to his north. Satisfied that he was close enough
to the safety of the forest, he gave the answers. “His name is
Kieran and he has taken your princess to the auction house in
Poland.”

“Where in Poland?”

“Don’t know but ask any elder in your court,
they will know of Kieran and they will know of the trade.”

Viktor didn’t believe the creature and turned
the team of horses back toward the middle of the field.

“What are you doing?” the creature
yelped.

“I don’t believe you. Princess Sophia would
know nothing of such trade. There is honor in her court.”

The creature beseeched, “She may not be a
patron but she knows. They all do!”

Viktor kept heading toward the middle of the
field ignoring the creature’s lies. The blanket suddenly thrust
into the air and the creature made a break for the trees. He
screamed as the sunlight burned and marred his skin. Viktor watched
the blanket float and settle onto the field, all the while hoping
the sun’s rays would slaughter the creature.

The creature made it to the safety of the
trees, howled out in pain. “Do not leave, my Lord! Truth hides in
the shadows!” His scream was powerful and full of rage as he
quickly moved through the shadows.

Viktor stopped and looked for the creature in
the dark canopy of spruce. He saw a limb sag under his weight and
waited.

The creature scouted Viktor from the bow of a
tree. Smoke rose from his hair, cheeks and scorched hands. He
yelled, “I tell you this so that I may have my revenge one day.
Your countess knows. They all do. I will see you again in the
depths of hell that is Poland. I am Kieran’s brother. Remember my
name. It’s Caspian.”

Viktor yelled back, “We will meet again,
Caspian. And so your hunt isn’t in vain, I am Viktor, but you will
know me, for I wear the crown of death for you and your vile
brother—for any that have harmed Crimson. The sun had mercy on you
today but I will not.” With that, he dug into his horse’s side and
galloped south toward Karlberg Palace to confront Sophia.

Caspian licked his wounds, picked the charred
skin from his cheeks and arms. He watched Viktor gallop across the
field. He mused aloud and the words seethed off his lips as a
noxious whisper, “Mercy is as modesty, in exile, my dear
prince.”

Chapter V

~ To Russia with War ~

One would think the Baltic Sea couldn’t carry
enough ships to hold ten thousand men, let alone an army of men
numbering near the seventy thousand mark with all their supplies
and provisions, but she did. King Charles XII made his way to the
stern of his lead galleon. There floating behind him on a sea of
translucent water was his navy, two hundred ships strong. Their
sails filled with the cool august air and the blue and yellow
pennants of Sweden flapped toward Russia, their destination. The
wind was strong and at their backs as they floated toward their
enemy.

King Charles XII was an astute seaman, and
while his generals felt the gods were on their side, suggesting
that if they weren’t then the sea would rage and slam the ships
into each other, the young king understood that the wind currents
pushed west to the north and east toward the south over the Baltic.
The Siberian winter would wreak havoc on the northern waters before
she slowly dipped south.

For this reason the generals struggled with
the king’s offensive nature, he never seemed to halt and let a
victory marinate; he was in their words, “always on the offensive.”
They questioned why he moved so quickly from outmaneuvering the
Danish at Copenhagen. His generals felt they should celebrate the
decisive victory that caused the Denmark-Norway alliance to
withdraw from the war in August of 1700, mere months after
declaring war.

“I know this sea and I know men,” King
Charles had answered.

He knew the sea would be his ally only for a
short number of weeks. He knew the warm air currents would narrow
and eventually squeeze the sea path, so that only a supply line
could be maintained, and even that wasn’t a certainty. The sea had
a penchant for becoming dreadful. At any moment the winds could
stall, the hurricanes could ravage and leave entire fleets at its
bottom. The sea had no oath to the men that travelled her; she had
no loyalty to men whatsoever.

A general joined the king the stern of the
ship. “My king, the gods of wind favor us this day. Only Homer
could envision such a navy. Helen of Troy would be jealous of such
a show of force, and rightfully so. The sea has never looked as
beautiful as she does today. Our flags rule the open sea.”

The king watched the wild sunset flicker on
the water’s surface, watched his ships lurch forward on his
self-proclaimed sea. “We are making excellent time, General, and
soon we will be at port in Riga. Then the real battle begins.
Denmark was just a test of our resolve, of our cunning. To be sure,
we weren’t lucky. We conquered, as we should have done. The
Russians, I fear, will be much more of a formidable opponent.”

“None are in fear under the blue and yellow,
sir. The commanders still think we should have taken a diplomatic
approach. Our exploits at Copenhagen could have been used to our
advantage, wouldn’t you agree?”

The king turned away from the general. “Of
diplomacy I say this: the sword has to do the best for it does not
jest.”

The general looked upon the ships’ sails that
covered the horizon. They reminded him of a column of grounded
clouds, all embolden with the breath of the gods. In his heart, the
connection was as resolute as a chorus of angelic voices, blessing
Sweden with a quick and crucial conquest. The angelic songs filled
the sails and empowered his men. “Do you fear the Russians because
the land is theirs?” the general asked, his chest swollen with
pride.

“I fear the Russians because I respect them.
I fear them because I would fight to the death, any man who landed
on my homeland with harm in mind. And that is exactly what we are
about to do.”

The general nodded in understanding. “Sir,
will you continue on to Parnu or disembark with our men in
Riga?”

“I want Narva before the winter sets in. I
will travel with ten thousand men to Parnu, you shall move with the
remaining men into Riga and setup our headquarters and supply
backup as needed. Riga will be paramount as our supply line for the
remainder of our conflicts. You must hold Riga at all cost.”

“Yes, my king.”

“That means if you are the last standing, you
will give your last breath.”

“My king, my last breath will shout your name
so that all may hear the power of Sweden.”

Charles XII gripped the general’s shoulders.
“None are as brave as you, lest he be a horse thief.”

The general laughed, so loud it vibrated
across, and rippled the Baltic, “And to you, my king, I say this:
none braver, for thou art younger than any other king in this
battle, yet victory shall be ours.”

Chapter VI

~ Trekschuit ~

The activity of the chambermaids and
caretakers was now at a feverish pitch as they readied their
charges for transport. Crimson and Sena were led from the bathing
pool, dried near the fireplace and wrapped in a thin peignoir. The
disparity in temperature surged over Crimson’s body and her nipples
pushed firm against the thin fabric. Her afterglow had faded and
she already missed it. The large male, now known to Crimson as
Sergen, was pulled to the side and fitted with a fabric codpiece
that strapped his member to his thigh.

All three were lined up at the door in single
file, first Sergen, in the middle Crimson, with Sena the last in
line. Their wrists were tied behind their backs and each was
blindfolded. A single rope was tied to each, looping around the
waist of the person in front. To Crimson, it felt like an abnormal
game of hide and seek. Sergen and Sena were easy to find, everyone
else just disappeared, and she, too, wanted to run and hide. She
wanted to hide from Tor. Tor sickened her. She knew he was deaf and
blind to the needs of a woman.

Kieran entered the room, he moved in near
silence as if he floated on air. He pulled the ropes, checked the
knots and inspected the markings on each captive. He stopped near
Sena. “I’ve seen you before, haven’t I? What, two, maybe, three
months ago. Weren’t you sold to a Vizier of the Ottoman’s
Crimea?”

Sena didn’t respond. She closed her eyes
under the blindfold and hoped Kieran would walk away, hoped he
would convince himself he was mistaken. Kieran watched her
reaction, her breaths became shallow and he could hear her heart
beat. Even in silence, her body told the truth.

Without a sound Kieran was next to Crimson,
he lifted her peignoir, found the red welt across her right butt
cheek. His touch rekindled the strap's burn as he traced over the
welt with his finger. “My dear Crimson, skin as beautiful and soft
as yours should never be disciplined due to an offense, it’s far
too delicate. Only playful forays in temptation or passion should
find their way to your lovely cheeks. Let the slow burn of the
strap remind you of this.”

He leaned in closer and whispered, “I almost
took you for my own.”

His breath was warm and sweet on her ear, the
smell of an indefinable combination of exotic spice and Turkish
tobacco. His dark hair brushed Crimson’s cheek and her mouth wanted
to find his in the darkness of her blindfolded world.

“Why don’t you?” she whispered. Her question
was soft and imploring, hinting that it might not be too late.

Kieran lifted her hair and ran his finger
over the fang marks he’d left on her neck. “Fair question,” he
whispered. He grabbed her wrist tied behind her back and traced the
branded mark, his mouth mere centimeters from her right ear. “There
is a danger about you, even now your heart pounds but not from
fear. You’re pure temptation, a deadly obsession. I could take you
now, push you up against the wall and enter you from behind. Please
my lust, but I think we both know that would only be the start. I’d
starve the moment you were gone, the emptiness would haunt me. To
be haunted for eternity would be unbearable, believe me I
know.”

“I wouldn’t leave,” she pined, turning her
mouth closer to his.

“Then that is far worse. I would lose focus.
My lust destroys. Yours on the other hand, captivates. That is the
fairy-tale that cannot endure the lust of two souls.” He lifted her
peignoir again, ran his hand over her soft butt, cupped her flesh
in his palm and closed his eyes. She pushed her flesh against his
hand. He burned her shape and responsiveness of her into his
memory.

Kieran released the peignoir and watched the
light, sheer fabric slowly waterfall over her. He fought off his
own desires. He could feel the tension as his cock swelled against
the leather of his pants and he felt that inner demand for the
smooth succulence of a woman.

“I’ll take you now, right now,” Crimson
whispered. “Let your cock feel the inner softness of my cheeks, my
mouth. The intimacy of my tongue. Save me from that selfish lover
and I’ll be yours for eternity.”

His cock surged further down his leg at the
thought of Crimson on her knees, his cock moving in and out of her
beautiful lips and over the warmth of her tongue. That thought was
quickly replaced with them chest to chest, and then replaced again,
with him holding her legs in the air, spread the width of his
shoulders. “I’m tempted, my lovely Crimson. I think nothing would
please me more, but this was settled the moment the auction
ended.”

He was back in front of them and announced,
“Sunset is an hour away. Soon we will move. Untie the last one and
bring her to me.”

He walked toward the large fireplace, sat on
the hearth, watched as the caretakers untied Sena, and guided her
toward him. Sena was set upon the hearth, next to Kieran and he
removed her blindfold. She refused to make eye contact. Instead,
she focused on some distant place in the past.

“How did you escape?” he asked.

Sena didn’t answer.

Kieran placed his hand under her chin and
tilted her head toward him. “You bare the mark of Tor now, you will
not be returned to Crimea. It is of vital importance that I know
how you escaped.”

“A chambermaid…” Sena started then stopped
when the door to the bathing room opened. Sounds from the busy
hallway filled the room. Orders were shouted and acknowledged
between the caretakers on the move.

“Go on, a chambermaid…” Kieran insisted.

Sena swallowed hard, “a chambermaid tipped me
off that a Sultan would be visiting the castle. I waited, seduced
one of his harem and while she slept, I stole her clothes and left
in disguise with the Sultan’s entourage. I snuck away during the
night.”