Innocence Enslaved (16 page)

Her chin came up as she stared at him in shock.

“This is the obedience I spoke of, Emilia. You don’t hesitate or question your master’s commands; you follow them, immediately. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You will call me master while we are in town or in public.”

Her voice dropped to a whisper as she replied, “Yes, master.”

“That’s it. Now, kneel, as I ordered, like an obedient slave.”

She lifted her skirt and sank, rather clumsily, to her knees at his feet. Finding her adorable in her struggle with all he was throwing at her, he teased, “You’re new, so grace isn’t expected.”

Thoroughly aghast at his comment, she blinked up at him. He grinned, purposefully letting his master façade slip as he winked at her. She breathed in relief, but it was short-lived when his next commands came.

“Eyes down, place your hands palms up on your thighs.” She obeyed these with greater speed. He walked around her, as though inspecting her, trying to ignore the rush of arousal he experienced having this beautiful woman acquiescent and submissive before him. His fingers beneath her chin lifted her face up to his. “You make a very lovely slave. Try to ignore anyone else, except me. They will undoubtedly make rude comments.”

She swallowed visibly and licked her dry lips. He ignored the reaction that habit had on him below the waist and tried to focus on the task at hand.

“Stay by my side at all times,” he continued, rattling more instructions off. “Speak only when spoken to, don’t look anyone in the eye unless you are addressed, and when I tell you to kneel or I point to the floor, this is the position you will take, the picture of an obedient slave. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“No. Try again. What do you call me?”

“Master.”

“Very good.” He offered her his hand, which she took readily as he pulled her to her feet. “I’ll explain the rest on the way.”

“The rest!” she gasped. “How much more can there be?”

“I know it’s a lot, and quickly. Do you have any questions about what I’ve taught you so far?”

She shook her head, but he felt the tremor pass through her. Doubt crept in; perhaps this was too much to ask of her. “Emilia, if you aren’t up to this—”

“I am. I simply have to remember this is an act. You are quite forceful and convincing as a master.”

His hand rose to her face, tipping it up so he could see her eyes. They were clear and trusting.

“I will be fine. I’m only a bit leery of the townsfolk. Muriel told me that few in Lancore are as kind or fair as you. She mentioned how she and Alice were treated when they used to accompany you.”

“You need not worry about that. As long as you do as you’re told and stay beside me, I can protect you and as you said, everything will be fine.” Corbet took her elbow, leading her out to the wagon.

Chapter Ten

Emilia listened to the soothing low tones of the handsome man next to her. She’d paid close attention at first as he gave her a few more rules, and repeated the others he had told her already. He reiterated for the twentieth time at least that she was not to leave his side, of which she had no intention, but when he explained that when they walked down the street she was to remain two steps behind him with her eyes on his heels, she found herself getting distracted. She was also having trouble sitting still. The tingling between her legs that had started the moment he’d said “kneel” in his deep authoritative voice. Since then, she’d been warm and an ache had developed low in her belly. Her thoughts had turned to what it would be like to really be his slave, to kneel at his commands, to strip off her clothes, to bend over his desk with her legs spread wide for another spanking.

The wagon wheel discovered yet another rut in the road, which was followed by a large tree root. As it jolted, her behind left the seat by several inches before she settled back by his side with a thump and a startled yelp.

“Damn road is no better than a cow path,” he grumbled beside her. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, master, it merely startled me.”

“The taxes I pay for clearing and maintaining these roads are being put to good use as you can see.” After he grumbled a bit more, he lapsed back into his lecture on proper slave behavior, saying something about not gawking at the shop windows even though she might be tempted. Although she knew she should be paying attention, Emilia’s mind began to wander, sneaking sideways peeks at his rugged good looks rather than paying heed. She was particularly fascinated by the fullness of his lips and the glimmers of golden hair in his beard that glinted in the sunlight as he spoke. She wondered if his lips were as smooth as they appeared and what he might taste like if he were to kiss her. His beard wasn’t especially long and thick, rather neatly trimmed. Sure it would be soft, not prickly, as it brushed her skin, she imagined his chin nuzzling her cheek or the bend of her neck.

She moved down to the long, leather jerkin that lay open at his neck, giving her a glimpse of his chest hair. It was a shade darker, more of a chestnut brown, from what she could see of the small area of his exposed flesh where his shirt collar was spread wide. Images of a lightly furred chest floated through her mind. What would it be like to run her fingers through it, or to press closer to feel the rippling muscles underneath, or for her breasts to be crushed against it in a passionate embrace?

“Emilia? Are you listening?”

She jerked in surprise, her head snapping up as her face flooded with heat to have been caught gawking at his chest while her mind swirled with inappropriate thoughts.

“Yes, master.”

“Then where should your eyes be right now, slave?”

“In my lap, master. I’m sorry.” She obediently lowered her head, focusing on the white lace trim at the end of her sleeves.

“I cannot stress how important it is that you play the role of my slave convincingly. If you are caught acting out of character, I fear some may think I am too lenient with you and ask that you be chastised publicly.”

She shivered, appalled at the thought of such a thing. “Does that happen?”

“It can, particularly if I am deemed weak or unable to control you. You can also be removed from my household if the charges are proven true.”

“I will strive to be humble and meek,” she vowed, not lifting her gaze from her hands that twisted nervously in her lap.

“Good girl. We will be there soon. Remember, no looking around as we pull into town, and most important, do not get separated from me. You should start now; the streets are filling up.”

At once, Emilia did as instructed, keeping her head down. Corbet slowed the horses and rounded the corner onto the crowded main street that ran the length of the busy town. Their first stop was a stable at the edge of town. He helped her down from the wagon and then told the attendant to water his team; he would be back for them in a few hours.

From there she followed him silently as they set off on foot into the heart of the town where the merchants’ shops were located and peddlers in carts sold their wares. To her surprise, Corbet did not seem interested in buying from the shopkeepers, but rather he’d come to settle debts and take new orders for the trip he had planned at the end of the summer. Once business was out of the way, they would ask him questions or make comments about his pretty new slave. Nearly all of them wanted to know if she was pleasing in bed and how often she’d had to be punished. Some congratulated him on gaining her submission so quickly, slapping him on the back for obtaining such a prize. One of his associates was rather lewd and arrogant, running off at the mouth like a babbling brook, asking Corbet a string of questions like he’d had them brewing inside him for days.

“Did she scream when you plowed her belly the first time? What’s that red mane of hers feel like in your fists? How well does she take to the whip? You have whipped her, haven’t you? Does her fair skin still bear the marks? I would love to see them.” His reedy thin voice squeaked with excitement. With her gaze glued to the floor, she could only see part of the man’s body. In contrast to the way he sounded, his arms were thick and meaty, and his belly was large. She wanted desperately to glare at him and show him her disdain, shouting that Corbet—no, her master—wasn’t like that, being kind and gentle instead. She was on the verge of doing just that when he put the man in his place.

“I suggest if you are so enamored of the behavior of a slave, Reinhold,” he articulated in a hard, biting tone, “that you buy one of your own. This one is mine and none of your business. Further, don’t hold your breath waiting for me to display my slave’s beauty to the likes of you or anyone else. She is my property, purchased for my enjoyment alone, is that clear?”

Obviously it was, for the rude man hadn’t uttered another word.

At the next stop, they encountered a boisterous and jovial woman who couldn’t compliment him enough for his slave’s demure looks and fiery red hair. “Take the midday meal with us, Corbet. Albert will be back by then and would love to have a look at her. He didn’t think you’d ever break down and take another woman into your life, much less a pleasure slave. What do you say?” The large jolly woman came from behind her counter and moved toward Emilia, trying to better see her face. “Look at me, won’t you, dear?”

She didn’t; instead, keeping her head down, she angled her chin slightly to peek up at Corbet through her lashes, waiting for his permission.

“You may oblige, pet. This is Louella, a dear old family friend.”

The woman had her hands clasped, and Emilia could tell she was at least her mother’s age or older. The worn leathery skin, brittle nails, and bony fingers suggested she was used to hard work. Her rosy cheeks were bursting with color as Emilia glanced up and forced a polite smile. Louella’s answering grin, more warm and welcoming than her own, reminded her of her grandmother and put her at ease almost instantly.

“Oh, she has such beautiful eyes and her fair skin is like alabaster. She would be stunning in royal purple.” The woman, quite obviously a seamstress with various-sized needles pinned to the thick straps of her apron, her pockets stuffed with scraps of different colored cloths, and a tape measure hung from her neck, had twinkling gray gaze that had locked on Corbet. “You must allow me to make her a gown. I can take her measurements after we eat.”

“I would be honored for you to sew for her, but it will have to wait for another time, as will the midday meal. I have plans to meet Drake at the lodge for a glass of wine and an early supper before we leave.” The woman’s rosy smile dimmed at his words. Recognizing her disappointment, he leaned forward and give her a brief hug. “Another time, I promise. Do you have your list ready? I have a few more stops to make.”

“Of course, dear.” She dug into one of her pockets, eventually producing a small scrap of parchment with black writing scrawled on it.

He took it and departed with Emilia following close behind. She liked the old woman and was pleased that Corbet had introduced her. As a slave, she hadn’t expected to be given that privilege.

As he made his rounds, it appeared that Corbet was well received and respected by most of the people, or at least most of those he did business with. While they were outside the shops, she could hear some murmuring about them as they passed.

“She is nothing more than his pretty whore,” someone commented rudely, at a volume that carried quite well. “He’ll tire of her soon, I bet.”

Another said in a scathing reply, “I never thought I would see the day Corbet Mills took a slave to slake his needs.”

Yet another joined in on the criticism. “Ha! And he claims not to support the king’s tyranny. I hear he paid three thousand in silver for her.”

Surprisingly, some had more pleasant things to say, complimenting her hair, her figure, or her lovely dress.

Corbet had no response to their comments, if he heard, which he must have because none had been whispered; he simply ignored them as he carried on, moving at his usual brisk pace. Emilia had to take two steps to his one to keep up with his long-legged stride. It was a challenge, as was weaving through a crowd of people without looking up, seeing only parts of them from the waist down.

The next place they entered did not seem to be a shop, rather a private cottage. A man, casually dressed in an unbelted shirt and dark hose, opened the door and called out a friendly greeting. “Corbet, my boy, come in, come in.”

“You will await me here, pet,” he directed as they entered. He pointed to a cushion on the floor inside the door.

She contained a frown as she obeyed, lowering herself for the first time since he had instructed her at home. Lifting the hem of her dress, she sank slowly to her knees, sitting back on her heels while arranging the material of her dress neatly before placing her hands in her lap and bowing her head demurely.

“Very nice. You will not speak to anyone and not move until I return for you. I have a private matter to discuss and will be back shortly. Do you understand?”

“Yes, master,” she answered clearly, but quietly.

“Such trust in so little time, I am impressed,” the man murmured in surprise. “What makes you certain she will not slip out the door the moment we leave the room?”

“She won’t,” Corbet said firmly.

“Her submissive pose and obedient manner are convincing; we shall see, hmm? Tell me, how did you tame her so quickly?”

“That I will disclose later, perhaps. Shall we go?”

With that the two men took their leave and Emilia was alone. She couldn’t resist the temptation of lifting her head for a quick look around. A huge painting above the hearth immediately caught her eye; the subject was a short, stout, round-cheeked bald man who was staring off in the distance with an overly serious expression. It was the pose of a king, except he didn’t appear at all royal. His attire was elaborate, though old-fashioned and of fine quality, in green and black, with an elaborate gold pin holding back a long cape at each shoulder. Oddly, he had a bow slung over his shoulder and a shield baring what she presumed was his crest resting near his feet. His knee was propped up on a stone and he wore pointed shoes. She suppressed a giggle at the very peculiar picture.