Innocence Enslaved (4 page)

She prayed fervently that no one would bid on her, or by some divine intervention, her father would arrive and whisk her away to the safety of her childhood home. Like the others, she had recited these petitions repeatedly, offering up pleas for mercy, both silently and aloud, yet they remained unanswered.

“A stunning young beauty,” the slave monger announced. “So timid and delicate, but with a fire that matches that of her hair. And my fine gentlemen and lady, she has been confirmed to be pure.” A tide of surprised murmurs and whispers about virgins slithered through the crowd like a snake. The auctioneer began to slowly walk around her, a vulture circling its prey, touching her constantly and pointing out her assets.

“See how her fiery tresses glisten in the sun, some of the thick strands shining like the purest gold.” He picked up a long wavy lock from where it lay across her breast, tugging it as he rubbed it between his fingers. “Its silky texture is unsurpassed. She is indeed a treasure, with eyes as green as the finest emeralds.”

Stepping behind her, he curved his rough hand beneath her chin and lifted it, angling her face toward the crowd. “Open your pretty eyes,” he urged her. “Show the good folks what they came to see, girl.”

She shook her head, pleading with garbled grunts. Daringly, she resisted, scrunching her lids tighter, refusing in this, not wanting to see the fate that awaited her.

“Fine, have it your way. We will move on to your other assets.”

His cool, determined tone sent shivers through her despite the day being warm. She tensed, trembling like a tender leaf in the slightest breeze. After listening to the two women before her be auctioned off first, she knew without a doubt what assets he would promote next.

“Look at her breasts, such ripe young beauties.” He curved his hands beneath them, molding and lifting while she cringed, tears burning beneath her lids. “They quiver in my hands, yet to know the touch of a lustful, laving tongue. Ripe for the picking like the most succulent of fruit. Imagine being the first to sample their sweet taste.” As he spoke, he moved his fingers and thumb to her nipples, pinching them, not harshly, but the disgrace of it all caused her to cry out behind her gag.

“So responsive,” he said with a chuckle before letting her go to sweep the veil of her long hair back behind her shoulders, removing what little modesty it provided and giving all the possible buyers an unhindered view.

Her knees nearly buckled when his thick fingers curled around her waist. “Lush, womanly curves,” he called, smoothing his hands down her sides, over the swell of her hips, before curving around in back. He grabbed one of her cheeks. “Trust me, this round ass is enough to hold onto while you drive into her. And picture how it will jiggle delightfully as you bring her to heel with a hand or a strap.”

His fingers didn’t stop there as she had hoped. Instead, they slowly inched around front, along the outer aspect of her thighs, and then inward along the crease, his next selling point unmistakably clear.

Shaking her head frantically, she cried out, her entreaties to stop only muffled, incoherent noises behind the bitter gag. Her panic overtook her, so distraught she became slightly dizzy, the strength of her legs failing as her knees began to give way.

“No, no, little dove,” the auctioneer reproved as he caught her. “I need you to stand. You either pull yourself together and allow me to show you off or I’ll call for a stand and bind you spread-eagled right here on the platform for all the lustful men of Lancore to see.”

She shook her head at the horrifying thought and somehow forced her legs to hold her shuddering body.

“Good,” he crooned, widening her stance with a nudge of his boot. Then his hands returned to where he’d left off. As he trailed his fingers through the soft mound of hair, he pinched her lips. “Nice and plump to cradle your cock.”

Shocked beyond measure, her eyes popped open and she peered into the crowd for the first time. Dozens upon dozens of people stared back at her, men of different shapes and sizes, some well dressed like gentlemen, others roughly as would a working man; the lone woman, the brothel madame she supposed, was wearing a dark hooded cloak. The only similarity amongst them was the lustful hunger that shone in their eyes for her.

“What a treat it will be breaking in her tight virgin cunt,” came his lurid taunt, “but I daresay,” he paused, pulling his hands away, “such a rare delight will not come at a common price.”

Putting a hand on her shoulder, he turned her about face. With his hand flat on her upper back, he applied pressure and bent her over. More whistles came from the crowd as well as shouts of appreciation. Certain she was going to faint, she prayed for deliverance as his hands worked between the furrow of her buttocks and spread them open, revealing her bottom hole in all its shameful glory.

“This tight pink star is also a virginal prize that will require initiating as well.” When his touch grazed over the puckered skin, she pitched forward in a futile attempt to get away from the probing fingers, beyond mortified that anyone would ever touch her there. He easily contained her, wrapping his hand in her hair as he hauled her up and around to once more face the ogling crowd. She clamped her eyes shut when she saw a man licking his lips while lewdly rubbing his crotch.

“On your knees, dove,” the slaver instructed.

Relieved that the inspection was over for the moment, she dropped heavily to the wooden platform, feeling utterly disgraced.

“What is she worth, gentleman? And might I remind you before you insult her worth, she is our
last
slave of the day.” An outburst of boos and disappointed murmurs came from the gathering. When the clamor died down, he continued. “As usual, after the completion of our last sale, you are all invited to Bart’s for a round of his finest brew. Knowing Bart, he will waste no time strapping his newly acquired purchase to the bar for a thorough and quite public inspection. You’ll not want to miss the show, particularly if he buys this fair dove as well.” The air practically rumbled as the men gave voice to their appreciation.

“Who’ll say one thousand as an opener?”

Her heart stopped as a bid of five hundred rose above the cheers and claps.

“My good man, I’d give a thousand for her myself before letting her go at such a steal,” the auctioneer scolded. The slaver’s hand settled on the top of her head as he began stroking her hair. The thought of belonging to him made Emilia shudder in revulsion as she tamped down the bitter gorge rising in her throat. “Who will up the price to a more respectable bid for one such as this?”

“One thousand,” came a calm, smooth voice.

“Ah, thank you, kind sir. I appreciate a man with an eye for beauty.”

At his feet, she stiffened, searching from beneath her lashes for the unknown man he’d called kind. Could it be true? Was it possible that a man with compassion, and perhaps morals and integrity, one not inclined to debauchery, existed in Lancore? Oh, but if it were so, what would he be doing bidding on a pleasure slave?

Still, her only hope was that she would come into the hands of someone kind, who might have consideration of her innocence, and give her time to adjust before taking her virginity. She would promise to be obedient and willing if he would spare her some time to come to terms with the idea.
Please
, she begged silently as she scanned the crowd,
have enough resources to save me.

“Fifteen hundred!” barked a hard, rough voice. Her head turned, searching. She hadn’t heard this man before, not in the earlier bidding or amongst the others in the crowd.

“At last, a respectable sum for a virgin! Do I hear more?”

“Eighteen hundred,” the kind man bid.

“Two thousand!” came the booming, thunderous reply. A chill ran down her spine. Clearly, the man was trying to intimidate his opponent. While she didn’t know if it was having an effect on the other bidder, he was doing a fine job of petrifying her.

“Twenty-five hundred,” came the unwavering reply.

A deep growl, like that of an angry boar, erupted from the other bidder as he came into view. The man was huge, with a thick neck, brawny arms, and a barrel chest, and he bodily moved others out of his way while advancing toward the stage, his jerky, volatile movements reflecting his annoyance. She cringed, cowering against the auctioneer’s legs. Terrified that he would actually purchase her, she flinched when he yelled, “Twenty-seven hundred!”

His hands were clenched into ham-like fists. His size and strength convinced her that he could easily rip her apart. Hopelessly, she prayed for a thunderbolt to strike him down out of the clear blue sky as a silent tension hung in the air.

“What is one more bid, my friend? Surely you don’t wish to go home empty-handed.” The auctioneer had to be addressing the man he’d called kind.

Please, sir
, she pleaded as she searched for him in the vast crowd.

“You keep out of it, rattle-tongue,” the behemoth growled, but the auctioneer seemed unfazed.

“Surely another bid is warranted for such a prize.”

Her rescuer, in her mind at least, called out another bid.

“Three thousand!”

She noticed a hint of worry in his voice and hoped that his opponent had not. If that monster got his hands on her, she would surely be dead before the end of the first night.

Whispers rippled through the crowd while she held her breath, staring at the big man who stood alone, the others having long since given him a wide berth. She saw his giant fists open and close at his sides, the cords in his neck bulging. He was breathing hard, practically snorting like an enraged bull, when he thundered, “Take her!” He shot an angry glare at someone on the other side of the gathering before he thrust his way out of the crowd, clearly irate for being defeated.

Slumping forward and lightheaded with relief that the fearsome ogre had walked away, she took the first deep breath since the bidding had started, thanking God the kind man had prevailed. Hopefully, her instincts that said he was the safer option were correct.

“Congratulations, sir,” the auctioneer crowed happily. “You can pay the attendant near the tents and collect your prize at the bottom of the steps.”

Emilia caught sight of a tall, well-built man as he worked his way through the dismantling throng of bodies. Could it be him? Not on par with the ogre, he was still a large man, his upper body broad with defined muscles apparent beneath his clothes, which seemed clean and well cared for. By his appearance, he had wealth. A fine leather jerkin lay open in the front, revealing a white tunic beneath. Snug, dark green braes covered his legs, dipping at the knees inside a pair of highly polished cuffed riding boots. He didn’t wear the colors or robes of nobility, nor did he have an entourage to protect and kowtow to his whims. Certainly, he was a man of some import, and he wasn’t poor to spend such a sum on a slave. If she had to guess, he was gentry, a gentleman of the upper class, such as a wealthy merchant or trader. She was able to get one last glimpse of the way the light teased his brown hair into strands of gold before the sweaty auctioneer caught her by the shoulders and guided her to the top of the steps.

“You like the looks of him, don’t you, dove?”

Startled, she glanced up, seeing the auctioneer’s ruddy face for the first time. She shook her head, thankful that it had been the kind man who made the purchase, yes, but to imply that she liked him was absurd.

He chuckled knowingly as he helped her down from the platform. “You’re fortunate Corbet Mills won the day. He’s a good man. Glom on the other hand…” He made a clicking noise with his tongue. “You are too valuable a piece to be used harshly by one such as he.”

She didn’t have time to consider that before he jerked his chin and indicated the man approaching. When she looked, she noticed he held some sort of leather device with buckles and straps in his hand.

“Remove the bindings, Garret. She will wear a harness with my crest now that she’s mine.”

Harness! “By the saints,” she whimpered in dismay, “like a horse?”

“Silence,” he charged, looking on as her bindings were cut free. When her numb arms fell to her sides, it was difficult, but she managed to bring her hands forward to rub the chafed skin. As she did, she noticed the severed band at her feet—red—the color of a Lancore pleasure slave and the whore she would soon be, his whore. She swayed weakly, fighting the nausea that swept through her at the mere thought of the awful word.

“A very fine investment this one, no?” Garret asked of the man who was securing the wide band of leather around her narrow waist. He cinched it snugly and tied a length of rope to the metal ring in front. Not once did he so much as glance at her, not at her bare breasts so near his face, or at her other charms on blatant display further below.

“Let’s hope she is worth the trouble she will inevitably bring,” he replied dismissively. Done with her restraint, he stood and peered down at her. His eyes were a golden brown that suggested warmth and kindness; conversely, his cool voice and orders did not. “You will stay two paces behind me. Do not let me feel resistance on this rope, do you understand?”

She nodded, trying to read the message behind the disconnect. Where had the kind sir gone? He gave her little time to wonder as he wrapped the end of the rope around his right hand once and started walking, leaving her no choice except to follow.

When they reached his wagon, he lifted her into the back and hopped up behind her. Tying her rope to a ring in the side wall, he busied himself shifting crates, barrels, and several saddles to one side. As he worked, she had a chance to study him, immediately struck by his strong, handsome features. Beautiful eyes were framed by dark, silky lashes and nicely arched brows. His beard, a shade lighter than the hair on his head was short, neatly trimmed along a firm, square jaw. Nestled in the center were full sensual lips, tempting despite the downward tilt they had taken. His hair fell straight just short of his collar and was a little mussed, making her fingers itch to comb it back from his face.