Innocence Enslaved (6 page)

The following afternoon, unable to withstand loneliness and tedium anymore, she ventured out of the room and downstairs. Sounds came from the kitchen, the clang of pots and dishes, and the chattering of several women. Turning in the opposite direction, she wandered through the large sprawling house, until she came to the open door of the master’s study. It was warm and inviting with a plush rug covering most of the floor and two velvet-tufted, high-back chairs flanking the fireplace. Best of all were the multitude of books, filling the shelves that covered almost all of two walls. Unlike most men and many more women, she could read. What’s more, she loved to—the books called to her.

Knowing full well that she shouldn’t, she took a tentative step inside anyway. Alice had told her that the master’s rooms and belongings were off limits. If she hadn’t, she’d have still known that without her admonition. As she scanned the room now, the woman’s words went unheeded. His large gleaming desk was tidy with only a sheaf of neatly stacked papers in the corner. The words ‘bill of sale’ caught her eye and proved that her guess was right, he was a merchant. His business dealings didn’t pique her interest as much as the row upon row of leather-bound books, so she moved to them.

His library consisted mainly of Latin works and thick historical tomes, which were rather dry in her opinion, but then the gilt lettering on the red spine of a book caught her eye.
Aesop’s Fables.
A collection of tales written by a slave in ancient Greece. The irony was not lost on her and she reached for it. Though she’d read it cover to cover many times, she still pulled it down—despite her conscience telling her to wait and ask—and went back to the small upstairs room before she was discovered.

Lost in the fiction, some with outrageous characterizations from a long ago time that were still truths to live by today, she didn’t realize how long she’d been reading until Alice came into the room. The woman almost dropped the bowl in her hands when she spotted the book she held on her lap. She stood up quickly, tucking it behind her back.

“Please, don’t tell. I was going out of my mind with nothing to do in this room. I’ll put it back before dark.”

“He will be home from his travels before that,” the woman said sharply, putting her food on the small table in the corner of the room and then leaving.

So that is why he hadn’t called her to his bed. He’d been away. That sparked more anxiety and worries over whether he’d summon her tonight. Suddenly, fretting over a borrowed book seemed naught by comparison.

Any appetite she had disappeared. While idly picking at her bread a while later, she heard someone in the yard call out.

“Master Corbet! Welcome home, sir.”

When she got up to have a look, the older man from the kitchen, the same one she’d seen from her window, working in the yard or with the horses in the past few days, was opening the stable doors. He was grinning broadly as he stared down the lane where the creak of an approaching wagon and the clip-clop of hooves could be heard.

She leaned out the window for a glimpse, ducking back when the wagon pulled up in front of the stable. Corbet nodded at the older man’s greeting.

“I’m glad to be home, Charles,” he said with a sigh, visibly fatigued as he climbed slowly down from the wagon, “and thankful that this damnable rain has stopped. It made a long journey even longer. Has Alice saved any supper?” he asked while helping Charles remove the canvas that covered the goods and supplies. “It’s been hours since my last meal and I’m starving.”

“She was expecting you, sir, and prepared the chicken meat pie you enjoy. I overheard her trying to teach Muriel the recipe, but she was fussing about her lack of attention and sent her out to me.” Charles let out a boisterous laugh. “Good thing. You wouldn’t want to try to stomach that girl’s cooking. According to Alice, I was to give her a task more fitting to her qualifications—this Muriel told me grudgingly. Poor thing’s face was the longest I’ve ever seen when I set her to cleaning the stalls.”

Corbet laughed heartily. “I can only hope she has seen fit to bathe before resuming her tasks in the kitchen.”

“Yes, sir. Not an hour ago, she was off to the stream, even in the rain, before going back into the house. Quite a sight she was, and smell, too.” Charles hefted one of the wooden crates from the wagon. “She will sleep well tonight for sure.” He strode off to the shed.

“Charles.” He called after him, causing the man to stop and turn. “What about the girl? Has she settled in?”

“No, sir. According to Alice, she’s hardly been out of her room. Muriel says she is melancholy and cries during the night.”

Taking the final crate, Corbet sighed. “I expected as much,” he said as he walked toward the house.

It wasn’t until he was out of view that Emilia realized she’d wasted precious time eavesdropping, and truth be told, mooning over his fine form. She glanced at the book on the table.

No!

Snatching it up, she dashed down the hall. As her foot hit the first tread of the stairs, a door slammed downstairs, halting her in her tracks. With a moan of distress, she hung her head. It was too late. Staring down at the evidence of her crime, her stomach clenched tight, unsure of what to do. She could simply hide it and hope he didn’t notice, but Alice knew. Would she expose her as a thief? Of course, she barely knew the woman, why would she protect her? Maybe if she went to him and owned up to her offense, he would be lenient.

Faint voices below caught her attention. She could hear his deep rumble and softer, feminine replies, yet she couldn’t make out what they were saying. Frustrated, she crept down a few steps, straining to hear. She could now hear bits and pieces, but it still wasn’t clear. After a few moments, the conversation ended and their footsteps moving on down the hall.

“Plague upon you!” she cursed beneath her breath, wrongly blaming the innocent book in her trembling hands.

Apprehension brewed in her belly as she went back to the room and sat on the bed. Gripping the book with both hands, she pondered what to do next. If Alice had told, would he allow her the chance to explain? Would he understand the frustration of having nothing to do, of staying in the same room day in and out, getting bored out of her head? Or would he demonstrate his version of swift, fair punishment?

She knew how her father would deal with her for taking something that didn’t belong to her. He would give her a solid round with the switch. He loved her, but dealt harshly with liars and thieves. After allowing her to explain what possessed her, he would likely give her another round for good measure and send her to bed with a heated behind.

Kind sir
. That’s what the auctioneer had called Corbet. She hadn’t been around him enough to ascertain if it was so. The household seemed to respect him, not tremble with fear at the mention of his name. She bit her lip in indecision and rubbed her thumb across the book binding. The moral of
The Shepherd’s Boy
, which she’d read that afternoon, came to mind; a liar when telling the truth will still not be believed. She didn’t want to be known as such and decided her best course of action would be to tell him what she had done and beg for his mercy and understanding.

It was nearly dusk when Muriel came into the room. “He wants to see you now,” she said, standing in the doorway. Her eyes widened when she noticed the book in Emilia’s hands as she stood up from the bed. “You can read?”

“My mother taught me,” she replied with a nod as she followed the girl.

“He will not be pleased,” Muriel warned while leading her to the end of the long hall and then bearing left.

“Not pleased that I can read? Or because I borrowed his book?”

A snort came from the girl as she stopped in front of a set of double doors. “That you snuck into his study. That you stole from him. Even I know you did not borrow that book. He was not here to ask.”

A coldness filled her stomach as she stared at the closed, solid oak panels that served as an entrance to the master’s bedroom. Muriel was right. It could only be considered borrowing if she had permission, which she had not. “Will he be cruel?” Emilia asked, squeezing the girl’s hand before letting go.

Muriel rapped a few times on the wooden door. “You’re about to find out, aren’t you?” She then left her standing alone to face the lion in his den.

Chapter Three

“Come.”

Emilia swallowed hard at the softly spoken command. Seeing how her hand shook as she reached for the latch, she made a fist to quell it as she drew in a deep, calming breath. He didn’t sound angry. Perhaps he didn’t know she had taken his property yet. Summoning her courage, which she had to draw from deep down inside, she opened the door and peeked in.

He looked up from his seat in a high-back thickly cushioned chair in the far corner and waved her in. She entered the room, but didn’t go far, standing inside the door with her hands behind her back, holding the contraband while trying not to appear guilty.

“Sit,” he directed, pointing to a round tufted cushion on the floor not far from his chair.

She kept her eyes lowered as she slowly walked past his enormous bed and sank onto the large pillow at his feet. It stung that a free woman, with the exchange of some silver, was unworthy of the merest chair or stool, subservient like the lowliest slave Lancore and Corbet had made of her. Soon it could be worse, when it became known she was an errant slave and a thief, who could be whipped for her offense if her master deemed it so.

She noticed a flagon of wine on the small table next to his chair and a glass in his hand. Hoping the spirits had mellowed him some and put him in a forgiving mood, with her head bowed, she extended the book to him with both hands.

“I’m sorry, master,” she started hesitantly. “I was going crazy in that room with nothing to do.” She glanced up, her curiosity too much to stay meek and subservient. He was wearing a dark blue sleeveless cote cinched at the waist by a wide brown belt; it made his broad chest appear wider as she followed the long line of his torso up to the open neck of his collar. The laces were undone, exposing a light covering of chest hair, the same warm brown as the hair on his head. Her fingers trembled as her gaze moved upward, pausing on his firm, sensual lips that twitched slightly as if amused, not angry. Surprised, her eyes tipped to his.

Corbet leaned forward and took the book, never looking away. “It pleases me that you can read, Emilia, and I appreciate the courage it took to own up to your mistake. I am, however, very disappointed that you took it upon yourself to enter my study and avail yourself of my books. If you needed something to keep you busy, why didn’t you ask Alice to give you something to do?”

“I don’t think the others like me.” She frowned, hearing how childish that sounded. “I tried making conversation and offered to help, but they weren’t receptive of either.” Emilia noticed a brief tightening in his face as he sipped his wine. “Alice told me that I needed to wait until you called for me. She said that slaves—” She paused, finding it hard for her to say the words. When she began again it was in a whisper. “That pleasure slaves do not perform duties other than that which their master desires.”

He let out a sigh, rubbing his chin. “I’m sorry that your welcome in my home was so cold. My instructions were that you be made comfortable in my absence. It is clear that she misunderstood. I will speak with her later.” He put his empty glass next to the flask on the table and settled himself back in his chair, stretching out his long legs and crossing them at the ankles. “Do you know why I asked you to my chamber?”

She thought she did, but had pushed it to the back of her mind, choosing to worry about disclosing her theft of the book, instead. As it weighed on her now, a knot of fear formed in the pit of her stomach. She lowered her gaze, not wanting to give away her fear for some reason.

“I don’t know for certain, master,” she answered, remembering suddenly that he’d asked a question.

“That, in part, is why I wanted to speak with you.”

Though she didn’t understand, she answered respectfully, “Yes, master.”

“I would rather you call me ‘sir,’” he said in a low rumble that closely resembled a growl.

Thinking she had done wrong and further compounded her predicament, her lower lip started to quiver. She tipped her head forward, thankful for her long red hair that helped hide her face. After a short pause, she saw him uncross his legs and sit forward. Since he hadn’t known about her taking the book, she could think of only one reason he would require her presence.
It was time for him to make use of his purchase.

“Why do I suddenly frighten you?” he asked, putting a warm finger under her chin and coaxing it upward.

Unsure of his reaction if she disobeyed, she didn’t resist, although she wanted to. A tear brimmed at her lower lid as she fought to keep her composure. In her boredom, she had wished for his presence, entertaining the thoughts of what he might do to her. She would be lying to say it hadn’t excited her. Now that she was here, the thoughts about what he would want from her were frightening.

“I… I don’t know how—” Her gaze slid anxiously to the bed. “I’m scared,” she finished on a shaky exhalation. Even through watery eyes, she could see him struggling to contain a smile. With embarrassment added to her tilt of emotions, she pulled away from his gentle grip and let her tears fall.

“That isn’t my intent, dove.” His words were gentle as was the hand he placed on her shoulder. “Look at me.”

Wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand, she dared to grumble. “Why do you call me that? The awful auctioneer called me the same.”

“So we’re clear, I am nothing like that slave monger, Garret. And around here, referring to a young woman as a ‘dove’ means that she is pure, a virgin. Get used to hearing it more, for I intend to see that you stay that way while you’re here.”

She started, her head swinging up and her mouth gaping wide. Had she heard him correctly?

As if he read her thoughts, he replied, “Your hearing isn’t failing, little one. I have no intentions of defiling you.” Giving her a gentle smile, he sat back in his chair. As strange as it was, she missed the warmth of his hand. “I called you here to learn more about you, where you are from, and more important, who may be searching for you.”