Marri's Approach (Brackish Bay) (16 page)

I decided to try the inn first. There were several horsemen around, just as there had been last time. These nomadic tribes had a morality that seemed strange to me, and they wore several layers of embroidered clothing, something I thought absolutely ridiculous, considering the climate since the bombardment. I would be scandalous in the slave dress I'd stolen.

Pushing open the door, it took me a minute to blink the sun out of my eyes so I could peer into the dark room.

“Sir?”

The bartender looked up, as did all the other men at the bar and tables. Where were the women? It irked me that they placed so much emphasis on the women’s behavior being
modest
, whatever
that
means, Fortuna.

“Good morning, sir. I was hoping you could help me.” I approached the bar, conscious of so many eyes on my partially bare back and the hip-high openings in the sides of the skirt. “My younger cousin was traveling past here, oh, two weeks ago? Maybe a week ago? And I haven't heard that she made it to the next settlement, to Brackish Bay. Have you seen her? A young woman with curly hair like mine, but dark instead? She's a little shorter than me, as well, and there would have been two men with her. One was broader, with an excellent speaking voice, and the other was tall and slender, with long auburn hair.”

The bartender frowned at me. “I don't remember men like that, but I remember seeing a woman as you describe.”

“When? Where? Do you know if she's still here somewhere?”

A man behind me stood and came near, far too close for comfort. “Who wants to know?”

“I'm her cousin. Marri.”

I turned to face him. He was definitely one of the horsemen, embroidered shirt open at the collarbone, tight pants to enable better riding, a short whip tucked into his belt. Mmm, Fortuna, a brawny man is looking at me like he can't decide if he wants to whip me or ride me. I smiled.

“What do you want with her?” he demanded.

Fortuna, why does he sound like he's got some information?

“I want to make sure she's well.”

“She's fine. Now piss off, before I make you.”

“Make me? I want to talk to her.”

“You?” He laughed, and it was a nasty sound. “Why do you want to talk to her? She's not for the likes of you.”

“Likes of me?”

“A harlot.” He gestured to the door. “Get lost.”

“I'm not going anywhere.”

“You're not going to see her.”

“Where is she?” I said.

“She's safe.”

“Where are William and Amadeus?”

“The faggots?” He spat on the floor. “They don't exist.”

“What?” Alarm rose in my throat. “What happened?”

He shrugged. “Doesn't matter.”

I bit down on the urge to ram his nasal bones into his brain. “Take me to her.”

“We can do this all day, harlot. You're not going to corrupt the child.”

Oh. Well. Fortuna? I wonder if their gods endorse the idea of redemption. I burst into tears and sank to the floor.

“What the hell's the matter with you now?”

I shook my head, burying my face in my hands while I wailed. “Oh, gods, I don't know what to do! Katherine was the only one in the family who was good and pure! I wanted to find her, to learn from her, to be like her! She's the only one who would understand. A harlot mother raised her, and yet she overcame her temptations. She's such a good girl! I wanted to learn to be like her!”

I curled into a weeping ball. The man in front of me snorted.

“You expect me to believe that?”

A man still sitting at the table spoke up. “Aw, be easy on the girl, Tony. Maybe she is telling the truth.”

I peeked through my fingers. He was a younger man, dressed similarly to Tony. “Please forgive me! I don't know what to do! I'm so ashamed of everything I've ever done.” Careful, don't overdo it.

Tony snorted again. “Right. And pigs fly.”

“I know I don't deserve a second chance. I don't deserve a husband or children or a chance to learn about my heritage.”

The man at the table spoke again. “Tony, have you ever seen a harlot cry like that?”

Tony seemed dubious. “No.”

I called up all the shame I'd ever felt at any of my previous failures, and channeled it into my voice. “I am a bad, dirty whore. I'm so sorry. I've failed Katherine. She always said if I would just try to be more like her, so pure and good—”

“Maybe we should let her talk to the girl. If Katherine rejects her, we'll just leave the whore in the woods, like her mother was left.”

My stomach dropped with the casual way the man at the table referenced Jacqueline's abandonment. They made me ill. Dare they call themselves men when they abandoned helpless women and children who did not fit their narrow morality? I bit down on my outrage, forcing it out as tears.

“No, please don't. I don't deserve to speak to Katherine. I wanted to, but you're right. I would only corrupt her. I should leave. I'll never have a family.”

“Come on, don't be like that.” The man at the table spoke again. “You don't mean that. Here you were, all ready to fight Tony to get to see your cousin, and now you're giving up.”

“Oh, but it's because Tony's right. I shouldn't have. I'm so sorry.” I pushed myself to sitting up. “I'll just go.” I tried to stand, then threw myself down on the bar, weeping into my arms. “I should go. I'll ruin everything if I stay. Don't even tell her I was here. Let her think the worst of me. It doesn't matter that I tried to be good. Nothing matters, because I'll never be more than this.”

I continued to sob while the bartender patted my head awkwardly.

“All right, all right, don't carry on,” he said. “I'm sure your cousin would like to see you.”

“No, no, she wouldn't. I'd just be a bad influence. I couldn't wear these clothes to see her. I'd just shame her. I have nothing left. I'm all alone in the world.”

Tony patted my shoulder. “Ours is a large tribe. We have some whores. As long as you know your place, you can come with us.”

I sniffled as I looked up at him. “You mean it? I can—can come with you? To see Katherine? To live with my people? With the tribe?”

“You will need to wear proper clothing. And you damn well better not corrupt Katherine. Of course you must service the men as they request, and take your beatings with gratitude.”

Take beatings with gratitude? Service men as they request? Fortuna, this might not be so bad. I sniffled some more and scrubbed at my eyes with the shoulder knot of the dress.

“Really? Of course, of course, I will be so good! I will do whatever you say. I won't corrupt her, I swear!” Then my face fell. “I don't have proper clothing!” I buried my face in my arms and began to sob again.

The man at the table stood up. “I'll get you some. Come along upstairs with me.”

We brushed past Tony as I followed him, still whimpering.

Once in the room he pointed at the bed, and I sat primly, hoping it was close enough to correct. He removed a pile of clothes from a trunk while I sniffled and wiped my eyes.

“Here. You'll need to wash, of course, and then put these on.”

“Yes, sir. Where should I wash?” He pointed to the corner. I swallowed hard. “Will you watch?”

“Yes, of course, you little whore. You gave up your right to privacy, to autonomy, when you gave away your virginity.”

Fortuna, I'm not even sure I can remember the boy I gave it to, that's how little it mattered to me. It certainly held no such magical powers as giving up my rights to privacy and autonomy.

“Get started,” he said.

I flinched, and meekly scurried to the washtub, then stripped, shyly covering myself.

“Show me your body,” he said. I let my hands fall and stood still, facing him, my nipples tight and hard, and my eyes fixed on the floor. “Turn around.” I obeyed. “Bend over.”

“Sir, please!”

“Now,” he told me. I obeyed, my nether lips thickening and pulsing with desire. “You
are
a dirty little whore.” He walked up close to me and ran a finger up my slit. I shivered. “You're wet.” Yes, thanks to Lajos, and now you. “I bet you need a hard dick in your dirty little cunt.”

“No, sir, please. I'm trying to be good.”

“Part of being good is doing what I tell you, whore.” He unfastened his pants and pulled them down, then his underwear. I shivered. “Tell me you want my dick.”

“I—I want your dick, sir.”

“Good, whore.”

He rammed into me. It would have hurt if I weren’t so swollen with need that everything was slick. I groaned. He tightened his fingers on my hips and then he was fucking me hard, while I struggled to keep my balance. My fingers tightened on the edge of the wooden tub, and the stretch made my cunt tighter. I moaned. Too quickly, he was finished. I protested, an inarticulate sound in my throat, and he slapped my hip hard.

“You don't deserve any more than that,” he said.

I swallowed my frustration, stood up, and stepped into the bath. I washed thoroughly, conscious always of his gaze on my flushed skin. When I was finished, he threw a towel to me. I dried, the rough material scratchy. He indicated the clothing on the bed, and I came to him, then clasped my hands in front of me.

“Please forgive me, sir. I don't know how to wear them. My mother never taught me.”

He snorted with derision. “The bloomers are first.”

I took them from his hand. They were strange, like short pants with drawstrings at the waist and thighs. I tied them.

He handed me a sort of sleeveless tunic. “The chemise.”

I put it on.

“Underskirt.”

Underskirt? It was heavy and thick enough to be a skirt in its own right, full of gathers and flounces.

“Blouse.”

I put on the embroidered blouse, careful not to snag the beautiful threads.

“Skirt.”

I huffed just a little, already feeling the heat and weight of all the clothes, and he slapped me across the face. I gasped, my face burning.

“Don't you dare complain,” he said.

“No, sir, of course not, sir, please forgive me.”

I pulled it down over my head and tied the waistband. It was heavy on my hips, stifling and confining. I felt sweat break out on my forehead, and I wiped it away. He handed me another cloth.

“Kerchief.”

I frowned at it.

“Tie it around your hair.”

I did, folding it clumsily.

He stood back and examined me. “Much better.” He gave me a pair of sandals. “Put them on.”

I obeyed, disgruntled at the lack of boots.

“Thank you so much, sir.”

He nodded. Together we descended the stairs, and I approached Tony demurely.

“I'm ready, sir.”

He cupped my face, and I let myself look up at him through my lashes.

“You clean up well. Now you look no worse than any of our tribe's other whores.”

Fortuna, that's a backhanded compliment if I ever heard one.

I smiled anyway. “Thank you, sir.”

I followed the man who had given me the clothes outside, where he untied a horse and mounted it in one swift motion. I stood still, unsure what to do.

“Come here,” he said.

I shifted closer to the horse, and then he jerked me up in front of him. Tony mounted another horse, and then we set off.

Chapter 10

The ride was by turns boring and fascinating. I watched the forest that we passed through, determined to know the way back if it came to it. The man I rode with seemed to like that his erection was pressed tight against my ass, so I shifted, only a little, every once in a while. He didn't want the grinding of a wanton whore, he wanted the unintentional immodesty of a reluctant whore. I leaned back against his shoulder, wondering why neither of the men had noticed the collar, or if they simply didn't care that, technically, I belonged to another man. I also wondered what Roy would do when he saw me next.

I contemplated dropping Katherine off at his gate and vanishing into the woods, but remembered his silent watchers. They'd never revealed themselves to me before, and maybe they never would. But then again, maybe I would die before I saw them up close.

The first sign that we had arrived at the horseman's camp was the music. I could hear it for a long time before I could see them, dancing by the firelight. Even in the darkness, I could feel the vast numbers of people. This was not a small, transient camp; this was a large gathering. How would I find Katherine if they didn't lead me to her? They stopped their horses, and I dismounted.

A woman called out to us. “What do you have there, Bernard?”

“I picked up a stray whore by the dock. She needs a tribe to live with.”

“Which tribe does she come from, and why was she shunned?”

“She doesn't know. Her mother was shunned, like Jacqueline was from her tribe, when Ramon sent her back.”

Ramon? Ramon, as in Katherine's father, Ramon? Is this
his
tribe, Fortuna?

“He's not likely to want to keep her, then.”

“He wanted Jacqueline's daughter to stay. Maybe he'll keep this one, too, if the girl doesn't throw her out immediately.”

“We'll see, we'll see.”

I could smell wood burning and the delicious aroma of stews cooking in cauldrons on the open fire. I could smell horseflesh and leather, the underlying scents in this place, and I could smell sweat, the odor of unwashed bodies in far too many clothes for this climate. I watched the woman who'd spoken go back to her fire, and then looked up at Bernard.

“Where do you wish me to go, sir?”

“You should go to the whores’ tent. Make yourself useful.”

“Of course, sir. Which is theirs?”

He pointed out a luridly decorated, red colored tent. I bit my tongue and nodded, then walked to it. There were three women lounging around the fire, their tiny waists and ripe breasts on display through their tight belts and low-draped necklines.

I curtseyed. “May I come to your fire?”

The black-haired one looked at me, makeup further darkening her already dark eyes. “What do you want with us?”

“Bernard brought me here. He told me to go to you, to make myself useful until Ramon and Jacqueline's daughter decide if I should be allowed to stay or not.”