“What in the bloody hell are ya doin with me prisoner?” the suddenly, shocking voice leaped out from the grimy gloom.
Roslyn whirled around coming face to face with the scruffy jailer. She fell back against the rack as the man moved in close enough for her to smell his rank breath, then getting her bearings she stood up a little straighter and moved to the side. “I thought her bonds should be loosened, you’ve bound her too tightly.”
“Aye, I bind the bitch to keep her on me rack. Jus where I want ‘er.”
He cocked his head, his one eye fixed on Roslyn’s face. “You Draydon’s niece, huh? Purdy, aren’t ya?” Eyes gleaming with a lurid light, he reached for her auburn hair, although Roslyn recoiled, stepping back.
“Mebe, ya’d like to see me fuck the bitch now, eh? Gonna be a lot a fuckin down here when my friends join me. Her hot little quim’ll be dripping. Lips’ll be swollen from gagging on cock.” The man’s hairy lip curled as he spoke. “Get her ready for Drago’s dungeon, huh? Take that arse ‘o hers; that’s what the bitch wants.” He moved to the girl’s side and pinched her chin in his fingers. Then he grabbed a bound tit and shook it hard, ending with a brutal twisting of her inflamed nipple.
A pained expression replaced the passive one on the girl’s face, but she made no sound.
“In’t that right, whore?” he shook her chin again. “Hum, those purdy lips tell me so.”
“Yes, sir!” she finally blurted back.
“Yeah, that’s what I like ta hear.” He turned to Rosyln, “So, you jus leave us to our fucking, milady… Go pour yerself some tea, huh?” He twisted off the word milady, enough to make Roslyn cringe and draw back one more time. Despite the fact that he was three feet from her now, she could feel his hands crawling all over her body, ripping at her clothes to grovel over her aching breasts.
“You are scum!” Roslyn suddenly burst out, then she gathered her skirts in her hands and moved toward the open cell door. Before she could exit, the cell bars were slammed in her face, while a mocking fellow on the other side smiled at her with his broad, toothless grin.
“Open the door, sir!” she commanded.
“Ooo, ya orderin me.” She smelled the liquor on his breath.
“I said, open this door!”
Laughing a big belly laugh, the man let go the bars and stepped away, allowing Roslyn to pass through.
Though she wanted to run like the wind, she remained poised enough to walk back through the prison, past the sleeping drunk, past the cold and barren cells until she took the stairs toward daylight, happy to breathe fresh air again. Emerging from the prison, she walked in a different direction than she’d come, moving through a short corridor that entered onto the castle’s large courtyard, where the activity of a busy day swirled in around her.
“So, what would the lady be doing in her Uncle’s dungeons?”
So lost in her own impassioned thoughts, Roslyn barely heard the man’s voice. Only after taking a few more steps did she turn about, half expecting this voice to be just her imagination playing tricks and no one would be there. But, yes! There was a man behind that voice, a very handsome man indeed.
“And whom are you?” she asked, as she surveyed the kindly young fellow. By the look of his shirt, his trousers and vest, he was not a noble like her Uncle, but perhaps a merchant. His clothes were simple, but finely made. The features of his face were refined, his skin clean and shaven, his hair of a tawny brown shade—a far cry from the vermin populating the prison below. Though still shaking off the repugnant scene in the dungeon, she didn’t give the man time to answer, but continued walking into the courtyard, where the tradesmen and servants were doing their daily business.
Though she’d rather have been by herself to gather her wits, the young man moved in beside her, answering her question: “I am Markus Leeds.”
“And should you, Mr. Leeds, be addressing a Lady to whom you’ve not been properly introduced?” She spoke with a great deal of reserve in a way she rarely did, feeling utterly annoyed that the young man persisted with her. She was not ready for pleasant conversation.
“Perhaps no more than you should be walking unescorted through the market, might I add after visiting the castle’s bowels. That is no place for a lady.” He was smug, but perfectly correct in his judgment.
Conceding the issue, Roslyn sighed and stopped to address the man properly. “It would please me, if you would not mention this to anyone. I have my reasons, and you would be polite to let those reasons remain my secret.”
“As if your movements are not known to your uncle?”
“Are you his spy?”
He laughed. “No, I am not in your Uncle’s confidence,” said with a wry twist.
“Well, then, he’ll hear what he hears. I have my reasons for today’s visit to his dungeon.”
“The girl, I presume?”
She was taken aback that he would have such an uncanny grasp of her recent excursion.
“And if I was?”
“You would be wise to let that matter rest?”
“She was then a despicable traitor to my Uncle’s house.”
“She fell away from his requirements.”
“Requirements? You talk in riddles.”
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