Love’s Savage Bonds
By Jeb
Chapter Two
The pounding of the horse's hooves seemed to send the very power of the earth coursing through her. The raw smells in the damp night air... the sharp tangy odor of the sweating, muscular haunches that her face was pressed against... it was utterly primal. Catherine could think of it no other way to describe it: she had been taken from her civilized life, and plunged headlong into the “natural” world of which the poets wrote so easily and rhapsodically— but they did their writing while sitting in drawing rooms, not lying bound and gagged across the back of a steaming black horse. Nature, red in tooth and claw indeed...
She
gnawed on those thoughts as her mouth sought release from the stifling gag.
Even if she were free to speak, she’d not have risked her abductor’s wrath for
the slight chance that she might be heard by some potential rescuer, but
shedding any discomfort at all would be a blessing. Since returning from
Was this what the ancient Celts had done? she wondered as she bounced madly, sprawled across the great leather saddle. Seized the women they desired, and carried them off... She tried to picture how she must look. Slung across the horse’s back, trussed like the Christmas goose, muzzled like the family dog... wondering what Charles Redmond was making of the appearance of his captive…
What is the matter with you!?! Catherine scolded herself. You're not being “carried off” as someone's bride-- you're being kidnapped by a man who, by all accounts, is extremely dangerous! A man who has a grudge against your husband... a grudge, she realized, that he might choose to settle in some unspeakable manner, sending more shudders through her helplessly bound form. Remember, you’re Lady Catherine Redmond… and… and…
A particularly violent change of direction slapped her face against the horse’s flanks, and she sagged, no longer able to buoy herself with that thought.
There is no more Lady Catherine, she found herself despairing. Such fancies were for civilized drawing rooms. Here, in the wild and the dark, nothing existed but muscle and sweat, impulse and desire… man and woman.
*****
After what felt like hours, the horse came to a stop in front of what appeared in the darkness to be a small cottage.
Once he had dismounted, Charles Redmond reached up to lift his prisoner from the horse's back; though his huge hand had been all that kept Catherine in place during their ride, she'd not been foolish enough to attempt to escape by rolling off the horse, still bound and gagged as she was: No amount of bravery would protect her from a fall off the huge beast.
Once more, he heaved her trussed form upon his shoulder, and the exhausted and frightened girl was dizzied as she fell across his back, her long, dark hair streaming down behind him. Catherine was acutely aware of the position of her buttocks over his shoulder... and of the gentle pressure from his hand, as he held her in place-- it was more than blood rushing to her head that was bringing a flush to her face now.
He threw open the door to the small cottage, carrying her inside.
As best she could make out, upside down and with the dark curtain of her hair obscuring her vision, it was the sort of small shack that a gamekeeper or attendant might have maintained. The furniture was sparse, but well made.
Charles Redmond gave an easy shrug of his powerful shoulders, and Catherine felt herself thrown down onto a rough bed, which was placed up against the far wall. She landed on her back, and did her best to scramble up to a sitting position, trying not to put too much weight on her bound arms; the strain in her shoulders had begun to pass from unbearable to paralytic. Nevertheless, she would show this ruffian that she was not cowed.
She glared up at him, sitting as erectly as she was able, tossing her head, shaking the disarranged tresses out of her face, determined to hide the fear in her eyes.
Dim light made its way through the windows, and Charles Redmond was a huge, dark shape, framed in the moonlight, standing over her. He stepped closer, and the cold light slashed across the side of his pale face.
Charles' eyes were wide, now, and Catherine realized that this was probably the first time he'd had a chance to get a good look at her, since first seeing her in the dim candlelight of the study.
“My God...” he breathed the words, as if to himself. He reached out his right hand, and let its fingers caress her wind-whipped hair. Catherine shuddered, quaking with fear. Fear and... something else? For an instant the picture flashed into her brain of those strong fingers of his ceasing their light stroking, and instead locking in her long tresses, gripping her with such force... she shook her head, as if to throw off both his touch and her own disturbing thoughts.
The fingers left off stroking her hair... and she saw his eyes drop to where her chest heaved for breath under what remained of her nightdress. His eyes took on an expression as though the treasure he'd sought was never in her husband's study at all-- but was right here, now, in his grasp.
His hand now moved to her chest... and his fingers undid the top button!
An enraged scream emerged from beneath the cloth binding Catherine's mouth, but Charles seemed not to notice. She squirmed as well as she was able, but her bound arms soon made contact with the wall behind her, leaving her nowhere to go to escape her captor's savage intentions.
Catherine now began to whimper behind her gag, as Charles moved his hand to the next button. Her arms strained as she pulled at her bonds…
And if my hands were free… what then? She tried to imagine herself clawing at his eyes like an animal... but somehow, she couldn't quite see that picture. The only picture that would come consisted of Catherine's naked body writhing beneath large, strong hands that played her like a fine violin.
And, in fact, his hands hadn't ceased, and Catherine could hear his breath quickening at the sight of his exquisite prize, a quickening that matched the gasps coming from beneath her gag.
She closed her eyes, gritting her teeth. He would do what he would with her, that was clear. And she, helplessly bound, had no choice, did she? No choice but to give her body over, to submit to...
“Damnation!”
Catherine’s eyes snapped open at the sound of the curse; she blinked back tears, fully expecting to see him towering before her, exposed and rampant.
Instead, he was standing several feet back from her, staring down at where she was helplessly bound, glaring blackly… but still fully clothed, she noticed.
“By God, that's what he'd have led you to expect, isn't it?” He was breathing heavily, as though mastering himself had been a form of physical exertion, and slowly came to stand over her again. “No doubt my brother has told you what a monster I am. No doubt you'd expect such a man to take low advantage of his helpless prey.” His face was now inches from hers, intensity radiating off it like sunburn.
Catherine was sure she should choke beneath her gag as she tried to get breath through the stifling cloth. The fierce visage before her far eclipsed in raw emotion anything that her husband had ever demonstrated.
“Damn you, stop looking at me!” Charles' voice was hoarse as he reached to his throat, and pulled away the white cravat; it appeared to be somewhat worn, but clearly of the finest silk, and he held it before her face.
Catherine managed a horrified shriek into her gag, picturing the silk wrapped about her own throat, slowly constricting it. Instead, as she flinched, Charles lifted it to her face, passing it over her eyes.
He wound the scarf savagely about her head, barely allowing her time to close her eyes as the cloth pressed down upon them, shutting her away into a primal darkness. She felt two passes of the muffling cloth wrap around her head, trapping her long hair against the back of her neck. The knot that fastened the blindfold in place was tied sharply and firmly. Catherine whimpered into her gag, overcome by the feeling of helplessness in this man's hands.
After securing the blindfold, Charles seemed to pause; Catherine could hear his heavy, ragged breathing, and she suddenly felt far less reassured about his intentions, a fear that intensified when she felt his huge hand once more at her breast. She screamed feebly into the gag, but choked off the cry as she felt his fingers press against her breastbone, and she was pushed down onto the bed.
“Lie still, or by heaven, I'll leash you about the neck.” She felt him wrap some sort of cord about her ankles, and felt it jerk as, presumably, he tied it to the foot of the bed. That a determined effort might allow her to find that cord with her bound hands, and release her feet was probable... but it was equally true that Catherine had neither the strength nor the courage to try. Both had been drained from her.
His scent was powerful in her nostrils, as was the pungent tang of her own fear. Was he watching her, sitting across the room, regarding her as some form of booty? Was she a pawn in some game between himself and his brother? To go from noblewoman-by-marriage to bound and gagged prisoner: it was a transformation as profound as that which had taken her from Catherine Tompkins to Lady Catherine Redmond.
Though
she tried desperately to cling to what she knew to be true, that she was the
wife of Philip Redmond, and would be seen safe and home once more, it was
harder and harder to think of anything as a certainty. She was well and truly
helpless, and in a way not completely due to the cords at her wrists and
ankles.
As
Catherine fell into an exhausted sleep, she was left with only one certainty:
whatever else Charles Redmond might think of her, he knew she was a woman, and
she wondered if his resistance to temptation would hold in the light of day, with
her so clearly at his mercy.
And if it did not…?
To be continued…