Captive Bride

Captive Bride Loki Renard © 2011 by Blushing Books and Loki Renard

© 2011 Loki Renard & Blushing Books All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher. Published by Blushing Books®, a subsidiary of ABCD Graphics and Design 977 Seminole Trail #233 Charlottesville, VA 22901 The trademark Blushing Books® is registered in the US Patent and Trademark Office. Renard, Loki Captive Bride eBook ISBN: 978-1-60968-481-5 Cover Design by ABCD Graphics

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Chapter One A portly belly barely contained inside a well stretched waistcoat wobbled back and forth, hypnotizing me as the owner of both the belly and the brave item of clothing paraded back and forth in front expounding his views with dramatic flair. “The Idrii are dangerous. The Idrii are not to be trusted. They are filthy gypsies and a scourge on the good name of our fair country. May they be driven into the sea!” Professor Faldwell brandished the draft of my thesis in disgust. I tried to maintain my composure in the face of his vehement onslaught, but it was difficult. I had known that my thesis would not be popular, but I had not expected this vigorous response. Even his white whiskers were trembling with outrage. “Perhaps they are dangerous,” I allowed, “but they are an essential part of our history. A part that is being lost at an alarming rate. Linguistically, culturally, there is much we can learn from them. In many respects,” I said, quoting from the very thesis he seemed to be on the verge of tossing into the fire, “they are the keepers of our heritage. We are consumed with progress, with the new culture. They safeguard the old ways.” Professor Faldwell sighed deeply, put my thesis down on the table and began cleaning his steamed glasses on the tails of his shirt. His ruddy jowls continued to wobble as he shook his head. “Really Miss Weaver, you are given to the most shameful flights of fancy. The board will never grant you a doctorate if you present them with this, this... dreck!” “Because it does not suit their political agenda. Not because it does not have academic value,” I argued, rescuing my draft from his clutches before it could come to harm. It was the product of many months research and though my notes were safely in my study, it was the only copy I had painstakingly penned by hand. “Precisely,” Professor Faldwell shook a cautionary finger at me. “This is a political piece. Stay away from politics. If you want to study history, take a broader view. Do not rub the Idrii in the faces of those who fund this college.” Confronted with bigotry of the worst kind, the academic kind. I did my best to remain patient. “Am I to take it, Professor, that you will not be sponsoring my thesis?” “Absolutely not!” I thanked Professor Faldwell for his time and departed swiftly before my temper boiled over in an unseemly display. After his summarily blunt rejection of the work I had been immersing myself in for the past three years, I determined that a nice long walk would be just the thing to prevent me from giving into the temptation to beating him with a poker from his fireplace. To say that I was frustrated by the fact that politics had disturbed my studies would have been to make a gross understatement. I was quite furious. It was bad enough that the government's policies of rounding up the people they liked to call 'gypsies' and sending their children to schools all the while pressing the parents into base manual labor was fast destroying what remnants of the old culture remained. The fact that attempts to document these people before they were absorbed by the industrial revolution were stymied at every turn was unforgivable. If we could not save these anachronistic treasures in our books and museums, then what was the purpose of academia at all?

I dressed myself with the utmost formality and began my excursion. A nice long walk on a long summer's evening is perhaps the most universal of all human pleasures – and the most effective at dissipating anxiety and anger. I chose to indulge on a such a walk around the rural outskirts of the scholarly city of Ulyssys, pondering my predicament. If I was to be true to my studies, to my academic premise, I could not in good conscience abandon my study of the Idrii. True, they were a lawless force who traveled in bands taking what they wanted and often causing trouble for officials, but they were also the last remnants of the original settlers of these lands. Their culture was a living history. I was pondering these things, along with the proper fate for people like the so called Professor Faldwell, when a stone, hurled with force, skipped just inches in front of my feet. I was under attack from all corners it seemed. A giggling in the hedgerows alongside the road betrayed my latest assailant. I parted the branches with my walking cane and saw the gleeful smiles of some gypsy children. It was a most marvelous coincidence, and my anger evaporated immediately as I saw their dirt smudged faces and the brightly colored clothing that I knew would have been passed down from brother to sister for years and years. They were tatty and ragged in appearance, but the children positively exuded happiness. “You should not throw stones at strangers,” I chided them. “You should not throw stones,” they parroted back, mimicking my accent. It seemed to amuse them greatly. Whilst I spoke with crisp control of consonant and vowel, their tongues seemed to hold no desire to enunciate. Vowel and consonant flowed together in a charming slur that made them sound quite tipsy. They were impertinent, but I was not angered by their display. It was impossible to be angry at such free range cherubs. I made a move with my walking stick and the children lost their nerve almost immediately. Before I could stop them to assure I meant them no harm, they had fled towards a circle of caravans in the distance, shrieking the entire way. I followed their path with my eyes and a wide smile spread across my face as I realized what I had done. I had stumbled across a small group of Idrii. Their wild behavior and fearsome tattoos made them outcasts from decent society and it was becoming increasingly difficult for an outsider to make contact with them. In all the many months I had toiled on my thesis, I had been unable to find a single one. Now that my thesis had been summarily rejected, here was a whole band of them. We registered citizens were always warned to stay clear of the gypsies, to report their presence immediately to the local authorities. Of course I had no intention of doing such a thing. I immediately began following in the footsteps of the children. It was perhaps foolhardy, but this was an unprecedented opportunity to see if what was written in the texts held any truth at all. Though I attempted to hide my presence at first, it was a difficult task that I quickly abandoned. The Idrii were a keen people and I had no doubt that I had probably been observed even as I walked down the road. The best thing for it was to simply introduce myself. I wagered my fortunes on the fact that they had customs of hospitality that should prevent any harm from coming to me and even if they should run me off, at least I would have tried. It was a fairly large tribal grouping, I discovered as I drew closer. My progress was much slower than that of the children, for I did not have their sprightly youth, and my own alacrity had been stripped from me by an childhood illness. I got along well enough with a slight limp and my trusty cane, and I made rather good time, spurred on by burning curiosity.

Whilst still at a distance I observed that there were at least ten caravans ranged around a central space that boasted a crackling fire. Each of the caravans was hand carved with the most delightful ornamentation and I knew from my research that each one could carry a full family or more inside its walls. In the past the caravans would have been brightly colored, painted with red ocher and other natural dyes. As it was, they were all painted in a deep olive green with black trim. Persecution by the authorities had lead to the Idrii concealing their presence wherever possible and the darker paint provided an excellent camouflage that made them much harder to spot in the fields and amongst trees. If I had not been alerted to their presence by the children, I would probably have passed them by without so much as a second glance. As I drew closer, I heard voices and the sound of stone on metal. I was instantly enchanted by the noises, which were so foreign and delightful to me. I was used to the hissing of steam machines as they did man's work. Any trepidation I had felt at the idea of introducing myself to a tribe of Idrii dissipated in my enthusiasm so, clutching my walking stick firmly, I stepped into the ring with a hearty, “What ho!” My appearance drew note almost immediately. I was significantly overdressed by the standards of these simple people. The women here wore light blouses and skirts and nothing upon their feet at all. I, by sharp contrast, wore three petticoats, an underdress, an overdress and a traveling dress atop that. My feet were shod in very fine kid skin boots and of course I carried a walking cane that assisted me in my travels. That was not where the dissimilarities ended however. For the most part, the women's hair flowed free over their shoulders in rambunctious dark curls. My own strawberry blonde locks were swept off my face and held back with numerous pins and clips, swaddled in a hair net and stored neatly away under a wide brimmed hat that kept the elements from my skin. I also wore gloves for the same purpose. It would not do to sully the fingers I used in delicate experiments with common dirt and grime. There were several men, women and children ranged about the inner circle. I seemed to have interrupted their dinner preparations, for they were all sitting about, sharpening a great pile of short, thick knives that I could only imagine would be used for hewing steak from the bone. At my hearty introduction they froze to a man, staring at me with wide eyes as if I was a specter from the fields. “Hello,” I said, making a little bow. “I am Katherine Weaver, PhD.” Nobody replied. They simply stared at me with their dark eyes, mistrustful and probably afraid. I could not blame them for their misgivings. After all, people like me were seeking to strip them of all they cared for in the world. “I am sorry to interrupt you so rudely of an evening,” I apologized. Again, there was no reply. A couple of the men got up and walked away without saying a word and I began to grow nervous. There was a distinctly hostile atmosphere that even I could not ignore. As anxiety settled in my belly, I determined that it would probably be best if I left. “I apologize,” I said with another little bow. “I have clearly stumbled upon a private gathering. I will take my leave.” I turned to go back the way I had come, but the space between the caravans was now filled with the bulk of a fearsome looking gypsy man. He wore just a tunic over his broad chest and his brawny arms were covered in tattoos from shoulder to wrist. I had some idea of how painful it must have been when the ink was hammered into his skin, and I recoiled from him quite instinctively. He laughed at my fear, his lips parting in a cruel leer.

Doing my best to keep my composure, I looked about myself and discovered that the rest of the group had moved quickly and formed a circle about me. They were not close enough to touch me, but their presence prevented me from leaving. I was trapped. “Please, allow me to go on my way,” I begged them. “Not until Idric's seen you.” A wave of relief washed over me as a man finally spoke. “Who is Idric?” The answer came in a terrifying hoarse whisper. “Your worst nightmare.” I felt my extremities begin to tremble as my body initiated a thoroughly useless fight or flight response. There was no way I could fight this group of gypsies and escape was impossible. I did my best to compose myself as we all waited for the man they called Idric to make an appearance. I hoped that he would be a man of reason and sound judgment. After what seemed like a lifetime, the crowd parted and a tall man stepped into the circle with me. His dark curls and sinful thin lips spoke to a cold, keen temperament. Short, thick hair cropped into a widow's peak sitting low on his head, brown eyes and light stubble around his chin contributed to the appearance of dashing demonry. For a moment I did not know whether I looked at a man or a devil incarnate on the green. I shuddered instinctively as he drew closer. The scars on his face and arms showed that he was no stranger to violence and the glint in his eye told me beyond a shadow of a doubt that he did not fear any man. “What are you doing here?” He addressed me with a surprisingly well spoken demeanor. He was definitely of the Idrii, but the inflection he used when he spoke hinted at some level of formal education. I was not particularly relieved by that discovery, if he had been taken and forced into the schooling system and later returned to his tribe it was safe to say that he did not look upon scholars like myself with any fondness. “I, er,” I stammered. How to explain the curiosity that had driven me here? How to explain that I was not a threat? How to stay in one piece? “I was, er, well, taking a walk because of my thesis and...” I waved my arms in a manner I hoped would convey my general confusion. His cheeks dimpled as I looked for an answer, as if he had already anticipated my inability to reply. He would be used to stammering and stuttering, I imagined. I noticed, to my extreme discomfort, that the crowd had not only grown considerably, but also edged forward so that they might not miss a moment of the exchange. When Idric moved, these people paid attention. When he spoke, they hung on his every word. “Does anybody know who this is?” He raised his voice and looked around as if he half expected some male to step out from the throng and claim me. My studies had informed me that women had no autonomy amidst the Idrii. They were owned, attached to a male from birth. First father, then husband. When nobody replied, he looked back towards me. “Who did you come with?” He spoke as if I were little more than a lost puppy, which I thought rather strange as I was clearly a fully grown woman. My stature was considerably greater than that of the average Idrii woman, who tended to be slim and dark, with pretty figures. I was almost as tall as Idric himself, a fact that gave me no great consolation as he was certainly twice as broad as I. “I came by myself.” I hoped that the truth would keep me safe, if not set me free.

“You came by yourself.” He laughed, and a small ripple of laughter rolled around the crowd. “You were wandering along the roads at night all on your own, were you? Looking for a man?” “No!” I frowned at the affront. “Then why?” He placed his hands on his hips and bent down towards me, his eyes sharp and predatory. “I like to take walks and explore the countryside.” It was strange, being insulted and afraid all at once, but I did not care for his implication that I was a woman of ill-repute. “I see. We have a curious little kitty.” The crowd was drawing closer around me still and I felt their hostility growing by the moment. Tales of what had happened to those caught by the gypsies flashed through my mind, scaring me silly. When I'd heard them I had dismissed them as government propaganda, but now that I was surrounded by these wild people I realized that I had been exceptionally foolish and I was probably going to die where I stood. Tales of the scholar who had wandered into a camp full of Idrii would no doubt soon be the latest urban legend to be passed around school children. Idric reached out and touched me with a finger, running it down my cheek and around my chin. “You're fortunate,” he murmured. I looked up at him wordlessly, my heart pounding. “I might have a use for you.” I held my breath, hoping that the use would not be too terrible. “Take her to my caravan,” he ordered over my head, pushing me gently towards a large man with a shaved head and a dark tattoo that ran from his crown down to his cheek in a black slashing 'V' symbol. Grunting obediently, the large fellow grabbed me by the shirt and dragged me bodily towards the ornate wooden home on wheels. I did not resist, though every fiber of my being was screaming to get away. One had to pick one's battles. This was not a battle I could win. My feet didn't touch the stairs on the way up, the man took the liberty of lifting me by the back of my shirt and simply tossed me into the caravan. I stumbled onto a soft, low bed and sat there, hoping that I would not earn further ire. I breathed a sigh of relief when the door closed and I was left looking around the small, sparse enclosure. It smelled pleasantly of incense and musk and the wooden floor was covered in a well made rug that I knew from my studies at the University would have been hand knotted by one of the women. Perhaps Idric's mother had patiently sat in candlelight and weaved it together so that her son would not have to step on plain wooden floor boards. There were other touches in the caravan that spoke to care. The curtains that covered the windows were of a bright rainbow hue that seemed quite out of place when I thought about the man who occupied this space. The bed I sat on took up much of the left side of the caravan and was neatly made with crisp white sheets and an undyed woolen blanket tucked in securely. Homely. That was what it was. On the other side of the caravan there was a hand hewn table that showed a significant amount of craftsmanship in its construction. The legs had been carved into the shape of rampant lions, and the top, whilst plain, was polished to a high shine. Some papers laid there, but they did not catch my eye at first. What did catch my eye was a curved dagger, perhaps five inches long and made of bright silver. The handle was inlaid with oval red jewels. Rubies? Probably not, I thought as I picked it up. Garnet was a

more likely choice. I turned the dagger over in my hands, liking the weighty, solid feeling. I would never have thought of attacking anyone, but a sturdy weapon makes for an excellent friend when one is amidst foes. Was it sharp? I extended a finger towards the tip of the blade... “No!” Idric appeared in the doorway and crossed the caravan in one long step. He grabbed the wrist that held the dagger hard and wrested the weapon away from me. Glowering, he placed the dagger back on the table it had come from. “Don't you dare touch anything.” He slapped the back of my hand hard enough to make me cry out with the sudden pain. I tried to pull my hand away, but he kept it in his grasp. “Do you understand?” “Yes, I am sorry Sir.” I squealed when he slapped my hand for a second time. The back of my hand had turned pink and it stung terribly. “Idiot child,” he muttered under his breath, dropping my wrist. I pulled my hand away quickly and slipped it between my other arm and my body as I crossed my arms over my chest defensively. “I wasn't going to do anything with it,” I promised. “Except cut your fingers off.” His expression was severe. “I really do apologize. It was just so beautifully crafted, I've only ever seen pictures of that style before.” Fortunately my appreciation of the craftsmanship seemed to mollify him somewhat. He glanced back towards the dagger and, turning from me, placed it in a drawer which he locked securely with a small golden key. “What is a woman like you doing here, in this lawless encampment?” He used the same phrases government officials used when warning the populace about the gypsies. He was obviously very well aware of the way 'our kind' viewed him. I felt ashamed of my people, as I had done so many times before. “Well I am a scholar and I did my degree in ethnic studies,” I began in an attempt to explain my sympathies with him and his people. He held up his hand, his expression clearing as if he understood all too well. “I see, so you decided to do a little field work, did you?” “I was on a country walk and I saw your caravans, so I came over. The rest is history.” I managed a weak smile. “I am harmless.” “Harmless indeed. Just an over privileged, over educated woman wandering about on her own.” His lip curled in disgust. “Over educated? I hardly think...” “That much is obvious. No matter how much time you spend in your books, your people are fools in the real world.”

I was insulted by his rude interruption. “Well I apologize for stumbling so idiotically into your gathering. As my presence offends you so, I will be on my way.” “Not so quickly, book worm,” he shook his head at me. “You have already seen too much.” My mouth fell open in dismay as I looked pleadingly at my captor. He still terrified me, but I hoped that some reason might reside in the mind behind those dark eyes. “I didn't see anything, and if I did, I wouldn't say anything,” He folded his arms over his chest, his expression decided. “You wanted to study the gypsies, well study them you shall. You can stay with us until such time as the little dangerous knowledge you have is no longer a threat to us.” My confusion was only outweighed by my outrage at what he proposed. He was calmly informing me that I was to be kidnapped. “You can't do this! I am a free woman.” An intelligent look came into his eyes. “Consider it a field study,” he said, attempting charm. “A field study in which you'll be able to not only observe our way of life, but live it.” “What does that mean?” My curiosity began to intrude on my common sense once more. He glanced out the window and back at me. “I won't have you sitting about the place, collecting information on us to report back to the authorities. But you can work with the womenfolk, learn to weave. When you return home you can show your ethnic baskets off to your suitably non ethnic friends.” “I am expected home!” I protested, ignoring his cutting snark. “Are you?” His arrogant smirk widened. “You are out, alone in the fields. Not even a puppy to follow you.” “That does not mean I have nobody to care for me.” “If they cared, they would not allow you to go so far alone. This is a dangerous part of the world and you are clearly inclined to flights of ill fancy.” Again, he took on surprisingly cultured tones, and I wondered if this was not perhaps some evidence that he had spent time outside the ranks of the gypsies. “They will look for me,” I insisted stubbornly. “Perhaps. But they will not find you. We will move on tonight.” A chill ran down my spine as I remembered who I was talking to. No matter how refined and educated he sounded Idric was a criminal by nature. One missing woman was nothing to him. My plight would not weigh heavily on his conscience. I decided it would be for the best to capitulate to his demands. Sooner or later there would be an opportunity for escape, and I would take it when it arose. Until that time, I would do my best to stay alive and not anger anyone. “Very well,” I agreed. “But I must impress upon you that I have no intention of bringing harm to you or any of your people and it would be best if you simply let me go. I have seen nothing that would cause you any trouble.”

He brushed aside my protestations as if I had not spoken at all. “How familiar are you with our customs?” “Well enough,” I said humbly, not wishing to boast of my many years of study. It was obvious that he did not respect my scholarship in the slightest. “So you know that you will be subject to discipline.” He rubbed his hands together as if he relished the thought. I had read of the methodologies employed by the gypsies. They were primitive compared to our own cultured methods of reason. It was not uncommon for them to strike one another in order to impose order. “Beatings, yes?” My tone had taken on a scholarly affectation. It was the only way of dealing with this thoroughly unexpected turn of events. “We are a physical people. But do as you are told and you'll have no trouble.” He spoke gruffly. “I tell you this now because it is obvious that you are the type of woman who believes she should do as she pleases. That is not how things work here. Here you should do as you are told.” His mention of the beatings quickly unnerved me further. “Please let me go.” I attempted to appeal to his better nature once more. “I give you my word I shall not speak of what I have seen here.” “Your word is worth nothing here.” His harsh retort stung. I held back tears of frustration and hopelessness. “Very well,” I acquiesced, bowing my head in what I hoped would be taken as a display of maidenly subservience. “Good girl.” His voice came in an encouraging purr above me. Idric was a fool if he thought I would meekly stay, but I supposed he was used to commanding his people and being obeyed. Not a single soul would have thought to defy him. I was surprised when he reached down and tipped my chin up towards him. He looked down at me, his deep brown eyes seeming to see through me. “Do not get any silly ideas about escaping. We have dogs that can hunt a man down over miles.” I tried my best to hide my disappointment at his apparent ability to anticipate my thoughts. Smiling a tight smile, I nodded. “As you wish, Sir.” My agreement only seemed to bring more irritation. His thick brows drew into a heavy line. “Do not give me your slick replies. I can tell a lie and I can see a plan hatching.” He pointed to the door. “If you so much as set one of those pretty feet outside this caravan before I give the say-so, you'll be thrashed and not over those thick skirts of yours either.” “Yes Sir, just as you say, Sir,” I agreed once more, schooling my features into a neutral state even as he threatened me with terrible indignities. He was not a mind reader, he was a mere man. I was an educated woman, not one of his simple country wenches. If he thought threats of violence would cow me, well, he thought incorrectly. He made a noise of irritation and left me. He did not bolt the door behind himself, but I knew better than to try to make an escape that way. No. I would bide my time. I comforted myself by thinking

about how I would soon be free and I would have a tale to tell in the common room that would greatly amuse my fellow students. My smug thoughts were interrupted by the gentle rocking of the caravan as it was hitched to the horses. Reality hit home suddenly, along with a bolt of panic that caught me in the center of my chest and made it difficult to breathe. I was being swept off into the unknown by a band of gypsies and there was nothing I could do to stop it.

Chapter Two Idric returned shortly before we departed. “I will be keeping an eye on you,” he said bluntly. His mistrust of me was wildly evident, which added insult to injury. I had done nothing to make him think that I could not be trusted, in fact I had co-operated most admirably in my own abduction. As submissive pleas and politeness had failed me thus far, I gave him a haughty look. “I was forbidden to leave, was I not? Why on earth would I disobey such a clear order?” He tilted his head as he looked at me. “Was that an attempt at sarcasm?” “You probably have dogs that can hunt sarcasm down over miles, why not ask them?” I replied rather archly. He cracked his knuckles whilst looking at me in a barbaric fashion. “I think you will discover what it is to be thrashed very soon.” I did not reply to the threat, but I watched him closely as he seated himself next to his desk. Within moments the caravan began rolling along. I found the space very confining, especially with his large bulk filling most of it. Shifting so that our knees would not brush together, I pressed my legs together tightly and sat up as straight as possible as the caravan bounced over the rough grassy fields. “What is your name then?” He sprawled in the chair, his legs splayed in a fashion that tilted his pelvis towards me in a manner I found rather lewd. “You may call me Katherine.” I averted my gaze from his prominently displayed crotch and directed it towards the leather tips of my boots. “Katherine. Kat. A curious little kitty,” he replied. There was a gentle hint of amusement in his voice and I got the distinct impression that he was enjoying himself overly much. “Curiosity is a positive trait,” I replied, keeping my gaze largely averted. Confined in such close quarters, he positively loomed and I was made keenly aware of just how much larger than I he really was. “Curiosity leads silly young women into danger.” He was trying to unnerve me, and it was working. In spite of my attempts to remain calm, I felt my palms becoming sweaty and clammy. I wished fervently that I had turned and walked away when I spotted the caravans. Lord only knew what would become of me now. “I have frightened you. Good.” The unexpected words drew me out of my inner turmoil. I turned and frowned at him. “Is this how you get your jollies? Bullying women?” He smiled calmly. “No. But I know your kind. You think that nothing bad can happen to you. You are wrong. A little fear will not go amiss.”

I drew myself up ramrod straight and looked at him witheringly.“Contrary to your opinion, Mr Idric, I am not an idiot. Nor am I a child. I do not require advice.” He smirked. “That attitude will be the first thing I strip from you. You are arrogant.” “I am confident,” I corrected him. “And for good reason.” “Is that so?” “Yes, as you will discover in due course,” I said, folding my hands in my lap and pursing my lips in a manner that left no room for confusion. I did not approve of his methods at all, he seemed to resort to bullying and mental manipulation of the worst kind. I determined to pay him as little mind as possible. “I look forward to seeing your reasons for being so confident,” he chuckled. “In the meantime, you should get some rest. We have a long journey ahead of us.” He gestured towards the bed. I looked at him in horror. “Do you imagine I will sleep in your bed? You are quite mad.” “You can sleep on the floor if you like.” He shrugged as he stood up and began unfastening his shirt. I can only say that I was transfixed by the horror of it all as his body came into view. He was boldly muscular, at the peak of his animal prime. He stepped towards the bed and I shot off it quickly. “Come to bed and keep me warm, kitty kat.” He grinned lewdly as he drew back the covers. I felt my eyes grow wide. Never had a man spoken to me with such casual amorous intent. “You are filthy!” “You are an uppity wench,” he laughed and reached out for me. I pulled away but there was nowhere to go in the small caravan and he caught me by the wrist and yanked me forward, making me tumble onto the bed. “It is bed time,” he said firmly. I felt his hands on my coat and began struggling as he undid the buttons. “No!” I cried, thoroughly terrified. “I do not wish this!” “Calm down, I'm not going to ravish you,” he said, pausing in his task for a moment. “Then why are you undressing me?” “So you can sleep,” he said, undoing another button. I was compelled to lay in his arms as he undressed me like a nursemaid undresses a child. He undid my traveling dress and my overdress and my underdress and on and on. He did not stop until I was almost naked, left in nothing but my under petticoat. Idric looked at the pile of clothing on the floor and snorted with contempt. “What a waste of fabric.” I moved away from him, glad to be away from his masculine frame and his casually intimate touches. I had barely known the man for an hour and already he felt comfortable undressing me. It was shameful and terrible. “It is for modesty's sake,” I replied in lecturing tones. “Not that you would know anything about that.”

He shook his head at me. “Modesty is a silly idea.” I began gathering my skirts and folding them up so that they would not wrinkle. It gave me the opportunity to move further away from him, which I very much appreciated. “You would say that, as you have a vested interest in taking as much advantage of female flesh as possible.” “Do I now?” He was grinning with amusement and shedding the stiff cotton pants he wore. Within moments he was wearing nothing but very short shorts indeed. Very little of his body was left to the imagination. “Of course, it is simple biology,” I said stiffly, keeping my eyes averted from him. “It makes sense for you to attempt to impregnate as many females as possible.” “I see. And what do you know of such things?” He spoke as if he found my knowledge laughable. That needled me greatly. I could list the processes of reproduction from start to finish, a feat I sincerely doubted he could replicate. “I know a great deal.” “From books.” The implication was clear. I did not know anything of value because I had not experienced it myself. It was a false argument. One did not need to have tossed oneself into a fire to know that it would not be a good idea to do so and one did not need to experience all the world had to offer first hand in order to understand it. “Reading is an excellent way to know the world. There is not enough time to experience all it has to offer one's self.” “And what have you experienced?” I sensed the vulgarity in his question, but scowling at him was not dissuading him from pursuing the base line of questioning. “I will sleep on the floor,” I declared. “As you like.” The floor was not at all comfortable, even though I laid my walking dress over me and used my rolled up coat, underdress and overdress for a pillow. The caravan rocked back and forth most disturbingly, resulting in a nausea not unlike that which novice sailors were reported to have experienced on their initial voyages. Like them, I hoped to gain immunity to the stimuli after a short period of time. For that evening, I shut my eyes as tightly as possible and made scholastic notes in my head. Idric had been correct about one thing, this was an extraordinary opportunity to learn something about the people I had been studying from afar for many years. After a time, snores began to emanate from the bed and I sat up, quite awake. It would have been a good time to escape, I thought. It was dark and aside from the drivers, most of the Idrii would be trying to sleep. But to run now would be to hurl myself into the darkness and to lose the opportunity to make new discoveries about the Idrii. Whilst Idric slumbered, I approached the desk tentatively. Enough light was coming in from the small window to allow me to see the papers laid out there and, glancing over my shoulder to ensure that he

was really asleep, I began to read. They were not written very well. The scrawling script looked like it had been penned by an untutored hand. Another factor that made it more difficult to understand what was written on the papers was the fact that they were not written in my mother tongue at all. They appeared to be written in some sort of language cobbled together from a great many languages. I saw traces of Germanic script here and there, mixed with Latin and English phrases. “If I did not know better, I should think you a spy.” Idric's drawl floated from the bed. I pushed away from the desk, my voice coming out in a squeak. “I am not a spy! I am a scholar.” “The line is a very fine one.” He stood up in one quick, athletic movement and pointed towards the bed. “Get in. I do not want you going through my things whilst I sleep.” “I promise I won't again.” “Get in.” I did not want to get into that small bed with a murderous social outcast, but I had no choice. His demeanor was becoming increasingly tense. I did not want to find out what would happen if he snapped. With as much dignity as I could muster, I brushed past him and got into the bed, hugging the wall closely. He got in after me and although I did my best to make myself small and unobtrusive, the hard lines of his body were immediately pressed against mine. It was a strange, unwanted intimacy. Doing my best not to breathe, I lay quite awake, staring at the ceiling. Idric did not say another word, he stretched comfortably and appeared to fall straight back into slumber. I could not say when sleep had claimed me. I fought against it long and hard, not wishing to make myself any more vulnerable than I already was, but I awoke to warm sun streaming in through the open door of the caravan. I was lying spreadeagled across the bed, and as my eyes fluttered open, I heard Idric chuckle. He was sitting across from me at the table, which I noted immediately had been cleared of all papers and documents. I sat up, looking around me, and saw that the caravan had been stripped bare of much of its contents. Evidently Idric had decided that I was not to be trusted. “You sleep deeply.” “So it would seem,” I agreed. His lips quirked. “And aggressively.” “What does that mean?” “It means I spent the evening being steadily pushed out of my own bed by a scrap of a woman.” “Well forgive me if I am not apologetic. You did insist that I sleep here.” My tone had more than a note of haughtiness in it. I was scared and far from home and I did not much care whether or not Idric had slept well. He had made his bed and made me lie in it. “Not a morning person,” he noted. “See about reining that tongue of yours in before it gets you into

trouble.” More barbaric threats. It was important I showed him no fear, or else he would threaten more and more. “Where I am from men are not threatened when women speak their minds,” I informed him pertly. “Where I am from, women show their men respect.” “You are not my man.” He grinned. I would not have suspected that such a well known brigand would have such a high handed sense of humor. “For now,” he said ominously. A sickening feeling established itself in the pit of my stomach. “I thought you were not going to ravish me.” “I will not.” “Then you will never be my man.” “That's quite a challenge you're laying out there, kitty kat,” he said softly. “It is not a challenge!” I dragged my dresses up from the floor and began to sort them into order. He waved his hand at me and shook his head vehemently. “Put those away. We will find you something more practical to wear.” “These are quite practical thank you.” He grabbed my skirts away from me. “I will not have you traipsing about in that ridiculous outfit. It's a fire hazard if nothing else, and it may draw suspicion.” “What shall I wear then?” I sighed. He was going to have his way. There was no point challenging him directly. He bade me wait and eventually a woman came bearing an armful of clothing that barely looked like it would have covered a child. There was a thin blouse that I found shamefully low cut, and a gaily colored skirt that barely covered my knees. I stared at the clothing, open mouthed, unable to believe that this was what Idric expected me to wear. I wore more to bed than was on offer to me. “What are you waiting for?” he asked gruffly, seeing my hesitation. “I... Please can I just wear my clothes?” He shook his head at me firmly. “I will not argue with you, wench. Get dressed. You'll make yourself useful today.” Tears pricked at my eyes. To go about dressed worse than a hussy was unthinkable to me. “Don't make a fuss, get yourself changed. Mairtha will take you and show you the woman's work.”

Woman's work. The phrase, which had seemed romantic enough in the library when I studied these people, now set my teeth on edge. “Let me guess, menial tasks a man is too lazy to do. That is usually the definition of woman's work in primitive cultures.” His head jerked up sharply and he glowered at me in a way he had not before. I felt, just for a moment, the force of the darkness in his personality. “Be quiet and make yourself ready,” he snapped. I fell silent. For all my pretenses at equality, I could not hold my own against Idric. He would invariably resort to physicality if challenged. No. If I wanted to best him, I would have to do so using my mind. Pretending to obey him, I changed into the clothing that had been provided for me. To my surprise, it felt gossamer light against my skin. I found myself swaying my hips back and forth to see the skirt move and whirl. Compared to the tight restrictions of my usual attire, the clothing of the Idrii was like fairy fabric. For a moment I thought I saw Idric smiling in my direction, but the moment I laid eyes on him, his expression drew grim and he waved me away. “Mairtha will meet you outside. Go on now.” I went on, glad to be out of his presence. Dressed in the clothing of the Idrii, I found that was no longer an object of interest. There were no hostile glances or cat calls as I descended into the circle of caravans. The business of daily life went on. Perhaps Idric had spoken with the people, or perhaps their leader's acceptance of me had translated into acceptance on their parts as well. I could not say which. Mairtha was a pleasantly rotund woman who greeted me at the bottom of the stairs with a ruddy, gappy smile. “You must be Katie. We'll be doing washing,” she announced, not bothering to engage in meaningless pleasantries. I objected rather strongly to the abbreviation of my name, but I did not make anything of it out loud. Mairtha did not look as if she would be sympathetic to such lofty concerns, especially when a mountain of laundry was waiting to be done. Our first task was to fetch water from a nearby well. It would have made more sense, I thought to myself, to have simply set up camp next to the well, but wiser heads had decided to set up a good mile away from the water source. The reason for this was a mystery to Mairtha when I quizzed her on it, but I had an idea that it was a masculine ploy to make the women work as hard as possible. Mairtha carried two buckets of water at a time balanced at the end of a long, sturdy rod over her shoulders. I was not capable of such a feat, requiring my stick to walk such a long distance. I did manage to carry one heavy bucket, but being off balance made half of it slosh out onto the ground before I made it back to the copper. Mairtha clicked her tongue in agitation. “You're not cut out for this work, lass.” I agreed completely and informed her that if I had it my way, I would have been back at home studying. Her derisive snort told me that she considered studying an even more useless past time than awkwardly carrying water from place to place. It took the better part of what was left of the morning to fill the large copper, which had been hung over the fire in the middle of the ring of caravans. I enjoyed the break I was permitted to take whilst it came up to the boil, and gratefully accepted some bread and milk as my lunch. The Idrii ate simply and as a result seemed to be much healthier than their law abiding, city dwelling counterparts. There was not a pot belly amongst them, I noted to myself. “Come on then, can't sit around all day!” Mairtha barked when I was done eating, urging me up from the ground with her foot. The woman had a tendency to be abrupt and physical, which I did not

appreciate in the slightest. A polite request to return to work would have sufficed. With the copper boiling, we set to washing clothes. We seemed to have the entire tribe's clothing piled high, waiting to be cleaned. It was a daunting task at the outset, and it didn't become any easier as we churned and scrubbed and wrung the clothing out. The manual nature of the work was humbling. I had never had to work so hard before and within the first few hours, my back and shoulders began to ache intolerably. When I complained to Mairtha, I received no sympathy at all. She barked with laughter and informed me that I was soft. My fingers were soon red raw and blistered and I was almost bored to tears. If this was what my life with the Idrii was going to be like, it was no better than a life of slavery. More than once I looked between the caravans at the trees and grassy fields that lay beyond and thought about simply making a dash for it. The dogs Idric had warned me about were wolf like creatures lazing about, tied to the wheels of the caravans and their dull expressions and lolling tongues did not look terribly fearsome to me. As I walked by them on the way to hang up the clothes, their tails would thud against the ground in a lazy greeting. They enjoyed the sweltering heat of the day. I did not. I found myself grateful for Idric's insistence that I wear the customary clothing of the Idrii. If I had been in my layered skirts I would probably have passed out from heat stroke. As it was, the light clothing kept me cool enough to toil throughout the hottest part of the day. One thing that did mollify my outrage somewhat was the fact that I was not the only one set to hard work. The blades that I had seen being polished on my arrival at the camp had been brought out again, along with what appeared to be a portable furnace, wheeled out of a large dark caravan. I peeked inside it on my way to the the tree branches where Mairtha had determined we should hang the washing and saw that it was not a homely caravan at all. It was a store house absolutely bristling with gleaming weaponry. I was instantly reminded of the bejeweled dagger on Idric's desk. So this was how they supported themselves. They were not living off the land entirely anymore, they were clearly selling weapons. As I stood there, gaping at the sheer array of swords and knives, the pieces began to fall into place. It had been strange that the Idrii had been camped so close to Ulyssys, but now it made sense. They had been making a delivery. The quick retreat had not been about me, it had been about making themselves scarce before the authorities caught on to what was happening. A meaty hand clipped me over the ear painfully. “Stop gawping and start working,” Mairtha demanded. “Sorry,” I mumbled, immediately bending to the task of hanging out the washing. It would not do for Mairtha to notice what I was looking at. She did not strike me as a particularly shrewd woman, and I hoped for my sake that she would not say anything to Idric. The reason for his paranoia about me having seen too much was clear now though. I had stumbled onto something big, something secret. A black market of weaponry run across the country by the Idrii. The authorities would have given a great deal to have known about such schemes, and more than one person would probably have been hanged for the offense of illegal weapons trafficking. These truly were matters of life and death. No wonder Idric was so cagey and careful about his papers. If the weaponry was this blatantly on display, I could not begin to fathom what secrets might be hidden in those papers.

Chapter Three Idric was waiting for me in his cabin when Mairtha finally released me from my labors. I saw, to my great irritation, that he was looking as fresh as a mint leaf. He had not lifted a finger whilst I toiled. His smile was like salt in a wound as I dragged my sore body into the caravan, feeling quite filthy dirty. “Did you enjoy your day?” He drawled the question, leaning back in his chair like the lord of leisure he was. “No I did not,” I snapped bitterly, folding my arms over my chest. “I want to go home.” “Aw, the kitten wants to go home. Home is wherever you are, kitty.” His attempt at saccharine philosophy did not mollify me in the slightest. “My home is 34 Malagy Square, Ulyssys,” I replied. “And I demand that you return me there immediately.” A thick brow rose slowly. “Oh, you demand, do you?” “Yes.” I furrowed my own brow to show him he was not the only one adept at manipulating his facial hair for effect. “I demand that you return me to my home or...” “Or what?” He asked the question very softly. Dangerously softly. It might have been off putting if I'd had anything to say in the first place. As it was I was reaching for a dire enough reason and finding myself quite unable to come up with one. I could try to black mail him with what I knew about the weaponry, but I had no guarantee that he wouldn't just kill me if I threatened to spill his secrets to the authorities. “Or else,” I finished lamely. “Or else.” He mulled that for a moment. “I think it is time that you were shown your place here,” he said finally with the air of a man who has come to a grim conclusion. “I do not have a place here, that is the point,” I argued. “I should be at home, in my study, where my talents have some use. I should not be scrubbing filthy britches all day in the hot sun.” Ignoring my tirade, Idric crossed the small room, sat down on the bed and crooked his finger at me. “Come here.” Instinctively, I rebelled. “I don't think so.” “If I have to come and get you it will be worse.” I swallowed. Suddenly I was in the middle of an entirely new situation, one I'd never been in before. He spoke with a quiet intensity that showed he did not intend to be dissuaded or distracted from the task at hand. “Come here, kitty kat,” he crooned. “I don't want to go there.” My voice sounded childish even to my own ears, but when one is treated like a child, it is difficult to behave in any other way.

“Why not?” “Because you're going to hit me.” “Not hit. Spank.” The word hit me in the gut. Spank. “No,” I shook my head. “This cannot happen.” “Such a dramatic little kitty,” he said, reaching for me. Evading him was impossible, the caravan was too small to get away from anyone in. He pulled me between his legs and looked up at me. Though I was standing and he was sitting, the fact that his hands were settled firmly on my hips spoke as to who was in charge. Tingling sparks of electricity shot through my body, from my fingertips to my elbows, from the base of my spine to my toes. My entire body was on alert, sensing danger, preparing for flight. But there could be no flight. There was no escape from Idric. He looked up at me silently, not saying a word. He let his hands do the talking, the strong hands that held me in place and forced me to accept my fate. “Please,” I said softly. “Please do not do this to me.” “You fear it.” “Yes.” He splayed the fingers of his hands. I felt his thumbs pressing against the front of my hips, his ring and little fingers curving around the flesh of my rump. “And that is why I must do it. You do not fear the pain. You fear the state that will come with having been subdued physically. You fear what it will be to know in your flesh that you are a woman.” His words needled my sense of equality, but I could not deny the way my heart was fluttering, the way my palms were sweating. “I am not a woman of the Idrii,” I said. “I have never been treated this way.” “And it is a pity, for the treatment you did receive left you to wander about putting yourself in danger.” “This will not keep me safe. This will shame me.” His dark eyes drew me in. “And what will shame do to you?” I could not answer that question. What would shame do to me? It would not harm me physically, and I doubted it would do any serious emotional harm either. It would make me undeniably uncomfortable, it would unsettle my ideas of who I was. He cut in whilst I stammered, trying to reply with an answer that would convince him not to beat me. “I will tell you what it will do. It will show you that you do not need to always be in control. It will show you that you are not in control, that you live by my leave and that you are protected by the same hand that strikes you.” Trembling had set in all over my body. I thought that I might faint. It was so barbaric, so counter to everything I believed in. But when I looked into his eyes, I knew that he was entirely sincere. “Please don't hurt me.” The words crept out, along with hot tears that seeped between my lashes.

“Look how you fear a simple spanking,” he reached up and brushed a tear from my cheek with his thumb. “No woman should be so terrified of such a necessary thing.” “It is not necessary to treat me this way.” I tried to argue further, but the time for arguments was over. He compelled me into a most undignified position that resulted in my hips pivoting over his thigh, my hands outstretched and supporting my body against the carpet. I turned my head to look back at him and saw his palm gently descending against my cheeks with a soft patting motion. “This will hurt, but it will not harm you in any way,” he reassured me. I turned my head back then and focused on the carpet before me. I was entirely at his mercy, as I had been since I'd foolishly set foot in the encampment. I held my breath as he drew his hand away from my skirt clad rump and brought it back down with a sharp slap that made me expel all breath in a squeal. Objectively it might not have been the hardest blow ever delivered to a woman's buttocks, but to me it was the most terrible pain that had ever been intentionally inflicted upon me. When he repeated the action, I was forced to begin a futile scrabbling about to attempt to escape. I could not lay there and allow him to lay his hand across my cheeks in punishment. “Settle down, Katherine.” The use of my full name stopped me entirely, long enough for another, harder slap to land on my poor behind. “I do not think that you would settle down if you were in my position,” I replied, gasping with the stinging pain that had captured the sensitive nerve endings. My response did not seem to please Idric, for he did not reply, instead he began striking me harder and faster, making me wail. I could not say how long the thrashing lasted. I could only say that my bottom no longer felt as if it were my own. It felt swollen and strange, a throbbing mass of hurt. All I wanted was for the pain to stop. I wanted him to stop striking me. I wanted him to be mollified. So I began apologizing profusely for all my sins. I apologized for my impertinence, for my lack of enthusiasm for menial chores, for having questioned his impeccable judgment. “Hush.” He stopped spanking me long enough to make me be quiet, then he began spanking me again, though this time the blows were softer and spaced further apart. “I do not want to hear you apologize. It is too late for apologies and I know that you only offer them because you would say anything to stop the spanking, wouldn't you?” “Yes Sir,” I admitted with a sob. “When you are spanked, you may cry out in pain, but you must not try to trick me into ending your punishment early. You have earned every last swat. Do you understand?” Again, I answered in the affirmative. I was still guilty of telling him what he wanted to hear in order to stop the spanking, but on this occasion he didn't seem to care. He was now occupied in massaging my cheeks, which I found significantly more pleasant than being slapped. The thin fabric of the skirt protected my modesty, but it had not provided much protection from the spanking itself. “I can feel the heat from your bottom radiating through the skirt,” he chuckled, as if catching my

thought. “It was a most thorough spanking, you are clearly an accomplished disciplinarian,” I agreed. The sudden, hard slap that resulted from my statement made me cry out in pain, but it was not entirely unanticipated. “Your mouth is going to get you into a great deal of trouble,” he said, returning to the rubbing motion which I much preferred. “Or perhaps your inability to detect a sincere compliment will.” I felt his hand stop moving for a moment and tensed slightly, waiting for more pain, but it did not arrive. Instead I felt my hair grasped at the back of my head and I was hauled up from his lap, then forced down into a kneeling position between his thighs. His dark eyes burned down at me and I whimpered with the sudden jolt of fear that came with feeling the physical power that was his to unleash. He could handle me as casually as a rag doll. “I recognize sarcasm, kitty kat,” he said softly, patting my face with the fingers of his free hand. “And I do not care for it. Do you understand?” “Yes Sir,” I gasped breathlessly. I did not know what had possessed me to speak so impertinently to him. It was clear what he wanted – submissive obedience. But all I could not give it. My bottom was sore and I could no longer pretend that I was the same woman I had been just one day earlier, but that did not mean I would capitulate to him entirely. In the next moment, his face descended towards mine and I was simultaneously pulled towards him as he took my mouth in a deep kiss. Shock rolled through my already tender frame as his tongue demanded entrance to my mouth and plundered it thoroughly. All the proud thoughts I had been thinking were abruptly forced out of my head. He would take what he wanted and I could not stop him. He didn't care if I capitulated or not, it was not necessary. When he released me, I burst into tears. I was overwhelmed by it all. By my capture, by his treatment. By the knowledge that I truly was at his mercy. He could beat me, he could ravish me, and I would be unable to stop him. I was nothing to him, nothing but a representative of the institutions that hated him and made him outcast. Idric watched me cry, not speaking as I bowed my head and leaned against his calf, shaking as I sobbed. He did not care, I realized, how I felt. He cared only that he got what he wanted. At some point, he would probably use me for leverage. I was a prisoner and he was sparing me only because he suspected that I would be useful to him at some point. He was not ensuring my safety because he cared, he was ensuring my safety because it was not advantageous to hurt me. “Kitty kat,” he grasped my chin and made me look at him. “Do not start thinking silly things. You were spanked, nothing more.” “How could you possibly know what I am thinking?” I spat the question with derisive disrespect and his expression grew cold hearing my tone.

“I can almost feel your thoughts, you are so intense. You burn with that pent up energy. It's not difficult to see what conclusions you might be drawing. You don't like the fact that you were spanked. So now I must play the villain in that pretty head of yours.” He leaned down and brushed his lips against my forehead. “Fortunately, I play the villain very well indeed.” “And I play the dim scholar equally well,” I retorted arrogantly, desperately seeking to claw some of my power back. “You could not begin to fathom what I am thinking.” “Is that so?” “Yes. I see through this little game you are playing with me. You wish to cloud my mind, to make me think you care for me, wish to protect me. All you really care about is protecting your weapons trade.” The foolish words were out of my mouth before I could stop them. The sudden vicious expression on his face frightened me terribly, and I pushed away from him before he could seize me once more. “I won't tell!” I shouted, hiding beneath the desk. “I was never going to tell!” His fist slammed down atop the hard wood, making the entire caravan shake. “Who told you about the weapons trading?” “Nobody! It is obvious. You have an entire arsenal at your disposal, far more than your men could ever use themselves. You were camped on the very edge of Ulyssys, in a dangerous spot where anyone, even a crippled scholar could come upon you.” I peered out at him, wanting him to see that I was being honest. He folded his arms over his chest, looking down at me with an impenetrable expression. “And you figured out all of this by yourself did you?” “Figuring things out is what I do,” I pleaded. “I'm sorry I made you mad. I shouldn't have said anything.” His face was hard. “No, you shouldn't have. Your mouth is dangerous.” He had been right to kidnap me, I thought. I would surely have given away their secrets if I'd gotten the chance. But what would he do with me now? I could only ask him directly and pray that the answer would be a merciful one. “Are you going to kill me?” “Kill you?” He looked incredulous. “Come out from under there now.” Slowly I emerged from under the table. In my fear I had forgotten the pain in my rear end, but the movements I made getting up reignited the fire. I whimpered fearfully. If that was what he would do to me when he thought I knew nothing, what would he do now? When I was standing before him he took my face in his hands and looked down at me earnestly. “I am not going to harm you, Katherine.” “But... I know too much. It would be best if you did.” His features scrunched into total disbelief. “Do you have some kind of a death wish?”

“No! But, logically, it would be the best for you to ensure that your secret stays a secret.” He laughed out loud. All I could manage was a sickly smile. “You are a strange one, thoroughly concerned with logic and plans at the expense of your own life. Fortunately for you, I do not think I will take your advice on this matter, Madam Scholar.” He let go of me and turned away, shaking his head. I was relieved that I had amused him at least. “You should stop thinking so much. Your deductions are not always as perfect as you might imagine them,” he said over his shoulder. “They are all I have,” I replied quietly, taking refuge at the end of the bed. “And that is a pity.” I shrugged, reaching back to quell the burning in my buttocks by rubbing them. “It is the life I was born to.” He turned back towards me, leaning up against his desk as he looked me over from head to toe. I found his stare uncomfortable, but there was no way to escape from it. “Is it usual then, for a woman to become a spinster scholar?” I winced at the word 'spinster', but pushed aside the pain to answer his question. “It is not entirely usual, but if a woman does not find a mate at the outset, she is permitted to expand her mind in the Arts. I chose History.” “Why history and not a mate? “No man wants a crippled bride.” I echoed my mother's words. Idric looked shocked. “You are hardly crippled.” “I am not sound of body,” I smiled ruefully, long having come to terms with my condition. “Your body looks sound enough to me,” he said with a sly grin, returning to his typical base language. “I walk with a cane, Idric,” I reminded him. “That is not considered a positive attribute.” “I consider it a positive attribute. You come with your own rod.” He grinned rakishly and winked at me in a way that made me blush. “I suppose I should thank you for not using it as such,” I replied, keeping my tone light. This easy banter was preferable to discussing the dark secrets of his tribe. If my physical shortcomings were a distraction, then so much the better. “So far. If you keep going the way you are at the moment, it seems inevitable that you will earn such a beating.” “I am not that bad,” I protested.

“Oh yes you are,” he smiled at me warmly. I found myself smiling back, though I did not know why. I was already beginning to bond with this man, this man who had abducted me and thrashed me. “So where does that leave me? Am I forever to be your prisoner?” “Well,” he said, stroking his chin. “I had planned to drop you off at the nearest town once we'd finished our current round of deliveries. That was before you went poking your nose into affairs that did not concern you. But...” I bit my lower lip and waited to hear what fate he had in store for me now. “I'm not sure I feel like returning you anymore,” he said. “You amuse me.” “I amuse you? You wish to keep me as a jester?” “Jester, bed warmer, whipping girl - you choose the title,” he said flippantly. My mouth dropped open. “Are you serious?” “Quite serious,” he nodded. “I don't feel like giving you back, so I won't.” “I am not some object to be taken when you want and traded when you no longer want,” I protested. He leaned over the bed and kissed my nose. “That is precisely what you are.” Just when I thought I was coming to some understanding of the man, he surprised me again. Though he seemed to be fond of me, he still thought of me as something akin to a pet, something that pleased him but which did not require the sort of thought and consideration an actual human being did. My future was still very much uncertain, and I began to doubt that I would ever see my beloved city or my books again.

Chapter Four As the days passed into weeks I became sick at heart in my new life. I had long wished to study the Idrii, but at no point in my studies had I imagined that I might be captured by them and traded like a commodity. Idric had been very clear as to where I stood. He wanted me around as long as I amused him and when he tired of me, I would be disposed of. We covered hundreds of miles in the caravans, and with every mile I grew more despondent. The mental stimulation that had always entertained me was gone from my life. I was bored and I was lonely. Idric must have noticed it, but he made no attempt to remedy the situation. It was as if he did not understand my needs at all. His disregard, coupled with a desire for more heady past times lead me into temptation. There weren't many books about the place, but I knew that there were papers locked up in his desk and I knew where he kept the key. He was not particularly careful about where he left things, probably because he was used to everybody doing more or less as they were told. It was a relatively small, tight knit group, and nobody would have thought to enter his caravan without express permission. One cloudy day when Mairtha had sent me for water, knowing full well how painful and awkward it was for me to do so, I deviated from the path of obedience quite dramatically. Instead of dutifully completing the task assigned to me, I hobbled a short way into the forest, dropped the bucket behind a tree and doubled back on my tracks. Everyone was hard at work and they didn't seem to notice as I sipped into Idric's caravan from outside the circle. Mairtha was too busy berating her husband about some fish for dinner and within seconds I was inside the caravan and breaking into the drawer that held Idric's documents. I knew it was wrong, but I was beyond caring. I wanted to see something new, to learn something new, and the documents had intrigued me from the moment I laid eyes on them. The key hung on a leather lead behind the door and I wasted no time in unlocking the drawer, pulling out the documents, then secreting myself under the desk to read them. There were a great many documents to read, hundreds of pages. Some of them were written in the nonsense script I had seen on my first evening, others were written in the mother tongue. It was these that I read first. One document in particular caught my eye. It was a transcript, much like the ones I had received at the university. This one had Idric's name upon it however, and it declared that he had been awarded a degree in Commerce. The revelation was only slightly surprising. Though he did his best to take on the common vernacular, his speech was quite often that of an educated man and I had long suspected that he had received an education. Other documents appeared to be orders for weaponry. I leafed through them quickly, glancing out from under the desk whenever I heard a creaking that could have been the door opening. To my very great surprise, the orders were not coming from the criminal element as I supposed. There were significant orders from Lords who boasted private armies, and even one from a government department. I sat back, frowning to myself. It did not make sense. Why remain in this hidden, nomadic state if one

was earning so much money? Why not open a factory, settle down, gain confidence from the state? I kept reading, determined to get to the bottom of the mystery. It made sense on one level of course, we no longer lived in a world where one could feed a family from the land. Most of the lands were privately owned and opportunities to gather food were limited. If one wanted to get by, Idrii or not, one needed hard currency. Shuffling through the papers, I came upon something that looked a great deal like a map. I recognized the shape of the land and many of the counties I was familiar with were marked upon it. Also marked upon it, with a steady hand, was a route. It passed by Ulyssys, moved further south to the cities there, then arced up around itself and headed straight into the mountains. That made little sense to me. The mountains were known to be uninhabitable. Due to toxic mineral concentrations in the soil, nothing grew there and the ground was too hard to mine for ores successfully. “Curiouser and curiouser,” I noted to myself. In the distance, I could hear Mairtha screeching about me having failed to do my duties. I smiled to myself, rather enjoying being on the wrong side of the woman for a good reason. She had always picked at me in spite of the fact that I'd tried my best. Now I was done trying my best. Now I was going to do things my way. If the way of the Idrii was to be ruthless and pursue one's own goals at all costs, I could get on board with that. I continued reading the documents, slowly deciphering the ones written in the jumbled language. They were records of a sort, though they had been penned in narrative format. They told the story of Flynn, one who laid claim to the title of King of the Idrii. I had not heard of this figure before in all my studies, which had indicated that the Idrii operated as completely autonomous tribal groups that occasionally traded together. Because the original languages had been butchered into a hotch potch of different tenses it was easiest to read each word aloud and then pick out what meaning might be in it. 'Flynn. Terribly Wonderful. The King. Many fish. Many rocks. Great city,' I read. “What the hell does that mean?” I wondered aloud. “It means that you are in more trouble than you've ever been in in your life.” I heard his voice just a moment before the door of the caravan was flung open and a very tense Idric entered the little room, slamming the door shut behind him. “What did I tell you?!” He dragged me out from under the table, scattering precious papers everywhere. “I was bored! I needed stimulation!” I hadn't realized until I used my reasons out loud how silly and facile they sounded. “I'll give you stimulation,” he said, tossing me onto the bed and picking up my walking cane. I did not have time to beg for leniency before it descended across the curve of my bottom with a loud cracking sound. It was the beating I had hoped I would never experience. Six times, he brought the rod down across my cheeks. Six times I cried out, each time louder and more frantic than the last. When I thought the rod might break, he tossed it away, pulled up my skirt and began belaboring my backside with his palm. “Don't you ever get into my things again,” he growled angrily.

I could not reply for the squeals and screams that I knew would be heard clearly outside the caravan. There would not be a soul who did not know that I had been beaten. The humiliation and the pain mixed together, creating a perfect storm of rage. I pushed up from the bed mid thrashing and kicked out at him to make him keep his distance. He paused, surprised that I had taken any action at all. I had never resisted him in the past, but in the past he had never been so harsh. I took advantage of his hesitation to grab the small dagger that lay scattered on the floor with all the papers. “Don't come near me,” I growled angrily, brandishing the weapon at him. “Put that down.” His eyes were narrowed, dangerous. “No. You don't tell me what to do anymore.” The rage coursing through my veins made me bold. “You have kept me here as a prisoner with no regard for my feelings. You have beaten me without thought for my flesh, and most inexcusably you have bored me out of my mind.” “Put the dagger down, Katherine.” “If you come near me, I will hurt you,” I promised. “Foolish girl. You couldn't hurt me if you tried. All you will do is hurt yourself.” “Well that won't be of any great concern to you, will it?” “Put it down. Now.” I did not obey. I did not see him move either. I blinked and he was upon me, twisting the wrist that held the dagger sharply enough to make me cry out with pain. I dropped the knife and he picked it up. For a brief moment I was afraid he might hurt me with it, but he tossed it aside and held me down on the bed, pinned with no way of escaping him. “So my little kitty kat found her claws,” he murmured. “I will have to be more careful with you in the future.” “There will be no future. I am going home,” I declared. “If I have to throw myself out of this caravan to do it, I am going home.” I had expected him to slap me again, or perhaps to rage, but instead a strange, sad look came into his brown eyes. “Why are you so unhappy here?” I looked at him as if he was mad. “Because I am held against my will. Because the people hate me. Because I am bored.” He nodded and released my hands, though he did not lift his body from mine and I was compelled to remain laying under him. “Boredom is the greatest punishment for you, isn't it?” “Perhaps. I don't know. What do you care? I am just a play thing for you. A toy you took a fancy to and will eventually grow bored of. Boredom is my enemy.” I sounded bitter. I was bitter. He was a

handsome, powerful man and he had his pick of the women. Why he was choosing to toy with me was beyond my comprehension, but I found it cruel. “That's what you think, is it?” He shifted onto his side and reached out to play with a tendril of my hair. “For someone who claims herself a scholar, you can be very dense sometimes.” “What is that supposed to mean?” He smiled and took a larger handful of my hair, tugging me towards him. “It means that if I wanted to be rid of you, I would have been rid of you long ago. You are far more trouble than you are worth. You work slowly, you infuriate Mairtha and you disobey me whenever you get the chance.” “You were the one who said he would trade me,” I reminded him. “Quite the literalist, aren't we?” He mused, stroking my cheek gently where my tears were still drying. “Quite the economist, aren't we?” I rejoined. He was making me feel very confused and off balance. I wanted to do the same to him, but all he did was shake his head and tut at me. “I see your snooping has turned up some results.” “Yes, results that indicate you have more use for the modern world than you care to admit.” My bottom was still aching from the thrashing, but I ignored the pain. I wanted to finally get the upper hand and I was prepared to sacrifice my behind to do it. “I cannot seem to spank you enough,” Idric said thoughtfully, ignoring my point. “I wonder if a strap might drive the point home.” “Idric! No!” Again he was drawing me over his lap into an increasingly familiar position that I did not enjoy in the slightest. “Please, don't thrash me again. I will be good, I promise.” He chuckled at my frantic promises and sudden change in demeanor. “You do know that this is pretty much the only position in which I can get proper behavior out of you,” he said, squeezing my bottom with his palm in a way I found devastatingly over familiar. “I've had enough spanking. I think you broke me with the rod,” I whimpered. My trepidation only served to amuse him however. “I'm not sure it is possible to break you,” he said, raising my skirts. I squirmed uncomfortably as he hooked his fingers in the waistband of my panties and began to tug them down over my cheeks. “Please do not bare me.” “But you are my little toy, my little kitty kat,” he teased me as he continued to lower them. “And I think it is time that I played with you thoroughly.” The intention in his words was frighteningly clear. He had thus far kept his word about not ravishing me, but with my womanhood on display, my virtue was at more risk than it had ever been. “You don't seem to want to listen to me, kitten,” he purred above me, slapping my lower cheeks lightly. “What am I going to need to do to change that?”

The mood had changed abruptly, from anger and recrimination to a darkly erotic charge that I could hardly escape. “Please,” I begged softly. “I am sorry I disobeyed you.” “I see,” he said, tracing his fingers up the inside of my thighs, treacherously close to my soft vulva. “So it is only the threat of defilement that makes you consider obedience? Are you a woman who needs to be claimed completely in order to know her place? Are mere spankings not enough for you?” His words were threatening, but I did not care nearly as much about the threat as I should have. His fingers were tracing lines of arousal around my skin and as my brain was flooded with pleasure hormones, I was loosing the ability to make a sensible decision until his fingers traced lightly across my vulva and I was rocketed into reality. This could only lead to one thing – coitus, and I was not ready for such a thing. I sprang off his lap like a scalded cat, shaking my head. “No, not like this.” He looked at me mildly. “Why not, Miss Kat? I want you.” “I am not ready for...” I could not finish the sentence. I was not ready for him to take me that way, to command my body completely. If he did, I knew I could not bear the pain when he finally cast me off. He sighed and leaned back on the bed, showing that he would not pursue me further. “I promised I would not ravish you, and I will not. You will give your consent before we come together as one.” “Good, for I will not give my body to a man who would trade me for a bicycle.” A brow raised in my direction. “You are very concerned about being sent away for a woman who wants to leave,” he noted. “If you're not careful, I might start to think that you like it here.” I tried to hide my blush with an irritated expression. “Just because I don't want to be sold to god knows who doesn't mean I want to stay here. I miss my home.” “Do you? Do you miss your long walks alone with nobody to care for you? Do you miss hours spent in dusty libraries whilst your contemporaries find love and marry? It seems a strange life for a woman.” “You would think it strange,” I said haughtily, “because you do not understand the pleasures of the mind.” “And you would think it strange too,” he said quite calmly, “if you had the faintest idea what it was to love.” “Ha! And you would presume to tell me what love is, would you? You the man who has kidnapped me and threatened me with being sold.” “And we are back to being sent away again,” he smiled knowingly. “Why do you not simply come to me and ask to stay? Why not just ask me to take you and fill all those frustrated fantasies that run rife in your pretty head?” “Ugh!” I stamped my foot in frustration. He was thoroughly insufferable. “Face it, Katherine,” he laughed. “You are in love with me.”

“In love with you! What an idea!” “It is quite an idea, is it not? But it explains why you have so consistently sought my company and my correction.” “I have done nothing of the sort,” I complained. “I have been busy these past days, so what did my naughty kitty do? She did the one thing I told her absolutely not to do, and she made sure to get herself caught. You wanted to feel my hand on your ass, didn't you Katherine?” The accusation was outrageous. “I won't dignify that with an answer,” I said, shaking my head. “You are delusional.” “On the contrary, it is you who is lying to herself. You are making your own hell where you could be experiencing heaven. You are not home sick. You are love sick.” I could only stare at him. He spoke with such sureness, as if he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt what I felt. “And you?” I asked, turning the tables back on him. “What is it you feel?” He smiled softly as he got up from the bed. “I feel that I must be patient.” I tried pressing him, but he would say no more on the subject. He gathered the papers up and locked them back in the drawer, but this time, instead of taking the key and hiding it somewhere, he handed it to me with a final warning. “If you wish to feel my wrath again, unlock that drawer.”

Chapter Five It was ridiculous what Idric had proposed. He was arrogant beyond all measure if he thought I was in love with him. Days later, his words ran through my head as I sat on the steps of the caravan and watched as he went back and forth between the sword makers, offering encouragement and advice. He was not wearing a shirt because for once he was working and stopped chatting occasionally to hammer out some steel, making the muscles in his back and arms ripple with every motion. I was watching him in such a burst of activity when he stood up, wiped the sweat from his brow and winked at me. I rolled my eyes back at him. No doubt he thought I was watching him because I found him attractive, because I was wondering what it would feel like to wrap my legs around his powerful waist and feel him thrust inside me. The very idea was preposterous. Or even more ridiculously, I could sink to my knees and take his manhood in my mouth whilst he thrust against me, filling my throat. They were silly ideas, silly, silly ideas. I shook my head to clear it of them. He'd begun walking over towards me, so I composed my features. “Do you need a handkerchief, Madame Professor?” “Excuse me?” The question was nonsensical and I frowned at it. “To dab at the drool.” He grinned broadly and winked again as if he had been able to tell what I was thinking from all the way across the open ground. Before I could protest, he continued speaking. “You have a very expressive face, Miss Katherine, and gorgeous bedroom eyes. If I weren't waiting for your say so, why I'd take you into the cavern, lay you down and...” “Idric!” My voice was sharper than I'd intended it to be, but I was forced to cut in before he became any more lewd. He laughed with open amusement and returned to his task, apparently content with having wound me up. He was probably teasing me, I thought to myself, probably enjoying what he thought was a school girl crush on him. I wanted to hate Idric, but I found it almost impossible to do so. He was, after all, a product of his experience and though he had kidnapped me and regularly spanked me most shamefully, it was not personal. It was simply the way he believed a woman should be treated. He believed that he owned me, and my opinion to the contrary did not matter to him in the slightest. Mairtha, on the other hand, quickly became a thorn in my side. She decided very promptly that she had authority over me and it was certain that my limp made me appear weak to her. Idric had never so much as acknowledged it since our conversation, though I knew very well he had noticed it. He had a habit of sweeping me up and down steps in his arms that I knew was related to the fact that he didn't like to see me suffering up them. I also suspected that he'd asked Mairtha not to give me tasks that were too physically strenuous. Mairtha took exception to this and instead of taking the matter up with Idric, she elected to take it out on me. I endured more kicks and pinches than I could count, but matters really came to a head over a bucket of potatoes which needed to be peeled. I had been working away at them fairly solidly for half an hour, but evidently my efforts did not meet with the woman's approval. She bustled over to me

quickly once Idric returned to his task and glared fearsomely. She looked positively troll like when she was angry. “Lazy witch,” she cursed, pointing a finger at the potatoes. “They should be done by now.” “But I have done most of them,” I argued. “They should all be done!” “That's not even possible,” I replied calmly, hoping to sway her with logic. “There are at least a hundred potatoes here, and even at a rate of two potatoes per minute, which I think you'll agree is not reasonable, they could not be done in under fifty minutes.” “Shut up with your smart talk! I don't hold with smart talk!” Her face was red with anger and I wondered what had stimulated such a fierce reaction. Surely a simple mathematical calculation could not have prompted such a reaction. “Very well,” I replied. “Perhaps there is another task I could do to your satisfaction?” “You're lazy!” Mairtha screeched, snatching a switch from a nearby tree. “I'll beat you to within an inch of your life I will!” “No, you won't.” I stood up from the stool and smoothed my skirts down. I was still holding the potato peeler in my left hand, a small, sharp knife that was more than capable of inflicting harm on an unwary user, or half cocked assailant. Mairtha spotted the knife immediately and began shrieking about my threatening her. “Get over the stool and let me whip you,” she demanded, waving the switch in the air. “Absolutely not,” I replied firmly. “You stuck up wench!” Her shouting was drawing attention from around the camp. All I could do was stand there haplessly as she raged on. I had no intention of allowing her to beat me, she was out of her mind with what was starting to look a great deal like jealous rage. “What is the problem?” “You're the problem, with your airs and your graces, thinking you're better than the rest of us.” “I don't think that.” “I don't think that,” she mocked me, mimicking my accent in the same way the children had mocked me on the day I had discovered the camp. Some of the very same children were watching her outburst from the safety of their caravan. There wasn't a soul in the camp who wasn't aware of the altercation and it was not long before Idric came striding over from the weapons store, his expression thunderous. Seeing Idric, Mairtha dropped the switch and became instantly demure. “Sorry to disturb,” she

apologized simperingly. “What did you do, Katherine?” His question was directed at me and I realized that she'd managed to artfully deflect the entire conflict to me. In spite of the fact that it was not my voice that had been raised, I'd managed to come across looking like the troublemaker. She might have been a simple woman, but she was not stupid. “I peeled potatoes,” I replied simply. “She was slacking. I tried to give her a hurry up and she threatened me with a knife,” Mairtha lied. I gave her a dry look, but it was a difficult accusation to defend against. I was still holding the peeling knife and none of the onlookers seemed inclined to back me up. I was still very much an outsider to them and an easy scapegoat. The fact that I'd already threatened Idric with a knife at one point added credence to her story, even though she probably didn't know that. “Bad girl! Come with me,” Idric stooped down, picked up the switch Mairtha had dropped, then grasped my by the wrist and dragged me into the caravan. I saw Mairtha's spiteful expression as I tripped and followed after him. Once we gained the relative intimacy of the caravan, I made my case. Perhaps Idric would listen. “You have to know I did not threaten her with a knife,” I said, placing the knife on the table. “Oh I know,” he grinned, placing his hands on my hips and lifting me up for a moment before dropping me onto the bed. I squealed as I fell and grabbed onto his shirt for some kind of support. It ripped open in my hand, popping buttons left right and center. He laughed out loud. “Now you are attacking me! What a terrible wee wench you are. You will have to be punished for this.” “No!” I tried protesting, but it was useless. Idric was enjoying himself and he was obviously going to put on a show of retribution for Mairtha whether I deserved it or not. “Yes.” His hard, strong hands took hold of me and ran all over me from my waist, down my abdomen and between my legs. Then he tipped me forward over his strong thigh, using his palm as a pivot. My sensitive nether regions were pressed against his fingers and I could not help but let out a soft moan. He heard it and chuckled. “You're a red blooded wench, aren't you?” He seemed to enjoy thrashing me, so much so that there was not the slightest trace of anger in his demeanor. He applied the switch with quick, cutting downward strokes that wrapped around my cheeks and, once, between them. I howled with pain when the tip of the switch curled around and flicked itself hard against my clit. The protection of thin cotton panties meant nothing, and the burst of agony saw me bucking and writhing over his lap with a violence I would never have dreamed of unleashing under anything but the most dire of circumstances. “Calm yourself,” he commanded, laying his palm across my cheeks, then sliding it between my legs to massage the sore spot. “It is not so bad.” I was sobbing, but his touch against the most sensitive, most intimate part of my body began to change my rage and pain into something else. He continued to rub gently, but he did not let me up and I was pinned with my legs spread, my hips grinding as he took what liberties he pleased.

“One of these days,” he purred into my ear, “I'm going to spank your pussy and make you thank me for it.” “No.” “Yes.” His fingers slipped inside my panties and for the first time I felt the rough pads of his fingers parting my lips. It was humbling, to be unable to push off his lap, to be held in place as he gently explored my womanhood. My clit was still throbbing from the blow and he tapped it gently. “You are delightful with your false modesty and the raging passion that runs beneath it. You will writhe beneath me and beg for more when I take you.” I wanted to deny his words and deny him, but there was an aching void between my legs that was begging to be filled. Though I would never have vocalized it, I was praying for his fingers to slip lower and slide inside me. My hips betrayed my desire, rising and falling beneath his hand. I could no longer deny my feelings. When he touched me, I came alive with desire. Every day my thoughts were consumed by him. He had become the sure center of my world. “You want this, don't you.” His fingertips slid down over the soft, moist skin of my vulva and padded gently against my opening. I mewled with need and was rewarded when the tips slid just inside my opening, pressing my flesh asunder. “Such a wanton little wench. Keeping your head in your books, when what you really want is the touch of an outlaw burning over your flesh.” He pumped his fingers gently in and out of my opening. I was lost in his touch. I could not longer deny that I did not want him. My entire body was burning to be taken like an animal. His fingers pressed deeper inside me, then stopped as they encountered a barrier. “My my, my little kitty kat is a virgin,” he murmured against my ear. “A pure woman begging to be deflowered.” His thumb brushed against my clit as he pressed gently against the hymen, the thin barrier between him and the depths of my lust. “Should I fuck you, Katherine?” “Oh god,” I moaned. My body wanted him, my body wanted only him deep inside me. “I think I should,” he said, easing me onto the bed. I lay on my stomach as he lowered my panties slowly, pulling them down a little at a time. I had become strangely passive, a prisoner to my desires. I heard a rustling as he removed his own clothing and then swiftly covered my body with his own. Pressed into the bed face down, I was helpless as his strong thigh parted my own and his hips dipped against my bottom. His cock, hard as steel, probed at the entrance of my body. “This is what you came here for,” he purred into my ear as the hard head traced up and down my virginal slit. “This is what you needed, you needed to be freed from those tight clothes, those tight ideals. Your passions want to be given free reign and then tamed, don't they?” “Please Idric,” I whispered. “Take me.” It was all the bidding he needed. I felt his shaft enter me slightly, then withdraw. The fullness of his cock as he pressed into my body was like no other sensation I'd ever experienced. I arched my hips up towards him, helping him as he pressed deeper still, past the barrier that had guarded my womanhood

for so long. My cry of pain as it broke away brought a growl of domination from his throat. “You're mine now, kitty kat.” He thrust deep inside me, filling my body with his own. I loved it. I loved his hot flesh between my legs, I loved the raw possession with which he filled me. I was no longer thinking about the world outside the caravan. There was only him, only his desire, his passion. Turning my body and rolling us over, he held me atop him, his cock firmly seated in my pussy. His fingers stroked my clit and slapped it lightly, spurring me into action and I rocked my hips in time with his, helping him fuck me, surrendering my pretenses of modesty and virginity. Perhaps he would cast me off when he was done with me. I did not care, for in that moment logic had no place. It was a mad passion, a totally animal experience and I reveled in it. All thought was lost, all rationality discarded. In his arms I was a woman and nothing more. I climaxed over and over until he finally took his own pleasure, arching deep inside me and crying out so loudly that I thought he would surely have been heard in the neighboring counties, let alone the neighboring caravans. In the aftermath, he held me tenderly and told me of his love. “From the moment I laid eyes on you I wanted you,” he confessed. “You were beautiful and blessed with a rare innocence. You had no idea how beautiful you were, you were too busy being awkward and afraid.” He chuckled to himself at the memory, then caressed my face gently. “And then you rebelled against me. Over and over again.” I blushed softly. “I had been captured, it was only natural.” “Not as natural as you might think,” he said, shaking his head. “Most young women finding themselves in the clutches of an outlaw spread themselves quickly to appease him. You, on the other hand, lectured me as to why killing you would be a good idea. How could I not fall in love with a woman so utterly unaware of herself that she argues for her own demise?” I smiled, pleased that he appreciated my qualities after all. “So the secret to seducing an outlaw is to employ logic and sound reason?” “The secret to seducing an outlaw is being your adorable self, far too consumed with your own curiosity to give serious thought to the danger you put yourself in. Each time you forced me to thrash you I found myself wanting you all the more.” “It sounds to me as if you enjoy being frustrated,” I laughed. “A wise man seeks his equal,” Idric replied, placing a kiss on my nose. A spark of hope came alive. Perhaps this meant I would finally be free of the ever present threat of thrashings and spankings. “Does that mean I will be spared further indignities like those I have suffered at your hands?” “It does not,” he said, sliding his palm down to cup my bottom. “I enjoy thrashing you far too much, and you deserve a good spanking far too often.” “I do not deserve it nearly as much as some people like to make out,” I said, frowning slightly at how different things could have been if Mairtha had managed to convince Idric of my guilt.

“Not now my kitty kat. You should not have any more problems with Mairtha or anyone else for that matter.” “Why?” I pressed close to his body, half hoping to hear that Mairtha would get her comeuppance. She had made nothing but trouble for me since I had arrived. “Your studies were not entirely comprehensive, I see,” he chuckled, tracing a finger around my nipple. “I have claimed you in my bed. In the eyes of my people, we are good as wed. You have considerable authority now. I hope that you will not abuse it.” I smiled, filled with joy at his words. It was not the power that brought me such happiness, but the declaration from Idric that I belonged. I was his and I would always be his. “Does this mean you will not be trading me off at the nearest village after all?” “I suppose not,” he let out a mock sigh and held me close. “Though a bicycle does sound nice.” He chuckled at his own joke as I did my best to smother him with a pillow. After we made love and Idric claimed me as his own, my life began anew. I could no longer pretend that I did not have feelings for the man who had taken me away from all I had ever known, and he could hide his tenderness for me no longer. Every evening I slept in his arms feeling thoroughly cherished, and his kisses often graced my lips and cheeks. My tender feelings had bloomed into a love, not just for Idric, but for the people he lead. My passion for the Idrii, which had always burned strongly in my breast became an all consuming fire that lead me on a great many adventures. I was no longer consumed with the stiff propriety that had characterized my life before meeting Idric. It was impossible to make pretenses of properness after surrendering to his passion, after becoming the wild, wanton creature of desire I was born to be. Looking back at the way I had lived in the past, it seemed monochromatic and dull. By sharp contrast, life with the Idrii was never dull for long. Sometimes we were forced to flee in the night, sometimes there were near misses with the authorities and more than once I was forced to don the tight old clothes I had once adored and walk once again amongst the people who rejected those I loved and cared about. My status as a registered civilian allowed me to live something of a double life. In my city appearances, I was Katherine Weaver, unpublished history scholar and amateur investor. In that capacity I was able to undertake a great deal of business for the Idrii. In my private life I was Katie o' Idric, fugitive from the law. Fortunately for the state of my hands I didn't have to peel potatoes or do manual labor any longer, instead Idric entrusted me with free and open access to the secret drawer and allowed me to use my talents to organize supply lines and negotiate contracts. It was thoroughly illegal work and I was all too aware of the fact that I had crossed over to the wrong side of the law, but I could not bring myself to care all that much. I was doing what felt right, I was helping to preserve the legacy of the Idrii. If I ever felt the slightest bit guilty, Idric wasted no time in absolving me of it by generously allowing me to do penance over his lap. Yes, ever a man to be true to his word, Idric often took to me with whatever implement came to hand . Sometimes he did so for what he considered to be good reason. He did not appreciate my involvement in the action side of our business affairs, but when I had planned an operation, I liked to take part in it. I was no longer a woman solely of the mind, I was a woman of heart and a woman of action. As I liked to remind him on frequent occasions, it was his fault I was in more trouble than ever.

His spankings were usually hard, and sometimes given for no apparent reason at all. Idric simply enjoyed spanking, and his bursts of disciplinary ardor came much more often when he was tense for some reason. Around the time shipments were due to leave, I would find myself over his knee two to three times a day. Accusing him of being a sadist only elicited amused chuckles and the introduction of yet another implement. He never did me any harm however, and he conducted even the most sternest of spankings with a genuine affection and appreciation that left me in no doubt that I was loved. Had I been informed during my time as a scholar that I would one day giggle with excitement when pulled over the lap of an outlaw I would have declared the informant insane without hope of rehabilitation. But Idric's discipline had become the world to me. It was where my limits lay. If I was impertinent or simply in danger of forgetting the nebulous mental space that Idric called 'my place', he was there with a firm hand and a stern lecture. Afterward he would caress me and comfort me and make love to me as well and thoroughly as a woman could be made love to. I was still his captive to be sure, but I was not held by threats or violence. I was held by the bonds of my heart, bonds that had grown strongly and surely from the moment I'd laid eyes on the man who had claimed me as his own. The Idrii are still to be found now and then, under the leaves of weeping willows or traveling through rolling fields on a summer's eve. If you should happen upon a gathering of these fine people, do not hesitate to say hello. Perhaps you will be scorned and chased off back to your comfortable home to lick your wounds, but perhaps you will catch the eye of a darkly handsome outlaw and your life will be changed forever. It is something of a gamble to be sure, but it is a gamble worth the wager.