Sit, child. Such a lovely girl. I'll wager the boys fall all over themselves just to get a smile from you. They did when your mother was your age, you know.

Such a beauty, but hot-blooded, as your mother tells it. Nay, it's nae use protesting, for your mother was the same way; as was I when I was just a village girl.

Eh? You mean your mother never told you? That we were not always nobility? That we were not always English, nor even Norman?

Nay, child. I am full-blood Celt, daughter of kings, as all of our blood are children of kings. So you are only one quarter Celt, but the blood runs thick and the song is loud and strong in your heart.

I will tell you the story, the whole story, for I have nought to be shamed about. But you must ne'er tell your mother, save she brings it up first, for she has lived among Normans and Saxons all her life, and is forever worrying over what is proper. She tries to deny her blood, though it rages through her body, and the song, though it rings in her ears.

The shade-cooled grass tickled her toes as Caitlin walked out into the meadow. Her mother had sent her after mushrooms and told her to hurry back, and Caitlin would indeed hurry back -- after she found enough mushrooms. But who could tell how long that would take? She could not stand to be too long out of the light and warmth of the sun. Of course, the moist cool shade of the deep forest was also nice. Her mother called her fickle, but Caitlin had decided long ago that she liked many things that seemed opposite to each other. Like the tartness of pickled cabbage and the sweetness of wild honey; the soft petals of a rose, and the scrape of the thorns against her smooth white skin.

It was the same with the boys who lived around her village. She liked when they followed her around the fields, and she liked when they ran away every time she showed that she knew they followed her. She wanted someday for one not to run away, but she wanted to always be able to make them flee if she wanted. She smiled to herself at the thought of what she would do if any boy had the bravery to stay.

A shadow fell across her and she stepped back in surprise. So deep in her thoughts had she been that she had not noticed the man who had ridden up before her. He sat straight in a high cantled saddle, astride a gigantic bay gelding. A warhorse, Caitlin thought immediately, and then silently cursed herself. Of course, a warhorse. What else would a man with sword and armor ride? He looked down at her in consternation.

"Are you deaf, girl?" he demanded in heavily-accented English. "I asked you a question!"

He must be one of the Norman invaders, Caitlin thought. She had heard that King Edward had fallen somewhere in the East and that the invaders were swarming over the country.

But he was talking to her. She must not make him angry. "Sir?"

"I asked you who is the local lord and where his keep is!"

"S-sorry, milord. Thane Alfred's castle is on the rise just east of this meadow."

"And where is this Alfred, girl?"

"Off fighting the Norman bas... Away at war, sir."

"Well if he is still alive, he is thane no longer. These are my lands now."

"Your lands, milord?" Mother would be so upset. She had known the thane when she was just a girl, though he had been old and seldom seen by the time Caitlin was born.

"Granted by Duke William -- King William -- himself, not a month ago." His grin was very self-satisfied. And there was something else in his face. She had seen it in the adult men of the village more and more often over the past year. She blushed bright red under the mounted man's gaze.

"Is there a stream or pond nearby? I need to water my horse and clean the dust off. I must look presentable when I take over my new keep, after all."

"Aye, milord. There is a small pool a few yards that way."

"Lead on, girl."

"Aye, milord."

As she walked, she heard the horse's steady steps behind her. How could she have been deaf to that noise? Every step, she could feel the eyes of the knight on her. She knew she was pretty. Dark auburn hair spilled down her back. Her mother said she was not old enough yet to wear it up, but that was all right with Caitlin, for she loved to feel it brush against her. She was pleasingly plump, mostly from baby fat that seemed to linger forever around her hips and face. And her bosom had lately grown so much that her bodice was sometimes uncomfortably tight. She would have to let it out soon... again. She smiled to herself at the thought of the warrior behind her, unable to keep his eyes off her. She brushed a hand through her long hair and swayed her hips a little more than usual as she walked toward the tree line.

The knight had to dismount as they entered the woods. Despite the heavy chain that draped his body, he landed almost lightly, without stumbling. Taking reins in hand, he followed Caitlin to the little spring-fed pool that she loved to dip her feet in after a long hot day. He removed the horse's bridle but left him saddled. As the horse dipped his muzzle in the clear water, he took off his helmet and Caitlin was able to see his face clearly for the first time.

His nose had been broken at least once, but his face was otherwise unscarred. Thick black hair covered the top of his scalp, but his head was completely shaved all around to about two fingerwidths above his ears. His face had thick stubble on chin and cheeks, beneath dark brown eyes and thick eyebrows. Caitlin thought he must be very handsome and felt a slight pang of envy toward his ladywife.

He pulled a cloth from his saddle bag, wetted it thoroughly in the cool water, and mopped his face with it. She noticed that the index finger of his right hand had been cut off below the first knuckle. "Help me get this armor off, girl." He lifted an arm and she could see the leather straps with buckles. With trembling fingers, she unbuckled the fasteners and helped her new lord take of his mail shirt. He removed his thick wool gambeson and then his tunic.

His bare chest was pale, almost white, but thickly covered with hair, almost like fur. He ran the cloth over his chest and under his arms, then handed it to Caitlin. "Wash my back."

Silently, intimidated by this large man, Caitlin took the cloth and soaked it in the pool once more. She scrubbed down his sweaty back, feeling the hard muscles beneath her hands. Like oak, she thought. She forced herself to step back when she was through; she had probably spent too long already.

He took off the steel guards covering his shins and thighs, then the thick leather breeches. Caitlin knew she should look away, but could not. His legs and buttocks were also covered in coarse hair, and also tightly muscled. He was slightly bow-legged from years spent in the saddle. Without turning or even looking at her over his shoulder, he said, "Now the rest of me."

She knew she must be blushing all the way down to the bottom of her feet, but she approached anyway. Kneeling on the grass, she ran her cloth-covered hand up the back of the knight's right leg, from grimy ankle to pale buttock. She massaged calf and thigh and cheek. She gently spread the cheeks open to reveal a dark and hairy crevice, but couldn't bring herself to move the cloth into it. Then she worked her way down the other leg. When she finished, she rinsed the cloth out in the pool.

"Would you..." her voice caught, and she cleared her throat before continuing. "Would you turn around, milord?" How could she be so bold?

When the knight turned around, he was grinning lewdly down at her. Her boldness drained from her in an instant. Her face grew hot and her heart beat painfully in her breast.

Before her, inches from her face, the knight's manhood thrust proudly from his middle. It drooped slightly, and the skin was still wrinkled in spots along the shaft, and only the pinkish tip could be seen beneath his foreskin. But still, it was huge! Caitlin had never seen one even semi-hard before, but this one must be the largest in the world. The scrotum alone would probably cover the whole palm of her hand.

She washed his legs quickly. Then she moved to his pelvis. His cock moved back and forth as she rubbed on the surrounding skin, hypnotizing her. Once, she touched it. With bare fingertips. It may have been an accident, or it may not, she was not sure herself. But she was amazed at the softness of the skin, at the way it jumped a little when her fingers touched it, getting a little harder. She was entranced.

"Stand up, girl," the knight said, bringing her out of her reverie. She stood before him, head bowed as was proper before a man of his station. No, that was no good, for her eyes immediately focused on his cock. So she looked him in the eye. No, that was not proper, either. So she stared directly at his chest.

"Take off your clothes."

"Milord? Milord, that would not be--"

Without warning, she was prostrate on the ground, pinned by the naked man, his hands clenching her wrists so hard they might break, his knees pushing in on her ribs.

"I gave you an order, girl," he said in a normal, soft voice. But his eyes were angry and his jaw was clenched. "This time only will I repeat myself. Never again. After this time, I will beat you until you obey. I will whip you until you bleed. But I can make a whipping last hours without drawing blood."

His hands and knees tightened around her. "Do you understand me?"

"Aye," she tried to say, but couldn't. She nodded her head, afraid to move it more than a fraction of an inch. His hands tightened further; she could feel the bones in her wrists rubbing together.

"AYE!" she shouted as pain overcame fear.

He released her suddenly. Blood rushed back into her wrists, making the pain even worse for a moment. He stood back, arms crossed against chest. "Now. Stand and take off your clothes."

Her hands quivered so violently she could not untie the laces of her skirt. In fear and frustration she pushed it down her thighs. Too late, she realized that the way she was forced to move her hips would do nothing to dissuade the knight from doing what she knew he would. Even as the garment pooled around her feet, she was pulling the blouse over her head. The wool caught her shift and pulled it up as well. Though she knew she would be completely bare in moments, Caitlin cursed herself for not wearing anything under the shift as she felt it rise above her buttocks. With the briefest of hesitations, Caitlin lifted the shift over her head and tossed it to the ground.

She lifted her left arm and dropped her right to cover her breasts and privates.

"Arms at sides," said the knight, conversationally. When Caitlin did not immediately obey, he stepped toward her. She let her arms fall.

Her entire body was exposed to him now. Her breasts were large and white, but with small, rosy pink nipples. She sometimes thought they were too large, often getting in the way when she was running or trying to sleep. But at least they didn't sag as her mother's did. Her skin was flawless, with a scattering of freckles above her sternum and below her elbows and knees, milky white everywhere else. Her hips were wide and sloped gradually down into strong thighs. And between those thighs was a thatch of light brown hair, glinting red in the midmorning sun, not yet with the fullness of maturity.

"Turn," the knight said, and she did. Her feet tangled in the skirt and she stumbled, causing her breasts to bobble in a delightful manner. She stepped gingerly out of the circle of cloth, making dimples in her full buttocks. "Your hair is in the way," the knight said, and Caitlin gathered her locks and draped them over her left breast. Her back was soft and smooth, with only the slightest bulge over her shoulder-blades.

Suddenly she felt fingertips between her shoulders and she gave a little jump of surprise.

"Very beautiful," murmured the knight. His fingertips left goosebumps in their trail. How many times had she wanted one of the village boys, wanted Conal, to be this forward? They ran from her as often as they followed her. And the men might stare at her, but when she met their gazes, longing looks became sidelong glances. But this foreigner was open enough to say what he wanted and expect to get it.

"Very beautiful," he repeated as he withdrew his hand. "It would be a shame to scar it." At that, Caitlin felt a sharp tremor of fear course through her.

But her nipples hardened like granite.

"Face me," said the knight. And again Caitlin turned. The knight brushed her hair back and peered closely into her face. "You have not the look of a Saxon."

"Nay, milord. My mother is Irish. She came here with her father who was a debt-slave to an English shipmaster. Thane Alfred won his bond at dice. My father was a Welshman. He's dead, now."

He stared into her eyes for an eternity. Then, as quickly as he had knocked her to the ground before, he spit on the first two fingers of his left hand and thrust them between the lips of her sex. Caitlin winced in pain when they entered, and she gasped when they bumped against her maidenhead.

"A virgin," the Norman said with a smile as he removed his fingers. "Very good. It has been a long time since I trained a virgin."

He turned and walked to his horse. As he rummaged through a saddle bag, he told her to put her clothes back on, never looking back at her.

"Thank you, milord."

He faced her again, and began sharpening a small knife with a whetstone. "Do not call me that. Other knights are 'milord' to you. Not I. I am 'Master.'" Stroke, stroke. "I own you now. You are mine like this horse is mine, like this knife is mine. I will do what I will, and you will obey me. Or suffer punishment." He walked toward her, never taking his eyes off her, stroking the knife along the stone. He knelt at the pool and dipped out a handful of water. He damped his face and held the knife out to Caitlin. "Shave me."

Caitlin took the knife and stood behind him. He was still talking in an unconcerned voice. "Your training begins as soon as I have taken possession of the keep. You will please me in every way I say or I will punish you. Severely. I have been given these lands, and I have been given you. I will use you."

Her stomach roiled with nausea at his bluntness. An afternoon's dalliance was one thing. He was ungentle and crude, but she found that somehow exciting. But to think he could own her and use her? She would be damned before she let a man think he could own her. She stared at the knife in her hand. It gleamed in the light that shone through the leaves. She could see her eyes clearly in the steel. She looked into them as though they were a stranger's. She realized that she no longer recognized them. She felt like she might spew; so why did those eyes look so calm? If she was so angry and afraid, why did those eyes seem so soft and peaceful?

She dragged her gaze away from her reflection and advanced upon the knight's back. She would not stand idly while this stranger seized her fate and strangled it. She would do... something. In the three paces that brought her to the invader, she considered her predicament. She felt his knees against her ribs, his hands grasped around her wrists, his voice cruel and cold... and strong. And his fingertips on her back. But owned? Like a cow or pig? Trained like a dog or a hawk? Used like an ox or mule? Not her! Boys ran from her and men refused to look her in the eye. She had once stared down Father John, by God!

Caitlin brought the knife to his throat. Use me? Own me? The knife was very sharp. It would part the skin easily and spill his blood into the pool. Everyone would assume robbers had happened upon a traveling knight who had stopped to rest. All she would have to do is apply a little pressure against his neck. Then take his purse, to make it look like a robbery, and run. Perhaps it would be best to hide the money for a while to protect herself and her mother. Yes. That was it. Own me? Train me? Use me?

She rested the edge of the blade against the knight's throat. Directly upon the large artery. She pushed against the skin. She scraped away a patch of stubble. Then another. Not a nick did she make.

When the knight's face was bare, he stood and began dressing. He left the armor off, tying it in a bundle across the horse's back.

"You could have killed me and no one would have known. You could have tried, at least." Caitlin said nothing.

"What is your name, slave? Only your Christian name, for you have no family any longer."

"Caitlin," she answered in a trembling voice.

"I am Sir Robert. But you will never call me that, even when speaking to other people. I am always 'Master' or 'My Master.' Do you understand that?"

"Aye, Master."

Robert mounted his gelding and motioned Caitlin westward. "Now lead me to my new home."

When they arrived at the old stone keep, Ethan Jones, the old caretaker, was waiting for them with his daughter -- and one of Caitlin's best friends -- Heather. Sir Robert ordered Caitlin to stand a ways off while he spoke to Ethan. Caitlin saw a parchment pass hands. Ethan peered at it closely. He could no more read than Caitlin could, but she supposed he was examining the seal. As he handed the parchment back to the knight, his shoulders drooped in defeat. Caitlin remembered that he and Thane Alfred had marched together under King Edward's banner once, long ago. It's not every day one finds oneself ruled by a strange new master. The thought ran like ice water down Caitlin's back. Robert then leaned down and spoke to Heather. He gave her a purse and Heather ran off toward Caitlin's village after a quick glance in her direction.

Ethan led the knight through the gates of the keep, and Robert beckoned Caitlin to follow. All three went into the stable. While Robert unsaddled and rubbed down his charger, Ethan put saddle and bridle on the old nag he used to run errands for the thane.

"He goes to bring my men," Robert informed her.

"Your men?" He ignored her, and she remembered. "Your men, Master?"

"Yes, girl. These lands are no mere reward. I am to keep the Welsh tribes out, and keep the rebels in. Or keep them from crossing through this section of the March, at least. To do that, I need soldiers and knights. So I brought my own. They should arrive sometime tomorrow, with enough servants to run this place."

"But why did you no' bring them with you? Master."

"Because I am no longer a conqueror. I am rightful lord of this place and need no army to take what his mine." Like me, Caitlin thought.

"And where did Heather go, Master?"

"To pay your mother. I told the girl that you are now 'working' for me. No more questions, now. I have been lenient with you because this is new to you. From now on, you will ask permission to speak to me. Unless I ask a direct question, which you will answer immediately. Do you understand?"

"Aye, Master."

"Good girl. Now see if you can find something for me to eat. Bread and cheese, cold meat. Then we will begin your training in earnest."

Caitlin sat at the small table in the kitchen and watched while Robert ate enough for both of them. He had given her permission to eat as well, but she was much too nervous, frightened and -- she admitted it to herself at last -- excited.

She was naked again, as he had ordered. She was amazed at how easily she sat there, uncovered. She did not even feel the desire to cover herself with her arms. She enjoyed being naked around him, even here in the kitchen or outside in the courtyard.

She found herself thinking of the feel of his skin when she washed him, of the hardness of him. She knew that soon he would take her, and now she looked forward to it. He wasn't Conal, but there was something similar about him. The life of a peasant and the life of a warrior had made them strong, but where Conal was bulky, her master was lithe and wiry. She could never have gotten her arms around Conal's broad back, but she imagined her master would fit very nicely into her embrace. Her flesh tingled in anticipation of that even.

Her nipples were hard again, and she felt a delicious warmth between her thighs. The muscles spasmed occasionally and sent tremors through her belly.

Robert put a slice of cheese on the last piece of dark bread and popped it into his mouth. As he chewed, he looked thoughtfully at Caitlin. Unconsciously, she sat a little straighter under his gaze, thrust her breasts out a little further. He emptied his cup in a single mouthful and placed his forearms on the table, surrounding the plate and cup.

"Where shall we begin your training?"

"The bedroom, Master?" Despite her nudity, Caitlin blushed at her brashness.

Robert seemed to turn the thought over in his head before giving it a small but firm shake. "No, not the bedroom. You will serve me in other ways as well. It should be someplace that is normally full of people, so that when you are serving me, you can look at the place where a man took you for the first time. The main hall, I think. Yes, that will be perfect."

They left the kitchen and walked down the short passageway toward the central building. As they passed the kennel, Thane Albert's dogs began barking furiously. Robert's face lit up in the first truly pleasant smile Caitlin had ever seen on him. He walked to the gate and looked over. Two wolfhounds snarled at him, drool dripping off their muzzles. Each was as big as a man, and as ferocious as the beasts it was bred to fight. Robert made to open the gate.

Caitlin grabbed his arm before he could lift the latch. "Master! Do not! Only Thane Albert and his huntmaster are able to handle these animals. When they bait wolves, the only bets made are on which of these will kill the wolf! They will kill you!"

Robert pried her fingers from his arm and held her at arm's length. "You show concern for your master, and that is proper, but you also show a lack of trust. You will have to be punished for that. After I make these fine dogs' acquaintance."

He opened the gate and stepped into the kennel. Immediately the dogs rushed him. Caitlin knew they would crush him with their weight and rip him apart with their teeth and claws. She could not look, but she could not turn away.

Robert shouted something in French at the dogs. She could not make out the word, but the dogs halted as though they had run into a wall. Robert rose on his toes and walked toward the dogs. And they backed up! Heads lowered and tails tucked between legs, they retreated from her master step for step. Robert held out his hands, palms down, and the dogs walked forward and placed their heads against his hands. He stroked their heads and backs for a few moments before turning on his heel and walking out of the kennel.

"May I speak, Master?"

"You want to know how I did that." She nodded. "I learned it from an old woman who practically raised me."

"What kind of woman can teach a man that?"

"She was a... I do not know the word. She... spoke with the trees." He looked embarrassed, expecting disbelief, despite the feat he had accomplished with the dogs.

"My mother said her grandmother also spoke with the trees, Master." He said nothing, merely placed an arm across her bare shoulders and led her into the keep proper. Strangely, Caitlin felt not only nervousness and excitement, she felt comfort as she pressed her bare flesh into her master's (when had she started *thinking* of him as her master?) side.

The main hall was the central room of the keep. It served as chapel and dining hall most of the time, but was used when the Thane heard grievances once a month, and as hospital and dormitory when the Welsh attacked. At the moment it was empty of furnishings because the keep's master -- former master -- was gone and likely to never return.

"Go stand where the thane kept his chair." A slight nudge got her moving; she walked to the spot and stood.

"Thane Albert sat here on audience days and feast days, Master. This is where the altar stands for Mass."

Robert's long strides carried him quickly to her side. "Excellent. The center of attention always. Power and sacrifice, eh?"

A quick search of the small rooms off the main hall found blankets, pillows and a chair. Pillows and blanket were arranged on the selected spot and Robert ordered Caitlin to lie down. He sat in the chair a short distance from her feet.

His voice was soft, echoing slightly in the great chamber as he spoke to her. "You like the boys, don't you Caitlin? You like to think about them. At night. The thoughts are pleasant, aren't they? Is there one boy you think about more than the others?"

Conal, with his dark blonde hair curling around his head. His shoulders wide and powerful as he tosses hay onto the wagon, skin glowing under a sheen of sweat. Caitlin nodded. "Yes, Master. His name is--"

"I do not need to know his name. Do you think of his arms around you? His kisses on your lips? His hands on your body? I thought so. And at night, when you want him but cannot have him, do you pretend that your hands are his? Do you touch yourself as you long for him to touch you?"

Caitlin nodded. Her eyes were closed as she listened to her master's soft, powerful voice and thought of Conal.

"Show me."

Her eyes opened abruptly. His gaze bored into her, but he did not repeat himself. She did not want to make him repeat himself.

She closed her eyes, trying to pretend she was alone, under her blankets with her mother asleep on the other side of the room. Tentatively, her hands moved to her breasts. They were too full to stand up on her chest, but fell slightly to the sides. She lifted them, caressed their undersides with her hands. She traced patterns over them with her fingertips. She scraped her nails across the flesh, making goose bumps rise. With the pads of her fingers, she rubbed the very tips of her nipples, making them even harder. She pressed firmly against them, imagining Conal's strong hands on her. She pulled on her nipples with thumbs and forefingers, but in her mind, it was Conal's lips tugging on them.

A moan escaped from her lips. It wasn't her tongue caressing them, it was Conal's. Her hands moved lower, down her belly, fingers tickling the rim of her bellybutton. As she neared the juncture of her thighs, she spread her knees apart, as Conal would do. She stretched her fingers toward her moistening slit; Conal spoke to her. "You are mine. You belong to me." Yes, I am yours. Her fingers found their target. While one index finger lightly tapped on her clitoris, the others traced the lips of her opening. Take me, Conal, take me! She suddenly buried two fingers in her cunt up to the first joint. She felt Conal's body crush hers as he laid himself along her torso. Her breasts were crushed by his hairy chest.

Only... Conal's chest was smooth and hairless. She opened her eyes in surprise, fingers still working in and on her cunt. Robert sat in his chair, naked. His prick pointed skyward. "You're thinking of me now, yes?"

"Master," she moaned. "Take me, Master. Fuck me, please." She thrust three fingers into herself as deeply as she could. In and out at a furious pace. But she wanted more. She wanted that magnificent cock completely in her. More than anything else, she wanted her master to possess her totally.

He knelt between her thighs. He removed her hands from her cunt. He sucked the juices from her fingers before placing them on her breasts. He slowly slid the fingers of his right hand into her wetness. They were large, and thickly callused, causing a little discomfort as they pressed deeper. She felt the nub of his index finger bump into her clitoris. It had not healed smooth. Rough scar tissue covered the tip, and every move it made seemed to drag her clit with it. She gasped at the sensation.