Chapter 6: Perfection Of A Good And Particular Mistress

Edward de Valence trudged through the muddy streets of Harfleur back toward his lodgings. Bundled under his left arm were several sets of clothes he thought might fit Catherine since she had lost her own clothes when the King Harry and his men took the town. Also he had obtained some 'new' clothes for Margaret in payment for her services to him. In his other hand he had a cooling pot of stew he had brought from the King's retinue. Though Edward had gone against the King's word about taking ransoms, he was still in good graces of the court... at least that is what it seemed to him. Many in the court knew of Edward's personal mission in France and he believed one or two of them had whispered into King Harry's ear. Edward's transgression would have had more dire consequences otherwise, he was sure.

The sleet was turning more and viscous, but Edward's thoughts were far from the weather. After setting up the guns and watching them belch stone after stone at the tower walls, Edward finally left to confer with a few of the King's advisors and managed to talk them out of several trencher's of stew. King Harry had been pleased with them and now they had wealth and good cheer flowing out of the pouches from their shares of Harfleur's treasures.

The King had not asked for Edward's precious ransom; for his Catherine D'Astier. He was glad the King had not asked. Edward did not know what he would have done if the King had insisted on Edward's prize.

Catherine... the name warmed his loins. She was indeed something precious. Edward had not expected such a beautiful woman as Catherine when he first started planning his revenge upon his son's killer, Phillip D'Astier. But many had told Edward of her dark gracefulness and beauty and that is how he knew he had found her that night in her burning home. Fortune smiled upon him, he thought. Edward's revenge upon the D'Astier house was blessed by her smile.

There were no guards at the doorway to his confiscated lodgings, but there were many of his charges lying upon the floor, huddled in their cloaks and sleeping like a pack of dogs. The noise of their sleep would have woke the dead, Edward thought. The fire had died down to flickering embers licking around some charred logs.

The room upstairs was the same, save a bit emptier. There was the litter of men at war all around... unsheathed daggers, rough bundles of loot, stacked helmets, bucklers and jacks. A few of the men slept with their arms around a woman or two, women that had followed Henry's army but were not allowed into the camps until this day. It was a strange sight when there was still daylight outside.

Edward rapped lightly on the locked door to his chamber.

The rap on the door startled Margaret, whose amatory thoughts were upon the captive girl who still lay bound to the bed and upon the coming of her Edward. Margaret slid out from beside Catherine and lightly walked over to the door.

"Who it be?" Margaret whispered.

"It is I, Margaret, Edward."

Margaret smiled and slid the bolt open, "Welcome back, m'Lord Edward!"

Edward looked upon the nude Margaret whose curves he enjoyed many a time during his campaigns in France and Scotland, "Indeed, what a pleasant welcome at that, Margaret."

Edward dropped his bundle of clothes and embraced Margaret with one arm before closing the door and bolting it shut.

"I brought you and our charge a bit to eat, if you think she will," Edward said, offering the washerwoman the pot.

"She 'as an appetite, m'Edward, that 'un does," Margaret smiled, thinking about how much Catherine did buck and writhe in her bonds at Margaret's touch, "Shall I dress or does m'Lord prefer me thus."

"I think I prefer you thus, Margaret."

Edward sat down upon the bench and began unlacing his boot while Margaret began to dig through her kit to find a horn spoon or two. Margaret was a short woman whose ample breasts seemed almost too large for her slight frame. Her hair was the color of sunsets and it draped about her like a coppery shawl. Her skin was pale and stippled with a spray of freckles. The washerwoman's figure was most like a sand clock, with her wide, flaring hips, narrow waist and large breasts. If her station was different, Edward thought, he would have made her his wife.

"M'Lady is most pretty, I she not, m'Edward," Margaret said as she found what she was looking for and started to ladle the stew into her wooden trencher, "You will get a good ransom for 'er."

"It is not the ransom, dear Margaret, I want."

"Indeed, I know m'Edward, but it'll bring you nothin' but pain, I warrant. But'll you do what you want, m'Edward, an your'n like a hound on th' hunt with this revenge business of yours. You will'n not stop until you taste blood."

Edward just grunted in reply as he unlaced his heavy canvas jack of plates. As he slipped it off, it felt good to have its weight off of his shoulders. It was better than his full suit of armor, though. During his siege of the two towers, he would not be putting that uncomfortable armor on. The jack of plates was enough.

"I think your prisoner wants something of you," Margaret grinned.

From the canopied bed, Edward could hear the muffled pleadings of his captive, Catherine D'Astier. Even her moans and whimpers stirred something deep inside Edward making his lusty daemon want to ride his beauty again.

"In a bit," Edward replied.

Edward rolled each leg of his hose off before taking off his shirt. He had been soaked to the bone, he realized, and the warm air of the chamber felt like a woman's warm embrace. Margaret had set aside her meal to help Edward arrange his clothes to dry by the fire beside her own.

"It is evil weather out, m'Lord, no' even th' devyl would be out'n there," Margaret said.

"Indeed. But I must go out there this night to try to take those twin towers. The French's arrows are less keen at night and our men can pile the hay around the towers without much fear of being slain. I will be with them, of course."

"Th' war is a terrible thing, m'Lord. So many young lives..."

"It is ours to serve the King's will. Now let us see to our captive, shall we."

Catherine was bound as he had left her, her arms and legs spread wide apart to each of the bed's posts and a gag in the form of a curtain sash tied tightly between her lips. She continued to plead behind her gag, to beg release from her bonds, but all that came out was muffled "Ummmphs". Her dark eyes seemed to plead to Edward for something more than her bonds being loosed. Her slender, pale body was as graceful as a swan and as smooth as polished marble and her dark tresses formed a black halo about her head.

Catherine did writhe a bit against her bonds, more of an act than anything else, for she knew that her bindings were as unforgiving now as they were when Edward first tied them. The passions she had just experienced from the washerwoman's gentle touch had not lessened. In fact, upon seeing the naked Englishman beside her bed, her desire to have him within her again grew unashamedly and she thrusted herself up to him, praying he would indeed pay attention to her wants.

"I see m'Lord has risen t' th' occasion," Margaret said, embracing Edward from behind, "Perhaps m'Edward would see fit t' use his fine weapon?"

"And who should I prick, pray tell?"

"I think you know, m'Edward... I have longed for those arms around me and your pricker deep within..."

"You are a wicked woman, Margaret. I think I shall prick my captive first," Edward said.

"Then let me be you captive, m'Lord de Valence," Margaret said holding out her wrists together to be bound.

"We shall see if you want to be my captive," Edward replied, gripping Margaret's wrist and pulling her over to his cloth kit bag.

With a deftness that Margaret found intriguing, Edward whipped out a length of thong, spun Margaret around and laced-up her wrists in back of her. It was done quickly and before Margaret could say much of anything, Edward tied a strip of cloth between her lips to silence her tongue.

Margaret found the embrace of leather warming her inside, making her feel wanton yet unable to do anything about it. What made her more aware of her feelings was watching Catherine's dark eyes watching her with lustful eyes. It was then that Margaret knew that Catherine enjoyed her captivity as much as Margaret did when Edward bound her like this.

Edward wound another length of leather thong around Margaret's ankles, cinching them tightly. He repeated the process just above Margaret's knees, making her legs as one. Margaret began to question what Edward was doing through her gag, but Edward ignored her and began tying Margaret's elbows together as he did her knees, making Margaret more and more helpless.

"Enjoy being my captive yet, my dear Margaret?" questioned Edward.

Margaret was getting a little bit afraid, for Edward had never really treated her like this before; not while tied up nor during their unfettered swyving. But, even as she continued to moan her protests through her gag, Edward looped a length of rope around Margaret's waist and tied it off, like a lead to a horse.

"Come on, my captive, to my bed."

Edward yanked on the rope, forcing Margaret to hop forward. She struggled to keep from falling over onto the floor. Edward yanked on the rope again, and Margaret hopped again toward the bed.

Edward did enjoy the vision of Margaret hopping towards him, her breast jiggling with every movement and her whole body struggling to try to stand upright. Edward could see a little fear in the washerwoman's green eyes, but it was tempered by her lust. When he had tied Margaret's knees together, he could smell the musky perfume of her excitement. Edward sat on the edge of the bed and reeled his captive towards him.

Even bound as she was, Margaret found her lust for her Edward more overpowering than any fear she might have at him treating her this way. M'Lord Edward de Valence was a viral, tall man with dark hair cut like that of the King, a trim beard and dark, piercing hazel eyes. His shanks were as sturdy as oaks and his stomach was well muscled save for the long, purple scar that ran across it... a sword wound Margaret had sewn closed herself. His pricker, oh his gorgeous pricker was like a lion rampant... oh did she want him within her.