Chapter 7: A slave no gentler

Sir Edward de Valence leaned over Catherine and began to unbind her ankles from the foot of the bed. Her slim legs were weak from the passionate eruptions from not a few moments ago. There was a tenderness in his touch and Catherine could see a gentleness in his hazel eyes. Her ankles did not keep unfettered long, however, for he tied them together again at her ankles.

Edward then untied her wrists from the bed posts. He held onto both of them and eased Catherine over onto her front, pinning her wrists in back of her. Catherine did not protest, rather she just let Edward retie her wrists together. She did not understand why she did not try to free herself from this English but it seemed her body spoke for her now. As Edward sat her up next to Margaret, Catherine felt now oddly safe. Edward was not here to harm her and he had shown her joys that she could not even imagine.

Catherine accepted her position beside the washerwoman Margaret, who had not accepted her position yet. They were both side by side and Catherine could feel the warmth of the red-headed woman mewling through her gag beside her. Margaret struggled in her bonds where Catherine just accepted them.

Edward then eased the knots out of Catherine's gag and did the same to Margaret.

"You both look hungry," Edward said as he took the gag out of Margaret's mouth.

"Untie me right now, m'Edward de Valence!" Margaret said, struggling. Her heavy breasts jiggling and bouncing with her writhing moves.

"Ah, you said you wanted to be my captive. You do not hear a protest from sweet Catherine's lips, do you?" Edward smiled.

"No..." Margaret trailed.

"Then relax. I will unbind you in do course, Margaret. In the mean time, you look starved."

Edward went over to the pot of stew he had and took the bone ladle and brought it to Catherine's lips.

Catherine did not realize how hungry she was and she opened her mouth gladly. Edward eased the spoon in and she closed her lips around it. It was not laced with the spices she was used to, but it did not taste bad... the meat was stringy and tasted of the honey that preserved it. The sauce hinted of wine and there was some potatoes and carrots, another thing she had not tasted since the siege began.

Edward ladled the second spoon full to Margaret who was more timid taking what Edward offered. She was not used to being fed like a child but she did accept it partially because she did not want the juice running down her chest.

The English knight continued to fed them until there was none left in the bowl. He also let them swallow some beer he had in his leather costrel. It was then Edward was ready to rest for the night ahead.

Edward went to Margaret and whispered in her ear, "So, dear Margaret, to you enjoy being a captive?"

His hands began to caress her larger, pink nipples.

Margaret did not answer directly and thought upon this, sitting nude and bound before her Edward. She had enjoyed the freedom the bindings did give her in receiving Edward's attentions. However, being fed and treated this way afterward was new to her and she was very uncertain if she liked it or not.

"If it pleas's m'Edward t' 'ave me this way," Margaret replied, "You know I will be here for m'lord."

"You did not answer the question, Margaret."

Margaret paused then answered, "Yes, m'Edward, I did enjoy it."

"Good," Edward replied.

The English knight then began to unbind Margaret, first her captive ankles and legs, then her wrists. Margaret flexed her fingers and hands, easing out their stiffness caused from her ties.

"While I rest, dear Margaret, I need you to do this thing for me..." and Edward whispered into the washerwoman's ear.

Bois D'Astier was not by nature a patient man and as the afternoon lingered and the rain had slackened it's assault, he paced inside the small hut abandon by it's tenants upon the fall of Harfluer. It was not but a few minutes ride away from the besieged port. It was a dangerous place to be, Bois knew, but he wanted to be close to the town in order to find out what had happened to his sister, Catherine.

The latest word from the town was there were still two towers upon the river that had not surrendered and Bois could here the distant thunder of cannon now vomiting their deadly stones at the towers walls. But, there would be no relief for those wretched souls in those towers. The king still had not made up his mind about the English threat here.

"M'lord Bois," one of his men, John, spoke, "You pace like a hound before the hunt. You must rest. Here, have some wine and sit by the fire."

Bois nodded and let John lead him to the hearth in the center of the room and the small, spitting fire flickering upon it. There were several of his charges huddled about the meager flame, getting what warmth they could. John handed his leader a ceramic mug filled with warm wine and Bois let it's magic flow through him to ease him of the day's cares. He looked out the open door toward Harfluer.

"Soon, My Lord Bois, we will go to the town and be amongst the English as mercenaries. I have seen several of our lowly dogs doing so. They have no faith in our King..."

"Neither do I," Bois cut in, taking another sip of wine.

"True, My Lord Bois, he has been weak of mind..."

"Weak of heart, John. He has no spirit. France is close to civil war and now the English take liberties upon our soil with no opposition. He has lost France already and his weakly son is no better than he. We, John, loyal French, are all that stand between France and her ruin."

"I think it is the wine talking, My lord..."

"It is the truth and I am not afraid to say it."

John shook his head, his dark eyes cast down, "It is the truth," his words a mere whisper.

"My father will not be pleased when he hears word of what goes on here, John."

John just nodded.

Bois was fond of his sister, his closest sibling. They both looked the same. Hair the color of Raven's wings, dark eyes, slender of build. In their childhood, Bois used to have mock swordfights with her in the garden. His oldest brother, Jean, was too much his father's puppet and his two other brothers were more interested in their books and their father's travels. Only Catherine shared his love for adventure.