The Strength of Baffin Read online

  Captain Carlisle’s brows shot up. “ A beating, you say?”

  Dalila scowled, frustration making her tone sour. “Yes. A good flogging. A whip across my back, sir. I’m sure you’ve been at Castle Iqa long enough to know the extent of Alderman de Gesch’s wrath.”

  The man managed to look appalled but she was in too poor a mood to think anything of it. She was going to walk inside that chamber, strip herself bare and allow the beast to do whatever he wished to her body. He would use her till she was weak and spent but Viktor de Gesch would not be able to touch her soul. Or her heart.

  “Forgive me, my lady.” Captain Carlisle cleared his throat deeply though his eyes still held a flicker of pity. “I shall get the door for you.”

  Inhaling deeply, Dalila stepped across the threshold once the doors were opened and awaited her husband’s assault. But she couldn’t help noticing the look Captain Carlisle had given her right before he’d shut the doors. Did he truly sympathize with her situation? Or was he only attempting to prepare her for what he must know was to come?

  The bedchamber of Viktor de Gesch mirrored all she thought his heart and soul resembled. Dark. Hellish. And extremely but ironically lacking. Lacking in the sense that the room seemed to have been built for the sole purpose of coupling and nothing else. One giant four-posted bed sat in the middle of the room covered in grey coverlets. Apart from a high table crafted from mahogany wood, only an opaque screen that almost reached the ceiling and a bathtub was included in the remaining furnishings. One window sat in the middle of the eastern wall, thickly veiled by dark grey draperies. The fireplace kindled lowly, twigs snapping as sparks popped gently. Dalila remained exactly where she was, trying not to look at the bed although it filled almost the entire room. A shuffling sound, from behind the screen, caused her head to snap up and her fingernails bit tightly into her palms.

  “My lord?” Her voice was shaky when she spoke but there was no use in pretending. Although Dalila would do anything to protect her daughter--walk through hell fire if she must--there was no denying that she always experienced a flood of trepidation whenever she stood in this room.

  She heard a grunt then, followed by the unmistakable sound of a slap and a loud gasp. A feminine gasp. Every muscle grew taut in her body as a woman, likely in her mid-twenties, came stumbling from behind the screen. Dalila barely had time to register the shock as the red-haired woman darted from the room, tears streaming down her face. Shock was instantly replaced with sympathy, and then with anger. Her husband was the worst of brutes and she prayed…prayed someone would have the courage to slit his throat.

  “So what are you waiting for?” came his barking question. “Undress!”

  Dalila’s hands shook as her fingers worked at the front ties of her blue bodice, her heart thumping so hard against her chest it actually hurt. Quickly pushing the dress down over her hips, she stepped out of the fabric pooled around her ankles and shed her chemise and corset. When her husband finally stepped out into view before her, he was stark naked, his erect manhood pointing towards her. Disgust bubbled in her stomach, sending a bitter taste up on her tongue. If Viktor de Gesch had been another man, she probably would have delighted in the power of his physique. Although they had a twenty-three-years difference between them, Dalila knew she would be lying if she’d denied the man had an attractive body. And his face, though no longer captured by the smoothness of youth, still held an appeal that most women sought after. But the alderman--her husband--would never hold her interest or her love. It would be a freezing day in hell before she felt even an iota of mellowness towards him.

  “You know what to do!” he snapped, eyes filled with disdain. “Get on your damn knees and suck me.”

  Dalila’s eyes burned but she would not cry. Her feet carried her swiftly over to him and she sunk down, face inches from his moist cock. Had he? The red-haired woman--had they been…? Working up some resolve, though hard it was, Dalila wrapped her hand around his rod and lowered her mouth over it. A sticky saltiness exploded on her tongue and she fought not to gag, the tears threatening against her eyelids now. She would not crumble. She would not crumble.

  She heard his satisfied groan but she kept her head lowered as she licked and sucked at his manhood, her mind conjuring all sorts of evil thoughts. She wanted so badly to just sink her teeth deep into the flesh of his pride and watch him suffer but that would not do either. He would certainly kill her for such an act and likely string up her lifeless body on the gates of his castle for everyone to see. It was a tempting plan, it was. But she had to live for Cat. She had to.

  Large hands suddenly gripped tightly into her hair, forcing her head lower and impaling her throat with his stiff rod. Dalila almost choked and a lone tear drop spilled over the brim of her left eye as he worked himself viciously in and out of her mouth.

  “Damn. Cock-sucking. Bitch!” His voice echoed into her ears before she felt herself being dragged upwards and shoved against the wall. “Let’s see how deep you’ll take me now.”

  Dalila shoved a hand out or else she would have connected face-first with the surface of the hard rough wall. One hand curled like an iron bar against her throat, so tightly that if she were to cant her head even barely, she would be placing her windpipe in grave danger. A second scarcely passed before he slammed into her, his length tore through the folds of her tender sex. A pained whimper flew pass her lips and the tears she’d been trying so hard to restrain finally broke free.

  He’d defeated her once again. Broken her. And she would allow him to do it all over and over again. As long as she was able to weather the torment and protect her daughter.

  * * *

  Dalila had not found the heart to face her daughter that night. Instead, she had stood just outside the bedchamber and listened as the nursemaid, Marge, read Cat a story and then set her off to sleep. Her heart felt as if it had been ripped to shreds. Far more damaging than the rawness she was feeling on the inside of her thighs and the stinging in her jaw where Viktor had slapped her into obedience.

  Sighing, Dalila held a hand to her quivering belly and walked as quickly as she could through the brightly lit halls towards her own chamber, a guard on her heels. She stumbled a little in her haste and almost sprawled to the floor but he grabbed her just in time. Angry--mostly at herself--she shrugged fiercely out of his grip. Harsh narrowed eyes regarded her but she only tilted her chin a little higher, defiance splurging through her veins.

  The guard muttered a curse beneath his breath and averted his gaze. Dalila marched towards her door, shoved it open, stepped inside and slammed it well and proper in his face. When she was content that she was alone, she released a long peevish shriek and slid down to the floor, her face dropped into her hands. How long? How long would she suffer?

  “I hear a good long cry often helps to ease the pain.”

  Dalila’s head snapped up so fast she almost dealt herself a fatal whiplash. Eyes widening, she scrambled to her feet, almost tripping on the hem of her gown. “Captain Carlisle?” What was he…? “What are you doing in my bedchamber? Get out! Now!”

  The man unfolded his large frame from the chair next to her bed. It was her favourite chair. The one she’d occupy on many a nights like this and read until sleep stole her from the reality of her circumstances. He moved forward and she stepped aside to gesture him to the door. But instead of leaving, the blasted man only slid the bolt firmly in place and stared at her.

  Of all the-- “What do you think you’re doing? Get out, I said!”

  “I do not take orders from you, my lady.”

  Dalila’s mouth dropped open. “Y-You don’t…” she sputtered. “I-I will report you to my husband and he’ll--”

  “With all due respect, Lady Dalila, I don’t believe the alderman would give a damn.”

  She swallowed. Retreating was the best option at the moment. Taking three swift steps back, she then broke into a run that took her to the other side of the chamber. There was only one exit, and this
man…this brute was standing right in front of it. But even from that distance, Dalila could not mistake the look in Captain Carlisle’s eyes. Pity. Sympathy. And desire. Mostly desire. Shaking, she retreated until her back was pressed hard against the wall. All of sudden, the chamber felt far too tiny. Too hot.

  Did he intend on raping her? Because she would not give herself freely. “What…what do you want?”

  The captain’s probing gaze glided across her face and then settled on the sore spot on her cheek. His nostrils flared and his eyes hardened even more. Dalila inhaled a shaky breath. What was he thinking? And why did she feel so inclined to find out?

  “That bruise should be tended to.”

  “I’m fine.” She was breathless, and she knew it but his voice sounded so--

  “You look as if you’ll collapse at any moment. You should rest.”

  “I said, I’m fine. Now please go. And do not come back. Ever again.”

  Captain Carlisle growled, actually growled and stalked over to her. Dalila gasped and darted to the left, hoping to escape him but he was too fast, and hands like band of steel clamped around her wrists. Firmly but not too hard to hurt her.

  “Let. Me. Go!” She yelled as hard as she could, directly into his ear but the man only hoisted her into his arms and before she knew it, she was being tossed onto the bed. “You monster! Is that what you do? You g-go around r-raping women?”

  Captain Carlisle groaned, his two brawny arms positioned on either side of her, trapping her inescapably. Dalila shoved at his chest to no avail but only found herself squirming beneath his hot appraisal as the hem of her gown rode high up to her thighs. She stiffened instantly, and hissed through clenched teeth, “Please move.”

  He didn’t budge. Not one bit. “You have charming emerald eyes,” he said. She gaped. And it was a full minute later that he finally eased away and headed for the door. “Do try to get some sleep, my lady.”

  TWENTY-FOUR

  “And you think he might be here somewhere?”

  Hope bloomed in her gut as Jolin perched on the edge of her chair, staring up at Tethran’s solemn expression. Sinclair stood to his left, arms crossed as he nodded. Could she really be getting somewhere in discovering her father’s whereabouts, and why he had run off in the first place? Well, she supposed she already knew the answer to the latter question, but why had he just left like that and not taken her with him? She refused to believe her father would have deserted her so without so much of a care or a goodbye.

  “We’re not absolutely certain but we did find a fellow who happened to recognize your father’s portrait. And even if he is here, it would seem he’s quite proficient at hiding.”

  Her heart rate sped. “Go on.”

  “Your father was last spotted at a Mr. Dunley’s home less than a fortnight ago. Mr. Dunley, I’ve come to understand, is a physician.”

  Jolin sprung to her feet. “A physician? Do you mean to say my father might be injured?”

  Sinclair stepped forward, his visage softening with what she could only term as tenderness. “Don’t worry. We spoke to the doctor. He said Mr. Wulf…--or Crymble--had only suffered a knife wound to his shoulder.”

  Jolin didn’t know if she should feel comforted or not by such news. While she had seen her father return home many a times with various bruises--the most being a black eye or a tender sprain--she’d never seen him afflicted with knife wounds. The thought almost made her sick. Her father was engaging in dangerous business, no matter how noble the cause, and she was not sure if she was in agreement with it at all. She did not need to lose another parent. At least not any time soon.

  “You needn’t worry overmuch. I’m sure he’s recovered by now,” Tethran said, reaching for her. His arms had become her refuge and source of strength these past few days. It was strange, and yet so gratifying.

  Nodding, she turned her face into the comfort of his chest and inhaled. He was so warm, his scent so very male; the smooth thumping of his heart so reassuringly soothing. “I miss him. If anything were to happen to him I don’t know what I’d do.”

  Tethran’s fingers caressed her scalp gently. “It’ll be fine. We’ll find him.”

  Sinclair cleared his throat. “Well, since I don’t particularly care for playing the gooseberry in the room for much longer, let me be the one to tell you, Miss Crymble, that we’ll be heading back to the castle in next two nights. This time, I will find Josephine.”

  Tethran’s arms slackened around her and he tipped her chin up with an index finger. “And by ‘we’, Sinclair means himself and me. Alone.”

  Jolin frowned but had no intention of arguing against logic. “Surely you don’t think I’d actually want to come, did you?”

  “Well, you were a bit adamant the last time--”

  “And I’ve learnt my lesson, thank you.” She delicately disentangled herself from his embrace and regarded Sinclair. “I really do hope you’re successful. That place is a cesspool, and I don’t know why I still expect any different judging by what I’ve seen so far. I wish to never go there again.”

  “Perhaps,” Sinclair said, clearly vexed. “Perhaps, it’s because we expect our leaders to be far better than the lot of us regular folks.”

  Tethran strode across the chamber, filled a mug with water from an ewer and brought it to her. “Drink.”

  She took it gratefully. “Thank you.” How had he known she was a bit thirsty?

  Sinclair chuckled, swiftly returning to his regular good-natured self, and turned to the door. “I’ll see you in both in the morning. Good night.”

  “Good night.” Jolin swallowed down another gulp of the refreshing liquid, watching as Tethran slid the bolt at the door. When he turned to face her again, his eyes were serious. She meant to reassure him even if he truly did not believe her. “I do mean it, you know.”

  One brow arched. “That you’ll not set a foot inside Castle Iqa again?”

  “That, too. I won’t even so much as pass those dreadful gates. When I remember them, I can only picture skeletons of dead cats hanging like decorations from the iron spokes.”

  Tethran threw his head back and laughed. “Cats? And not men?”

  She hid her own amused smiled behind the mug. “No. Cats.”

  “Well, at least now I’m convinced you’ll heed my advice.” His expression then smoothed almost instantly, getting all endearing it made her heart flutter. “You must promise to stay here where I know you’ll be safe.”

  Jolin stared as the look in his eyes transformed from concern to smouldering desire. Anticipation set her heart beat on overdrive and a pulse quivered with need between her thighs. Saints, she’d never thought she’d ever need a man quite so much. “I-I will.”

  Tethran took three swift strides that ended with the mug being plucked from her hand and set aside. She then found herself clutched tightly against his much larger, harder body, his hands already tugging up the skirts of her dress. Jolin shivered as the tips of his skilful fingers grazed her naked thighs, sending her nerves into a wanton frenzy.

  “You know, if I had not been busy searching for your father the last couple of days, I would have taken care of you.”

  His breath was so warm on her neck so almost begged him to kiss it. “You do take c-care of me.”

  A deep chuckle rumbled through his chest. “Not like this.”

  Jolin revelled in the way his lips traced a scorching path over her jaw and down the scope of her neck. In response, her fingers tightened on his shoulders, begging him to come a little closer. To fuse his body with hers and end her agony. She wanted his mouth on her--

  “You have such sensitive nipples,” he breathed, palming her breasts as if they were some invaluable artefact deserving of divine reverence. Jolin almost swooned and he lifted her to the bed, gazing down at her with a hunger she knew must be mirrored in her own eyes. “Do you want me, Jolin?”

  She sucked in a hissing breath. “You know I do.”

  Tethran bared his teeth in a
satisfied grin. “How do you want me?”

  Her cheeks burned red hot but she would not be shy. Not now, and not about what she wanted. “Firstly? Naked. So very naked.”

  His grin widened a fraction and he eased off the bed, working in pained slowness as he removed his clothes. He was magnificent, so very perfect. So…hers. She hoped. When he finally came back to her, their lips sought each other’s instantly in a clash of licking tongues and roaming hands. Good gracious! Kissing Tethran LeMark must be like sipping from an heavenly fountain. She wanted him so badly, her legs quivering to finally accommodate him, to have him rocking against her in the most sensual of dances.

  “I won’t be so hurried with you this time,” he said, parting the kiss. He yanked at the strings of her bodice and she eased up slightly off the bed to allow him to remove her dress. “I intend on having you all night, Jolin. To see every inch, to taste every drop of your sweetness.”