teeth!"
Anger gave back Catherine's eyes some of their life as she flushed at their blunt appraisal.
The blonde blew a loose wisp of hair out of her faee. "Ye must have put Culhane out more than a bit. He's a moody sort at best, but he an't ordinarily nasty."
Crimson shrugged dreamily. "I wouldn't mind if he was in a black temper all the time, so long as he kept me on me back!"
Catherine was incredulous. "You enjoy his attentions?"
The brunette closed her eyes and acquired a lewd grin. "Like a cat loves her cream."
"But, he's . . ."
"Violent?" the blonde finished for her. "Sometimes. Then he's like a storm breakin', but sometimes he's slow and easy. No angel can play a harp better than Culhane plays a woman."
Catherine's eyes skeptically flicked over the pair. "I gather you're not forced to . . . entertain his men?"
"A' course not," the blonde said, beginning to paw about for the prisoner's clothes. "Invited is what ye'd probably be callin' it, when ye was a lady."
"I am still a lady!" Catherine retorted furiously.
"Now don't be gettin' upset," clucked Crimson, pulling firmly at the quilts. "Irene don't meanit personal."
Catherine clutched her last protection with the tenacity of a worried crab. "Personal! Culhane is turning me into a . . . he's no better than a . . . oh! Give that back! Stop it!" She scratched and flailed, but the two got her into her skirt and blouse. After a brief inspection Irene shook her head. The pair exchanged glances, then yanked at Catherine's neckline. She gasped and grabbed, but the drawstring slid to an impenetrable knot just short of letting the garment slip from her shoulders.
Both women nodded simultaneously. "That's better. Nuns is apt to spoil the lads' appetites."
Catherine glared downward. "I won't do it!"
They ignored her. "Leave her hair up, don't ye think, Milly?"
"Aye, she'll do fine."
Milly picked up the iron ball; then each got an arm between them, and by lifting the kicking prisoner clear of the floor, the two had her through the corridors in a trice. They set her down in front of the doors of the common dining hall.
Catherine's knees went weak. She was to be raped again, not once, but many times by many men. The remembered pain of her only experience thudded in her mind like a hammer, and color drained from her cheeks. She took a shaking step backward.
Crimson firmly stopped her. "Buck up now, dearie."
Irene whispered a last reassurance. "And don't be worryin' yer head about the irons. Some men like 'em!" They opened the doors, then shoved her through. She stumbled as dead weight jerked at her ankle. In the midst of bewildering noise and smoky candles, she numbly straightened, heart pounding. Sudden silence surrounded her, then a wall of stares.
Liam, at the head of his table, turned with the others when the arresting silence drew his attention to the door. Sean, facing that direction from the seat on his brother's right, impassively watched his prisoner's halting entrance as Liam's jaw tightened. The girl's eyes reminded him of a trapped fawn. Her feet were bare and hair loosely piled atop her head escaped in tendrils, about her cheeks and throat. Around her neck, like an obscenity, was a narrow band of iron; a heavier band was locked about one ankle. When Liam heard the scrape of the weight, something burst in his mind. Without looking at his brother, he rose and walked the length of the room to meet her. The girl gazed at him in bewilderment; then, as he stopped to pick up the ugly iron ball, her eyes filled with stunned gratitude. Close to her, Liam could see the velvet texture of her skin, accentuated by the blouse's rough material; for an instant he wished she were a whore he could carry away to the darkness. He blushed, ashamed of his thoughts. "I cannot ask your forgiveness for bringing you here; what I've done is unforgivable. I'm sorry with all my heart. . . my lady." He offered her his arm.
She hesitated, then placed her hand on it and murmured,
Anger gave back Catherine's eyes some of their life as she flushed at their blunt appraisal.
The blonde blew a loose wisp of hair out of her faee. "Ye must have put Culhane out more than a bit. He's a moody sort at best, but he an't ordinarily nasty."
Crimson shrugged dreamily. "I wouldn't mind if he was in a black temper all the time, so long as he kept me on me back!"
Catherine was incredulous. "You enjoy his attentions?"
The brunette closed her eyes and acquired a lewd grin. "Like a cat loves her cream."
"But, he's . . ."
"Violent?" the blonde finished for her. "Sometimes. Then he's like a storm breakin', but sometimes he's slow and easy. No angel can play a harp better than Culhane plays a woman."
Catherine's eyes skeptically flicked over the pair. "I gather you're not forced to . . . entertain his men?"
"A' course not," the blonde said, beginning to paw about for the prisoner's clothes. "Invited is what ye'd probably be callin' it, when ye was a lady."
"I am still a lady!" Catherine retorted furiously.
"Now don't be gettin' upset," clucked Crimson, pulling firmly at the quilts. "Irene don't meanit personal."
Catherine clutched her last protection with the tenacity of a worried crab. "Personal! Culhane is turning me into a . . . he's no better than a . . . oh! Give that back! Stop it!" She scratched and flailed, but the two got her into her skirt and blouse. After a brief inspection Irene shook her head. The pair exchanged glances, then yanked at Catherine's neckline. She gasped and grabbed, but the drawstring slid to an impenetrable knot just short of letting the garment slip from her shoulders.
Both women nodded simultaneously. "That's better. Nuns is apt to spoil the lads' appetites."
Catherine glared downward. "I won't do it!"
They ignored her. "Leave her hair up, don't ye think, Milly?"
"Aye, she'll do fine."
Milly picked up the iron ball; then each got an arm between them, and by lifting the kicking prisoner clear of the floor, the two had her through the corridors in a trice. They set her down in front of the doors of the common dining hall.
Catherine's knees went weak. She was to be raped again, not once, but many times by many men. The remembered pain of her only experience thudded in her mind like a hammer, and color drained from her cheeks. She took a shaking step backward.
Crimson firmly stopped her. "Buck up now, dearie."
Irene whispered a last reassurance. "And don't be worryin' yer head about the irons. Some men like 'em!" They opened the doors, then shoved her through. She stumbled as dead weight jerked at her ankle. In the midst of bewildering noise and smoky candles, she numbly straightened, heart pounding. Sudden silence surrounded her, then a wall of stares.
Liam, at the head of his table, turned with the others when the arresting silence drew his attention to the door. Sean, facing that direction from the seat on his brother's right, impassively watched his prisoner's halting entrance as Liam's jaw tightened. The girl's eyes reminded him of a trapped fawn. Her feet were bare and hair loosely piled atop her head escaped in tendrils, about her cheeks and throat. Around her neck, like an obscenity, was a narrow band of iron; a heavier band was locked about one ankle. When Liam heard the scrape of the weight, something burst in his mind. Without looking at his brother, he rose and walked the length of the room to meet her. The girl gazed at him in bewilderment; then, as he stopped to pick up the ugly iron ball, her eyes filled with stunned gratitude. Close to her, Liam could see the velvet texture of her skin, accentuated by the blouse's rough material; for an instant he wished she were a whore he could carry away to the darkness. He blushed, ashamed of his thoughts. "I cannot ask your forgiveness for bringing you here; what I've done is unforgivable. I'm sorry with all my heart. . . my lady." He offered her his arm.
She hesitated, then placed her hand on it and murmured,
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