The Redemption Found in a Gilded Cage

Image by Jo-B from Pixabay

The Rogue returned to society a new man.

 

People were stunned watching him court the Marquis’ daughter since it was rumored he seduced the girl shortly after her debut. Once the surprise wore off, his former mistresses snickered with malicious glee. 

 

Even his friends couldn’t suppress their mirth. Respectability denatured the Rogue, the spectacle of him as a suitor both pathetic and irresistible. 

 

But he bore the ridicule with grace and ignored his detractors with ease. Feeling foolish in the face of indifference, the same ladies and gentlemen awaited official word of their engagement.  All had to admit the Rogue had done very well for himself. 

 

He visited the Marquis and the Debutante every day, arriving in time for dinner and leaving before his host showed signs of fatigue. His manner couldn’t have been more pleasant, but the Rogue never requested an audience with his sweetheart’s father. 

 

With each visit, he intended to ask the Marquis for his blessing. 

 

His near fiancée was a love, eager to please, and with a sensual nature. And her naivety was astonishing. He knew that if she were to be his wife, he could have as many mistresses as he desired and she wouldn’t be the wiser. But he just couldn’t bring himself to propose.      

 

However, the Rogue was still a rogue. 

 

Their courtship continued, and as formal as his manners were to the Marquis and the Debutante when he left, he always came back when all the lights were out save one and climbed the trellis to an open window. 

 

There he would stay until the dark hours of morning. He always hoped to see the vagabond girl when he left and was always disappointed. The memory of his nemesis was with him always.  

 

Finally, the night came when the Rogue was caught.

 

Complacency had dulled his instincts and his timing.

 

Winter was giving way to spring and he had become careless, leaving tracks in the mud to the trellis beneath the Debutante’s window.

 

He didn’t notice, nor did he hear the Marquis enter his daughter’s rooms. He became aware only when the Debutante froze, her face going white as she pushed him off.

 

The Rogue turned to the blank face of the Marquis staring at him in bed with his daughter.

 

“How long has this been going on?” he asked.

 

The old man’s voice was feeble, looking from the Rogue to his daughter and back to him. 

 

The Rogue hesitated, struggling to find a believable lie.

 

“Since the very beginning,” he said.

 

“Then you will marry her, of course.”

 

The Marquis’ mouth quivered and he spoke without looking at them. The Debutante’s weeping echoed through the cavernous chamber.

 

“At least my father will be happy,” the Rogue thought and almost laughed aloud. 

 

He saw a future that would crush him.

 

His marriage would be a lifetime sentence of noble comfort with a woman he had little affection for. He saw the mistresses he would take, wives as bored with their husbands as he would be with his wife.

 

On occasion, he would seduce a virgin debutante during the years he was young enough, but only the really foolish ones and never the beauties.

 

If he was blessed, he may meet another woman like the Duchess who had spirit and imagination. But he knew that was unlikely, for he would never be as desirable as he was when he had his freedom. As time passed, his mistresses would grow older and less alluring until he succumbed and went to the courtesans.

 

Of course, he would only have the best and most beautiful of the profession. He would be able to afford them.

 

The Rogue saw the life that would be his and shuddered. 

 

His instincts came back and he rolled off the bed. He gathered his clothes before he knew what he was doing and leaped out the window.

 

The silence behind him was eerie for this was the worst thing he had ever done. He knew he was destroying the Marquis and his daughter as he climbed down the trellis.

 

He knew this would ruin him as much when his feet touched the ground. One gentleman never humiliated another and got away with it. 

 

But that thought didn’t stop the Rogue from fleeing across the yard to the trees throwing his clothes on as he went.

 

 

But even the Rogue couldn’t escape his shame for the disgrace he would bring on his father. He’d been proud of him for winning the heart of a Marquis’ daughter. There was pain in his heart, but the Rogue kept running, panicked that he couldn’t find his horse.

 

He heard galloping behind him and stopped. 

 

He knew it must be the Marquis coming to challenge him. A duel was the only way for a gentleman to restore his pride after a dishonor like this. 

 

The Rogue was relieved.

 

He was younger and faster than the Marquis, and would be preserved through victory. 

 

He heard the rhythm of more than one horse, wondering if the Marquis sent a posse after him. But he couldn’t run anymore and waited. 

 

The vagabond girl came out of the trees to the right of him. 

 

Then he saw his horse and understood why he heard more than one gait. 

 

He couldn’t see her face backlit by the full moon, her hair shining in its glow. She let go of the reins to his steed, then extended her hand and released one foot from her stirrup.

 

“You can take your horse, Rogue,” she said, “or you can come with me.”

What are Your True Desires?

Image by S. Hermann & F. Richter from Pixabay

Although I couldn’t imagine how the centuries-old Sorcerer would be able to execute a seduction of a young and beautiful girl like the Patron’s Daughter, it never crossed my mind that the Sorcerer wouldn’t look like himself.

The Sorcerer had transformed into a Brute.

He had the physique of a carnival strongman, with course black hair, beady dark eyes, and the crudest features I had ever seen. His thick lips curled in a grotesque smile when he saw the shock on my face.

He was anything but seductive.

The Brute was repugnant and my doom was certain.

I stood there, at a complete loss for words. The only introduction I could make of the Patron’s Daughter was a faltering wave of my hand.

Of course, she was livid.

“What is this!” she shrieked. “Addie, is this your idea of a joke? You nasty little vermin!”

For once, I couldn’t blame her.

There was raw hatred in her eyes when she glared at me, but I also understood that she was frightened. The whiny tone of her voice had soared to an unbearable pitch.

“Not at all,” the Brute replied. “I am exactly who Addie says I am.”

Even his voice was different.

Instead of the Sorcerer’s resonant baritone, the Brute had a scratchy voice.

The Patron’s Daughter’s face was white and her eyes narrowed into slits as she looked the Brute over.

“I beg your pardon. You hardly seem the type of acquaintance a noble family would seek out.”

The Brute laughed.

“Of course I’m not. Where did you get an idea like that?”

“Addie told me you could give me what I want! She said you could see the desires of my soul! She’s a filthy liar!”

“She is not,” the Brute replied. “Because what Addie said is true.”

What an incredible feat of will it was that I managed to remain standing.

The closest I could ever come to describing those moments was an absence of sensation that surpassed numbness.

Yet I still recognized the significance that the Patron’s Daughter remained in the cabin instead of running away.

Suddenly I realized that my active role in the creation of this intrigue had pretty much ended.

I hoped the Sorcerer was as cunning and wily as legend had always described him, for my destiny was now in his hands.

“How will you bring me my true desires?” the Patron’s Daughter screeched. “That should make an outrageous story how you will bring me and the Noble Son together!”

She started to laugh, a humorless noise that grated on my ears. The sound was piercing, keening towards the abyss of hysteria as tears streamed down her cheeks.

The Brute said nothing at first.

I finally recognized the expression of the Sorcerer when the Brute raised his right brow, along with his penetrating and subtly mocking gaze. His step was almost imperceptible as he came closer to the Patron’s Daughter.

“Is that what you expected, fancy girl? To come here and find the Noble Son on a golden platter with a lavish ring as a token of his undying passion for you?”

The Patron’s Daughter said nothing. She scowled and looked away.

“Your disappointment should hardly surprise you then,” the Brute continued, taking another invisible step towards her. “Wouldn’t you agree? The gifts I offer are your true desires.”

“I’m here because I believed you could help me marry him!”

“That may be why you came, but is that what you truly want?”

“Of course it is!”

The Patron’s Daughter glared, her cheeks red.

But the Brute took no notice of her frustration and rage. His dark eyes bored into her.

“Really?” he said softly. “Do you long for him? Does the Noble Son haunt your dreams? Do you ache for him when you lie alone at night?”

I could scarcely breathe.

Although the Brute focused only on the beautiful prey in his sights, he spoke of my experience. That was exactly what I had endured these past weeks since the Noble Son had left.

For the Brute to speak of that with such intimacy and certainty pierced my heart, and the burn of tears begged to fall from my eyes.

I blinked them away and swallowed hard, my hands balled into tight fists. I refused to allow that release. I could not afford any weakness in such a moment.

But the Patron’s Daughter only laughed. I hated her even more than I thought possible when she did that.

She covered her mouth, caught off guard by the abrupt response of involuntary humor.

But it was revolting.

I could hear the malice of ridicule in the giggles pushed past her lips. Her shoulders shook uncontrollably, and several minutes passed before she could stop.

“Why is that funny?” the Brute asked.

“Because he was so boring,” the Patron’s Daughter said, in between sniggers.

“Of course, the Noble Son would be boring. Kind, considerate people are such dullards, aren’t they, fancy girl?”

This excerpt is out of my WIP, “The Shepherd and the Courtesan.” If you’d like to read a previous excerpt, click HERE.

The Last Time

Image by jodeng from Pixabay

His original intention had been to mold her into the perfect concubine.b

But the Sorcerer was surprised at the pleasure he took in mentoring her.  She had a most intense focus, intelligent with a gift for asking the right questions. 

The Sorcerer could not resist such a pupil. 

As the months passed, he gave her far more knowledge than he meant to, going beyond the ancient texts on carnal arts. 

In the past few days, he struggled to find new lessons and realized he’d taught her everything he knew. 

But he couldn’t regret that decision. 

Once the years of civilized denial shed from her, unveiled was an animal magnetism unusual for women. 

Her features were as savage as ever, but the ugliness now suited the girl and made her presence devastating.  

When she strode into his Caverns, it was with the strut of an outlaw. The Sorcerer was overwhelmed with pride for his creation. She was a masterpiece.

Then there was their coupling. 

He had never experienced anything quite like her. From the first night, she plunged into the realm of fantasy with breathtaking abandon. 

And the pleasure that was already exquisite became indescribable when the girl showed initiative and nurtured her unique expression in the subtleties of physical love. 

This was the only time a seduction borne from illusion became passion that pulsed with life of its own. 

The Sorcerer cherished this chance to forget who and what he was, succumbing to the allure of being a man taking possession of his woman, only to want her more after his craving was satisfied. No conquest ever had this effect on him. 

It was dangerous to don the essence of another man. 

The morning the Sorcerer saw how little was left of the ruby liquid, a melancholic stupor weighed on his limbs as he slid that vial back in the rack and chose a deep green. 

He would never feel that way again once the Trainer was used up. 

Yet the Sorcerer prepared his lesson with the object of introducing another lover, hoping he hadn’t waited too long. 

Then his protégée was late. 

By the time he heard the near silent footfall on the stairs, he was convinced she wasn’t coming. 

There was no relief to his unease when he saw her. 

The girl was different tonight. 

She was almost beautiful with her cheeks flushed and her eyes glimmering. And the Sorcerer sensed a current running through her so strong the air around the girl was palpating. 

She was excited about something. But the cause of her excitement had nothing to do with him or the Trainer’s essence.

She settled into the sofa as always, and the Sorcerer pulled the tapestry. 

The subject was one he’d already taught about positions for the body that would pleasure the woman no matter the skill of her lover. He planned to segue in the middle and introduce the need for a seductress to know many men, but the girl noticed immediately. 

She folded her arms and frowned, tapping her foot until he was distracted from talking.

“You spoke about this several months ago,” she said.  “Don’t you remember?”     

“Of course I do, but this lesson has another conclusion.”

She cocked one brow and smirked.

“I’m familiar with these positions as you know, so why don’t you conclude now?”

Startled, the Sorcerer couldn’t think of anything to say. 

He felt awkward pulling the vial from his pocket, but disguised his uncertainty with flair, sweeping the essence to the torch where the vial glowed emerald in the light of fire. The richness of the color lent him a moment of optimism. Perhaps this would be another form of ardor. 

“This came from a man celebrated for his poetry when he was alive,” he said. 

The girl raised her brows, yet remained quiet.

“He was tormented as I recall, but very passionate.  He was also handsome and revered the feminine mystique. I think you’ll be pleased with him.”

“Why should I be?”

“I admit I should have mentioned this some time ago. But a seductress is wise to have many lovers.”

“I don’t think so.” 

“This is part of our agreement,” he countered.  “You are more than ready to-”

“You have nothing left to teach me, do you?”

Her question caught him unawares. But she was right. 

So exhilarated he’d been with his gifted student, he’d lost sight of his plan, teaching her in six months what he meant to pass on over many years. 

The girl leaned back in the blood red velvet of the golden sofa, her wide mouth curved in a closed smile and the Sorcerer cursed himself a fool.  She was perfectly still, but he could sense a restlessness which hadn’t been in her the previous night.

“Sorcerer,” she said.  “Have I pleasured you more than any woman ever has?”

“You have pleased me greatly as you promised,” he said.  “But I wouldn’t go so far as to say that.”

“Again, I don’t believe you,” she said, without a hint of arrogance in her voice.

The Sorcerer was impressed. 

This was the mark of true self-possession. A swell of pride rose up. His protégée had mastered the soul of seduction, but he was loath to admit that. 

“Your disbelief isn’t enough,” he said.  “You must prove that beyond any doubt and…”

He extended the poet’s essence. In response, she waved the vial away.

“Have you exhausted the Trainer?”

“Not yet.”

The Sorcerer went to his collection, lifting the vial with a few drops left.  He turned and saw the girl standing behind him.  

She took the essence from him and held it to the nearest torch. Her sinewy neck curved as she looked up, tears glistening in her eyes at the scant ruby liquid, swirling all she had left of the Trainer.

“This is the last night I come to you,” she whispered, her voice husky. 

This excerpt is out of my novel “Ella Bandita and the Wanderer.” If you’d like to purchase the ebook, click here.

The Deliverance of a Wild Stallion

Image by Bhakti Iyata from Pixabay

Her initiation into love was vivid in her dreams.

The girl relived the bite of his lips, the caress of rough palms, the heat rising within her. 

The Phantom had been good to his word. 

The next time they coupled, he had taken his time, introducing her slowly to sensations in her body she never dreamed possible. 

The girl whimpered from the memory. 

But she was still caught unawares and bit her lip before the moan of flush tingled bliss split her open again. 

Sprawling her arms, she turned on her back and awoke when her hand fell on his bony trunk. 

The girl opened her eyes to the Sorcerer watching her. 

He was already dressed, his robes falling over the edge of the bed while her garments were in a heap on the floor. 

The girl pulled away, avoiding the Sorcerer’s eye as she reached for her rumpled gown. She was aghast when she saw red stains on the back of her skirts. 

Glancing to the bed, she saw drops of blood on the sheets. Loathing filled her when she looked up and saw the Sorcerer holding her petticoats with a discreet smile.     

“You have an hour before the rooster crows,” he said. 

The girl laced up her boots and ran through the corridor as the loathing seeped into her bones and made it unbearable to be inside her flesh. 

She was relieved to see the Gateway was already open when she came to the main hall. 

The sky above was the deep lavender gray of a morning that was soon to come. 

She couldn’t get out fast enough, sprinting up the spiral and burying any lingering thoughts about the night before.  She was almost to the top when that deep voice echoed up the tunnel and arrested her.

“Tonight?”  

The girl looked down at the Sorcerer. She forced herself to go numb when she looked into his colorless eyes and nodded.

“After everybody has gone to sleep, I’ll come to you then.”

The loathing made her flesh crawl when she came out of the Caverns. 

Now outside, the girl pushed that sentiment away when she saw thick trees stretching in all directions. 

She’d given no thought to her return when she left the house, and now had no idea the best route out of the woods. 

She smiled at the thought that it would likely make no difference if she were caught coming back. 

Then she realized she’d a fool to humiliate her father. 

The girl ran through the woods, praying to her mother to get her back before the first servants woke up.

Finally, she came out to the north where the river severed the Ancient Grove from the expanse of the Abandoned Valley.

The giant gray stallion was at the river again. 

In the dim light before sunrise, the glossy coat of shadows made him invisible until he moved, raising his long neck from the water. 

The girl stopped when she saw him, the magnificent animal making her forget her distress for a moment. 

He had been a colt when he ran away, yet he had already possessed the size and strength of a full-grown stallion as well as an untamable spirit. 

The day he had been branded, the colt felled the stable hands who had seared the Patron’s crest into his flank and escaped to the Abandoned Valley where he had run wild ever since. 

She remembered how badly she’d wanted to ride him and how insistent the Trainer had been when he refused.

“He’s almost more horse than I can handle,” he’d said. “So forget it, little Miss. This is one who will choose his master, if he ever does at all.”     

She stood motionless, hardly daring to breathe, knowing the wild equine would flee if she made a move. 

The stallion regarded her for a moment. 

But instead of running for distant fields as she expected, he crossed the river, snuffling where the current was strongest. 

When he reached the other side, the girl’s head was no higher than the lower half of his trunk. 

Then the giant steed folded his front limbs and kneeled before her, low enough for the girl to climb on his back.  Her legs didn’t stretch down half his flanks. 

But the girl knew she would ride him perfectly well, clutching strands of his silvery mane and clicking her tongue.

Her breath caught in her throat when he lurched into a run. 

She had ridden the fastest stallions in her father’s stable since she was a child, but she had never encountered power like this. 

As the stallion ran her through the fields and orchards, the girl was cleansed of the loathing inside her, its poison purged into breath and motion. 

It was the most exquisite ride of her life, and it ended too soon when the shadowy equine came to a stop at the edge of the garden, where newborn lilies were almost fully open. 

Reluctantly the girl dismounted.

As soon as her feet touched the ground, her mount turned away.

Before stealing back inside her father’s house, the girl watched the wild gray stallion run for the Abandoned Valley, his massive shape emerging from the shadows as the first rays of gold and rose broke over the horizon.

This excerpt is out of my novel, Ella Bandita and the Wanderer. If you’d like to buy the ebook off the Free Flying Press website, Click Here.

Or if you’d like a free novelette that is Part 1 of the novel first - of which this scene is a part, Click Here.