Authors: D Jordan Redhawk
Midia, an old hand at traveling with an army, waved the brunette close and pulled a bag of mending from the corner where she’d stowed it. The slaves sorted through the clothing and began repairs.
After an hour or so of silence, broken only by the tramp of feet and hooves or the jingle of armor and tack, Ursula glanced up from a linen shirt hem and asked, “How long have you been a slave?”
A smile quirked Midia’s lips but she didn’t look up. “You haven’t spent much time with other slaves, have you?”
Puzzled, Ursula shook her head. “I was the only slave in my village. And I’d only the one owner.”
“Don’t be too quick to ask that question,” Midia advised, tying off her thread. “Many slaves do not wish to revisit their capture.” She paused, biting off the excess and folding the breeches. “Take those women from your village. They’ll not wish to recall their first night as spoils of war.”
Amber eyes widened in understanding. “I’m sorry,” Ursula blurted. “I didn’t mean to offend!”
Midia laughed, leaning forward to pat the brunette’s arm. “It’s all right. I’ve no problem with answering. I only warn you about future troubles your curiosity may incur.” She pulled back, setting the breeches aside and selecting her next project. “I’ve been a slave all my life, the last ten years with Lady Azrael.”
“Where were you before?” Ursula asked, adding in a rush, “If you don’t mind my asking.”
“On a farm. My master’s son was a friend of Milady’s. When his father died, he had no use for me and asked if she did.” Midia, deep in memory as she stitched a burst seam, had a rueful grin on her face. “Our poor mistress…I cried for three days, nonstop. The master’s son had sold me, but kept my husband and child. Petracal was only five.” She shook her head. “As soon as Milady induced me to speak on the matter, she turned around and retraced our steps, demanding to purchase both Jastus and my son!”
Ursula stared, sewing forgotten as her mind boggled at such uncharacteristic compassion evinced by a slave owner. Especially one who had done such heinous things as Ursula witnessed in Theara. Finally, she said, “And you’ve been her body servant ever since?”
“Mmm hmm,” Midia nodded.
The brunette thought for long moments, sewing by rote. “Your husband,” she said. “He knows what your… um… duties are as Milady’s body servant?”
Midia raised a blonde eyebrow as she regarded the heavily blushing woman. “Aye, he knows. He’s not happy with it - especially in the beginning!” She rolled her eyes at a memory. “But like it or no, we owe Lady Azrael a tremendous debt. Our family is together because of her.”
Ducking her head, Ursula apologized. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”
”Turnabout’s fair play,” Midia said. “I’ve told you my tale. What of you? How did you end up the only slave in little Theara?”
Tables turned, Ursula found it difficult to speak as she stared at the passing countryside. She saw how easily such an innocent question could press someone into depression or anger.
“You don’t have to answer, Ursula,” Midia said softly. “Sometimes it’s simpler for those of us who’ve never been free - we’ve not lost what you had.”
“No,” Ursula insisted, taking a deep breath and looking at the blonde. “It’s a fair question. I’m fortunate to not have the horrific memories of those women.” She jerked her chin, indicating the villagers ahead. “I lived in another village a day’s travel east of Theara. We had a large family - eight children in all. A few years ago, blight took our crops. Da had to borrow seed to see us through another year.”
Ursula’s gaze returned to a passing meadow. “The next year held heavy drought. There was no way Da could repay his debts and our neighbors could ill afford the loss. Three of my sisters and I were given to farmers he’d borrowed heavily from.”
”This farmer, your master… It was his mother you stayed with?”
“Aye.” The brunette paused, deep in thought. ”She was a nice enough woman if stubborn. Quick with both tongue and a needle - she taught me more of needlework than I ever knew existed!”
Midia chuckled. “Then I’m fortunate to have you. As you see, Milady has great difficulty keeping her clothing in one piece,” she said, patting the sack of repairs.
Tension relieved, Ursula smiled in response. “I can embroider and knit, as well.”
“Beautiful! Worth your weight in gold.”
Laughing, the pair continued mending in companionable silence. The meadow gave way to a forest, which in turn became cleared fields. Little was seen at the occasional homestead, the farmers wisely remaining away from the army marching past.
“At formation, Lady Azrael said we were returning home,” Ursula ventured. “What’s it like?”
“Sunny and warm,” Midia said. With a mock shiver, she continued, “Not as cold during the winter as it is here. Milady’s villa sits on a slight rise and the land is hers as far as the eye can see.”
Ursula wondered aloud why a soldier, a general no less, would need so much property.
“She farms, of course; acres of different types of wheat, groves of fruit trees. Why, Lady Azrael has an entire grove dedicated to several strains of pears alone.”
Frowning, the brunette finished the shirtsleeve she was working on. “If she farms, why does she lead an army as well? Wouldn’t she prefer the peace to bloodshed?”
Midia shrugged. “Aye, I think she does. She seems happiest when we’re home. But, she leads well and has obligations to the King. I doubt he’d allow her to retire without a fight.”
Ursula blinked. It hadn’t occurred to her that their mistress might be just as enslaved as they were, chained to her liege as effectively as if iron circled her wrists and throat. The thought was disconcerting and she shied away from it, changing the subject. “Do you stay in Lady Azrael’s quarters? Or with your family?”
“With my family. There are occasional nights that I’m called upon to remain with Milady, but not often.” Midia stretched, easing cramped fingers and glancing about their surroundings. “There are two other body slaves besides us, Felicia and Vincenza.”
Following her lead, Ursula paused in her work. “Do they have families as well?”
“No. They’re both young, though a bit older than you,” Midia said after carefully eyeing the brunette.
“But...” Ursula frowned in thought, trying to reconcile the woman who would turn back to purchase a slave’s family with the one who would separate the very same family for a year or more at a time. “Why are you here then? Why didn’t she take one of the others so that you might remain with your husband and son?”
Midia leaned forward and took Ursula’s hand. “It’s not as it seems,” she said. “Plainly put, it is my turn to accompany Milady on campaign. She alternates between the lot of us so that none suffer prolonged hardship.” The blonde smiled and winked, patting the olive skin beneath hers. “Besides, Petracal is fifteen. He needs his father now more than a nursemaid mother.”
Further discussion was delayed as a halt was called. Midia briskly began packing up their repair work as the column ground to a stop, keeping the completed tasks separate from those items remaining. Orders were yelled from the front of the line and the soldiers fell out of formation.
“Come along,” Midia said, rising to her feet. “We must see if Milady has need of us during the midday meal.”
Late that afternoon the army made camp with the speed of long familiarity. Only the officers’ quarters and mess tent were erected; the main body of soldiers would sleep under the night sky. After all was settled, guard posts scheduled and manned, and a hearty stew served for supper, the men took to their blankets. Tomorrow and many days following would see more of the same. Exhausting as it was, the knowledge of returning home kept spirits high.
The sun was a fiery orb hanging just above the horizon when Azrael arrived at her tent. Her perimeter check had gone well, all the soldiers relaxed and alert. Ducking inside, she found food and wine waiting at the table. Her slaves were laying sheets on the bed, both dropping to their knees when they saw her.
“Ursula, attend me,” the general ordered, taking off her sword belt. “Carry on, Midia.”
Obediently, the brunette went to her mistress and began helping her out of her leather armor. Ursula piled it to one side for the moment, looking up at Azrael. “We brought food, Milady. Are you hungry?”
“Very,” the general agreed, sitting at the table. As the slave poured a mug of wine, Azrael asked, “Have you eaten?”
“Yes, Milady. While you were out.” Seeing her mistress was taken care of, Ursula collected the armor and laid it out in one corner. While there had been no battles that day, it had gotten sunny and warm through the afternoon. The armor was damp and needed to dry.
Azrael tucked into the stew as if starved, the day’s ride whetting her appetite. In no time she was wiping the bottom of her bowl with a piece of bread. Finished, she drained her mug and reached for her saddlebags, retrieving a scroll and quill.
Ursula refilled the mug from an ewer, collecting the empty bowl. “Would you like more, Milady?”
“No,” Azrael said with a wave of her hand, her attention on the scroll as she prepared to make an entry for the day.
Preparing to take the bowl to the kitchen, Midia intercepted the brunette with a shake of her head.
“You are to attend her,” the blonde whispered, taking the bowl. “Stay with her.”
Nodding, Ursula watched her go. She turned to gaze at the general who was engrossed in writing. Uncertain of what to do next, Ursula settled nearby on her knees, awaiting a command.
Azrael finished the day’s report, pleased it was short and sweet. She blew on the ink until it was dry and then rolled the parchment into a scroll, putting it away. Yawning, she sat back, mug in hand, dark eyes regarding her slave.
Ursula, head bowed, was well aware of her mistress’ attention. She felt it as an almost palpable thing, surrounding her, filling her, seeming to vibrate the very air she breathed. The brunette wondered it Azrael would hold her again, touch her, maybe kiss her once more.
“Attend me.”
A shiver of anticipation flickered through Ursula as she rose. She found Azrael’s mug half empty and refilled it. As soon as she set the ewer down, callused hands found her waist and she was pulled onto the general’s lap.
Azrael took satisfaction that the brunette didn’t stiffen at the sudden familiarity. Her hand caressed an olive toned thigh, pushing up beneath Ursula’s dress to gain further access. She watched the slave’s amber eyes close, saw the gentle rise and fall of her breathing increase, noted when full lips opened in a quiet sigh. “Ursula.”
The brunette dragged her eyes open. “Yes, Milady?” she asked, the husky sound of her voice surprising her.
“How is your jaw?” Azrael asked.
“Much better, Milady.”
“Good.”
Her mistress’ deep burr caused Ursula’s heart to flip flop in her chest. When Azrael kissed her, she was a bit more prepared, responding to the gentle demands with tentative grace.
Ursula’s lips moved with hers and Azrael sank into the kiss. As at the river, she teased her way inside, keeping her touch light. With thorough care, she explored the brunette’s mouth, finding it hot and sweet like warm honey.
Her jaw still a little sore, Ursula nevertheless forgot her pain. Azrael’s questing tongue played with hers in languid movements that set her body on fire. The brunette was finding it difficult to breathe under the onslaught, unsure of exactly what she was feeling. She only knew she didn’t want it to stop.
Azrael backed out of the kiss, amused at her slave’s attempt to prolong it. It was too soon, however, and she pulled away, her stern expression reminding Ursula of who and what she was.
A flicker of fear crossed the brunette’s eyes, wondering if she’d be punished for her forward behavior. Her face was flushed and it seemed her very skin was singing. Ursula swallowed as dark fingers traced her lips.
“Very nice,” Azrael complimented, a smile creeping across her face at the brunette’s blush. “I can’t wait to taste all of you.”
Startled at the innuendo, Ursula felt her temperature rise. She wasn’t certain whether it was embarrassment or arousal and it left her in a soft state of confusion.
Grinning, Azrael gave her thigh a gentle pinch and pushed the slave off her lap. “Go to bed, Ursula. We march at first light.”
“Yes, Milady.” Disappointed, the brunette went to the pallet and lay on her side. She touched her lips with a hint of wonder.
“Midia,” the general said to the returning slave.
“Yes, Milady.”
Ursula closed her eyes, hearing the two women obviously kissing and wondered why she wasn’t yet required in the general’s bed.
Chapter Six
The next four days were the same for Ursula - up before dawn, pack the general’s belongings, travel for hours in the wounded wagon and set up camp at night. While Midia prepared Lady Azrael’s bed, the brunette was required to attend their mistress, taking care of armor and food, and lounging in her lap while being kissed senseless. Every night the kisses grew longer, the caresses strayed further, causing Ursula difficulty breathing from the rampant arousal that coursed through her.
And every night, Midia would share the general’s bed.
Listening in the dark, Ursula’s imagination ran unchecked to the music of their activities. What did Midia do to cause that low growl, the one that rumbled in the brunette’s ears and shot straight to her loins? Where was Midia being touched when her moan was interrupted by a gasp of pleasure? What was it like to feel that dark skin? Was it soft to the touch or hard like the calluses of Azrael’s hands? Was Midia even allowed to touch, to respond naturally? Or were there constraints due to her position as a slave?
Invariably, Ursula’s questions went unanswered as the women groaned their climaxes. When they drifted off to sleep, she lay awake for hours, her body humming with a need she couldn’t define and dare not ease. The one time she had tried, hand lingering along the inside of her thigh when she thought all were asleep, her mistress ordered her to stop, a sultry voice piercing the dark. “Only I shall have that pleasure, Ursula,” she’d said.