Saving Sara (Masters of the Castle) (23 page)

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B-Flick

Black Sheep

Daughter of the Strong

The Diva

Enemies

The Great Prank

Jinxie’s Orchids

Katy Run Away

Kindred Spirits

Life After Rachel

The Locket

The Miner’s Wife

Mistress

Morogh the Demon

Mountain Man

My Lady Robin Hood

The Next Ex

Saga: Constance’s Story

Spanking Tails I thru X

The Suffragettes

Treasure

Varden’s Lady

Masters of the Castle Series:

Holding Hannah (Book One)

Kaylee’s Keeper (Book Two)

Saving Sara (Book Three)

“Shit,” Sam said as soon as he was close enough for Marshall to hear him over the cacophony of hammers, saws, coordinated shouting and all the cursing that went along with sixty workers and a fully operational re-construction site. “It’s Goodson again.”

“Yeah, I recognized the car.” Passing the building plans to his foreman, Marshall turned to watch the car park. Sam looked up at the castle—their castle—a fifteenth century monstrosity of cool gray stone, lovingly shipped block by block from its native Scottish soil on three different boats before finally meandering its way, first by train and then by truck, into this long-abandoned Ohio wheat field. The outside was almost complete. Only the outer walls and towers (and a smattering of outbuildings, but they’d get to those when they could) were still under construction. The interior renovations had started, but there was still a lot left to do. The stairs had gone up just last night and over half the marble had yet to be laid, but give it another month…just one more month of sixty hard-working men, most of them future guests and volunteers…and the Castle, Marshall’s life-long ambition and Sam’s fondest daydream (first, at age six because he was just nerdy enough to want to be a knight when he grew up, and then later on in early manhood, when his kink had grown in and all he could think about was wanton maidens being spanked and deflowered in the most deliciously depraved ways) would be ready for play.

That is—if they could somehow convince Inspector Goodson to sign their remaining operating licenses and permits.

Zoning and construction had been embarrassingly easy to get by comparison. Those inspectors were all business, making their tours of the site, checking off all concerns on their clipboards with minimal interest in the end game. Hell, not only had the Fire Marshall passed them, but he and his wife had already quietly signed on as guests during the Castle’s opening weekend.

But not Goodson.  Oh no.  Not Goodson.

This was his third visit to the partially completed Castle and their first appeal. Apparently, Goodson had a problem with BDSM and now, if Marshall couldn’t convince the county inspector to grant all their licensing and use permits, the Castle would not be opening for business.

Sam took a deep and calming breath, swallowed back the urge just to walk out there and punch the sanctimonious prick.  Instead, he let Marshall walk out ahead of him to greet the man who had made it his single-minded goal to destroy not only the two of them, but every one of the six core members who had risked their entire financial futures to make this dream a reality.

Having parked, Goodson was just getting out of his car. Noticing he was being watched, the inspector smiled broadly—a crocodile smile if Sam ever saw one—and raised his hand in greeting.

“Who’s that with him?” Sam asked, suddenly noticing the woman trailing along in Goodson’s shadow.

“I don’t know.” Marshall raised his hand in turn. He even managed to smile, albeit through gritted teeth (something Goodson wouldn’t be able to see from there) and his sharp blue gaze drifted past the inspector to the slender brunette. She was small, barely coming to the top of Goodson’s shoulder.  She must be familiar with job sites. Although she wore a dress suit (pants would have been better), at least she had the sense to wear flat shoes. The parking lot hadn’t yet been graded and graveled; heels would have sunk all the way in and could have resulted in a broken ankle within steps.

“Just say the word,” Sam growled into his best friend’s ear. “I can have Casey and that big-ass strap-on of hers down here in ten minutes. Another ten after that, I guarantee we’ll have our permits.”

Marshall almost laughed. “Not if he enjoys it.”

“Ha. Twelve ounces of jalapeno lube says he doesn’t enjoy anything for days.”

Now Marshall did laugh. “And the brunette?”

Sam looked at her, turning her ear to something Goodson was saying and tugging at the sleeve of her business jacket as if she were trying to hide her arm from view. There was a story there, and his Dom’s curiosity perked to know it. He looked her over, as if seeing her for the first time all over again. She was a pretty little thing. He was a great admirer of pretty little things. Too bad she worked for the enemy. He smirked. “We’ll tag-team her.”

“You’re incorrigible.”

“Ha. But now you’re thinking about it too, aren’t you?” Sam lowered his voice because both Goodson and the woman were close enough now to overhear them. His dark eyes roved her one last time, but then he snorted. “Heaven help us if she’s anything like Goodson. I’d probably need an icepick just to crack those pretty legs open.”

Marshall grunted, a non-committal sound, and Sam, burly arms folded across his chest and one finger stroking idly back and forth across his lip, found himself wondering if it might not be worth the effort.

“This is fantastic!” Selena stepped off the tour bus grinning, her blue eyes wide and sparkling. “Have you ever seen anything like this?”

Disembarking behind her, Kaylee gave her new friend a nudge on the shoulder to keep her moving and then stepped down onto the gravel parking lot beside her. She knew her own expression could not have been any less awed. The Castle looked just like…well, a castle. The medieval stone-block structure towered atop its earthen plateau, surrounded by sparse acres of grassy meadows, which were in turn surrounded by tall, leafy trees. Condemned as a derelict (according to the six-panel photo-packed brochure, which Kaylee had faithfully read the whole way here), it was spared the indignity of the wrecking crew by an anonymous overseas buyer. Dismantled on the moors of its native Scotland, it was moved—first by cargo ship, then train, then truck—until it arrived at its new home in America, where building authorities nickel and dimed and permitted all restoration attempts half unto death before finally—finally!—allowing its noble reconstruction. And now, here it sat, a grand and historical site, slightly out of place in this remote Ohio valley and ultimately considered by the kinky-inclined to be
the
resort to end all fantasy resorts.

Multinational banners snapped and waved in the breeze along the parapet walls. The massive iron portcullis was raised then the drawbridge lowered; beyond that, the cobble-stone courtyard of a bygone era awaited its most recent busload of vacationers. There were wooden carts, horses neatly stabled amongst round bales of hay and sacks of grain. Leather harnesses, pony whips and riding crops that sent tiny thrilling shudders racing up her spine hung casually about. It was truly awe-inspiring, not to mention a little
bit scary, but Kaylee was not immune to the historical romanticism attached to every crenellated tower, high-arching doorway and ghastly grinning gargoyle.

“We are going to have such a good time,” Selena squealed, clutching at her arm and hugging it.

Kaylee certainly hoped so. In fact, she had every expectation that she would have a fabulous time. Fantasies fulfilled, the website had claimed. Anonymity assured, the brochure vowed. Safe, sane, consensual play was advertised on every ad and every page. The reviews (and not just those posted on the Castle’s website) had raved that this was a "must go" place, and Kaylee had saved her pennies for almost two years, mentally debated for six months, changed her mind no less than two dozen times then finally purchased, not the ten-day package or even the five—she just didn’t have enough money for that.  What Kaylee had, though, was still her dream come true: three full days in a kink-oriented castle that promised to be the vacation of a lifetime.

Singles or couples welcome. Bed, board and costumes provided. Consensual atmosphere strictly enforced. Art gallery, gift shop, group activities and how-to panels available, and on the last day of every month, a masquerade ball. She wouldn’t get to see that, darn it, but everything else…

Beside her, Selena screeched another excited squeal and grabbed her hand; behind her, a man wanting to disembark cleared his throat. Kaylee quickly got out of the way and they moved to stand in line with twenty other people while their suitcases were unloaded from the outer luggage compartments.
En masse,
they then headed for the main gate.

This many people all tromping across the drawbridge at one time sounded like the marching of a small army, and it sent a gaggle of women in maid costumes (some quite modest, some anything but) scampering from the courtyard where they had been setting up chairs in a semi-circle near the front door. They assembled into a hasty line at the bottom of the main steps, looking as one to a tall, butler-like figure waiting at the door. His hands were clasped behind his back and a neat cluster of birch switches peeked out from behind his leg. At a gesture from him, the line of maids retreated up the steps and vanished into the house. The last maid through the door received a snap on her skirted fanny from that birch-switch bundle. The maid barely made a sound, but Kaylee felt that snap all the way across the courtyard. Her bottom tightened, tingled, suddenly so sensitive that she could feel the scraping fabric of her panties and jeans with every step she took.

Beside her, Selena’s fingers clutched at Kaylee’s arm, squeezing as she squealed yet again. Her face was flushed; her eyes, bright. That single swat put a bounce of excitement in both their steps as they passed under the shadow of the iron portcullis and into the cobblestone courtyard.