For the hundredth time Faith Baldwin allowed her gaze to rove around the tiny hollow in the hills which, for today, encompassed her imprisonment. For the hundredth time, too, she fingered the iron band around her ankle and its pendent padlock which stood between herself and freedom. Her eyes followed the long lengths to where they were joined to a giant ring within the chunk of ancient stone no one could move. She sighed and kicked irritably at her iron tether but was nonetheless grateful to Johnny Catlin for fastening her this far from the camp. It made a break and gave her a chance to think.
Faith Baldwin had been prisoner to The Cause for more than a month and seemed likely to remain so for the rest of her life. She had become accustomed to the "hit and run" existence of the tiny group of rebels everyone called The Bhoys in an admiring Irish brogue. She had expostulated with Ratigan. their leader, to no avail. "There's no need for you to drag me around like a camp follower or a bundle of baggage. The government's offered an outrageous ransom for me, why don't you take it and let me go?"
'"Cause you're English, love, that's why. Every ransom offer is loaded with traps. We don't need their lousy ransom money and they won't give us guns for you." Ratigan had laughed at her sulky face. "How many guns do you think you're be worth, love?"
"You can buy guns with the money. Please take it and let me go."
"We don't buy guns, they're given as a gift to the Holy Cause, you know that. Sorry girl, you're going to stay with me a long, long time."
"As your personal possession. Can you take pride in using me the way you do?"
Ratigan was a fugitive from wealth, he had done Oxford and the London School of Economics but frequently employed a bit of Irish raillery. "Would ye be Catling yourself a whore, lassie? Come now, 'tis an honorable estate, so it 'tis." He chuckled, "Ye don't get paid a penny for your pretty pussy. By rights I should share ye with m'boys. Maybe ye'Id be liking that."
Faith ignored the implied insult. There were a great many things to ignore about her present condition. Doggedly she propounded logic, "What girl wants to be a camp follower to a ragged bunch of rebels who can never win the war they fight. I sometimes think you just shoot people out of perversity. This Cause of yours doesn't really exist."
"Careful, lass, you're cutting close to the bone."
Faith bit her lip. She had been whipped once for inserting a barb tongue beneath Irish skin to touch Irish sensibilities. True, it had by no means been a flogging but Faith had been bitterly humiliated by the exposure to the pain. She was careful now to treat everything Irish with lip service to The Cause. "I'm sorry," she said hastily. "I don't mean to offend. But, Ratigan, please, tell me why you keep me here and how long I must remain your prisoner?"
There had been no satisfactory answer, there never was. She remembered the ambush under which her escort had died under a hail of rebel bullets and being dragged, fighting and screaming, from the car to be bound and gagged and tossed into the back of a truck. She had been marched in front of Ratigan as a prize of war, facing him in her full fury of shock and indignation. Her kidnappers had been none too careful of her clothes and Faith was well aware of a bare breast proclaiming itself proudly from a rent in her blouse.
"What is it you want of me?" she had asked bluntly, "Rape or ransom?" She tugged savagely at wrists tied behind her back. "Surely you don't have to bind me like an animal ready for slaughter!"
Ratigan had laughed at her dramatics. He had laid her on the floor and raped her with a competence to command respect. Faith constantly remained herself of bound wrists which technically made it rape but otherwise was none too sure. Ratigan had the charm of the Irish along with a fascinating disregard for hypocrisy. "I fucked you because I wanted to," he told her with a smile as he helped her to stand. "I'll do it again whenever I feel like it. It puts me even with the daughter of Hilary Baldwin, that mealy-mouthed bastard cabinet member. I'll make you wish you had some else for a father.
Ratigan's use of her body had been clear cut and understood from the beginning. Faith knew herself a prize of battle, a captive maiden to assuage her captor's lust. It was no more than she had expected when pulled from the bullet riddled car. It was almost a relief to have it over and done with. She now fought a rear-guard action.
"There's no reason to keep me bound or chained up or any of that silliness. I'm sure I can't escape so there's no need for story book restraints. Untie my hands."
For answer Ratigan had put a rope noose around her neck, trailing a rope tether to the ground. He had also tied her elbows painfully together in what Faith knew to be an emphasis of authority.
"Things can always get worse for you, Miss Baldwin," he assured. "Any more complaints?'
Miss Faith Baldwin had complaints aplenty but choked them back. Roped elbows were a new experience and they hurt terribly. She knew they were intended to hurt so did not ask for them to be untied. Ratigan read her thoughts.
"There's a girl who will look after you. Her name's Jinny Riley, she's one of us so don't bother trying to seduce her, she'll report to me any tear-jerking stories or offers of bribes and you'll be appropriately punished."
"That sounds as though I'm to be constantly tortured."
"Don't be ridiculous." Ratigan's voice was suddenly close-clipped Oxford. "You need suffer nothing but the restraints I order put on you, anything else you get will be your own fault."
She had said a sardonic thank you for his candor but still insisted, "I don't want to be tied up all the time! Can't you be more civilized. Handcuffs for instance?"
"I'll see about it, it's not a bad idea. We're a mobile force so convenience means a lot. In the meantime you'll stay tied."
"My clothes are torn, I'm not even decent."
"Jinny will look after that." He barked a short, swift laugh. "But I'll warn you about Jinny, she's more likely to take something off than to put something on. But she'll not hurt you without my permission. But if it pleased her to strip you naked, she'll do it." He laughed at her visible consternation. "Don't worry. Miss Baldwin, my boys have seen a lot of naked girls, we pick them up in the raids or for a bit of tar and feathering if that's what they deserve. The name for us is 'uninhibited.'"
Jinny Riley had lived up to expectations, stripping Faith of all she wore and giving her in return a tattered male shirt which only scantily met the demands of decency.
"You'll not be ordering me around, Miss Baldwin, and that's the truth of it. You give me any lip and I'll march you right up to Mr. Ratigan, he'll fix you for sure, he will. You going to be sensible?"
Faith had promised to be sensible, allowing her hands to be untied and relied as desired. She felt to naked in the single shirt and was quite certain her sex was visible at least half the time. Speaking of this to Jinny she got the obvious retort, "So what if the boys do get a look at your hairy spot, all us girls got one and all the boys seen it time and time again." She giggled suggestively. "Takes more than a few pubic curls to make the Bhoys blush. They'll have themselves a time with you. Miss Baldwin, I'll make sure of it."
Faith had become accustomed to the tattered shirt and to the carnal comments it evoked. She no longer much cared if the Bhoys saw her private parts or not. She realized that the only parts of her private now were he thoughts, breasts and pubs were communal property to be examined at will but to be used only by Ratigan. She supposed she should be grateful for belonging to a single man. Now, as the afternoon drew to its close, she watched the approach of Johnny Catlin who gave her the usual greeting she thought sincere.
"You sure are a looker. Miss Baldwin. Ain't never seen no girl as beautiful as you. Mind if I take a look under that there shirt?"
Faith Baldwin stood stiffly erect while the shirt was raised for the male inventory of her physical assets. When the hem was again allowed to fall to the level of her crotch, she turned and crossed her wrists behind her back, then stood in rigid obedience while they were tightly bound. Whoever it was among the rebel group who tied her, they always made certain the cords were made tight to tell her she could forget escape and be a good girl. That humiliation done with. Faith then submitted to the collar and tether on her neck. She had long since learned the potency of this control. A couple of jerks on the tether would bring her to her knees and obedience. Conscious of this hazard she walked in docile submission beside Johnny Catlin in their decent to the camp beneath the hills.
"Think the boss would let me have you for an hour all to myself, Miss Baldwin?" It was an oft played tune. "I sure would like to have you naked, I'll give you a real good time."
"Why don't you ask him, Johnny, I'm his property?"
"I'd sooner you ask him, Miss Baldwin. He wouldn't take it all that kindly from me."
"Don't be silly, Johnny," Faith chided gently. "I'm certainly not going to ask permission for a man to rape me. If you desire me enough, you'll ask him yourself."
To what abject state had captivity reduced her to talk thus! Faith thought of her father in his pin-striped suit and bowler hat, busy in West Minister and White Hall, seeking her release. He would be frantic, envisioning her condition as worse than it actually was. Not that being a camp-follower was anything that a well-educated young woman might feel proud of. But she had suffered no torture, contrived to keep on the right side of the mercurial Irish temperament by a wry exchange of self-deprecating humor. Twisting her wrists against the tight cords she complained as she had done a hundred times before.
"Why the devil must I be tied, Johnny. It hurts and makes me feel like a criminal or a wild animal. You can control me well enough with the collar."
"There ye go ag'in, Miss, always complaining. It's Mr. Ratigan's orders, so it is. He says you're a sly piece of fluff and not to be trusted." Johnny leered. "If I give you your hands right now, you could find a rock and knock me for a loop. Come off it, Miss Baldwin, you know right well you got to be tied."
Faith Baldwin knew the truth in what her companion said. They would not dare take chances, knowing she would flee for safety if given an inch of slack. She was a valuable hostage but more importantly to Ratigan a flag he could wave as in victory. He slept each night with the daughter of a Minister of the British Crown. Most Irish hearts would warm to his conquest. Ratigan was by way of being a national hero.
The Bhoys and their leader made camp as necessity dictated, inhibiting the innocence of farm buildings owned by a men loyal to The Cause.
They had a central deport were their armament was cached but used it little for fear of drawing attention. They had been in their present stop over for a week and Ratigan had made himself a sort of office over the barn. Johnny Catlin thrust her inside, saluted with commendable military precision while announcing, "One live body safely delivered, Sir."
Her escort departed, Faith sat on the battered kitchen chair Ratigan offered. His voice was casual, "Have a nice day, Faith?"
"It's beautiful up there in the hills. If you allow me to go there often enough I'll see a Leprechaun."
Ratigan smiled with the strange tenderness which had flowered between them during the weeks he had possessed her body. "They're there, darlin,' never doubt it. The Irish hills are haunted by ancient ghosts. I'd be disappointed if you never saw one. Young Johnny treat you okay?"
"Yes, he's the soul of decorum and ties me very tight. He takes the odd peek under my shirt but I expect that's his right. When are you going to set me free."
Faith asked the same question everyday, it had become a joke between them.
"You'll go free on the day you bring me that Leprechaun. How's that for a bargain."
Faith no longer felt silly sitting before this man upon the rickety chair with her arms awkwardly twisted behind her back. She deliberately made her posture seem more uncomfortable than it was but she dared not ask him to untie her hands, Ratigan would untie her soon enough if he wanted to but not before. She knew he got a male satisfaction in observing her helpless vulnerability. She was his and he savored the fact every time they were together. "Got a letter for you today through the underground. I've read it. Makes me feel a right bastard." He laid the missive for her convenience upon the desk. "Draw up your chair, I'll turn the pages."
Miss Faith Baldwin would once have told her captor she could move no furniture until her hands were freed, but that time was past. She hooked a bare foot around a wooden leg and drew the seat to where she could gaze down to read the words written in another land a million miles away. Tears gathered as her misted vision followed Ratigan's obliging fingers but she fought them back and read to the final endearments, her voice only slightly effected by emotion. "Thank you for letting me read it, I hope you always will."
"You'd be better off without them."
"Perhaps, but I want them just the same. I'm a little girl who's far from home."
"Thought I'd untie your hands, eh?"
"I hoped you would, I wasn't going to ask."
"I like them tied as they are but we can get rid of this," Ratigan said as he freed her neck of the collar and tether then kissed her quietly on each eye and bit her ear playfully. "Tell me what you know about a place called Lune."
"Why ask me, I've never been there. The guide book says it's a thirteenth century castle somewhere in Gallway or Connemarra Or maybe it was Clare, I've forgotten. The book said it was privately owned."
Ratigan nodded thoughtfully. "The chap who owns it is witting for us to use it as a hideaway. He says quite a lot of it can be made livable and there's a dungeon or two." He grinned at her consternation. "Think, girl, you could have a room all to yourself."
"I'll die in a dungeon, you know I would. Why are you telling me this?"
"Because tomorrow you and I are going to be Mr. and Mrs. Bascomb, motoring down to visit friends in Kerry. What we'll be doing is having a good look at Casde Lune."
Faith was startled, her voice bitter, "You'd trust me that far! I'll probably escape."
"No you won't, lass, I'll make sure of that. Make a nice outing for you."
"I'm happy being chained up there in the hollow everyday."
"There's hollows like that, equipped with resident leprechauns all through the Irish hills."
"They won't all have a great big stone with an iron ring embedded in it to chain me to. I wonder who put that ring there?"
Ratigan shrugged. "Probably the leprechauns did that. too. You'll Find these bits of ancient times all over Ireland. Castle Lune should keep you amused."
"It might if I were free. But it will take me a long time to explore it ten feet at a time at the end of a chain. I like this place, it seems safe for you. You'd be foolish to leave it."
Their arrangements for the night were simple and always the same. Faith was secured to the bed by a length of chain padlocked around her narrow waist, the bed itself a heavy, home-made box filled with straw. Faith ruefully reflected the straw would offend her parents as would the chain and padlock. The keys to the latter were visible but distance on a peg on a far wall. As usual, there was no escape for her. Even while Ratigan slept she was totally impotent so might as well sleep, too. There was a blanket laid over her but she got her warmth from Ratigan's muscular body. Sometimes she worn her shirt right on through their lovemaking and the night but at other times was rendered naked for both. Faith never understood her varying nudities, there seemed no logic to them. But why seek logic in Ireland when the Irish laugh at it themselves.
Faith Baldwin knew she derived comfort from this dark-haired, dark-eyed native of Donegal. She knew he had killed often but had never been cruel to her, and when the Bhoys made cruel sport with a captive girl he was never there to watch, leaving such recreations to his tiny army who probably had a need of such emotional release. Ratigan had taken care to explain to her from day one his attitudes about his homeland and the English. He had made understandable his need to hold her captive as a bargain lever of last resort, frankly amused by the impotency of Parliament in effecting her rescue. He told her of the places the police and army had raided in their search for her but he had always held her far from those places where he had spread false clues. He told her how the rescue rampage was waning, they probably thought her dead.
Ratigan explained her hands would remain tied throughout their lovemaking and the night, it would be an amusing innovation. Faith bottled resentment and found compensation in thinking of the morrow, surely in such a journey for such a purpose some opportunity to escape would surely present itself. But she kept such thoughts to herself, wondering what expedience her master would resort to that her captivity remain in tack.
After the first week of being Ratigan's concubine Faith ceased to feel guilt over the responses he evoked in her. His lithe, hard skills reducing her always to a mass of longing and a succession of gasping cries and moans of which she was afterwards ashamed. But there was a basic honesty about the act in which she eventually gave as good as she got and in easy acceptance of something which, after all. was to be expected from a soldier and his captive who shared a bed. When, each night, the chain was locked around her waist, Faith Baldwin tried hard not to think about her family back home.
They were to travel in a small car which appeared from no where as did most things in connection with The Cause. Faith's hands were untied, she was given a clean shirt with a somewhat more feminine cut. She was then placed beside the steering wheel on the front seat and her bare ankles bound tighter that strictly necessary, this precaution against impulsive flight was accentuated by the tying of her two big toes. For the rest she was entirely free and her heart sang a joyous tune of expectation as Ratigan drove out onto the graveled road.
"It's not impossible we may be stopped," he told her soberly. "It that happens and you ask for help, I'll be compelled to kill whoever it is concerned. The police travel on bicycles hereabouts and nobody will miss one." He showed her the ugly automatic pistol from its holster beneath his arm. "Don't make me use this," he cautioned grimly. "Could be you hold someone's life in your hands some time today."
Optimize fled or was diminished. Faith examined what she had been told but could not fault it. Ratigan was clever. "I don't know whether to believe you or not," she said primly. "But don't worry, I won't take a change, no body's going to get killed because I want freedom."
Ratigan was pleased, his voice almost warm. "I bet you, a couple of months back, you never dreamed you'd be riding with a rebel like this, eh?"
"Clothed indecently with only a shirt and my ankles bound and my toes tied no, I certainly did not. I'm not exactly choosing it now."
"You've got a lot of common sense. Faith, I'm beginning to trust you, not about escape but about your judgment and behavior. I could wish you were with us in The Cause." He chuckled quietly. "You're ankles hurting?"
"Yes, they're hurting. No doubt they're suppose to. And as for my toes, you ought to be ashamed of yourself."
Ratigan considered what she said and grinned. "That's what I like about you, girl, you handle fear damned well. You and I can talk. Do you have any idea what that means to me?"
Faith suddenly saw the isolation of his life, the loneliness of a leader who's men were of a lesser breed.
"Is that way you had me kidnapped?" she asked, interested. "From what Johnny tells me you could have you pick of girls from those your men pick up and punish for no other sin than simply being female."
"They bore me stiff. Most of them have only been half way through school or maybe no school at all. The only interest they've got is the same as my men."
"What's that?"
Ratigan barked a short, swift laugh. "I'd have thought you knew, its that thing you've got between your legs. And don't ever forget these," he said. Without taking his eyes from the road he reached out and flicked the hard nipples beneath the shirt.
"So, okay, they're obsessed by sex. But don't let's you and I throw stones, I've never been so involved in it myself until you got hold of me. I don't suppose you need that chain and padlock to keep me in your bed at night. You've made me shameless. I don't know how I could ever again face a London cocktail party."
"You won't have to, love."
"What you've just said tells me you're going to keep be prisoner for life. I wish you wouldn't keep telling me. Haven't you ever been married?"
"Once. To an English girl when I was at Oxford." He grunted. "You can imagine how long it lasted. Her family cast me into outer darkness inside a year."
Their first hurdle was as Ratigan predicted, a police on a bicycle. He flagged them down on the narrow road so nearly devoid of traffic and beamed his apologies for asking names and destination, excepting Ratigan's bogus proofs of identity without raising an eyebrow. Faith was thankful he was accosting them through the window at her side. Had he been on the other side he might have easily have seen her bound feet but they were now out of his range of vision and he could not be certain of the brevity of her attire. She made great play with bare hands and arms as though to assure him they were not bound nor she under coercion. It was heartbreaking to have the law and rescue so close yet ask no help. The policeman seemed a kindly soul and she could imagine the startled shock his kindly face might show if Ratigan shot him. but they went their separate ways amiably and without suspicion.
"You did okay. Faith," Ratigan said easily. "I know the temptation you were under, I could feel the vibrations coming from you in waves. Let's hope the constable didn't feel them, too. Do you realize you just chose enslavement?"
"I chose to save a life."
"Well, okay, you saved the poor, silly bastard from a bullet. But these sort of encounter is going to increase in your life. Little by little its going to throw you more and more under my wing." He gave her a small, shy grin. "Not that I'm complaining, I like you."
They reached Lune before midday, seeing its crumbling yellow stone and the surround of unkept garden. Faith Baldwin knew this was The Place. Here was a place to dream dreams and see visions. Perhaps amid such loveliness Ratigan would find the peace to turn him from a killing machine into to some one she could love. They were met by the owner, awaiting their arrival and therein lay a shock!
Adrian Moore was a personable male of Ratigan's own age, they had shared the academic life but after the London School their paths had diverged to take Ratigan to the killing of Englishmen and Adrian to the renovated gate house of Castle Lune to write the stories which later made him famous as a master of fantasy. But, unseen beneath the surface, the two young men cherished a blood loyalty to The Cause, Adrian more choosing to hide his feelings with the ephemeral freeing of his native land to become a quiet recluse living with books and dogs and horses. If there had been a woman in his life, none knew her name. He looked now at Faith Baldwin with startled approval.
"Mind if I keep my maiden safe?" Ratigan asked with the easy familiar of old friendship. He unknotted the cord from Faith's toes and ankles, he cheerily demanded. "This way, sweetheart, let Adrian kiss your pretty hand but then you know what."
Faith was reserving a judgment, she allowed her hand to be gallantly raised to Adrian's lips before turning her back to the men and crossing her wrists in readiness. While Ratigan was busy tugging and knotting, Adrian inquired, "I say, old chap, is that really necessary? She isn't dangerous, is she?"
"Sure she's dangerous and she's accustomed to being tied," Ratigan retorted in the same vein of flippancy. "Tell our host you're accustomed to having your hands tied, Faith. Tell him you enjoy it and wouldn't feel right if it wasn't done."
Irish fun is hard to ignore. Her hands and arms firmly secured. Faith turned to face her two companions. "I don't really enjoy it, Mr. Moore, but I've become so accustomed to being bound I feel a trifle naked if I'm not. Please excuse the brevity of this shirt." She twinkled at him mischievously. "You could always look the other way."
"What I'm looking at, dear lady, are those scarlet indentations around your ankles, that must have hurt."
"Of course it hurt, but that's one of the little problems of being a professional prisoner. You can ask Mr. Ratigan but I'm sure that's what I've become."
Adrian Moore was obviously not to be easily shocked. His lunch at the luxurious gate house was superb and if it was needful for Faith to kneel beside her master's chair to be fed by her master's hand, he raised no eyebrow and made no demur. It was obvious his worship of Ratigan went deep. The two men spoke mostly of other days and Faith willingly enough accepted her role as the silent slave. Her relationship to the British Parliament was referred to only briefly.
"I'll bet poor old Baldwin is raising the roof in White Hall," Adrian remarked reflectively. "Remarkable how you've kept this girl out of sight, Ratigan. What are you trying to do, convert her?"
Ratigan laughed at the question. "Nice thought," he admitted casually. "But Miss Baldwin is under a tremendous handicap, no matter how she might protest, my boys and I would always suspect she was putting on an act with escape in mind. I'm leaving it to Faith herself to find a way around this hurdle. In the meantime her hands stay tied."
There was a dreaming feeling about the place Faith found agreeable. She sat back upon her heels, all of her that matter respectably covered, and listened to the drone of voices, it would have been easy to fall asleep. She realized that Lune was one of those places imposing magic upon a mechanical world. It that seen its Adrians and Ratigans come and go and viewed them with a indulgent Irish eye.
There tour of the ancient ruin set Faith's heart to thudding once again. There was in intimacy about choosing their bedroom and the kitchen and the lounge. Ratigan's boys would be busy cleaning up but the potential was there. There was potential for a great many activities, there were also empty stone-walled rooms Faith eyed with disfavor. When they came to the actual dungeons she was close to panic when forced to view their dank and dismal gloom. A girl locked and chained in such a place would have nothing to live for. She begged, simply and without shame, "Ratigan, please don't ever lock me in one of these. I simply couldn't bear it. There's nothing I could ever do to deserve this."
They laughed it off, and went up into the sunlight but a memory of dark stone and rusty chains lingered in Faith's mind. There was something distressingly logical about placing a naked girl in a dungeon and keeping her well chained therein. It was a convenient disposition, especially if the premises were being searched. Faith recalled vividly the awful doors which, when closed, became a part of the wall itself no one could detect. She shuttered and forced herself to be aware of male discussion.
"Why don't you chuck the whole sad business, Ratigan," Adrian asked pensively, "you're fighting a war you can never win. And if you did win it things wouldn't be any different or better than they are now."
Ratigan's retort was bitter, "Okay then, but what the hell to you expect me to do, Adrian, takes money to eat?"
"I've got money. I'll start you off in a new life. Marry a nice simple Irish girl and get yourself some babies."
"I don't notice you, Adrian, having either of those. I'd sooner see you join me and carry a gun."
They bantered back and forth but at the same time took measurements and made calculations. The old castle took on new and important signs as they walked along its passages. When it came time to part Adrian Moore tipped a finger beneath Faith's chin and kissed her warmly on the lips. "Put up with him," he suggested earnestly. "Ratigan's a man looking for his soul, he may die in the finding of it. But be kind to him.. . "
He bestowed on Faith a shy, boyish grin. "In the meantime, if things get too rough for you, remember there's always me."
"Why don't you untie me now and let me go?"
"Because you belong to Ratigan. Ratigan needs you and I'm his friend."
Adrian had said it all.
2
Tar and Feathers
The little car sped them back to the encampment by another road. There were plenty of gravel tracks but very little pavement. Ratigan was silent. No body bothered to untie Faith's hands so she was now tight bound at wrists and ankles. She was little bothered by the double restraint, snuggling into the corner to easy her arms, her mind vivid with memories of Lune.
"You and Adrian love each other," she said quietly to the man behind the wheel. "I mean nice and decent kind of love, not that other thing?"
"I suppose we do, Adrian means a lot to me. He's something I'll never be." He laughed shortly. "Adrian is an Irish gentleman."
"I once read that Irish girls were compelled to immigrate because their own men paid no attention to them." Faith continued earnestly, "Is that true?"
"Probably, but does it matter!"
Faith knew it mattered a great deal, wives and revolutions did not mix. She longed to pursue the topic but dared not. It would only get Ratigan angry and he might gag her, something he had often spoke of but had never done. Playing it safe, she asked, "Are me going to move to Lune?"
"Yes, but slowly over a bit of time. Adrian is going to fix up whatever living quarters we need and make a workshop for the jeeps. He's got money." There came a short reflective silence. "Adrian likes you.
He asked me to set you free but understood my refusal. Adrian is clever, he should turn his intellect to something better than those whimsical fantasies he writes about."
"I'd write fanciful things, too, if I lived in Lune."
Ratigan grunted. "I'll get you a pencil and paper then because that's where you'll be going."
Amusement filtered through her quaint, "I can't write a book with my hands tied."
Ratigan grunted, amused. "I suppose that's a hint. Save your breath. I won't untie you." He laughed outright. "I've got to hand it to you females, you never miss a chance for a plug, you never let up. I ought to whip you for it but you amuse me. Are you serious about the book?"
"I've never written one but I would like to try, if you'll fasten me so I have my hands. There's an enchantment about Lune."
Ratigan's reply was lost in disaster. A police car emerged from a layby. The officers who left the car were uniformed but of decidedly higher rank than the constable they had encountered earlier. The request for the driver's license was polite but firm. Faith Baldwin sat in frozen horror. Any inquiring eye could see that she was tightly bound and there was an air of authority about the two men.
"Perhaps you and your wife would be kind enough to get out of the car. Sir."
The license was not returned. It happened with shocking speed. With an officer at either window Ratigan fired at point blank. The gunshots in the little car were shattering. Faith buried her face in the seat cushion and wept in terror.
Ratigan made no reply, he was busy with two dead bodies, fumbling in their clothing and then dragging them into the ditch. He then started the police car, headed it back the way they had come then jumped from it as it continued a slow progress in low gear. It went a surprising distance before veering off into the ditch and killing the engine. Ratigan got back behind the wheel and as they resumed their journey said jauntily, "Silly bastards, should have minded their own business." He looked sideways at the weeping girl. "Don't take on so. Faith, it's just one more incident. They'll get a hero's burial and no one will ever know who fired the shots."
"But.. .but.. .it's murder! Ratigan, you killed two men!"
"Not murder, sweetheart-war! Two dead Englishmen we can add to the tally."
"But they weren't English, they were Irish! Those uniforms were Irish police.. . . " Faith was aghast, trembling.
"I didn't notice, they're all the same to me."
Faith Baldwin knew she should hate this man at her side but there was no hatred in her heart, only sorrow. More than ever she realized the hopelessness of Ratigan's Cause. He would kill. kill, and one day himself fall lifeless from a bullet. She could not doubt his terrible sincerity in this killing of two men he saw as enemies. But the incident, terrible as it had been, changed nothing, she was still tied hand and foot and the prisoner of a man her father could count as many times a murder. She had never felt so broken and baffled in her life. But Ratigan lowered the window of the car to allow the soft, warm Irish air to repossess them until journey's end. There Faith was picked up bodily while a shadowy, anonymous figure drove away in the car she would never see again. Ratigan carried her to the barn and upstairs to fling her on their bed. Outside, beneath the silver Irish moon, the farmstead slept in innocence.
Morning disclosed the plan for The Bhoys to slip away singly or in couples to converge upon Lune over the period of a week, attracting no attention. They would walk, ride bicycles or thumb their way, it was all very clever. And the killing of two policemen was scarcely mentioned. Quite possibly it was with a view of diverting Faith's memory of murder that Ratigan arranged the kidnap and the Court.
The Bhoys had their own name for it. It was not a kidnap it was an "arrest." Their Court vested itself in its own authority and dealt out its own sentence without benefit of law. Faith realized the make-believe pretense of a court was purely for the entertainment of the group. While it had never been Ratigan's habit to attend such things he did so now out of consideration of his own personal prisoner who's personal feelings were a mixture of curiosity and repulsion. When they left to attend the affair Ratigan strung his small surprise.
"Got them from the two Bobbies I killed last night," he said offhandedly while holding up the two pairs of shining handcuffs with keys to fit. "A gift of the Queen of England." he proclaimed sardonically. "You could wear them with pride, sweetheart. They're going to be damned convenient for looking after you."
Faith Baldwin gazed fascinated at the steel circlets and sturdy and link. One was the regular English "Darby." while the second pair she recognized from American television. Either would hold her with equal authority. Irritably she exclaimed, "Good Heavens, Ratigan, I'm not a criminal or a convict. Do you have to use those things on me?"
"Damn it girl, you've been complaining about being roped. I would have thought handcuffs improved your social status."
Belatedly, Faith recognized a virtue. It was hateful to have her hands tied most of the time and handcuffs must surely be more comfortable than the cut of the cord. Holding up the American model, Ratigan invited, "Over here, my pretty one." He grinned. "I think this is technically known as 'putting you in irons.'"
In unwilling curiosity Faith did as she was told, turning her back to have her hands untied and then holding out her right wrist for the bite of metal jaws. She found the clicking of the ratchet a spine-tingling novelty. With her free hand she tested the snug fit of the chrome band then gasped in astonishment as Ratigan clicked the other cuff on his own left wrist. "Where ever we go, we go together, sweetheart," he told her with a sly wink. "It will give a rest not having you beefing about tied hands. If you complain about this handcuff you'll go right back to some nice thin twine I've been keeping in reserve."
Miss Polly Malone was, as yet, intact. She was also fiercely angry and desperately afraid. Her clothes were torn as in a struggle and her wrists and elbows tied tight behind her back. A rope hobble shortened her steps to where she could not run. Standing as the central figure of a drama, she glared around at smirking male faces and the sober countenance of the farmer and his wife who were privileged to watch and hopefully approve the punishment of a young woman who had failed to support the Cause.
One of the Bhoys referred as "Cully" took the part of public prosecutor while the amiable Johnny Catlin was the maiden's only defense. Faith's heart went out to the girl as she realized Polly Malone really had no defense at all, she was already condemned.
There was much testimony from many witnesses, most of it hearsay. Polly Malone was her own worst enemy, vehemently excoriating all and sundry with her fervent declarations that what she did in private with a British soldier was her own affair. The condemned maiden compounded her own felony by a graphic descriptions of her activities with the military forces of The Oppressor and with ill-advised promises of future intentions. The poor girl struggled constantly against her binding and even contrived to trip and fall over her hobbled feet. She was lifted erect by the kindly hands of her appointed defender who had lamentably failed to defend any of her rights whatsoever. Such reasoning as Johnny Catlin chose to advance was instantly shot down by the vicious Cully. In a pregnant pause for breath before sentencing, Polly Malone relieved herself of fervid sentiments.
"You're a rotten lot of sods, so you are. Treating a girl like this. It's a bad cess I'll be saying to ye while I have the chance. Assholes, that's what ye be, assholes. With not a man among the bunch of you to give me a bit of help. If you don't let me go, you'll have the army around ye ears, so ye will." She sniffed pitifully. "I ain't done nothing what no other girl does. too. If what you're needing is a little bit of Irish love I'll give it gladly if you'll set me free. I'm not guilty of nothing at all."
Miss Polly Malone was soberly sentenced to be stripped naked, violated by any of the Bhoys who desired to possess her charms, whipped, and, as a grand finale, she was to be tarred and feathered after her curly locks had been shorn bald. She would then be free to go.
It was a horrific punishment for any girl. Faith tugged restlessly at her tethered hand but knew enough to keep silent. It would probably be too easy to find herself in company with the girl already sentenced. Faith had no wish to be bald and knew her words would fall on deaf ears. She watched the condemned girl stagger as if from shock then sink to the ground and weep in a bitterness of despair. It was Cully who stripped her naked and invited the assembly to partake of her sexual nature. He went so far as to take her bare legs and spread them far apart in obscene display. But. strangely, no man claimed the privilege. Watching the suddenly stony faces, Faith Baldwin realized she was witnessing some form of Irish purity, or perhaps the band considered it unwise to sully their reputation by pointing fingers accusing them of rape. They were, after all, a political entity.
Little time was wasted. The hands of the naked girl were bound in front and she was hoisted off her feet by a rope across the sturdy bough of a farmyard tree. The whip made Faith wish to laugh. It was a long, curved ornate affair such as coachmen use and it was easy to think that it might not truly hurt a girl's skin. But this was soon disapproved by its application upon quivering girl flesh while Polly Malone screamed to heaven, not without the interjection of choice, ripe adjectives. As the slender wickedness cut ruthlessly at her nakedness she became a puppet on a string, leaping this way and that in feverish contortions to escape the pain. The whip, which was shared by every male desiring to use it, snapped shrewdly into every crevasse the girl's struggled disclosed. No part of Polly Malone escaped its kiss. It was not long before Faith Baldwin urgently whispered, "Oh, make them stop. Ratigan, make them put an end to this, no girl deserves this treatment."
Ratigan raised the feminine hand chained to his and kissed it gently in admonishment. He whisper was as urgent as her own. "That girl has condemned herself and she belongs to the boys. It's not for any Laird to spoil the pleasure of his men. Keep quiet and watch."
The struggles of the lovely young nudity at the end of the tethering rope were slowing fast. Every part of Polly Malone's youthful skin was crisscrossed by the sharp scarlet excoriations of the carriage whip which had been used upon her by many experienced hands. From time to time she looked frantically back over a shoulder as though for help but such words as she still uttered were concerned only with the retribution she would bring down upon the heads of all present. When her contortions ceased entirely and she hung motionless beneath the lash. Cully called a halt. It was now time for the shearing of Polly Malone's most beautiful hair. An intermission was called by mutual consent. While the beer was passed around the girl remained hanging from the tree. She was now sobbing quietly to herself.
It was the farmer who provided a sturdy kitchen chair for the ritualistic cutting of a maiden's crowning glory. Polly Malone was bound to it by strand after strand of brutal rope, binding hands and arms and every portion of her torso to prohibit motion. In addition a band of wide, heavy leather was buckled around her neck to also deny movement to the delinquent head. Once more it was Cully who showed up with shaving mug, lather, and razor. In addition, a sheep shearing device was planted by the distraught girl, the handle of which was vigorously turned by the farmer's son. The whole procession of menace was too much for Polly Malone.
"I'll do anything you want, but please don't cut my hair off-please don't make me bald!" She wailed in despair. "I'm sorry for what I've said and done. I takes it all back. I ain't liking them English, I ain't at all, at all. Don't cut my hair off. don't cut my hair.. . ! "
They cut Miss Polly Malone's hair. The sheering machine whirled and clicked to cause the lovely cascade of curls to fall away from the twin blades. It took no longer to shave Miss Polly Malone then it did to shear a sheep. When the machine was dragged away it left the distraught young woman almost bald but not bald enough for Cully with his lather and his sharpened steel. As though in mockery the bound girl soon wore a crown of white foam which was then relentlessly removed by the sure, swift strokes of an old-fashioned straight razor. Polly was too frightened to attempt motion but even had she fought it would have helped her not one bit. Cully knew the tricks of an experienced barber and soon was using a wet cloth to clean away all traces of his work from a denuded pate. Some bright spark in the crowd shouted mockingly, "Hell the girl's still got eyebrows!"
Polly's protests were weak and without hope. "Don't shave me eyebrows. Everyone will be laughing at me, so they will. I ain't done nothing to deserve this. 'Tis a black day for Ireland, it is, it is."
A minute later Cully, with his wet towel was wiping the bald and unadorned skin above her eyes. The effect was grotesque but strangely beautiful. The kitchen chair was made to serve a dual purpose. Polly Malone was released then turned upside down upon and within its frame and once more sturdily bound. This time her feet were free and were grasped by willing hands to be tugged viciously by the side in a manner to cause her to cry out from her upside down position. "You're a lot of rotten bastards, so ye are, treating a girl like this. It ain't decent turning me upside down this way like I was a pig to be castrated. You mustn't shave my pubic hair, it ain't right and, begora, father will kill the lot of you when mother tells him what you done. Leave me alone!"
They did not leave Miss Polly Malone without attention. First the cascade of foamy lather then the careful strokes of the blade. Polly could not struggle, her feet were firmly drawn apart by willing hands who's owners watched in fascination as a female facility became increasingly evident in the center of their stretching endeavor. They would have a four letter for it but had probably never had so good a view before. Polly Malone's sexual slit would be a source of loud guffaws in the public bar for months to come. When the pathetic young body had been robbed of every trace of hair, a carnal wag took the opportunity to separate the exposed young lips and pour therein an expensive bottle of Guiness' stout. The national beverage must have burned for Polly screamed lustfully as it foamed in a welling cascade, overflowing from her sexual slit to cover her loins and trickle across her belly. The bottle empty, Cully once more busied himself with the wet towel to insure everything was in good order for the culmination of Polly's punishment still to come.
They hung the poor girl once more from the bough for the application of hot tar which had been heated only enough to make it fluid. By this time Polly had given up protests, she was broken and passive. While she eyes flashed fire, her lips were silent. She hung with toes barely off the ground while two men dipped brushes and smeared their tar upon the waiting skin. Soon the whip marks disappeared beneath the dark coating from which no part of her except her face escaped. It was liberally applied upon her sex and used to bestow a black crown upon her shaven pate and far enough down to encompass the twin bareness where eyebrows once had been. Her armpits were liberally lathed as where her raised arms. Rope was sacrificed in a good cause as the hands it bound were swamped with the hot stuff. The covering was so thick the cords were lost under it.
All present gasped and gazed in awe. It was hard to believe that what they saw had been a girl brief minutes past. The occasion was used to full advantage as a sleazy sheet was loaded with chicken feathers before being drawn beneath the toes so that when the rope above was cut the suspended girl collapsed upon and within the while feathers. Willing hands, unmindful of tar, insured a complete covering of feathers, especially within the crotch. No part of her body was left unattended. The honor of disfiguring Polly Malone's remaining loveliness fell to Cully who, almost lovingly, applied great handfuls of feathers to the head and eyebrows he had shaved. When the sheet had been drawn tight upon her form and the precious package rolled over and over again to insure the best possible bond between feathers and tar, the hands withdrew and eager feet backed away. Faith Baldwin watched in anguish until the still and silent form within the sheet showed evidence of life and the tarred and feathered maiden rose slowly and awkwardly erect. None helped, she was a pariah. Clutching the sheet, which she probably could not have peeled away. Miss Polly Malone faced them in one final defiance.
"You rotten swine," she said with all the fervor of her young heart.
"I hope you die for this, every beastly one of you."
With only the smallest whimper of sound the whipped and punished girl turned to slowly and dismally walk into the night. A couple of the boys laughed and gave chase and tossed her in the back of the jeep then drove away to return her to whence she came and thus leave her no clue to the whereabouts of her punishment. The Bhoys thought of very thing!
That night Faith performed her female function without benefit of chain. It amused Ratigan to keep their hands still linked while they made love and then, throughout the night, the handcuffs insured his captive did not leave his bed. Before he slept he applied upon Faith's slender ankles the heavier English issue which he laughingly called her "leg-irons." They were ungainly and Faith found them less attractive than the pair upon her wrists, part better suited to feet than to hands. But she had little doubt she would see much more of both.
The Bhoys were busy with the move to Lune. During the days Faith saw little of her captor but was faithfully escorted to her hollow in the hills to be chained there during the day by a talkative and admiring Johnny Catlin.
"Don't never do nothing against The Cause, Miss Baldwin," he urged earnestly. "You seen what that gal got the other night. I wouldn't want that to happen to you."
Faith was not handcuffed. Johnny Catlin preferred to bind her wrists with cord, something he did with commendable efficiency. "It don't seem right to put handcuffs on you. Miss Baldwin. You look real pretty when you're roped. You don't mind, do you?"
"No, I don't mind, Johnny. No one ever gives me a chance to escape so one thing's about the same as another. You wouldn't want to let me go, would you?"
"You're joking. Miss, you know I can't do that. Mr. Ratigan, he's asked me to punish you whenever you ask." He grinned confidingly. "But I can't do that either. You're such a nice girl. Miss Baldwin. All I can do is look after you properly."
"You mean keep me tied and chained like a wild animal?" Faith inquired mischievously.
"I wish you won't never say them things, Miss Baldwin," Johnny complained. "You know I wouldn't never do nothing nasty to you, not like leaving your hands tied all day the way they is and the way the boss told me to leave them if you talked about escape. Ain't no need, the shackle on your ankle's plenty good enough."
"If you're suppose to leave me tied then you'd best do it," Faith consoled wisely. "You never know who might come and find me with my hands untied and then you'd be in trouble."
"Not if they didn't know you'd asked me to set you free."
"Oh, well, all right, have it your way, Johnny. Do what you think best with me. I'm easy to get along with."
Faith stood, her leg extended for Johnny to lock the heavy shackle upon its slender ankle. She watched the proceeding as she had watched it many times before. Secretly she conceded to liking this iron bond, it save her the trouble of trying to escape or worrying about freeing herself. Once it was locked upon her foot she was there to stay and could then enjoy the scenery and eerie atmosphere of the hills. She might never know whether it was an oversight or a belated sense of responsible which caused Johnny to forget her hands and to go back to the camp leaving her with them tied behind her back. Even this gave Faith no more than a faint amusement, she had no need of hands so what did it matter! She dragged her heavy chain to where she could sit upon the rock to gaze upon this place which meant so much It was not until midday that Jinny Riley climbed breathlessly to where she sat and dumped a picnic basket on the grass.
"Thought we might have bite and sip together," she said almost defiantly. "I've been feeling sorry for you don't ever get a chance to say so. The saints be praised he ain't being mean to you."
"He keeps me prisoner all the time, isn't that being mean?"
Jinny laughed at innocence. "Hell no. Miss Baldwin. Being mean is getting beaten or whipped or branded or having pins stuck through a bit of your skin. You ain't seen nothing at all, at all."
"I can understand Ratigan's problem with me. He captured me and now he's got a tiger by the tail. He probably thinks I know too much but that's silly, I scarcely know anything at all. If he would let me loose I would try to do something for him."
Jinny opened the hamper and spread the contents. "What did that idiot leave your hands tied for? You can't eat no lunch with hands tied behind you back."
"I think their suppose to be some sort of punishment. But it doesn't matter, really it doesn't."
"It matters for sure. Here, let me untie you."
The captive was glad enough to turn and wag joined hands at her unexpected visitor. Jinny's fingers were strong and wise, and in a bare minute Faith was free. Her benefactor looked down at the chain. "That thing on your ankle bother you. Miss Baldwin?"
"No, I've got used to it. I know I can't get it off so I don't try."
"Them things used to bother me a lot," Jinny reflected musingly. "Never did get to like them, the more I got chained the more I wanted to run."
"You mean.. . ? " Faith looked at her companion in surprise. Jinny laughed delightedly.
"Oh, sure, I'd been a prisoner like you. The Bhoys picked me up one time in a raid and kept me as a sort of mascot." She sighed as though regretting past glory. "Never got fucked so much in all my life. Jeepers, did they have themselves a time with me!"
Faith stared "But your parents, your family, the police.. . ? "
"Ain't got no kin folk. Miss Baldwin. And them Coppers don't care much 'bout a girl like me." She giggled. "Them Coppers kept me locked up in a cell twice on account of what they called.. . What is that word for screwing?"
"Prostitution?"
"That's it, that's what they told the beak when they had me up in Court. I got ten days each time. They wouldn't let me out, neither, even when I offered them everything I had." Jinny sighed. "Them Coppers probably knew what happened to me but didn't give a shit. I was just the village orphan and didn't count."
"Jinny, this isn't coffee in the thermos, it's brandy!"
"That's right. Miss Baldwin, let's get drunk."
Faith kicked her shackled foot. "Getting drunk won't do me any good. Jinny, I can't get this off anyway."
"Well, it will make it feel kinder on your foot," Jinny suggested with feminine logic. "I didn't come up her to set you free. I don't want my ass whipped."
They settled down to enjoy. The fiery fluid felt good after a long abstinence. "But how come you're a member of the.. . What am I suppose to call it."
"It's best not to call it nothing but The Cause," Jinny said sagely. "If a gal ain't careful they think she's being sarky and she gets her bottom whipped. Damn it, I ought to know."
Faith Baldwin drank the tiny cup of brandy. "But you seem so much a part of the Band. There must have been something to make them trust you the way they do."
"Oh, that!" Jinny said as thought brushing aside the obvious. "They'll get you the same way if you don't watch out. 'Course you belong to Ratigan, he's taken you for his own. That never happened to me so maybe it makes a difference. The others got a hold of me and between fucking me and whipping me they did a lot of preaching until I got to realize that what they were saying about Ireland for the Irish and England get out made a lot of sense. I was surprised I hadn't seen it before but, of course, getting whipped all the time certainly does change a girl's point of view. If you look real close you'll still see some of the whip marks. But it's been ages and ages since I've been whipped, shows you how bad it was."
"Jinny, you don't mean to tell me being whipped converted you to being a rebel?"
"Well, I guess the screwing helped. Miss Baldwin. And then there was all them other things."
"What other things?" Faith bit into a sandwich and got ready for startling disclosures.
Jinny had raised her shirt to reveal the fading marks of the whip. She now let it fall and settled comfortably beside the picnic basket. "Don't like to talk about it much," she admitted ruefully. "Mostly it was bloody awful rude. Men don't seem to think of nothing except what woman use to pee through. They had a fine old time with mine." She gazed upon Faith earnestly. "Would you believe it. Miss Baldwin, if I told you they got a big safety pin and pinned the whole thing up tight like it was zipped. Then they made me walk around and show everyone who wanted to look. I was so ashamed. It hurt something awful. I was crying and sobbing so bad they threatened to pin my mouth shut if I didn't stop. But they never got around to that, they used a needle and threat on each of my tits and hung a sign from them that said I was an English whore. I couldn't do nothing about anything 'cause my hands was tied behind my back, same as your's mostly are.. . And I was naked. Seemed like I was always naked those days. Ain't never bothered me to have guys look at what I got every since."
Jinny sighed. "You and me's still pretty near naked, these shirts don't cover much and a guy can lift them any time he likes."
"But, Jinny, this should have made you hate them, not join them!"
"Well, it did at first, but I got so I was looking forward to the next screwing. Some of the Bhoys are real good at it. But there comes the time the best one of the lot got shot by the English. It was one of the times the Bhoys didn't win a battle. They came trailing back, carrying three dead men When I looked at those poor guys who had all been inside me. it seemed such a awful waste. I mean, one of them had the loveliest prick a girl could ever hope to see. That's when I began a thinking it would be nice if the English went home."
Jinny's innocent simplicity made Faith long to laugh. There was something ingenuous about the girl, her conversation to The Cause had been a line of least resistance. Jinny's tone took on fresh indignation. "Then there was the time they dug the hole in the farm yard. It was real deep. Then they tied my hands behind my back and stood me up in it till there was only my head sticking up above the ground. Then they shoved the dirt back in and packed it all around me so I couldn't really move at all and everything looked sort of upside down with me chin resting on the dirt. Guess what they did then."
"Cut your hair off?"
"Worse then that. Miss Baldwin. The boys all peed on me. Whenever one came back, he'd open up his zipper and let me have it, all the time telling me I was an English whore and wasn't I ashamed of myself." Jinny snorted disdainfully. "At the start I told them the only thing I was ashamed of was being peed on but after about six of them had half drowned me I said, yes, I was ashamed of myself and was an English whore but wouldn't be again." Jinny paused thoughtfully. "I say. Miss Baldwin, is it true that pee is good for a girl's hair? I once heard it was
"I never heard of it, Jinny. Your hair's nice, don't worry about it."
"I guess it must have done it good them. But 'bout the time they'd all done a wet on me they started to talk about the other thing, too. That's when I got hysterical. I screamed and struggled and made such a fuss they got scared and thought they'd turned me into a loony. So they got to work and dug me up again."
"Is that when you became a member. Jinny?"
"Yes, they had a Holy Bible all ready for me and while I stood there all naked and soaking wet with.. . you know what, they swear an oat of loyalty and promise to be a good and faithful member. I'm scared of that there oath I took so I've been a real good girl ever since They whipped me a lot the first month 'cause I was always saying the wrong things. And the way they whipped me wasn't at all polite, they'd hang me up from the tree by one ankle and get some willow switches and slash away at me so they had me always promising to be a better girl and not make no mistakes. I ain't been whipped for a long while so I guess I really must be one of them. Anyway, I don't think much about it no more. I get screwed a lot more than I used to back home and I don't suppose a girl can have everything."
Faith declined further revelations, she found them nauseating. But they told her plainly of good fortune in being Ratigan's chosen mistress She could think of a lot of other words to call herself but like none of them. If the New of the World ever got hold of the story they would label her with a title of "Sex Slave" er something equally atrocious. In the meantime she sensed Ratigan's protection as something to be cherished. She wanted no safety pins clipped through her sex!
When it came time for Jinny to go back to camp. Faith was compelled to remind the girl of the awaiting cord.
"But I'd have to tie you so tight, Miss Baldwin, that it would hurt. If I didn't they'd know right off and we'll be in trouble. Couldn't I just take the cord back with me and maybe Johnny won't notice nothing."
"Tie my wrists tight. Jinny, the way it has to be. I won't mind." Faith turned and offered her crossed wrists.
Jinny knew how to tied. She was far from squeamish about hurting a girl once she was committed. Faith bit her lips several times during the process of being bound but made no complaint. When the process was done she said a simple, "Thank you."
The two girls kissed and Jinny and her basket stepped briskly back to camp. Watching her go. Faith knew a fresh and bitter loneliness as she sat back upon her rock to kick fretfully at the iron band and metal links by which her freedom was denied. If an Irish girl was treated in the way Jinny had told, what had she to look forward to! Too late she wished she had not told Jinny to tie her wrists so tight.
That night as Ratigan locked the familiar chain around her slender waist, he told her that on the morrow they would go to Lune.
3
Lune
Once more there was a borrowed little English car. Ratigan was in a whimsical mood and instead of binding Faith's ankles chose to tie only her big toes together with thin and bitter twine.
"But that hurts worse than tying my ankles!" Faith exclaimed.
"Keeps you safe, thought?"
"Of course it does, if I move it hurts. Ratigan, it isn't funny."
Ratigan grunted. "Stop being so damned English. I find it funny as hell. Your toes look cute tied that way and you're nicely pink cheeked in indignation. I'm going to leave your hands untied in case we're stopped, you're getting off easy."
Faith sniffed. She knew it was true but felt shamed that to be tied in so trivial a way could render her so helpless. She tugged her clean shirt down as far as it would go and said defiantly, "Well, let's get on with it." She waited huffily for the little car to traverse several miles before asking, "Ratigan, are you really doing anything about negotiating my release, it's been so long?"
"Daddy wants you back. Daddy orders his troops back home. It's that simple, sweetheart."
"The English government can't possibly change its policy on account of one girl even if I am Daddy's daughter."
"Then I'm stuck with you for life." He winked at her sideways. "If you're worried about what people will say, I can always marry you in a nice. Catholic church. Would you like that?"
She knew she was being teased. It was nice to be teased because it meant Ratigan was relaxed and in good humor. Primly she replied, "The Pope wouldn't approve. You'll have to go on keeping me in sin."
Ratigan skirted the subject. "You're going to like it at . Adrian's really spread himself on your account. If I don't watch it the two of you will get me soft."
Faith was about to retort that he was hard as nails and would soften for no one. But she suddenly remembered his tenderness in the night. Ratigan was a man strangely torn and hard for even a woman's intuition to assess. "I loved when we were there before," she admitted candidly. "But it is a castle and with all that stone and iron bars I've got a feeling I'll be more a prisoner than ever, or is there some pleasant spot outdoors where I could be chained everyday?"
She laughed frankly and gaily. "You see. I'm becoming reconciled to captivity, I don't expect anything else."
Ratigan returned her chuckle. "There's women in Holloway who would envy you Colleen, you're a princess compared to their bricks and bars."
It was the first time Ratigan had used the Irish endearment. To be called Colleen in Ireland was no earth-shattering event but left Faith with a warm and comforting sensation deep inside. She knew his Christian name was Mark, but none used it. "Ratigan" suited him better, it was one hundred percent Irish. She wondered why she always thought of him by that name instead of his given first name. Hopefully, she inquired, "Will we be seeing much of Adrian?"
"Falling in love with him?"
"Why shouldn't I? He's got all the Irish charm you lost along the way."
It was not a road block nor an official command. It had all the trappings of innocence, a teenage girl detaching herself from a gypsy family beside their cart and fire against the hedge and signaling hopefully for them to stop. Believing it safer for them to comply than to drive straight on and attract resentment, Ratigan stopped the little car with the unknown girl standing beside Faith's window.
"We was wondering if you'd spare a blessed shilling for the poor," the girl chanted in a sing-song voice, no doubt from much repetition.
Faith's mind sped instantly to possibilities. Ratigan would not kill this child, she was positive he would not. The scene was a common one in Ireland and if they gave the child her shilling would create no memory in the mind of anyone. But this was her chance!
"My name is Faith Baldwin," she said distinctly while staring hard into the youthful eyes. "Go to the police and tell them you've seen me. I've been kidnapped."
The girl stared, open mouthed, in astonishment. Faith was on the verge of repeating her urgent message when Ratigan's voice took over, "I'm Olive Cromwell and I'm on my way to an appointment with Charles the First," he said easily. "We'll be meeting the Pope in County Cork where we're getting married. Here's your shilling, good luck to you lass."
It was total deflation. Faith sat stiffly and watched the transfer of the coin, saw the girl's face light up at recognized humor, heard the overly profuse thanks before Ratigan engaged the clutch and they moved forward down the road.
"That was a bloody silly thing to do," said Ratigan tersely. "You might have got her killed."
"You couldn't, not a girl like that, not much more than a child and with her family watching. I won't believe it of you."
"Suit yourself. Faith." Ratigan chuckled in genuine humor. "If that family has enough sense to figure the thing out and go to the police, do you release what you've done to yourself?"
"Struck a blow for freedom?" Faith was breathing fast.
"Hell no! No one took the license off the car, none of them knew us and they'll all be willing to swear you weren't a prisoner. Sweetheart, you look as much like a kidnapped maiden as that girl back there and she got a damned good look at you."
"So what?"
"So, if they do go to the cops it means the British press will have a field day at your expense. Can't you see the headlines, 'British Minister's Daughter Turns Terrorist,' or maybe, 'Faith Baldwin Turns Traitor.' The less radical rags will drop the hint you've abandoned all for love. Think of it, my sweet, you're visibly traveling free and untrammeled with a nasty man. You reputation will be in shreds." For good measure he added, "And nobody saw your toes."
Tears of chagrin sprang to Faith's eyes. She angrily brushed them away uncaring that the man beside her knew she cried and why she cried. It was a total and humiliating defeat which could have only one result from now on she would be more closely restrained than ever and trusted less. She felt a terrible sense of lose.
"Please don't hate me, I only did what I thought I had to. You would have done the same."
The words came out interspersed with sobs.
"No I wouldn't, I'd have more sense." Ratigan looked her up and down in shrewd assessment. "I like that way of fixing you, we'll use that toe tie again if need be. No one but no one is going to look at you and believe you're a kidnap victim. Please don't die of frustration."
Ratigan read her like a book, guessing her thoughts and impulses, always one step ahead. Faith was furious with him and with herself. But Ratigan's mood survived the petty storm and he returned to practical discussion.
"Considering this toe effort works so well, how would it be I keep your feet chained at and give you the run of the place. You couldn't go far, not enough to escape, I'd have proper shackles made for you if you'd like to wear them."
"I don't want to wear any such thing, I only want to go home."
"Very well, if you'd like to dispense with that shirt.. . "
"You know that's not what I meant. I simply don't want to be chained or roped or strapped or caged or any of the awful things people can do to girls."
"Sorry, love, thought I was making it as easy as I could for you. Just think, hands free all day long."
"Thank you very much. I'm sure you mean to be kind." Faith was stiffly British.
Ratigan stopped the car on the deserted road and kissed his captive hard until her arms were around his neck and she was kissing back. "You silly little puss," he said when they disengaged. "That's a teenage snit you've just indulged in. Serve you right if I beat it out of you."
Their eyes met and the rapport reassured itself. They shared a burst of laughter before Faith conceded, "Very well, I'm sure I'll love to have my feet chained the way you say. I'm sure I'll love every moment."
The little car sped on its way. enveloped them in serenity. The little car disappeared into one of many doors but not before Faith had thrust her bare legs into view and demanded, "Well?"
Ratigan was delighted with her helplessness. "You want your toes untied, is that it?" he asked with humor in his voice.
"Unless you expect me to hop. I'm not even sure I can do that."
He cut the twine and messaged one toe while Faith messaged the other. They toured their new home as honeymooners might view a purchased house. Adrian's money plus the labors of the Bhoys had worked miracles. In the suite she and Ratigan would share there was even modem plumbing with a dream bathroom, it did not seem possible. Rubble had been cleared from stone chambers to leave them clean and ready for purposes Faith could not divine. There was a mess hall and a kitchen. Lastly they went downstairs into a coolness below the ground. Even thought it was she who was the captive. Faith clutched Ratigan's arms when faced with an apparently blank stone wall but which proved to possess a door and modern lock.
"There's two of them, sweetheart," Ratigan said evenly. "Good old fashioned dungeons but cleaned up in your honor. Adrian even had the old irons removed and replaced by modern chains. He must think you're dangerous."
Faith peered into the gloom until her eyes adjusted and everything became visible. She inspected the iron links and iron bands hanging from ring bolts in the wall. In their own way they were beautiful, exquisitely contrived and finished by craftsmen. But it was as though they were alive and held a menace for her along. She dropped them and shuttered. But Miss Faith Baldwin had to admit secretly that the ghastly place had greatly improved from when Adrian had shown it to them before. She suspected a trace of artificial heat as befitted any stone chamber wherein a naked girl might sit and weep.
The first stone prison had been one large single chamber, the second was broken up by three stone pillars supporting the weight above. It was the pillars now which bore the chains and not the walls. True, there were ring bolts everywhere offering the same convenience of confinement as a modern home has electric outlets. Faith could hardly wait to get out of the place but was guided instead to a third stone chamber.
"We call this a torture chamber, sweetheart," Ratigan said thoughtfully. "Adrian's got a sense of humor, you know. He junked what was rotting away but kept intact what was made of good oak beams. That pillory, for instance, genuine fourteenth century except the holes have been made smaller to bring them down to your size. He's a thoughtful host."
It was always there, that hint of Irish humor, always elusive, sometimes fearful. Faith could not believe a word of what Ratigan had said. "I don't believe you," she said simply. "Adrian would never put me in a thing like that. That's a rack over there, isn't it? I've seen one in a castle in England."
"Polished and repaired especially for you, dear one." Ratigan was laying it on thick. "The old ropes had turned to dust so they were all replaced. Same with the wristlets and anklets, they're just your size."
"And this horrible object.. . Ugh!"
"I think they called it a 'horse,' love. The girl sits astride and the bar burrows up into her crotch. She's suitably bound, of course."
"It's all suitably horrible and I think you're pulling my leg. I'll bet that after you're through with the place Adrian opens it up as a museum. This room alone will make him rich, the public loves anything gruesome."
"I direct your attention to the pulleys in the ceiling. Some work on a winch but he's got others electrically controlled."
Faith accepted the banter, it was far preferable to threats. "It's all so thoughtful," she affirmed with mock enthusiasm. "Could we go upstairs now, I'm feeling ill."
Sunlight revived their mood of fun. Faith closed her mind to what she had seen downstairs. She was not the least bit sure if it was really intended for her or not. But one thing that left a nagging question in her mind, everything had been made girl-sized, just as Ratigan said. None of it was designed for men. That meant it would be either she or Jinny. Or would there be some other female she did not know?
They went to the kitchen and shared a cup of tea and then to the lounge to sample Adrian's brandy. Sipping the fiery fluid. Faith found herself conjecturing which of the two men she would choose if such a choice were vouchsafed her. But that too was a topic best not dwelt upon. She had quandaries enough without manufacturing her own.
At bedtime there was revealed a thing to make Faith Baldwin blush, not because of what it was but the thought behind it. Ratigan unbuttoned her shirt and lifted it back over her head while she stood passively to let it happen without protest. He made her thus naked every night, telling her with a sense of Irish she was a shrine of beauty to demand his worship in the dark. He then produced Adrian's gift.
It was a golden collar, exquisite in simplicity. When locked about her neck there was a ring at the back and from the ring a chain snaking its ten foot length to be fastened at the wall.
"Good for some sleepwalkers, love," Ratigan told her, tugging playfully at the chain. "You won't do any sleepwalking while wearing this. Of course, it does have other uses, too."
"Like keeping me prisoner?"
"As you wish, dear girl. May I say it enhances your beauty considerably, if such a thing is possible. It won't hinder you activities."
"I won't be able to put on my shirt until you unlock me in the morning."
"Scarcely a matter for tears, love. Wear it in joy."
There was tremendous sense of adventure about it all. From the outside was peaceful and quiet as ever. But inside, in those areas of renovation, it bestowed magic on a flushed and radiant young woman. Faith reveled in the bathroom with its unlimited hot water and was secreUy delighted with her golden collar, wondering what had prompted Adrian to think of it. Or had he too chained some lucky maiden beside his bed? It left no doubt he knew of Ratigan's possession and intimacy with her nakedness. She shrugged such thoughts away and behaved herself upon their bed with such skill as to evoke male approval.
"Picking things up, aren't you love. If you get any more clever I can rent you out for cash."
For that brief time Miss Faith Baldwin was very happy.
Morning brought a return to the mundane fact of captivity. Ratigan was frequently called away on what he called "important business" and. over breakfast, broke the news that today was the day she would make the acquaintance of her new and costly leg-irons. In other words, her feet were to be shackled and joined by a chain too short to let her run and short enough still to snug each walking step. Faith simply shrugged and said, "So what? You told me about them yesterday. I suppose you're remembering they'll affect my performance in bed."
"They unlock, sweetheart. No problem."
Faith sat in the lounge to extend her bare legs for the new and costly bondage. She was given them to hold and was surprised by their weight and beauty. They had been fashioned with skill and love but left no doubt they would hobble an elephant, let along a girl. When Ratigan locked them on the slenderness of her ankles, they had the same effect of feminine enhancement as had the collar the night before. Laughingly she rose and essayed to walk. At the third step she tripped and would have fallen had not Ratigan been there with ready arms.
"You can practice in them all day," he told her with a laugh. "I expect you'll adjust and wear them proudly. I don't mind telling you, sweetheart, their effect on me is devastating. I'm going to have to get a way before I take you back to bed."
Faith stood alone when he had gone, deliberately snubbing one foot against its chain. She remembered suddenly the nakedness imposed through breakfast. She took the laughably short steps by which she must reach their bedroom. Fortunately there was none to see as she scrambled into the familiar and totally inadequate garment and tested to see if she could tug it low enough to properly cover her crotch. It was an exercise she performed daily and that never quite succeeded. But it no longer mattered, it was just a daily routine in which she found faint interest. Miss Faith Baldwin was now confronted by her day.
The shackles on Faith's feet were a surprised the Bhoys endorsed with enthusiastic but carnal praise.
"Sure, and it's to the races you'll be going, Miss Baldwin, you'll outrun 'em all."
"Them things will keep your around handy, Miss, but he devil himself couldn't part your feet far enough for a bit o' fun."
"Can I be taking ye for a walk now, here's me arm."
The band enjoyed Faith Baldwin to the full and she accepted their coarse humor with good grace. She was one of two females alone in a band of men, it would be wise to make no enemies or to seem too blatantly English. She actually accepted a helping arm from time to time for what the Bhoys chose to call "practicing." It was indeed that and the chained girl knew it would be wise to learn to walk again as through she were an infant. The span of short links was harder to adjust to than she had supposed, evoking a constant irritation as they snubbed her feet. In a do or die she sought out Johnny Catlin and asked permission to walk to the gatehouse to visit Adrian, explaining she did not wish to be treated as an escape convict if she met anyone half way there.
"Sure, and it's crazy you are. Miss Baldwin. Ain't no way you can walk that far with them pretty feet shackled the way they is."
"But, Johnny, I'd like to try. Let me practice. Mr. Ratigan said he's going to keep me chained like this. I can't just sit."
Reluctantly he said he would pass the word around and she could try out her walk as best she could. "Tis crazy, so it tis. Miss Baldwin. But there's no harm in your trying." He chuckled. "I'll keep an eye on ye. Ye may well be glad of someone to carry you back."
Faith Baldwin had only to take her first hundred hobbled steps to realize the enormity of her task. Annoyed, she sat on the grass and fingered the metal bands upon her ankles and their connecting chain. It seems impossible that so simply device could keep her a prisoner, perhaps a prisoner for life. Most certainly it made escape out of the question. She could not run far enough to seek help or evade pursuit. Doggedly she rose again to resume the frustration of fettered feet. Before she had progressed another hundred painful steps she saw a figure coming across the field, a figure she instinctively guessed was Adrian Moore.
"What on earth has that man done to you!" Adrian laughed in greeting and amusement. "Don't tell me you have to walk around like that."
"I'm afraid I do the Master's orders."
"Where does he keep the key. I'll get you out of them. Really, Faith, that's a bit much."
He doesn't tell me where he keeps the keys. If he did I could get free myself." She glinted mischief. "Hello and good morning."
Adrian kissed her forehead lightly, a big brother kiss. Faith knew he had kisses of another kind but refused to use them. Instead he said lightly, "I'm going to carry you, you can't possibly walk like that. Put your arm around my neck and I'll get you back to the castle."
"Couldn't we possibly go to your place instead?"
Adrian stopped and stared. "Damn funny I never thought of that. Of course we can go to my place, there'll be a hell of a lot more privacy."
"I'd be terribly grateful. I've already fixed it with the Bhoys. If I'm with you they won't come chasing me."
"That's a tribute. Come on. let's start again."
"But it's such a long way, are you sure.. . ? "
For answer Adrian picked her up. As instructed she put an arm around his neck and felt the instant heat of contact. She had guessed from the first Adrian would get her into trouble, but whips and pillories and dungeons paled besides the glory of the morning and the dew-drenched grass. This man must be incredibly strong, as strong perhaps as Ratigan himself. Coyly she remarked, "I'm terribly sorry I'm not more decent, Adrian, but this is ail the clothing I'm allowed."
"I've seen a naked girl or two, it doesn't matter. When I get you back to the gate house I'll take that shirt off your shoulders so you won't have to worry any more about whether I can see your sex or not. Humanity makes a shocking mess of the simplest things. Has Ratigan been cruel yet?"
"Of course not, he's never cruel. These chains aren't cruel, they're just his way of keeping me safe." Faith sighed resentfully. "It seems impossible I can't get to where I can phone my parents but I haven't managed it yet. Do you think I ever will?"
Adrian was not even breathing hard under his burden of naked girl. "No, I don't suppose you ever will. But if it would ease your mind I'll mail a letter for you. I'll have it sent from some distant place."
"Would you? I'd be so grateful!"
"Sure, but remember no clues, just a simple statement. I don't mind you telling them you're kidnapped, if you don't they'll have suspicions about you. I'm surprised Ratigan hasn't allowed you this already."
They took the journey in gentle stages, allowing Adrian to rest and sitting on the grass together in a delightful intimacy they both knew held hazard.
"It's a pity you're not a slave girl in ancient Rome," Adrian mused thoughtfully. "I could buy you and set you free, I'd get a real charge out of doing that. Most men are frustrated knights errant below the surface. We so much long to be admired by the duce damsel in distress. It's an ancient theme in literature, or hadn't you noticed?"
"It's been unconscious but now I notice it's always been there," Faith admitted slowly, but her voice quickened. "I say, Adrian, are you quite sure you can get me back this afternoon before curfew? I don't want to get into trouble."
"Nothing to worry about, I've got a car and there's a road of sorts between the two places. Not to worry."
They eventually arrived and, allowing Faith to use her own short steps, Adrian explained the functions of a gatehouse and how, all too often, it was the last refuse of an impoverished nobleman while he rented out the main house to tourist to appease the tax collector. "No trouble like that with , " he explained, laughing. "But the gatehouse idea is good. It's more than adequate for a single chap like me and I get a woman in from the village to do the work and cook an occasional meal."
"But suppose she sees me! What will she think?"
"She'll think Adrian Moore is having himself a bit of fun, that's all. The villagers all believe anyone with a bit of money is decadent. Perhaps they're right."
Within the shelter of the gatehouse walls Faith's first act was to reach for the offending shirt but male hands thrust hers aside. "Let me do it. Faith, it will give me pleasure."
She stood still for the familiar act. Naked she posed outrageously. "Do you like me?"
"I adored you from the first moment you came in view. Damn it, Faith, don't you realize how beautiful you are?"
She felt humble before such a declaration. True, it was Faith's first experience with being a female commodity rather than the correct and unapproachable daughter of a member of the government. She had little doubt that Ratigan would barter her for some unknown advantage if the chance arose. He would excuse his abandonment of her protection as beneficial to The Cause. Perhaps Adrian would do the same, but at this moment it did not matter. Faith was enjoying herself and prepared to make allowances.
"Thank you, kind sir," she said without shyness. "Perhaps you can buy me from Ratigan. Or perhaps steal me. Do you have a dungeon?"
"He's shown you those two I fixed up, eh? Nothing personal intended, although for the life of me I don't know who else but you would ever use them. Forgive my whimsy, it got the better of me."
"I expect you really would enjoy seeing me fastened on or in one of those horrible contraptions," she accused mischievously.
"You're right and I'll admit you're right," Adrian said thoughtfully. "Men are a bunch of bastards. And even thought they deny it this instinct to put the female in jeopardy is alive or dormant in most of us. It's some extension of the sexual instinct. Your beauty gets us first of all but we have to add to it by tying you up or putting you in chains or whipping you in a public place for all to see. They used to do this, you know, right up to about a century ago. They claimed they did it in the name of the law but it was pure sex, pure unadulterated sex that put the poor girl in the pillory or tied her to the whipping post, damn it! In Bridewell the nobility used to pay regularly to watch the girls punished. It was understood and accepted part of life."
He kissed her lightly. "Forgive us, sweetheart, we know not what we do."
Faith was about to tuck his information into some dark recess of her mind and forget it, but a strange perversity provoked her to ask, 'Arc you sure you wouldn't like to punish me in some such way?" She stared, open eyed and without guile. "If you'd like to, I won't mind a bit. I'll try not to scream. It might be an interesting experience for both of us."
She heard his indrawn breath and knew she had touched a cord. Adrian was and was Adrian. Faith Baldwin knew without doubt who the dungeons had been designed to fit. Without horror she knew a strange elation as she realized the Adrian belonged with the leprechauns but Ratigan did not. Tauntingly she teased, "Why don't you whip me. You could and I'd let you."
"I can't. Ratigan would see the marks on your skin."
"Then beat the soles of my feet. I'm told it's exceedingly painful."
"Stop it!" Adrian's voice was sharp. "You're playing with fire, Faith, and it's gone far enough. I'm a man of whimsy and fantasies but sometimes the fantasies explore the dark places of the mind. Don't push."
Faith was unashamedly disappointed. She had keyed herself to suffer pain to give pleasure to a man. To be denied because of marks upon her skin seemed a totally inadequate reason to not do it. Stubbornly she declared, "Well, all right, you can't whip me because of the marks but I'm sure there's other things you can do to me. Adrian, don't you understand, I want this, I want it terribly. I want to feel pain at your hands." She allowed her words to drift into silence before becoming apologetic. "Don't you understand, it's this place, it's and that torture chamber and the freedom with which I'm been able to talk to you. I've never been able to talk to a man like this, there's something sort of majestic about it, as thought I've reached a goal. Forgive me but it's the way I feel. I don't think it's being disloyal to Ratigan. If you believe it is. then punish me for that."
Adrian drew her into his arms, holding her nakedness with the hot familiarity of ancient love and unappeased desire. He hold her thus a long, long time until Faith's thoughts of punishment dissolved and she returned to the gatehouse world and the smell of wood polish and lavender.
"I think maybe it's these chains upon my feet," she said. "They're something new and they affect me sexually. Ratigan put them on my ankles and only he can lake them off. It's probably a personal thing from him to me. from a man to a girl. Do you see what I mean?"
"Of course I see.'" He held her at arms length. "I'm going to have to be careful, too. Neither of us want to be false to Ratigan but I let my fantasies run away with me. You've become the fairy princess in all of them."
"Tell me?"
"Well, it's hard to be original." Adrian admitted slowly. "I suppose my favorite is the big hall and the assembled guests with the ancient nobleman rising up in wrath at proof of his daughter's perfidy, she has betrayed his cause and besmirched his name. Stately the old man rises and points his finger at the trembling maiden for whom all is lost. He thunders out his accusation. The girl is to be publicly flogged and then chained in a dungeon for the rest of her life.
"It's a bit medieval, the poor girl couldn't possibly stand that dungeon for a month without going around the bend. But fantasies give us a lot of latitude."
"Tell me more."
Adrian laughed at her absorption. "Well, it's another of the great halls of the old castle. There's nothing in it but the people who line its walls in readiness to see a guilty maiden get her punishment. But there is a sort of frame affair within which my naked heroine is tied, hands and feet spread wide with much ceremony and the formal reading of her sentence from a parchment by a monkish chap probably a father confessor to the family. The poor girl does nothing to defend herself but keeps a stony silence as the leather bands on wrists and ankles are tested and found secure. Then there came a fellow with a black hood and, of course, a whip. I can't possibly make that whip as wicked as it should be, the poor girl would die if I did. But let's say its bad enough and she eyes it apprehensively over a shoulder. She is the daughter of an Earl and thus has never known corporal punishment." Adrian paused. "Want me to go on?"
"No, I suppose you've told me enough. I don't want to be with that poor creature and suffer every stroke. I got a sort of precautionary whipping right on after I was kidnapped. It wasn't bad but it sure did hurt and I don't want to be whipped again or see another girl. There was one the other night they had it in for and put her through a bad time."
"But you just offered yourself to be whipped!" Adrian's voice was gentle. '
"I know, I'm inconsistent. I expect its sexual desire. I mean, no girl's going to want to be whipped. But when I asked you to whip me I really meant it and wanted you to do it. And, if you had, I would have gotten through it somehow."
Faith laughed. "I suppose its the bodies mechanism for coping with the pain of childbirth. I'll bet you a girl can put up with being whipped a lot better than a man."
Adrian drew her close to whisper softly, "I don't want you ever to find that out. I'll speak to Ratigan about it. I've no authority over him but he respects me."
"You believe there's a chance it could happen to me, don't you? I can tell by your voice."
"I can't deny that. Even Ratigan is subject to that damn fool Code and loyalties. There's been ugly incidents with members they've expelled. Each one makes Ratigan more vulnerable than before." Adrian chuckled. "You're chained feet remove your temptation to escape so you're safe on that score. But stay away from political discussion or the defense of someone you believe ill used. Ratigan's had you a long time and you must have used good judgment or you would already wear weals. Keep it up. Faith, and remember I'm here."
Adrian returned Ratigan's chained maiden by car. Ratigan was in a good mood and the three of them dined together beneath of the benign influence of . Faith did no more than listen, refraining from comment even when peeked. She found herself aware of the two diverse personalities and of her involvement with both. Castle contrived to plant a conviction she belonged to both. If she envisioned the obviously hazard of the position within such a triangle, she stilled her qualms and thrust the thought aside. She belonged to Ratigan and would remain his property. She could not believe the warmth she felt for Adrian could be deemed disloyal.
Readying himself for bed, Ratigan casually inquired, "What did your feet think of their chains, sweetheart?"
"My feet didn't like them, the rest of me did. They stopped me from doing anything about trying to escape."
Ratigan nodded indifferently. Since Adrian's departure. Faith sensed his preoccupation with something unspoken. She explored him. "Don't you want my shirt off and me collared for the night?"
"You can take your shirt off, you won't need the collar this evening."
There was something wrong. Faith sensed menace, feminine intuition telling her instantly it's origin. "It's because I spoke to that girl on the road here, isn't it?" she asked nervously. "You're going to punish me. Is that what's bothering you?"
"How did you guess?"
"Because it's the only thing I've done. Unless you're angry over my visiting Adrian. Are you?"
"No I'm not. You guessed it the first time. You're damned perverse, sweetheart."
"Why call me sweetheart if you're going to punish me? What's it going to be, the whip?"
"You almost want it, Faith. What is it, some sort of martyrdom? A sexual turn on?"
She flushed and kicked her chain nervously. "I haven't looked that deep into myself," she admitted. "I expect Freud or Jung might tell you the answer, I've not patience with that nonsense. Am I to be whipped in public?"
"You're not at all. Colleen. You're a lady and the lady's not for whipping. I'm going to give you an uncomfortable night where you can do some thinking."
Faith longed to kiss away his somber mood but dared not, her hobbled feet would turn such an act to farce.
"There's all too much talk of whipping," Ratigan said disgustedly. "I won't promise to never have you whipped but I don't see it as something likely to happen. You behave yourself remarkably well but you'd best be made to realize that slip you made on our journey here was unforgivable. There's bound to be other exposures and you'd best be ready to cope."
She supposed that, by the code of the band, she had no defense. In any case it would do her no good to protest. Brightly she inquired, "Do my feet get unchained for what.. . For what you're going to do to me?"
"No need, I'll carry you."
Faith wished the comfort of male arms lasted longer. She was carried downstairs to the main barn and an area she had not previously explored. It was presently occupied by a pregnant cow in one stall and a couple of calves in another. The rest of the space was bare. Ratigan had evidently pondered her punishment for he stood her with her bare back against the rough rails of a stall and roped her middle to one of the horizontal timbers. Then, taking his time and using much care, he bound each of her bare arms out to their utmost to a wooden anchorage, knotting her wrists with such serious purpose as to tell the shivering nudity of the hopelessness of struggling. Having thus tied one arm and hand, he treated its twin in the same manner on the other side to leave the naked girl like a butterfly with wings outspread.
Faith said no word. She was almost curious as to the outcome of this strange ritual as her master now used more rope in a crisscross pattern over her shoulders and above and below her breasts to hold her firmly in the butterfly position.
"That will hold you up, sweetheart," he said dourly. "I suppose you realize you're here for the night."
"Yes, I guessed. By morning I'll be hurting. Is that what you want?"
"Not what I want, love, it's what you deserve. A bit of pain will teach you a lesson you need to learn." His voice turned savage. "And look, sweetheart, don't think I'm enjoying this. Good night."
He kissed her with force then stamped back upstairs.
Faith tensed against the ropes by which she was clamped tightly enough to be a part of the barn itself. There was no slack anywhere so she quickly ceased and resolved herself to remaining in that position the entire night. She could still kick her ankle chain and did so with a reflection that even if a friend were to cut the ropes she would still be the captive of Castle . If she hobbled metallically through the hours of darkness she would still probably fail to find a friend to set her free. She abandoned the quaint notion along with all other fantasies of escape. She would remain exactly as she was until Ratigan choose to release her in the morning. And that was that!
Faith Baldwin wondered over her lack of resentment. It was as though what was happening to her now was only a part of the ebb and flow of Ratigan rebel activities. The fortunes of war such as when a soldier was confined to barracks for being AWOL. Faith was willing also to concede relief that Ratigan had not elected to have her whipped. Even though unsure of how she would feel through the night, she felt sure her present punishment would be preferable to whip marks on her soft skin. She sighed resignedly and tried to find a comfort where none was to be had. Every breath she took thrust her breasts hard between the ropes. She realized it might be wise to sigh as little as possible since each expansion of her breasts would exact an increasing chaffing of the ropes. Faith Baldwin was glad her parents could not see her now.
The cow chewed her cud and the calves went to sleep. Faith could not imagine that sleep would be granted her that night but she began to doze and to dream fitfully of Adrian's fantasy in which she became the frightened girl fastened to the frame. But whenever the executioner struck his first blow across her naked back she woke, tense and anxious. It took minutes of sober thought to assure herself that she was bound but untouched by the whip. After each such tour into dreamland, the ropes became more and more insistent in her flesh. It was in the darkest part of the night that Faith Baldwin dreamed a fantasy all her own.
She was running through a wood, fleeing from some unnamed menace in the light of evening which turned the larger trees to ghosts and made the faint path she followed hard to see. With the inconsistency of dreams, her fleeting steps were but little hindered by the ankle shackles she still bore. Faith knew them to be the ones locked on her by Ratigan but her fantasy employed them only to intensify the sense of dread which is the common ingredient of nightmare. The frightened girl knew of a destination which, could she but reach it, offered sanction. The building was ill-defined, some sort of castle or fort but it was surrounded by a moat over which Faith would pass with the aid of friendly hands. Sometimes she paused to listen for pursuit and allow her breathing to catch up with the thudding of her heart. The absence of hoof beats gave little comfort. Men might pursue her on foot and might be all around her now. But the fact she could hear nothing promised at least a brief freedom. The naked girl turned and resumed her flight, the silver metal joining her feet made the only sounds.
At that point Faith found her dream self beating her fists against a heavy oaken door which opened only enough for a rough hand to grasp her arm and drag her within. Without preamble and ignoring her wails of protest, her wrists were tied tight behind her back and her elbows cinched tight to inhibit any tendency she might have to argument. She was then bodily picked up and carried in silent anguish along dark corridors and through doors to where, in the very heart of the castle, the Great Hall with its vast and blazing fireplace awaited her. Standing, feet apart, in front of the flames was the figure of a man. It seemed in keeping with the rest that when she saw his face she beheld the features of Adrian Moore.
It was at this point in her dream things went terribly wrong. Instead of recognition in his handsome features Faith saw only contempt and disdain. There was also an urgency she did not understand. "Take her to the questioning." The voice was sharp and without pity. "I'll follow by the time you've extracted her first screams."
It was, of course, the torture chamber she had seen at , not as it was now, polished and modernize, but as it might once have been. The ropes so recently tied were slashed quickly from hands and elbows as, by dream magic, her feet were freed of their metal bands. The rack accommodated her nakedness by a single plank on which her back was thrust hard down while adapt fingers tightened leather bands around her wrists and ankles and from them ropes which prevented Faith leaping from the device when the hands were gone. It was but a moment before the windless turned to stretch her maiden loveliness into taut immobility. The plank was withdrawn and Miss Faith Baldwin remained suspended by wrists and ankles most painfully stretched by the time the wheel was stopped. She knew this as only the beginning, it was not yet torture.
"Ye'd best loose thy tongue, lass, before we turn another notch." The voice was fatherly and concerned from a man she could not see.
The rough hand of another brutally cupped her obscenely available sex, squeezing its tightened lips and laughing as a finger traced a pathway up over her belly to linger upon the sadly flattened breasts. The voice fitted the hand, "This one's a beauty, tis a shame so it is we've no time for a bit of sport. Damn me if she ain't wet."
"There'll be time for sport if she had the sense to speak. But if she keeps a still tongue she'll be of little use to any of us." The voice changed tone and direction. "I'm telling ye, lass, we've no wish to break thy bones. Have sense and spare thyself."
The hands were suddenly gone, the voices stilled. Heavy male footsteps echoed from stone walls. Suddenly a face appear before her, a face without mercy which strangely was the face of Adrian Moore, which was all wrong and impossible and not to be thought of. His voice, without feeling, commanded, "Give her another turn."
As the ropes creaked and maiden screams filled the ugly chamber, Miss Faith Baldwin awoke to the heavy breathing of the cow and the acrid barn smells of the place wherein Ratigan had bound her for the night. She was trembling beneath the ropes and wet with sweat.
It had been more nightmare than dream, and like most nightmares without logic. Faith wanted to believe that dreams should always be reversed. Doing that, what she had just seen would not be nightmare at all but a perfectly gorgeous dream. Adrian would have cut the ropes and carried her to safety and, hopefully, his bed. But it took until the first grayness of dawn for the girl enduring her punishment to clear her mind of hideous memory. If she slept again it was innocent of dreams.
Pain was implicit to the whole affair. Early in the night the tight bindings had begun their insidious penetration of Faith's flesh, a cutting attrition of bondage she could not evade. She could, in fact, do nothing except moan and long for relief from nightmares. Long before the time of her release, Miss Faith Baldwin wondered in anguish if she might not have been wise to plead for the whip instead of rope. Not that it would have done her any good, Ratigan would have done as he pleased anyway. She realized his choice of a punishment held its own bizarre logic, she would remember this night and its memory would be bitter indeed. But still, even in her pain, she felt no hatred towards he who had tied the knots.
Ratigan did not wait for high noon but freed his captive in early morning. Faith, deliberately exaggerating distress, fell inertly to the straw to lay there, eyes closed, while the man who had bound her massaged the angry marks left by tight cords. Soon he carried her bodily back to bed and savagely performed the ancient rite omitted the night before, leaving her chained and sleeping peacefully. When Faith awoke the sun was high so she swung her fettered ankles to the floor and viewed her new day with fresh optimism because her punishment was past. With short and cautious steps she made her way to the kitchen where Johnny Catlin was already busy preparing food. His greeting was to be expected, "Hear ye had yourself a time in the old barn last night. Miss Baldwin. See any ghosts?"
Faith was grateful he made no reference to the rope burns still visible on her skin. "I thought I was back in the bam at the farm." she admitted, vaguely puzzled. "But I suppose all barns look and smell the same. Do any of you boys milk that cow?"
"Tis were that milk and cream on the table comes from, Miss Baldwin. And it's me that mostly milks her when she ain't so close to calfing. There's a couple more out in the pasture, makes the place sort of homey like. Want me to show you around a bit? Ratigan's away again." He grinned sympathetically. "I'll walk real slow."
Aware of Johnny's stare of acute curiosity. Faith said simply, "Ratigan punished me last night. I'd done something silly. I won't do it again." She gave a mock shutter. "Ugh! It was awful. I hated every minute. Please don't talk about it, I hated every minute."
After the food they found Faith's shirt and walked together out into the sunlight. She admitted to a curiosity about meeting the entire group, half of whom she had not spoken to and the idleness of a rebel afternoon would be a good time for greetings. She was no longer conscious of something peeking shyly from below the shirt's hem.
The Bhoys had, of their own volition, created the facsimile of the public bar in an Irish pub. It had not doubt been easy enough to do with the wealth of material available, and now sported a number of tables and chairs and a truly surprising stock of alcoholic beverages including a good supply of Guiness. No one was really drunk. Drunkenness was against the Code. But most of those present had reached a state of feeling no pain. Cully presided behind the bar imposing strict control. His satyr's eye approved the feminine visitor.
"What will you have, Miss?"
Faith's statement that she never drank this early in the day met with jeers. She felt compelled to compromise with a gin and tonic. She hated both and would therefore sip the drink slowly. She was escorted from table to table but forgot half the names she heard although everyone was aware of hers. But she remembered some of the vulgar comments.
"Ye've come to the right place for a good fuck. Miss Baldwin, so ye have."
"Will ye have it now or later?"
"Shut your trap. Josh, the lady's not for fucking. More's the pity.
At the next meeting we should ask Ratigan to pass her around. It's high time Jinny got a rest, she's more hole than hair."
It was hardly the type of talk she was used to before she was kidnapped. Faith pretended not to hear. But Johnny, still sober, was indignant. "Why don't you spelpeens keep your traps shut in front of a lady?" he demanded. "She don't want none of your fucks and assholes and such like."
"What's she wearing that there shirt for, then. Take it off, Johnny, let's get a good look at the lass."
Faith surprised them all, most of all herself. But she was fully conscious of Ratigan's absence and of the possible benefits of bending with the wind. With a flourish she tugged at the shirt and passed it over her head. Then she calmly straightened her hair in a wickedly revealing pose. "Haven't any of you seen a naked girl?" she demanded. "Take a good look before I put it back on."
She turned slowly to disclose every curve then held her hands high for final approval before returning to the shelter of her shirt. The applause were loud and genuine.
"The lass has got class, showing herself like that."
"If Ratigan finds out, he'll whip her ass."
"But none of us are going to tell him, are we?" said a sly voice.
"I'll tell him myself," Faith said forcefully. "If he whips me it will be your fault. I only did it to please you and because I was near enough to naked anyway. Just think what your mothers would say if they saw me in this shirt."
There was an embarrassed silence. Irish mothers are holly even though Irish wives are not. Faith pushed her advantage. "Why don't you bring Jinny in to keep me company? Where are you keeping her anyway?"
"We was having a bit of fun with young Jinny, Miss, no harm intended."
"Tis a boring business, so it is, this sitting around. We ain't had a raid in a week."
"I asked you were she was," Faith pursued. "I suppose you're too embarrassed to show me what you've done with her."
The Bhoys were far from embarrassed, it appeared there were only too anxious to show off their "bit of fun" with a lady of such high rank. As one they rose and led the lady visitor, by devious halls and passages, to what she realized, with a thrill of disgust, was the torture chamber of her previous tour and of her nightmare. The were greeted by a baleful glare from a young woman who was far from happy. The Bhoys in their innocence had fastened Jinny firmly on "The Horse." Jinny was naked, her bare arms drawn painfully back and up and her bare legs drawn out so tight to either side she appeared to be doing a ballet dancer's split upon the unkind saddle on that ancient instrument designed for the discomfort of a girl. Jinny's sexual orifice was planted squarely on the bitter wood to bear every ounce of her weight in increasing misery.
"Get me off this thing, you assholes!" Jinny's welcome was forceful and to the point. "I'm split in two, so I am, and I'll be any good anymore at all, at all. You've ruined it for sure."
"Bull, Jinny, you've only be on it an hour!"
"You've got the rest of the afternoon, girl, and we brought Miss Baldwin to visit."
Faith was horrified. She clinked short steps to where she could tear at the ropes on Jinny's wrists. "Hold on, I'll have you loose in a minute." she told the tortured girl as she unwound strand after strand.
"She's spoiling our fun, so she is," proclaimed an outraged voice.
"Hell, let's sit the bitch up there too, might do her a word of good."
"Watch it lads, Ratigan would kill the lot of us if we sent her back to him tonight with a swollen cat."
"Stop her, someone, she's near got Jinny's hands untied. Ain't no reason she should spoil our fun."
"Begora and I don't see the fun in your drinking and your rotten bar and your leaving me sitting her half cut in two. You're a rotten lot o' bastards, so ye are." In a different tone she addressed her rescuer, "Don't pay no attention to them. Miss Baldwin. I'm so grateful to you I just can't say. Look, I'll hold myself steady while you untie my feet."
Faith completed her rescue without male help even to taking the punished Jinny off the horse to stand beside the terrible instrument of suffering. The solitary female member of the band was rubbing her crotch in a gingerly way, exploring for possible damage to an important asset. Faith discovered Jinny's discarded shirt while the disgruntled men returned to the bar and the solace of beer. Johnny, sensing the coming girl-talk, departed, too. with a wave and a sly wink of approval.
"What on earth did you do to make them put you on that thing?"
Faith demanded. "I don't see how any girl could deserve that for a whole afternoon."
"Didn't do nothing. Miss Baldwin," said Jinny aggrieved. "Tis their lousy Irish fun, so it is. Thinking they can do what they like with a girl. Gee whiz, Miss Baldwin, do you think I'll ever be any good again? I mean down there between my legs?"
By way of comfort Faith went all the way, cupping Jinny's punished sex in a tender palm. "Sure you will," she said cheerfully. "You've just suffered some awful pain, but there isn't any injury. I know I wouldn't want to sit on that terrible thing."
The did not rejoin the men. Both girls felt a genuine comfort in feminine company long denied. "Let's go to the room they gave me to sleep in," Jinny suggested. "But, crumbs. Miss Baldwin, can you walk in them there chains. That's something they never done to me."
"I can't really walk, I hobble. But don't worry we'll get there."
"Seems real cruel keeping you shackled the way you is, Miss Baldwin. Might be fun for an hour but I sure won't want those things on my ankles permanent the way they done you. Can't you be nice some way to Ratigan so he'll take them off?"
"No body fools Ratigan, Jinny. If you can think of any more comfortable way he can keep me prisoner I wish you'd tell him. But I don't want to get put in a dungeon or tied to a tree. I've been trying to think of something to suggest to him myself, but there doesn't seem anything simpler than chaining my feet. I have to remember I'm a prisoner."
It was a sad little stone chamber but without evidence of it being a prison other than a heavy ring on the wall. Observing Faith's look of distaste for the iron reminder of her captive. Jinny volunteered, "When the Bhoys is doing something real private they don't want me to know about they chain me to that there ring you're looking at. They ain't real cruel about it but they get a lot of fun of out deciding which bit of me they'll put the padlock on. It don't really hurt so I suppose guess I shouldn't complain."
Jinny giggled. "Well, it's sort of like tonight. The Bhoys got a raid planned for tonight. They don't think I know about it but they can't hide nothing like that from me. I don't know whether they'll chain me before they go. But anyway they'll come back with some poor girl like you and me or maybe some woman who was a bit lippy about what the Bhoys stand for. Whichever it is we got to feel sorry for 'em." Jinny sighed. "Ratigan let's 'em have their bit of sport with any girl they pick up. He knows they're bored. Don't even get in to see a movie anymore."
Faith sat on Jinny's rough little cot and in the privacy of the tiny room. Faith boldly tried her luck once more. "Jinny, have you changed your mind about helping me get free? I know I'm not suppose to ask but I just have to. I don't want to spend my life like this."
"I got to spend my life with the Bhoys," Jinny said defensively. "I can't go home no more, my folks won't have me. They think I'm in on all this murdering stuff and getting poor girls tarred and feathered.. . " She wrinkled her pretty pixie face. "I suppose it's different for you, Miss Baldwin. I hear tell your people want you back really bad and you got a real good life if you ever get free. If you ever do escape, I wish you'd take me with you."
"Now's your chance. Jinny, free my feet and we're away."
Jinny looked unhappily at the iron bands circling Faith's ankles. "They'd half murder me if they caught me. And goodness knows what they'd do to you. And anyway I don't have no key."
"I expect you could get a key, Jinny, if you keep your eyes and ears open. I can't imagine Ratigan carries it around the country with him."
"I can try, Miss Baldwin, but I don't think it's no good. You see I don't sleep with Ratigan the way you do. And, if he don't give you no chance at that there key, I don't see what hope I got. But I'll do like you say, I'll keep my eyes open."
It was the tiniest of victories, but at least one small step in the right direction. Faith was startled by Jinny's next halting suggestion. "If you can drive a jeep with your feet chained. Miss Baldwin, that might be your best bet. The Bhoys leave the keys in them, I know 'cause I looked. But I can't drive. And anyway they never leave me alone around them jeeps. Them love them jeeps like a mother loves her child."
Faith's heart thudded in excitement. What Jinny had outlined was very possible. If she could get a jeep out of Castle and get a halfway decent start and drive recklessly enough, she might reach help before the Bhoys caught up with her. Guiltily she realized there was now the handicap of Jinny, who's idea it was. She could not possibly go without Jinny, she owed it to the girl to share whatever possibility of freedom came their way.
"What about right now." Faith felt the throb of excitement. "There's no time like the present and Ratigan's away. Are you ready?"
"The men ain't all in the bar. Miss. They left one fellow in the garage to do some work. There'll be others there by now, getting ready for the raid. I'll give you a call if I get a chance and you can do the same for me. Gosh, Miss Baldwin. I'm so grateful you will take me along. If you can take me back to England with you maybe I can get married real decent like and maybe have babies." Her voice became wistful.
Faith took the younger girl in her arms. Poor Jinny hadn't had much of a life and it would be exciting and pleasurable to do something for her. In England she could get a dozen jobs and maybe even a good husband. In the meantime Faith sensed of power surged in response to the idea of a stolen jeep. Ratigan must have supposed her afraid or incompetent of driving with chained feet. Or perhaps it was a means of escape he had overlooked. She supposed a man would never consider the idea of a near naked girl who's feet were close chained driving across the Irish countryside in a stolen jeep. She was almost appalled at the very idea but knew she would do it and do it well. How glorious that race would feel!
Reluctantly the hobbled girl returned to the suit she shared with the leader of the band. She was killing time in the bath when Ratigan returned. He kissed her absently and said without preamble, "Raise your feet, sweetheart."
Faith was speechless in astonishment. She raised her feet above the water line as her master directed then watched him turn the key and take the iron shackles from her ankles. He set the shackles aside and laughingly said, "Enjoy yourself. Think of it, my pet, you're absolutely unrestrained."
"You mean I'm promoted, not more chains?"
"I didn't say that." Ratigan took a pair of stolen handcuffs from his pocket. "You're forgetting these, my sweet." He dangled the wicked bracelets before her eyes then returned them to his pocket, laughing at her disappointment. "Don't worry, you can hop around all you like for a while. You're not likely to make a run for freedom while I'm around." Almost anxiously he inquired, "You wouldn't be that stupid, would you?"
"Well, no, I suppose not. Oh, Ratigan, it's so lovely to be able to separate my legs again. When I get out of the bath I'm going to run as far as you'll let me. Please run with me. Let's say about a quarter mile?"
"The Bhoys would think I was barmy. No, Faith, you and I won't be jogging today. We've got a raid going this evening and I want you to be a part of it."
Faith's hopes sank. But, brightly, she inquired, "Why couldn't I give you my parole? You know I'd keep my word. If I gave you my solemn promise not to run away I'd stay right here and do whatever you told me. Please?"
"You tempt me, love, but it's not possible. The Bhoys would never understand, they'd think I was going soft and they'd keep you under surveillance all the time. Sorry, you'll have to put up with being chained a while yet."
It would be just her luck to discover an opportunity yet to have her hands locked behind her back. Faith considered woefully. Nothing every went the way you planned. But the release of her feet was a tonic and she smiled happily as she allowed her master to towel her dry. It was something Ratigan enjoyed and she could be quite sure of a well-frictioned cleft between her thighs.
"What about this raid?" she asked cautiously. "What do I have to do? Why do you want me along? Aren't you scared someone will see me?"
"I want someone to see you. Remember Patti Hearst?"
Faith remembered the unfortunate kidnapped daughter of the Hearst millions. She shuttered to think of a similar fate of her. "You surely don't want me to get into the same jackpot as that girl, Ratigan? You're not going tie me into a crime and then hand me to the police, are you?"
"Gosh, what an imagination!"
"Well, that's what happened to Patti Hearst, it was you who mentioned her name."
"It won't happen to you, sweetheart. Simply do what I tell you and you'll come to no harm and tomorrow you'll be back a with your pretty little feet firmly chained again. Something to look forward to."
From somewhere another small car had magically appeared. Ratigan seated his captive in the front seat, clipped one bracelet of the handcuffs around her right wrist before clipping the other upon the iron framework of the seat. This left Faith sitting demurely at his side, one hand entirely free but the other holding her as securely captive as might a dungeon.
"You think of everything," Faith said bitterly. "Have you ever thought of writing a book, you could title it, 'No Freedom for Miss Baldwin.'" She sniffed disdainfully. "I would have thought you would have trusted me in the car until we get to where ever we're going. I think you like having these bits of iron fastened on me all the time."
"Sure I do, love. They tell me you're my property. But your present condition is for the benefit of the Bhoys and just in case I have to get out and talk to someone." He surveyed her seriously, tilting her cheek up to kiss her tenderly. "I don't want you asking anyone for help. You roll is the anxious wife who wants to get where we're going. Will you play it?"
"What's the penalty if I won't?"
"The dungeon, totally chained."
"I'll be your wife!" They shared laughter.
Faith had been given a fresh shirt and was now laughingly directed to do her hair with her one free hand and using the mirror of the car. Instead of being angry she found it fun. No husband and wife had ever set forth on an errand in better humor.
4
Fantasy in Fetters
The small town of Kiluck was an hour's drive, they reached it in early evening, and except for the pubs found it half-sleep. The street light told the public house was "The Irish Ploughman." Ratigan stopped the car at the curb and stepped on to the road.
"The first fellow to come by, ask him the road to Trallee. That's all. If he wants to talk argue or make indecent suggestions, I'll deal with that."
Faith was confused, uncertain of her companion's intent. But she was given no time to think. A farmer staggered out of the public bar and eyed her owlishly. At that moment there was a bright blue flash from a flashbulb. Faith instantly wondered why someone was using a camera.
"You do that, little lady?" the farmer approached Faith's open window, giving her ample opportunity to make the request.
"Is it Trallee you'll be wanting, lass? Sure and it's a long way down the road." He came close enough to envelope Faith in beer fumes. "That's an empty seat you've there. Maybe you'd be liking company?"
Another blue flash which left the farmer blinking and uncertain and then Ratigan was back behind the wheel. He gave Faith the camera then drove to a second pub around the block. This one was called, "The Bird and Beadle" and Faith breathlessly repeated her performance as did Ratigan with his camera. Satisfied, Ratigan headed from the town to where a jeep was waiting in a layby and slipped in behind them at Ratigan's signal. In total bewilderment. Faith counted three jeeps and nine men by the time they reached the isolated mansion of the outskirts of the town.
The saw the bulk of the house loom up in the night, surrounded by small fields and an orchard. The Bhoys had become dark and hooded figures of menace in the night. Ratigan unlocked Faith's cuffed wrists, took a wicked-looking rifle from the back seat and dragged the bewildered girl and the heavy weapon from the gate up the walk towards the house. Reaching the porch, he thrust the weapon into Faith's astonished hands, and rang the doorbell before stepping back into the shadows. Bewildered. Faith stood where he had left her, mind seething with wild hope. Inside the house would be telephones and people she could warn of the intended raid. She thought of flight, rejecting the opportunity. Ratigan or the Bhoys would apprehend her before she got too far. Her best bet was to be quick in getting through the door when it was opened and then impelling the occupants to urgency. She stood there, awkwardly holding the huge rifle when the door opened. Before Faith could move or speak there was a brilliant flash and then another. A hard hand planted itself against her chest and thrust her to turn the half naked girl and cause her to stagger for the benefit of a camera who's blue flash captured the crucial scene in arrested action. Suddenly the Bhoys were everywhere, gathering the woman who had opened the door into their possession as they boldly marched into the house. The gun was taken from Faith's hand and she was led back to the little car, the complaints dying in her throat.
"Keep quiet. You can sit in the car and enjoy an grandstand view." She was thrust roughly back into her seat and felt her wrist once more quickly cuffed and locked to the seat. It was not until Ratigan was lost in the gloom that Faith considered the photos he had taken of her. And what their use might be. Most certainly she had been used! She tugged angrily at her one chained hand but knew the action useless. She would sit as she was until Ratigan's return. She could vent her spleen on him then, but until then could would remain as much captive as she had ever been. She was fuming at being held helpless at so trivial a bond.
It was no time for reflections. The night was suddenly alive with a short burst of gunfire then silence, a silence pregnant with action unseen. It was only a short time before two hooded figures carried a bulky bundle, undoubtedly a human being heavily smothered and safely bound, and tossed it in the back of a waiting jeep. Surprisingly it was followed by two more, the bundles of slightly lesser bulk but intensively active with muted kicking from within. They were placed in another of the waiting jeeps and were strapped together. All three of the waiting vehicles sped away into the night to leave the violated home dark and silent and with a wide open door. The peaceful Irish night settled back to cover the violence.
Faith Baldwin sat in growing anxiety, chaffing her wrist in revolt at the uselessness of her present position. Ratigan would no doubt have an excellent picture of her holding a gun in seeming nefarious intent. It had been just such a picture as had convicted Patti Hearst and convinced the world of her conversion to terrorism. Is that what Ratigan wanted! A sob held her throat captive as she thought of the effect of such publicity upon her parents. Surely it would not happen! But suppose it did.. . '
Conjecture was set aside as the captive girl assessed her present condition. It made little sense and she wondered where Ratigan had gone. As the minutes passed there came about the eerie sensation as the darkness became more dark and the house a place of foreboding and dark deeds. In desperation Faith sank to the floor to better come to grips with her prisoned wrist. She could not see the other cuff locked to the seat but could grope and feel for it with fingers driven by a fresh fear that Ratigan had abandoned her to be found by the police and blamed for the whole affair. Once more she thought of Patti Hearst, there was a terrible similarity Coming to grips with the handcuff helped not at all. Frantically she sought some aid in the glove box but in the dark could see nor feel any key. She began a systematic search of the small car with her one free hand but was interrupted by a gruff, official voice
"Are you in trouble. Miss? Do you need help?"
Faith gazed up in horror to find a policeman's face staring in the window She did a rapid computation of possibilities and came up with what seemed the most harmless. "I'm afraid I've been the victim of a practical joke, officer. I wonder if you could help."
Authority lessened in the face of growing disbelief, a disbelief Faith could almost feel.
"Is it handcuffed you are. Miss? And where would anyone be getting a pair of handcuffs? And why would a nice young lady like you be handcuffed in a car this time of night?"
"I'm terribly sorry, I don't know the answers to those questions myself." She looked at the policeman. "But you do have a key, don't you?"
"That I have, Miss, but there's a few questions you'll be answering. Now let me see what I can do."
As her fumbled in a pocket, the helpless girl could feel suspicion mounting as the official fingers followed her forearm down over her hand to where the empty cuff was secure around the frame of the seat. Faith sat, tense and frightened and desperately wondering what to say or do. The ideal would be if this policeman would free her hand and allow her to go her way. The cuff unlocked, the policeman produced a flashlight and examined the handcuffs which still held her one hand prisoner The official voice became more firm. "These are police issue. Miss, an American make we've recently put into use. They bear a code." He made no move to unlock them. "I'm afraid I'll have to ask the name of who fastened them on you. Please be frank, Miss, you are in good hands."
Faith had little doubt she was in good hands, hands which might soon be tossing her body into a jail cell. "I just don't know, officer, I'm terribly sorry, I met him at a party."
"You are wearing nothing but a shirt. Miss. Is this your customary attire?"
Faith was trembling, everything she might say would sound suspicious to this country policeman. She longed for freedom to reach her parents before the newspapers.. . If she could only reach a phone.. .
"Is it any of your business?" she asked unhappily, striving to sound as if she were on firm ground instead of shaking in her boots (if she had any). "I'd be grateful if you'd just let me go home and turn your attentions to the house you can see over the hedge. Haven't you noticed the door's open?"
"Sorry, Miss, it won't wash. Now. if you'll just get out of the car.. . "
Faith stepped down to the grass. The cuff still dangled from her right wrist but not for long. The law read the license number of the little car, consulted a little notebooks and pronounced the death knell of Faith's hopes. "This is a stolen car, Miss, it is more over police property, stolen from Constable Cusp in Galloway Town." The statement was heavy with question. "I don't know your Mr. Cusp, I've never been to Galloway. Please allow me to walk back to town and use the telephone. I suggest you turn your attention to that house.
"Do ye now?" The law was indulging in sarcasm. "I'll look at that there house, I will. And you'll look at it, too." With an air of finality he clipped Faith's left wrist to joining her hands in front. "And you'll come along with me."
"Am I arrested?"
"That remains to be seen. Miss. Don't play no tricks now. don't do nothing silly. Let's see what we can find."
More certain than ever of saying the wrong thing. Faith allowed herself to be led within the dark open door. Freedom now seemed remote so in desperation she tried the truth.
"I'm sorry, officer, I haven't been telling you the truth. My name is Faith Baldwin, I'm the daughter of the English Cabinet Member you've read about. I've been kidnapped and held captive. I was taken somewhere but I don't where. I came her in the car handcuffed the way you found me. Please get me to a phone."
"Faith Baldwin, did you say? Never heard of her. Sure you're not the daughter of the Archbishop of Canterbury?" He added a laugh.
"But it was in all the papers, you must have read.. . "
"The English papers maybe. Miss, but this is Ireland."
"Please.. . Please help me. I've been a prisoner so long. And you'll get a reward."
The policeman's flashlight was roving ahead and what it now discovered now drove all thought of help or escape from Faith's mind. It was a the body of a dead man, and while the constable give it his full attention. Faith, with the instinct of the hunted, turned and fled. It was a nightmare down the path and out the gate. And there, as if by magic, Ratigan sat behind the wheel of the waiting car. And Ratigan was the only friend she had in Ireland. Immediately she slipped into the seat by his side, he started the motor and drove speedily away. Ratigan was chuckling soundlessly as at some private joke.
"You worked that wonderfully, sweetheart, I'm proud of you."
"But that policeman will come after us. He'll radio all over."
"No it won't, I've fixed his car so it won't start and smashed his radio. We'll be back at before he gets organized. Oh. and the phones in the house.. . We fixed them, too."
In thankfulness Faith longed for a deeper expression than words. She placed her cuffed hands on Ratigan's sleeve and whispered urgently. "I'm so glad it's you. Oh, Ratigan, I was so terribly frightened. There was a dead body in that house and the policeman has me handcuffed." She raised her hands for him to see the linkage at her wrists. "Why did you leave me like that? Oh, Ratigan, that was mean!"
"That's right, I'm a bastard," he agreed. "I'm a first class SOB but I'll make it up to you, love." He laughed without a trace of stress. "You're going to be the luckiest girl in any bed in Ireland."
"But how could you do such a thing to me.. . ? Why."
"lis simply, love, the tricks of our trade, keep the coppers wondering. Figure it for yourself, you get picked up in the middle of the night on an Irish road, outside an Irish house in which there's a dead Irishman. You tell the policeman who you are but I bet he didn't believe a word of it. Then there's the question of Constable Cusp was he in on the deal? They're going to have to look that one over carefully. Then there was those pictures I took of you. I've made arrangements for them to be in the hands of the press in time for the first edition, and that's going to baffle them a bit more. One way or another it's been a bad night for the boys in blue. Bad cess to them."
For moments the handcuffed girl sat speechless, digesting the implications of Ratigan's words, horrified by what she beheld. "Don't you realize you've made me an outlaw? A pariah? A renegade traitor? Oh, Ratigan, how could you?"
"One way of recruiting you to the cause, sweetheart. You're one of us now, where you like it or not. There'll be a hue and cry after you now and a warrant for your arrest. From now on you darn not escape, you darn not appeal to a policeman."
Faith was still sorting it out in her mind, still bewildered. "But all this terrible trouble just to do that to me?"
"Hell no. love. The raid was the thing. These little tricks with you were just an amusing sideline. They worked perfectly even to the point where you ran away from the copper in the house. If he had hung on to you I would have had to find someway to kill him to get you back. Enjoying the way he handcuffed you?"
"Not particularly, please take them off."
Ratigan. vastly amused, pulled into a layby and used his key but only to cuff her hand once more securely to the seat as she had been previously. "I love you, sweetheart, but I don't trust you. Figure that out some other time."
Faith hated being attached to an object. She rattled the handcuff irritably. "You know you didn't have to do that, Ratigan. I was enjoying not being fastened. Wearing handcuffs the way the police use them is like having a pair of pretty bracelets. I suppose it's not use asking you to fix me back like that?"
"None at all, sweetheart, I like you the way you are. And anyway, we'll be back to soon."
"But you do this all so casually!" Faith's voice was almost a wail of distress. "What on earth were you up to when I was sitting in the car. scared out of my wits and there was all that gunfire?"
"Supervising, of course. I had to earn my keep. Quite busy, actually. I tore the phones out, made sure that fellow was dead, don't ask me who shot him, I don't know who's bullet got him but one of them certainly did. We were firing off that gun you held just for effect and in case they get ballistics in on the deal. Then I made sure the Bhoys got the kidnapped females safe, and the rest of the time I was watching over you. It all worked perfectly."
"But the police will think it was me who shot that guy! From what you said.. . "
"Let's just say it will confuse them. Not that you wouldn't make a darling murderess, but I can't let them have you. You're mine!"
From the welter of impressions. Faith retrieved a memory. "Ratigan. did I hear right? You said you loved me.. . ? "
"That's right, love. I have no trouble feeling that wonderful emotion for you. But don't make a big thing of it."
"Ratigan, don't spoil it with sarcasms, I gratefully for you loving me. It's a truly wonderful feeling.. . Am I still your prisoner?"
"Silly question, sweetheart, of course you're still my prisoner but now you know I love you as well as keeping you suitably restrained. It's all very simple."
"It may be very simple to you but I'm glad you love me, every girl wants to be loved. Even if the guy who loves her keeps her in chains. We girls are ridiculous."
"I'm glad you're glad." The lingering touch of his hand upon her arm spoke volumes. "The nice thing about us is that I'm not going to have to work up to the question of when do we get into bed. I've already ravished you a hundred times and we've developed a nice, comfortable relationship. Ravishment is a marvelous institution."
Faith wanted to laugh. "You shouldn't make fun of it, Ratigan. When men fall in love with a girl they usually marry them. Are you serious?"
"What it, love! You're not making me respectable. No way I'm abandoned the Cause to run a fried fish shop with you wrapping the chips in newspaper."
On arrival at , Faith got her wish, her right hand was released from bondage and linked to her left in the conventional way. A shadowy figure then took possession of Constable Cusp's car and drove away. Ratigan picked up the captive girl and carried her within Castle and up the stairs. He carried her easily, he was immensely strong and Faith wondered if he saw significance in the ancient custom of carrying your bride over the threshold of their home. Probably her handcuffed wrists held for Ratigan the same symbolism as did a wedding ring for more conventional couples. But she lost the pretty bracelets besides their bed and stood quivering as the collar was locked on her neck.
"And now you marriage-minded hussy there's a promise I made a little while ago about a reward." He flung her on the bed hard enough to make her bounce. She was smiling.
Faith knew she and Ratigan had passed some line in the darkness of the raid. He had said he loved her, thus nothing would ever be quite the same. His avowal went far to counter her concern about the label she must now bare in the world's Press. She could contest nothing, she would wear that label as she wore her chains.
Briefly, between lovemaking and sleep, Faith wondered about the chains, the handcuffs and the ropes. Feminine wisdom warned against asking Ratigan for a freedom he was almost certain to deny. He would know that even in spite of his planned incrimination Faith would be drawn to her home and the parents who would suddenly believe her to the daily newspaper. Perhaps someday he could give her freedom with an open mind and with out anxiety. In the meantime she would complain about nothing. After they had bathed he shackled her ankles once more with the familiar iron and Faith had to learn to walk all over again. All through breakfast he stubbornly refused to tell her anything of the three human packages she had seen tossed into the jeeps, repulsing her insistence by saying the Bhoys had taken someone into training. Faith shrugged it off, it was none of her affair.
Faith never knew where her master went in those times when he left her alone to roam Casde and improve acquaintance with the Bhoys. This day after the raid was no exception, save for a single imposition which left Faith curious and annoyed. But she followed the decision she had made during the night of making no protest when this man to who owned her so utterly gathered her arms behind her back and locked her wrists in the handcuffs. Striving for a tone of amusement. Faith inquired, "I'm sure you've a good reason for doing that, may I ask why?"
"No, you may not. I've done it and that's enough. If you wander around a bit I'm sure you'll Find out. If you thirst or hunger I'm sure the Bhoys or Jinny will look after you."
"Where was Jinny last night. I didn't see her?"
"Let's say the dear girl was restrained."
"I can imagine. A collar and chain perhaps?"
Ratigan laughed, patted her bottom, an act for which he raised the hem of her skirt, then departed on his errand. A sadly handicapped woman surveyed her day and wondered what to do with it. It was a bitter reflection that, so far a wandering Castle went, she could do it as well with her hands behind her back as well as in front. Her real enemy was the irons upon her feet. Faith Baldwin knew for certain that if an opportunity for escape arose she would grasp it, not for any lack of affection or fear of Ratigan but because she must allay the fears and possible suspicion of those she loved.
Jinny was having late coffee in the kitchen. However the sight of Faith and her restrains caused her to brighten up and give the reason for her discontent. "I got the collar and chain treatment last night. Miss Baldwin. They locked that damned thing on my neck before they went off on the raid and there I was. I'd sort of looked forward to that raid, cheers a girl up a bit to see another girl having a bad time. Let's you know you're not alone, so it does." She sniffed angrily. "Then the bastards forget me, leave me chained there until half way through the morning. A girl can't shout through these thick walls and I'd probably still be chained up in there if they hadn't wanted someone to do the dishes. Men arc such bastards."
Faith turned and displayed cuffed hands. "I couldn't have helped you. Jinny, even if I had known. I think I'm being punished. Or is there some other reason they put a girl's hands behind her back?"
"They don't need no reason. Miss Baldwin. Men get silly notions and then get an erection out of it. When that happens they have to do something to a girl real quick. Ratigan probably thought you looked real cute with your hands like that, and you sure do. I wouldn't worry none."
"Where does Ratigan go on these daytime trips of his. Jinny?"
"Oh. he's checking up on other groups like ours. They're all over the place. He spends a lot of time with Mr. Adrian down at the gatehouse. He took me with him once but I'll be damned if he didn't tie me up after tea and whip my bottom while Mr. Adrian watched and asked questions. Made me feel like I was at a doctor's office."
"Didn't it hurt?"
"It always hurts. Miss Baldwin, but a girl never knows how bad it will hurt. Ratigan wasn't all that mean to me that one time but he kept me hung up the rest of the afternoon and kept on giving Mr. Adrian what he called 'demonstrations.' Every time after he'd given me a few licks and my bottom was red hot, Mr. Adrian would ask me to tell him how it hurt and what it felt like and what my sensations were. I got the feeling I never said the right things."
With her hands fastened behind her back. Faith knew it was useless to take about jeeps or escape. She was curious about the handcuffs and decided on exploration in the light of Ratigan's laughing comment that if she wanted to know why she had lost her hands she should roam around and find out. She clinked hobbled steps in what might be a day long adventure. -
There was a beautiful, brooding silence about as Faith explored room after room, most of them part ruin. Where ever she went the mellow stones told her of times long ago and deeds half forgotten. She wondered if any other girl had made a similar quest as hers now. It seemed unlikely that whimsy had played a part in lives of ancient times, but whimsy held her now, it was whimsy that had prompted Ratigan to chain her thus before piquing her curiosity. When he returned he would want to know how she had spent her day. Growing tired of crumbling stonework and with feel tender from rough pathways, she turned her short footsteps back to those areas renovated by Adrian. In one of the empty downstairs rooms she found the answer to her quest.
They were suspended naked and evenly across the sizeable chamber. Faith's now practiced eye discerned the tight leather bindings on the wrist to prevent the constriction of blood flow to enable the punish to be of long duration. All three were exquisite examples of their age and type. In the center a woman of perhaps thirty-five or six hung who's lovely contours hung passive in exhaustion. The more slender nudities to either side were possibly blonde twins or fourteen or fifteen years age. Faith knew instinctively they had been suspended thus a long time and had lost their will to fight or loudly protest. They eyed the newcomer with surprise and a sudden flare of hope which told Faith why her hand had been chained behind her back. Had she been allowed to use her hands, she could have given aid and comfort. As it was she could do no more than stare in a shocked disbelief of her own.
"Please help us. Please get our feet back on the floor." It was the woman in the center who spoke and in who's voice was an infinite appeal and a terrible apprehension. It was a act to break the heart of any girl, to turn and Faith did then and wiggle cuffed wrists to show that she could aid these three females not at all.
"I've been chained so I can't help you," she said simply. "I'm terribly sorry, if I could help you I would."
The center figure stirred restlessly at the end of the two tethers that held her hands eighteen inches apart. "Why are you chained like that? Who are you?"
"My name is Faith Baldwin. I've been kidnapped. I'm just as much a prisoner as you."
Understanding came to the tortured face. "You're the girl were was all that fuse about a few months ago. You're the girl who's father is in the government."
"That's right. I've tried and tried to escape but never get the chance. I don't think any girl could escape from Castle . "
"But they let you walk around?"
"Why not! With my feet hobbled like this I can't walk any distance but they do usually let me have my hands. I belong to Ratigan, their leader "
"They're going to torture us, this is just the beginning. We've hung like this every since they brought us here. They gave us water to drink but that's all. Surely there's something you can do. Isn't there a phone?"
"Sure there's a phone but it's locked up where I can't get at it. These people think of everything, they're clever."
Tears streaked the young cheeks to either side. Their voices were quaintly in unison. "Please help us, we hurt so bad. Please.. ! "
The toes of the suspended females were just barely above the floor, in a cruel frustration no doubt deliberately done. When Faith stepped close their eyes were almost level as she picked up the heavy waves of girl scent and the sweat of exhaustion. Impetuously she kissed the dry, parched lips of the youthful maidens, then stood on her toes to treat their mother to the same salutation of damsels in distress. Fearful of tears, theirs or her own, she muttered a quick, "I'll go and get help. Or at least I'll try."
In her urgency. Faith snubbed each step she took towards the door.
"They got it coming," said Cully. "They ain't felt nothing yet. We're just giving them a softening up. Don't you worry your pretty head about them."
"But it's so cruel!"
"See here. Miss Baldwin, you worry the Bhoys or Ratigan enough and you'll be hanging there with them. Wouldn't want to do it to you but I will if you make yourself a nuisance."
Repulsed by Cully, Faith sought Jinny but without result.
"Alls I can do for 'em is feel sorry. If I could let them loose I wouldn't dare. I'd be fixed right along with them and suffer the same. I don't know what the Bhoys are going to do to them but I'll bet it ain't good."
"Oh damn and I'll so helpless." Faith once more turned and wagged handcuffed hands at her friend. "Look, there's nothing I can do! Ratigan fixed me but good."
"It's just the way things are. Miss Baldwin, don't take on about it. We all get whipped and hurt and get those damned things up between our legs. This mother and her two brats will get what they have to and get sent home."
"But I have to help. I can't just stand and watch them hang there in agony!"
"Yes you can. Miss. But if you're so set on doing something you can proposition the Bhoys, there's one proposition they'll always go for. You ask them to do whatever it is you want in return for caning your rump, they'll go for that anytime. But don't bargain for more than ten strokes, a girl can't stand more than that, it's bloody awful."
"But what would Ratigan say? I'm suppose to belong to him alone. The boys treat me as if I'm precious."
"I don't know about Ratigan, Miss, I ain't never been his private property, more's the pity. He only took me to bed with him once and I ain't never forgotten. You sure are lucky."
Faith considered. It would be hours yet before Ratigan returned. Would he accept her wealed bottom in good conscious or would he whip it again because she failed to respect his property. She did not know. But a mother and two daughters were hanging suspended and in agony. Again she snubbed her ankles in a determined march. Before she reached the bar she met Johnny Catlin.
"Johnny, do me a favor."
"Anything you want. Miss Baldwin, you're a real sweetheart, you are."
"Thank you, Johnny. If I invite you to cane my bottom will you let those three woman you captured have their feet on the floor? They're suffering."
Lust flared. Even in a boy as nice as Johnny it was always there ready to surface at some innocent remark or a glimpse of feminine flesh. Johnny was certainly interested but cautious.
"You got Ratigan's permission. Miss?"
"No, I thought you were allowed to cane me, within reason, if you wished."
"You're something special. Miss. But I sure would like to cane you. I get a marvelous hard-on."
"Why don't you do it then. Ten strokes.. . But only after you've let those three girls have their feet back on the floor. I'm not asking you to set them free."
"But, Miss, you're crazy. Ten strokes with your cane across your bottom would hurt like hell and all you'd get them women is a few hours when they weren't hung up." Johnny made a negative gesture with his hand. "And anyway I'd have to have them hanging up before Ratigan come back."
"Okay, Johnny, it's a deal."
He looked at her uncertainly. He was suspicious of such infinite delight. In Johnny Catlin's book anything this good most surely hid a kicker somewhere and he had best watch for it. Slowly he announced terms.
"Well, okay. Miss Baldwin, I let them girls get them feet on the floor so's they're comfy like. Then I canes your bottom so they know the cost?"
"Sounds okay by me, Johnny."
"Why don't you wait a while, Miss Baldwin, and make that offer to Ratigan. I'll bet he'll take you up on it. I mean, it don't cost you nothing because afterwards we can still do everything to them three gals. I think you're wasting your time and the skin of your ass." He eyed her dubiously. "But it's your ass, are you quite sure?"
Faith allowed herself to be carried, it saved time. That Johnny also carried a long length of slender yellow cane was no more that the deal called for. Faith felt like a story-book character but her heart was thudding almost painfully. Canes on bare flesh hurt!
There was some gratitude. The faces of mother and daughters came alive with hope as Faith was placed erect before their limited view. She said, "This is Johnny Catlin, he's going to let your feet down on the floor. I'm sorry but that's the best I can do. I can't set you free."
Johnny went about his task in a businesslike fashion. It took only a few minutes to have each of the tree pairs of suspended feet solidly planted on the floor. The fact that three pairs of feminine hands remained pulled up was a problem that he refused to consider. While thanks poured from female lips, he looked at Faith and said, with unmistakable emphasis, "This is where I get to cane your ass, Miss Baldwin. Want I should tie you up?"
The thought had not occurred. Memories of Victorian school days had made it simple to think of just bending down and presenting a girl's bottom for its ration of pain. Usually they touch their toes but with Faith now that was not possible. Leaving the worrying to Johnny, she said very simply, "Do what you like, Johnny. I expect it would be a good idea to fix me so I can't move. I know it's going to hurt."
Like all the boys, Johnny was ready for any emergency. Another chain came down from above and was hooked into Faith's handcuffs. It then rose until she was bent over and starting to gasp in distress. Her bottom was outrageously offered to any interested person. Johnny was undoubtedly interested. It was at this point that mother intervened.
"You're doing this for us, aren't you, Miss what ever your name is. I can't allow it, I simply can't. We're terribly grateful but it's simply something we can't allow." Then she turned to Johnny to demand, "All right you bastard, hang us up again. We don't want our feet on the floor at the price of this girl's skin."
"Yes, we do Mommy." The demand was in unison. "Please let this nice girl have her bottom caned so we can go on standing the way we are."
"Go on, Johnny," Faith interjected forcefully. "If you don't we'll all be in tears. Cane my bottom then leave the girls the way they are right now. I don't care what you do with me. Ratigan will probably cane me again anyway."
"You're a wonderful girl, Miss Baldwin," Johnny paid tribute. "I'll just take you up another inch or two so you'll not want to dance around."
The self-appointed savior of maidens in need of aid gasped but made no protest as her arms were painfully hoisted and the handcuffs bit angrily into her wrists. Faith closed her eyes against the pain to come. She felt sure that in spite of his friendly manner Johnny would spare her nothing. When the first cut lapped her bottom from hip to hip she was glad she was fastened as she was. She could never have coped with ten such strokes by will power alone. She garnered a brief glance at those for whom she suffered. The mother looked shocked and concerned, the two daughters looked simply curious and pleased. All three were obviously in the state of euphoria that comes when someone finds their feet back on the ground. When stroke number two slashed her bottom viciously, Faith Baldwin moaned.
The raising of her arms was wicked. Faith was shocked by the helplessness it imposed. It also exposed her twin curves outrageously. Johnny Catlin had raised her shirt and pinned it high for full access to a portion of her person only imperfectly covered at the best. As the ass from her beaten bottom spread in wave after wave she swayed against the tether and kicked at nothing with one foot. She had to concede Johnny's wisdom in fastening her thus, she never could have stood still. Seeing the distress so clearly expressed on the mother's face, Faith consoled them briefly, "Don't worry, this won't last long. He won't kill me."
Johnny Catlin did not kill Miss Faith Baldwin. Eyes gleaming, his breath coming faster and faster, he planned three more cane strokes upon the resilient flesh of a girl who had given herself in a good cause. But Johnny was a decent guy and at the end of stroke number five he sat aside the cane and said, "That's enough. I'm damned if I'm going to give you ten, not the way I've laid them on!"
Faith almost felt love for the amiable rebel. When Johnny had lowered her arms and removed the tether she turned and, in a wave of thankfulness, kissed his startled lips. She said, "Thank you, thank you, I'm so grateful."
"What you grateful for, Miss Baldwin?"
"Cause you only hit me five times instead of ten, that cane hurts something awful."
Johnny turned her streaked her bottom to best advantage and beamed at it pridefully. He then turned her further for the benefit of those who stood with hands above their heads in stricken dismay. "There you are ladies, get a good look. That's what you're going to get only ten times worse." He patted the wounded flesh lovingly then felt in his pocket to produce a wicked looking strap. "I ain't using the cane on you because it would mark but what you'll get from this will fade in an hour or two."
Faith stood back, her own relatively light punishment faded from her mind as she beheld and listened to three expressions of deep concern.
"You're not going to hit us with that awful thing, are you!"
"Mama, can't you stop him? I don't want to be whipped."
The woman in the center of the trio caught Faith's eyes and said a quiet, "Thank you, we're grateful." Then to Johnny, "If you have to be cruel, be cruel to me. My daughters have done nothing to deserve any kind of punishment at all. Please leave them alone."
Johnny Catlin was fingering the supple strap lovingly. "So, okay, the little darlings are innocent. But you ain't innocent, are you?"
"I suppose not, not by your standards." The eyes of the naked maturity roved from her anguished daughters to Faith then to focus on the limber leather she was soon to feel. "We don't expect mercy, but whatever you feel you have to do, do it to me only. Surely you have that decency."
Faith guessed Johnny's embarrassment, he had got himself into something he might later regret. But the sight of so much female nakedness was irresistible. His Irish voice had become husky. "Okay, lady, I'll redden your ass but leave the girls along. They're a pretty pair and I ain't got nothing again' 'em at all, at all. The rest of the Bhoys ain't likely to be so kind."
Faith knew the mother's anguish as a man she had never previously seen stepped behind her to inflect a pain on a part of her person not often referred to in polite society. Faith saw the in drawn breath and tightened breasts as the woman about to be strapped tugged hard at her tethers and braced herself for the blow on bare flesh. The blow, when it came, splatted hard on tender skin to produce a crack like a pistol shot, then fell away to disclose a precise, red imprint. The stricken mother gasped and moved uneasily against her bonds. Faith knew she was trying hard not to cry out or to scream before her watching daughters, who had each turned to survey their mother's punishment in wide-eyed horror. The leather sang and cracked its obscene impact a second time to mark the shivering nakedness an inch from the first blow. In disbelief in such pain the mother pleaded in a controlled and careful voice, "No more. Oh. please don't hit mc again, you don't know how it hurts."
Johnny Catlin hit again and yet again, faith watched in helpless fascination. The cane across her own bottom was worse than what this woman suffered now but the frightful crack of the leather was daunting in itself, it curled you up inside. At the end of the sixth blow Faith felt forced to plead, "Johnny, that's enough! Don't whip her any more, you're being unkind."
The normally amiable young man gave Faith brief attention. "You want me to go on caning you. Miss Baldwin?"
"No."
"Then just you watch and don't say nothin.' This here woman's taking it like a real hero, so she is. and I don't plan to give her more than ten. So just you keep your pretty little trap shut." His arm swung swift and sure. The sound of the impact was horrendous.
5
Strapped Skin
When Ratigan returned, his first act after their greeting was to give her back her hands. Laughing, as she massaged pink wrists. Faith chided. "I discovered why you put my hands behind my back I don't know what quarrel you have with the mother but aren't you ashamed of taking two teenage girls as well, their a pair of innocents'. '"
"Forget them. I don't want you starry eyed on their behave. Those three belong to the Bhoys and the Bhoys will do as they please with them. I'll keep an eye on them only enough to make sure they don't get killed. Now, off with that shirt! I desire you."
Faith was accustomed to this demand, it might come at any hour of the day or night She was unfailingly obedient, mostly desiring Ratigan as much as Ratigan wanted her. Her shirt was up half way over her head before she remembered. . . . She suddenly found herself hoping against hope her master would fail to notice the marks left on her bottom by Johnny Catlin. She paused only a second then tossed the shirt aside to face Ratigan in shinning innocence. Chained feet no longer mattered, they had learned to deal with them.
"Hold it. Faith! Turn around. What the devil.. . ! Here, let me have a look." Ratigan turned her bottom harshly to the light.
To lie would only make things worse. No girl could acquire five such perfect markings by accident. Haltingly she told the truth.
"Huh! Haven't you learned that you belong to me. That every bit of you is mine and no one else's, even to punish."
"Yesssss.. . I felt so sorry for the poor things I forgot."
"We must help your memory, won't we, sweetheart."
"Oh, Ratigan, please.. . Please!"
"Go and get that cane Johnny used on you. Bring it here." Faith looked down at her chained feet unhappily. "Must I."
"You know you must. Get with it, don't fart around looking sorry for yourself."
To Faith, anxious to please, it seemed the longest walk of her life. At every step she snubbed an ankle and several times tripped and fell. When she finally confronted her master to hand him the fateful wane, she was panting and disheveled.
"Bend over the bottom of the bed and stick that pretty ass out for me." His order was abrupt, a hard command she dare not disobey.
Arranging her nakedness, Faith said wanly, "This is the first time you've punished me like this. Ratigan."
"And it won't be the last, sweetheart. I've been too easy on you, that's the hell of it when you fall in love with a girl. You both get soft. I should whip you once a week to keep us both in trim. You sure you don't want to be tied?"
"I'd sooner handle it myself, if you don't mind."
"Good! That pleases me. Now curve your back down and stick that pretty little rump out and keep it out. I'm not going to beat it to a pulp."
Faith hoped she looked beautiful and innocent and pitiful. If she could save herself even a couple of strokes by appealing to his chivalry it would help. Anything would help. She wondered most of all if this fresh assertion of his love might dull the pain. Surely this must be the ultimate eroticism! Faith was certain the emotions in her mind were more acute than anything she had ever know. Ratigan was going to cane her bare bottom, her bare skin. She told herself she deserved every stroke she was going to get. -She closed her eyes.
It was the familiar agony of the afternoon only worse! Love made it hurt no less, instead doubled the intensity of the sensations. She was living vitally, alive, receptive to anything this man might do. The knowledge of ravishment awaiting her at the end of this ordeal caused her breasts to heave and the secretions within her sex to flood. As the second stroke of Ratigan's cane lapped her bottom from side to side she longed to scream but restrained it to no more than a harsh snort.
She did not move.
Ratigan caned the girl he loved deliberately and slowly. He was sincere in teaching her a lesson but his sincerity was matched by the girl's own wish to accept and be taught. Both were vividly aware of joy to come. With each cut upon her tautly bent skin Faith realized she was being taken into a new world, a world often spoken of but which now, in reality, proved worse than her most frightening visions. If her posture crumpled after a stroke she corrected it instantly but by the time Ratigan had plied his cane for the last time in one final, cruel inflection. Faith was making small animal sounds deep in her throat and drawing short, gasping breaths to keep pace with the raising crescendo of pain. Ratigan was right, she would remember this!
"On the bed, quick!" Ratigan shed his clothes in savage gestures while his captive maiden eased her scolded bottom onto the bed clothes and then, in all-embracing lust, thrust it hard down and frictioned it from side to side in a sudden glory of survival. She had won a victory. When Ratigan's hard thrust entered her the shackles on her ankles contributed their own paean of joy as Faith's arms clung tight around male ecstasy.
In the morning after Ratigan had left her and gone upon his way. Faith Baldwin lay in relaxed contentment, stretching and deliberately chafing her ridged and still burning bottom on the sheet, wondering as she did so how often it might be possible to harvest the same flare of lust. Ratigan had doubled the punishment she had sought from Johnny Catlin, adding his own ten to Johnny's five. Faith Baldwin knew herself indeed an exceedingly well caned young woman. Somewhere in the night Ratigan had praised her performance and admitted, a trifle sheepishly, that fifteen cane strokes was a lot for any girl to bear.
The punished girl allowed her thoughts to drift to the three captives she had sought to aid. She had probably got herself thrashed without improving their condition. True, she had got their feet back on the ground for a limited time. But her efforts caused the mother to be strapped and for she herself to bear a scolded bottom. Perhaps the two youngsters had benefited. Faith hoped they had.
While still half awake Faith realized this total authority males held over females in this strange world of . The band was merciless and also, in his own way, was Ratigan. Faith laughed at herself for the self-satisfaction of compliance. Since she could never be freed she might as well be totally owned and subject to Ratigan's will. Half measures between the sexes was ridiculous, equality a myth. She bathed and donned her shirt with the feeling she had come a long way and it was good. Before the mirror she postured long enough to be sure her purple wounds were not too blatantly in view. She did not want everyone she passed to comment on what a lovely bottom she possessed, her bottom was none of their business, it belonged to Ratigan. In deliberate titillation she frictioned its hurt surface with mischievous fingertips before telling herself not to be a harlot. As she headed for the kitchen the chains upon her feet possessed her again.
The mother had been placed were anything done to her daughters was stark for her eyes. Her back had been thrust against the stone wall, her arms drawn out to either side and there tight bound. She could not turn away but must stand in her nakedness like an impaled butterfly as an unwilling partner in what the band still called "teaching a lesson."
Faith stood across the huge stone chamber in similar plight except for wearing a shirt and being compelled to stand where she was by a handcuff on one wrist only, its other circle locked to the wall at shoulder level. She had been told she had nothing to fear, she was an audience only and would be included in no punishment, unless, of course, she behaved stupidly. For the first few minutes it was pleasant to thrust her burning bottom against cool stone. It seemed unlikely she would be bored.
There was an atmosphere of The Court about what took place. The big room was bare except for the members of the band lining its walls. Jinny was there but under no restraint, she had long since been broken to obedience. The proceedings began when a couple of the Bhoys dragged into view a naked and protesting teenager who's small hands had been tied behind her back to defeat the maiden modesty of covering her pubs. She was told to stand still and answer questions. She was obviously terrified.
"Your name please?"
The frightened young eyes roved the hall for help, lingering upon her mother before completing the circle of faces on which there was little mercy but much carnal interest. Only Jinny Riley smiled and nodded and Faith did likewise. But that was small comfort to an anguished, naked girl standing alone in the midst of many men. Faith could see the young hands straining and tugging at the cords upon the slender wrists. She knew the feeling, knew it all too well! The youngster squared her shoulders and stared back.
"By name is Coral Noyes."
"Age?"
"I'm fourteen, and you've got no right.. . "
"What does your mother do for a living."
"She's a member of the Northern Ireland Parliament. Please don't.. . . "
"Is your mother hostile to The Cause?"
"She hates the cause and so do I!" The young eyes flashed.
"You would injure us if you could?"
"Everyone would injure you if they could, you're horrible."
"Coral Noyes, you are sentenced to twenty strokes with the strap. Other punishments will follow."
Things moved swiftly. The Cause had made its judgments before the trial, in fact before the kidnapping of these three unfortunates. Faith spared a glance to where a man was thoughtfully stuffing a rag into the mouth of the horrified Mrs. Noyes and binding it tight between her lips with rope. No doubt there was the possibility of a mother's pleas influencing some member of The Cause, and this would be unforgivable.
Someone carried in a sawhorse, over which the girl called Coral Noyes was harshly bend. Her hands were untied but only to be retied to the wooden legs. Now the youthful feet were tugged beneath the horse to be bound the already captive hands. The young rump reared in provocative insolence convenient to the infliction of the awaiting strap. In further emphasis a rope was passed around the stressed thighs and narrow back which, when cinched tight, cause an outrageous thrust upward of the lovely but pitiful young bottom to be strapped. The child's head was close to the floor, she was panting hard.
The sentenced girl screamed from the very first stroke. Faith knew the blow was not as hard as it might have been but on that tight flesh made a shocking impact. It would have been a severe punishment for a mature woman but delivered upon this bright and eager young teenager it was the limit of what one so young might bare. He who held the strap stepped carefully from side to side after each blow to ensure a full and adequate coverage of maiden modesty. With every crack of leather upon flesh there came a wailing cry of anguish which danced up and down the scale of girlish pain until, toward the end, these vocal expressions down to sobs and moans. Immediately the last stroke had fallen on quivering buttocks. Coral was released, turned over, then bound upon her back, her legs spread wide and down, the whole ensemble tightly tied to expose the young and virgin sex in pure obscenity. It was thrust a few inches out beyond the end of the plank and, to insure its availability, a pillow was pushed beneath the narrow arched waist and then tugged input position. The implication was all too clear, Coral Noyes was about to be raped. Gazing across the room at Mrs. Noyes, the mother of the victim. Faith saw the tight clenched fists and strained muscles as the woman pushed and pulled against her bonds in mute helplessness. Faith turned to gaze at her own captive wrist. She could do nothing!
It is doubtful if Coral knew what was soon to be done. It was not until a man, his organ rampant, stood above her that recognition dawned in the young eyes. Coral Noyes screamed and screamed again as she was penetrated. It seemed probably she had been virgin.
There was not one man alone, there was others. The girl did not loose consciousness but was vividly alive throughout, tensing and twisting at her bonds and her tear drenched face turning from side to side. It was an ugly business which, when so-called justice was appeased, was called to a formal halt but only so that those who watched might themselves participate in the violation of maiden loins. A couple sheepishly accepted. That was all!
Those who watched could not fail to realize this was a play, and entertainment, a masque for the edification of bored and sex-hungry men. Coral's hands were again tied behind her back, her ankles also bound, and she was carried to a corner where her sobs would detract nothing from the performance of her sister. To insure she remained more or less in that one place, her arms and legs were drawn together behind her back in an unkind hogtie. She was then ignored.
The next sister admitted to the name of Brenda and the age of thirteen. The brief glance she was given of her punished sister and agonized mother told her little. She was sentenced to what was described as a "mild whipping" for which her hands were now bound and she was suspended from a rope like a puppet on a string. The whip, admittedly, was not lethal but would be cruel on tender skin. Brenda kicked and swayed and jumped around amazingly from the first stroke on. Whenever her young nakedness assumed a posture satisfactory to he who held the whip his arms flashed and one more scarlet line was added to the tally on the youthful skin. Brenda danced up and down like a child's toy, her screams and pleadings were piteous and went unheeded. When she was considered to be well and adequately whipped, a pair of males appeared with a wooden bench to which she was bound on her back, her arms down to either side, her waist cinched down but her feet and legs left free. Once more the exposure outraged Faith.
It was just the same. Man after man and scream after scream. In less than half an hour Brenda was bound in the same manner as her sister and deposited beside her on the stone. But almost instantly it was deemed a poor vantage point from which these two girls might now view the punishment of their mother. They were hauled back to center stage and forced to kneel, a posture quite possible when bound as they were bound. If they fell sideways they might hurt themselves, but this was their own concern. Coral and Brenda stared at each another and around the room with an anguish almost without comprehension of what had been done to them or what might still be done. The pretty young bodies were red with weals.
It was the same with Mrs. Noyes. She was thirty-six, divorced, and an unforgiving enemy of The Cause. The woman evidently realized it was useless to lie or plead so freely admitted to facts all too well known and understood. Mrs. Noyes was The Enemy and must therefore suffer. But before her suffering began she was asked if she wished to recant or to plead for mercy and beg to become a member of The Cause. Her vitriolic reply left no doubt as to her fate. This time the sentence was for thirty strokes and the whip was real indeed.
The Cause was not without its own originality. Faith supposed they had whipped so many unfortunate women that they must now seek variation in the way and manner in which it was done. They choice now to leave Mrs. Noyes entirely free of bonds but to loop a noose around her left ankle and haul it up until only her head and the top of her shoulders remained upon the floor, leaving her free leg to flail wildly in the wind. The was the same with her hands and arms, she could do nothing useful with them except to thrust against the floor to easy the singe band or rope digging deep into her ankle. In order that she might tell The Court of her name being Pam Noyes and add the other statistics and opinions, someone had removed her gag. Faith could see her swallowing hard and guessed she would try hard not to scream.
It was an ugly, vicious whip which could snake in and out of any female crevasse or upon any feminine curve. The first stroke was upon her conveniently offered bottom, a bottom which immediately became less convenient and very far from being offered. The almost upside down nudity of Mrs. Pam Noyes became a jumble of two arms and one leg waving from a torso of curved and sweating femininity.
There began then a truly remarkable but unintentional demonstration of the ways in which a girl so bound as Pam Noyes could seek avoidance of the whip and contort itself into posture after posture which saved none of it from the seeking thong. The tether creaked and she danced and the pain went on. Her pained dance inadvertently provided portions of her the she would never have exposed as targets for the whip had she been thinking clearly. From the lips within this terrible yet beautiful twistings and turnings of the flesh there came in clear and concise tones, "You bastards, you rotten bastards!"
The punishment of Mrs. Pam Noyes had now begun.
That evening it pleased Ratigan to rob Faith of her shirt and handcuff her wrists in frontal position. She was longing to speak of the day's events and seek knowledge of the morrow but was frankly frightened. What she had witnessed had been vile and terrible and utterly despicable. But she had not seen Ratigan in the crowd, through she now knew him well aware of all that had taken place. She stood in passive acceptance as her wrists were locked, it was nothing and did not matter, and then in equal submissiveness suffered the lovely collar to be locked around her neck. Wryly she considered that for the daughter of a British cabinet minister she was quite tastefully enchained. Once more she was thankful her parents could not see her now.
"So, all right, we're a bunch of bastards. Out with it girl!" Ratigan had been looking sheepish since before dinner.
"I didn't say anything."
"You don't have to. Damn it. Faith, I've never seen features more elegant than yours. Decided to hate me?"
"No. I can't hate you. Maybe I should but I can't. And. anyway, you weren't there among all that lustful collection of louts."
"But I'm just as guilty?"
"Perhaps. I expect your conscious will tell you."
They sat upon the bed, neither of them yet ready for love. Ratigan turned the captive girl, with almost frightening easy, to place her for his convenience. He then began with tender hands to message her shoulders and back in a manner they often enjoyed and which gave Faith a tremendous sensual pleasure. As she surrendered to sensation she could almost purr.
"Hate me, sweetheart?" It was as though Ratigan flagellated guilt.
"I don't hate you, Ratigan, I love you. If I didn't, I wouldn't feel this bad."
The strong male hands did not cease their rhythmic message to her flesh. Ratigan's absorbed silence drove Faith to declare, "I'm sorry if loving you isn't permitted. It's something I can't help. Don't think you have to be kind to me because of it."
"Don't worry, I won't be kind unless you call what I do now kind. It is you know. I love you, too."
Faith knew their enemy to be The Cause, but then without The Cause they would never have met! The chained girl admitted to defeat when it came to straightening out such an emotional mess. She knew only she would stay Ratigan's prisoner and would remain so into she could wean him from The Cause. Impossible as that may seem. Faith was a woman and would not give up her dream of wedded bliss. It was a very nebulous dream but she tucked it comfortably away in a secret recess of her mind. In the meantime the less Ratigan knew of it the better.
"Do I get whipped or something if I speak about what I was forced to watch today."
"No, go ahead."
"Raping those two teenagers was horrible, it can't possibly do your cause any good."
"Nothing does our cause any good, sweetheart, don't worry about it. The boys got some free nookie. that's about all it amounts to, don't worry about it."
"And that poor woman, Pam Noyes, she was terribly whipped then practically every man in the place raped her. It was beastly."
"She can handle it. love, she's got fine, strong thighs and a commendable cunt. What she got is no more than we've given others, they all survive."
"I can't help thinking that if I'd said the wrong thing, I'll be getting the same treatment. Will I?"
"Not so long as you belong to me. Under our code I'm the only one who can punish you. But maybe what I'd do to you would be a lot worse than what they might."
Faith sighed, she wasn't getting anywhere. "So long as it's you who does it to me, I won't complain." She laughed. "Even though I don't know what you might do. But, about those three you've got tied up someplace, what else are you going to do to them?"
"You'll be the first to know, sweetheart, you'll have a front row seat." Ratigan mused silently. "I'll tell you one thing just to keep your interest alive, both of those sweet young things are going to get branded on their bottoms with mama watching but well gagged. Sure, we could brand mama, and maybe we will. But it will hurt Mrs. Pam Noyes far more to make her watch while we brand her daughters' skin."
"Ratigan, that's horrible! You didn't think that up. ? "
"It doesn't matter, precious, The Cause is a force, it beats and brands and binds as it sees fit. It's a force that gone beyond me or any of its members. There are no pointing fingers about what was done today."
"But that's what I've been telling you, Ratigan, it's you who's working for the Cause not the other way around." Watching his face darken she added with venom. "Go ahead, whip me for being impertinent, for speaking out of line. That's the only response The Cause has, isn't it to whip a girl?"
Faith was breathless, knowing she had said too much. But Ratigan was in the mood of needing her, needing no stimulation of the whip to make love, feeling only a hot adoration of this beauty he had kidnapped. Some time in the future he might whip her but not now.
"You really do push your luck, sweetheart," he said grimly. "I think it's more of a punishment to not whip you than make a martyr of you pretty little bottom. Come on, no one will hurt you sweet little bottom tonight."
The next day was uneventful, impossible to know that Mrs. Pam Noyes and her two daughters languished somewhere within the bowels of Castle . Searching all morning, Faith could not find them, leaving her to suspect they were chained in the hateful dungeon she so feared. Evidently their strength was being fostered for the continuation of their punishments. She shrugged it off, no longer believing it in her power to help. Instead, she asked Johnny if it would be all right if he were to drive her to the gate house for her to visit Adrian. Climbing into the jeep she wore only the famous shirt and customary leg-irons, her handcuffs had departed for the day, nor was there rope upon her wrists. She lost no time in berating the man behind the wheel.
"Why do you have to be so cruel to females, Johnny? That was awful what you did to those three yesterday."
"No worse then we've done to a good many more. Miss Baldwin. We ain't cruel to you, are we. Miss Baldwin?" He laughed delightedly. "Not unless you ask for it. And you sure did ask!"
"Yes, I know, and it's my own fault. After you gave me those five strokes the sight of them made Ratigan mad and he gave me ten more. All together it was the worse whipping I've ever had in my life."
"Weren't no whipping, Miss Baldwin, we just caned your ass, so we did. If we'd have whipped your back you'd have known about it."
Faith tried to laugh. "So, okay, I'm a dumb female who doesn't know enough to keep quiet. Now tell me about Adrian Moore. I've only met him once and I'm curious."
Johnny Catlin hesitated before coming out with, "Ain't nothing much to tell. Miss. He's as strong for The Cause as Ratigan or any of us. But he don't like the way we do things. We gave him an invitation for yesterday but he said he didn't want to watch no girls being raped so he didn't come." Hesitatingly Johnny added, "I don't think he minds us whipping them but he don't want that there other. He's sort of fussy."
"So if he whipped me he wouldn't want to ravish me afterwards?"
"That about the way of it. Miss. He's awful polite."
There was mischief in Faith's voice. "Maybe he can't ravish a girl, you know what I mean?"
Johnny Catlin was faintly offended. "What you're saying, Miss, is he can't get it up. I can't say whether he can or not but talking 'bout him like this is awful rude, you ought not."
Johnny was a delight. Faith knew she could twist him anyway she wished, except in that one vital question of escape. He would never help with her escape any more than Ratigan would himself.
Drawing level with the impressive entrance of Adrian's home, she prompted mischievously, "I'm terribly grateful, Johnny, I simply can't walk in these leg-irons, I simply can't That's why they're locked on my ankles, isn't it? Is there some way I can pay you for this ride."
"No need, Miss Baldwin, glad to do it."
"Oh, I thought perhaps another five strokes on my bottom with your cane would give you pleasure.. . "
"You're having me on. Miss Baldwin, you don't want me to cane your bottom. There's lots of bottoms to cane without messing with yours."
Glowing with affection for this simple young man. Faith took measured steps towards Adrian's door while the jeep roared its way back to . She knew herself excited and wondered if this, too, were an infidelity. She was going to have to be careful about Adrian, he was a softer and more sympathetic copy of Ratigan whom she loved. But it would be very easy to love Adrian, too. It was most confusing and she blamed it all on Ireland. In England a girl never fell in love with two men at the same time.
"Doesn't that idiot every unlock those shackles off your ankles?" Adrian inquired as he poured the tea. "It's not that I don't like them, they do something for you. They're quite lovely. But they must frustrate you to death."
"I don't think my feelings matter that much, Adrian. I'm a captive and the essence of captivity is frustration. Isn't it, Adrian?"
"Try these watercress sandwiches. My house keeper is a great believer in watercress sandwiches." Adrian handed her the plate and then continued, "Forgive me but that shirt you're wearing.. . It sorts of hovers around with the wind. I couldn't help noticing your bottom's been caned or whipped or whatever it is they do to girl's bottoms over there at . "
"Yes, that's right. I let Johnny whip my bottom in exchange for his being kind to those poor girls they've got over there. When he saw the marks, Ratigan got angry and gave me ten more. It's the most I've ever had in my life. Hmmmm, these sandwiches really are good."
"You see how delightful normalcy can be," Adrian said earnestly. "Sandwiches and tea. But there, across the hill, is with its whipping of girl's bottoms and the ravishing of the other side of them. It distresses me that what is a political movement is so fraught with carnality."
"It's boredom, they haven't anything else to do. Anytime a man hasn't some sort of work or purpose he starts thinking about a girl's thighs and what we've got hidden there. Men are ridiculous, I've given up worrying about it."
"Supposing I told you I was as ridiculous as all the rest." Adrian's gaze was intent. Faith's breasts burned before his stare. Mischievously she asked, "Would you like me to take off this shirt. I really don't mind any more, it's an aggravation to me and everyone else."
"Would you! Oh, Faith, I can't believe.. . "
For answer Adrian's visiting prisoner tugged the garment over her head and tossed it at him as an additional provocation. She raised her arms to tidy her hair. Miss Faith Baldwin knew her beauty and how to present it for a man's view.
Adrian's breath caught in his throat. "You're the loveliest thing I've ever seen," he said urgently. "Would you mind standing up and sort of.. . Well, sort of displaying yourself. I do paint, you know, and I'm not shy about nudes."
"Why not!" Faith was uncertain if she had a choice, any man with a whip could compel her to anything. She got to her feet and stretched on to her toes, flaunting her breasts and concave belly at the adoring male. It was one of those moments when she knew a woman, all women, could conquer the world if only they didn't fall in love. Sweetly she asked, "Like me?"
"I like you too much. But you belong to Ratigan, I won't intrude. Put your shirt on if you wish and have another sandwich."
It was as though the lines of battle were drawn between them. Compelled by pure mischief. Faith said, "You're as handsome a man, Adrian, as I am a beautiful woman. I think it would please you to whip me? If it would please you, I'll say yes."
They stared. Adrian Moore had adored this girl since the first time he had seen her. He had cursed his luck that she belonged to Ratigan. Adrian was a Sybarite who found immense pleasure in the naked figures of the girls he painted. Sometimes one of them offered him more, and he accepted it gratefully as part of the wonder of life, whipping her or loving her as the case might be.
"You're forgetting about Ratigan," he said gently. "I can't possibly whip you without his knowledge, he'll see the marks. Then he'll whip you more or some storming over here in a rage. It's the old story of men who hold an immense regard for each other until the woman appears and blows the whole lovely relationship apart."
"That means us girls are just a damned nuisance.. . ? "
Adrian laughed, he was enjoying the whole exchange. "You're forgetting mother nature. Faith, my dear. Two men produce no progeny, but insert a female in the triangle and it's soon she's pregnant by one of the men who no longer talk to each other. Nature's a cruel bitch." Adrian sighed reflectively. "Normally both of us would have gotten married by now and this triangle would never have happened. The thing which gave Ratigan and I this Damon and Pythias syndrome is The Cause. Ratigan pursues it violently but I'm a hedonist so my participation is limited to moral support and the things I've done over there at . . . . I suppose you realized I've done it more for you than for Ratigan and his dream?"
The simplicity of Adrian's declaration touched this visitor. Faith placed her hand upon his arm and in a sadly broken voice admitted, "No, I hadn't realized. You make me terribly humble. I feel guilty about. . . . Well, about simply existing here at . Wouldn't it be far simpler, Adrian, for you to give me freedom? Get these iron things off my feet and let me use a telephone. I could be out of both you're lives within an hour."
"The time for that, love, was on your first visit. It's too late now. If I dress and finance you and send you back to mother, you'd be in an English prison within a month. And you'd probably be there for twenty years. Ratigan was clever in the web of evidence he wove around you in that raid. I don't think you'd stand a change of acquittal. The English papers have had a field day with you. want to see some?"
"No, don't show me. The way you tell it frightens me to death."
"Okay, sweetheart, but it's best you know. But it brings it back to square one do I take you to bed now or later!"
"I belong to Ratigan, I won't sleep with anyone else. You wouldn't respect me if I did. I was sincere when I offered myself to the whip but Ratigan would see that as a sort of infidelity, too. I shouldn't have mentioned it. Oh, damn!"
Adrian poured more tea. "We've been talking as though forever, love, and that isn't sensible. Nothing is forever. At least not in this world. It's only a matter of time before Ratigan gets himself killed. I've warned him about it but he's got a death wish. Half the Irish have a death wish but don't know about it. I think Ratigan knows he's a haunted man. I expect that's the reason your feelings for him and own are this strong. Got any ideas?"
Faith Baldwin's only idea at that moment was that the gate ho felt so beautifully comfortable and secure and so very ordinary. It within the law and Adrian Moore was wonderful to be close to. strength was not Ratigan's strength but of a different quality, a quality of peace and sanity. She remembered her nightmare and in a sudden burst of candor told the man across the table the whole frightening thing in full detail. By the time she had finished she was breathless demanded, "Oh, Adrian, it was awful! Tell me it doesn't anything."
"It doesn't mean anything, my pet."
Faith pouted and they both laughed, the nightmare faded from her mind, dissolved by Adrian's lack of interest. In mock disapproval she said, "Well, you might have shown a bit more interest. Tell you what, put me on the rack, stretch me just enough so I'll be scared, isn't that the exorcism for horror in the mind?"
"I'll sooner whip you, it's far less ugly."
"I offered myself but you refused." Faith wrinkled her nose at the smiling man. "So, okay, whip me and send me back to Ratigan well and truly marked. I'll try and rationalize it for him. I might even succeed. After all, Adrian, Ratigan owes you a lot and what's a whipped girl one way or the other."
There came a long silence, more eloquent than words. They broke it as if by mutual concern and silently trod the downstairs steps to where there awaited the object of Faith's nightmare. Breathless beside it, heart thudding painfully, she strove for gaiety. "I left my shirt upstairs, I'm completely naked. A girl is suppose to be naked to be stretched on this, isn't she?"
She watched Adrian ready the instrument of torture by which she would destroy a terrible dream. He had made placement of the plank which would support her weight during the first part of the ordeal, and waved invitingly before exclaiming, "Oh, damn, I forgot your feet are chained. You can't climb up. Here. I'll lift you."
It was nice to be in Adrian's arms again. Faith wished it had been longer. Her mood became euphoric as she concentrated on what was before her. She settled herself down upon the hard, smooth wood, stretched arms and legs in opposite directions and gazed up with a mischievous smile. "I'm all ready. Adrian, make me tell the secret of the family jewels."
It was spine-tingling to be dealt with a prisoner of ancient days on a instrument of pure torture. Her ankles first, the leather anklets finding space beneath the iron bands of the leg-irons even Adrian could not remove. Then her hands! True, she thrust her bare arms up to meet their fate and shivered deliciously as leather buckled tightly on her wrists. The wheel turned to retrieve its lost control, gathering the slack until Faith's skin began to tighten under stress. There was no pain yet but she could not move. She tried but the effort did no more than tighten her belly, already amazingly concave. Adrian's voice came from another world.
"I've got you, my petty wench. I'll soon have your secrets, never fear."
"Oh, Adrian.. . ! "
Faith longed to pour out words but realized that one simply exclamation had said it all. "Yes, my pretty one, what now?"
His face was above hers, peering down to assess how this foolish girl might be forced into a confession, to torture her more than her own stubbornness would call for. But it was not the Adrian of the nightmare, it was the Adrian who had just given her tea and watercress sandwiches. He gently brushed her hair aside and softly kissed her eyes. Then he leaned back to grasp the wheel and tightened it another notch. Instantly Faith was aware of being very taunt indeed and her weight upon the plank less solid. Without a word Adrian's fingertips played upon her stretched breasts and rigid nipples. One of them traced a teasing pathway down across her belly to clutch and squeeze her love nest. His voice informed, "You're shockingly wet, dear girl."
"I'd be ashamed if I wasn't," Faith admitted without modesty. "Anyway, it's all your fault, look what you've done to me"'
"Am I getting any closer to those family jewels?"
Faith giggled. "Only the one you're holding in your hand. There's also the treasure chest you're exploring with your right. As to those jewels in the iron box, I'll never, never tell."
"I'm not sure we're reading the right script, but I like it," Adrian said cheerfully just before, without warning, he tightened the wheel another wicked notch.
The stretched nudity emitted a startled "OUCH!" But she still managed to smile up at the assessing male. "That's What the girl would have said, Adrian, I'll say it again so you'll know: OUCH! You've got me so tight stretched I can't even quiver."
"A mere nothing compared to what you can expect, my love. But first.. . "
It was an extraordinarily delicious series of sensations now evoked by male fingers. Being stretched as Faith was appeared to bring into existence, and into vivid sensitive, a whole host of nerves not previously suspected. The gorgeous sensations were intense enough to produce sensuous twists of the female contours on which they played. But the wracked beauty could only gasp and vent this wonder in short, compulsive breaths through lips she had to moisten with her tongue. The rest of Miss Faith Baldwin might have been carved in marble.
Adrian's voice was a mere whisper. "This is were a gentleman would stop, sweetheart. Do you want me to?"
"No!"
All of Faith Baldwin screamed. The extra notch on the big wheel took her to where she had been in her nightmare to the time where it dissolved. Her torturer removed the plank beneath her and set it aside. The last cruel turn had raised its beautiful burden to where the plank was no longer needed. Faith was stretched tight to wring an extra measure of pain from wristlets and anklets demandingly in her flesh. It was no longer easy to breath. The fingers now imparted a particular torture all their own on breasts and nipples and a sexual slit stretched out.
"I'm going to keep this in a special envelope forever," Adrian said softly as he grasped the longest of her pubic hairs and pulled it, with deliberate slowness, until it parted from her tender flesh to the accompaniment of one more heartfelt. "OUCH!"
"I'll be back in a minute, sweetheart," he assured cheerfully, "I've got to put this envelope and the treasure it holds in a safe place you might never let me have another."
At first there was a delicious feeling about her lonely agony, a terrible realism from times past. Faith felt certain other naked maidens had shared this fate of being left along to ponder the stupidity of being stubborn before the other turns of the wheel would spoil her loveliness beyond any point of return. But Adrian would return to set her free and they would laugh away her nightmare.
It took what seemed, to the tractioned girl, several minutes before she realized Adrian was overdue. Surely it could not take this long to put away a single envelope even though it did contain a pubic hair from an irritating, naked girl. Faith suddenly realized a terrible isolation here spread tight upon this huge instrument of torture so that should she have some sudden need of a lessening of stress there was none to hear. She could scream all she wanted but the sounds would not go beyond the closed doors to the floor above. She could not struggle, she could do nothing but wail and that waiting would be in increasing pain and steadily growing fear. Miss Faith Baldwin devoutly wished she had not thought of the appalling ordeal in the first place.
Without warning, Adrian's face was once more there. He had padded in silently to catch her by surprise. In a great thankfulness Faith saw his smile. It was by no means the awful vision of her dream. She heard his question, "One more notch, sweetheart?"
"No! Oh, Adrian, please.. . NO!"
"You really mean that, don't you, my pet. You've had enough. I'd love to torture you forever, you're a delicious subject, but I'd best let you go before I'm left with only a pair of arms and a couple of legs. So long."
Faith heard the replacement of the plank with a great deal of thankfulness. She could have screamed with a mixture of pain and joy when the wheel loosened enough to let her weight rest on the plank. But her torturer was not content to let her off easy. Adrian gave her one more merciful notch then allowed her to lay captive beneath his gaze. Faith could not move and did not care, her relief was so great it would have been easy to close her eyes and sleep. Being unable to move did not matter so long as Adrian was there.
The master of looked down, almost with reverence, at the stretched but not distorted nakedness he had owned for a brief hour or two. He was uncertain what to do with the treasure of nudity so helplessly fastened on his Rack. He voiced a troubled thought which brought Faith to wide-eyed wakefulness. "Faith, dear girl, this is absurd, it's crazy but I have to ask. Has Ratigan said anything about having you branded?"
Had she been above to move. Faith would have set up an alarm. She managed only to twitch a few muscles before gasping, "No, why should he? You don't mean.. . ? "
"I wondered. There's legends around and the poor chap once admitted to me it would be one way of cementing his ownership of you. I thought little of it at the time, believing it just a fanciful thing. But after that affair of the raid I wondered.. . ? "
After her first panic. Faith considered the proposition dispassionately. It was something Ratigan could easily do and she was forced to wonder, with a small erotic thrill, if being branded by a man made her more his possession than did love! But Ratigan could never be certain of her love, seeing her only as a kidnapped girl, longing for escape. Under such conditions a brand might be highly practical. A girl might not wish to go home bearing an unremovable mark.
"Please free me, Adrian. This thing about being branded.. . Well, it's spoiled the mood. I wish you hadn't told me."
"Best you know, sweetheart. If you pick up any hints you'd best come running over here and I'll deal with it."
"Running? You must be joking. Adrian, I can't even walk, at least not properly."
"Faith, my dear, forget the whole thing, I'll deal with it. You won't mind if I leave you the way you are a while, will you?"
"Yes, I will mind! Oh. Adrian, don't tease about something so awful as having a red-hot iron doing a print job on my skin. I don't think Ratigan would do that to me Please let me loose."
"Forget the hot iron, precious, if it's done at all he'll do it artistically, not with a red-hot poker. Damn it, Faith, I feel a bastard but I want to keep you like you are forever. You're what the Americans would call a 'delectable dish.' I wonder what it would be like to stretch a girl a notch tighter then you are now then rape her. Damned interesting I suppose."
"There's nothing to stop you, Adrian, why didn't you? In fact, why don't you do it now? You're not paying the least attention to my asking to be set free."
Adrian chuckled, delighted by his power over the stretched beauty and her acceptance of his teasing. Considering the bizarre circumstance the two of them had hit upon an amazing rapport. With quick, sure motions he unstrapped her hands and feet and lifted her from within the framework of the rack. When he set his burden upon her two feet, she shared his amusement.
"Oh. Adrian, this is so marvelous, you've no idea. But hold onto me, I feel all woozy. I think everything I've got is an inch longer." She clung to him with gloriously free arms. "Adrian, why wasn't I frightened? Why did I have such trust in you?"
"I don't know, sweetie, probably my natural charm. Let me carry you up stairs and we'll have a brandy before you have to go home." Adrian picked up his mildly tortured guest and carried her upstairs. But they had no more than made their first sips of the potent brandy then there was a thunderous knocking at the front door.
Adrian laughed at Faith's dismay. "Don't worry, sweetheart, but put your shirt on while I go deal with it."
Faith had forgotten the shirt. She donned it guiltily. It had seemed so natural to be naked with Adrian and so much in keeping with her ordeal on the rack. Unusual sounds were coming from the hall and when Adrian reappeared, he was carrying the most unexpected of burdens, the hogtied nakedness of a gagged girl.
It was Coral Noyes.
6
Plural Punishments
Staring aghast. Faith resorted to a startled gulp from her glass.
"Found her on my doorstep like a package from the post," Adrian said angrily while he dragged a seemingly endless amount of fabric from the young mouth, the lips of which were sealed with tape. He took his own glass and tilled it to freed lips. The hurt young eyes settled upon Faith.
"Oh, Miss Baldwin, please don't let him hurt me. I've been hurt so much."
"You're with friends," Adrian said as he was busy with the binding rope. "While I'm untying you tell us what happened."
Words burst from the nude girl in a torrent. "They've got Mommy and Brenda in that awful place with the dungeon. I don't know why they unchained me and then tied me up and brought me here. Please call the police. Please help my Mommy and Brenda. They're so cruel, they've hurt us terribly. Look at the marks on my skin!"
Adrian removed the hogtie and freed the young hands. He and Faith massaged the reddened wrists. Faith placed a glass in the young fingers. "Drink this. Coral, and don't be frightened of us."
She stood back while Adrian lifted the girl into a sitting posture on the couch. He had not untied her feet.
The youngster sipped gratefully, holding the glass in both freed hands, her eyes roving uncertainly while she poured out gratitude. Pausing in full flood, she said, awkwardly, "If you're Mr. Moore, I suppose to give you a message. I have to tell you I'm your property and you can use me as a slave girl and do anything you like to me." She gulped awkwardly. "That sounds so silly and I'm terribly sorry. You won't do that, will you?"
Adrian ejaculated a hearty, "Damn!" He turned to Faith. "What the hell am I suppose to do with her?"
"She's told you, Adrian. You're a lucky man, a naked slave girl left on your doorstep free of charge."
"Any more sarcasm like that and I'll put you back on the rack. Damn it. Faith, Ratigan's put me in a quandary, a final bind so it is."
"Just phone the police, Adrian," Faith suggested sweetly. "That gets Coral and me off your hands. I'll tell them I was dumped on your doorstep, too. We don't have to say a word about . "
"But this little one will, there's no way she'll keep quiet."
"Is that why you've still got her feet tied?"
"Well, I can't have the girl running wild, can I?"
Adrian was trying hard not to share Faith's amusement in his sudden embarrassment but brightened at an obvious solution. "I'm going to send her back with you. In fact I'll drive you both back to and give Ratigan a piece of my mind. He may be my friend but there are limits.. . "
"It may have been his boys who sent her, they're bored stiff. But you can't send her back, Adrian-she'd be punished or tortured or something along with her sister and mother. And, anyway, keeping her chained in that awful dungeon is bad enough for any girl. You'll have to keep her."
"That's ridiculous! I need a naked adolescent like I need a hole in the head."
Faith brightened with inspiration. "Look, Adrian, don't go and have a fight with Ratigan. None of this should spoil your friendship. How will it be I tell him you're going to drive Coral to some distant place and let her go. You can give her a blanket or something. That gives him time to get rid of the sister and the mother the same way."
Adrian shook his head disgustedly. "I can't. It would be a hostile act against The Cause. Damn it! Our afternoon's been ruined. Come alone." He scooped the still half bound girl up off the couch and headed for the door. But in desperation Faith cried out, "No, Adrian, no! Don't take her back to be tortured. If you won't give her freedom then keep her prisoner where she can do no one any harm but still be treated kindly. Then you and I go back to to see what happened."
Adrian paused. He struggled, irritated, beyond words he returned his wide-eyed burden to the couch and once more tied the slender wrists behind the narrow waist. Without mercy he again hogtied the innocent arms and feet but said gently, "Sorry kid, but don't worry and don't struggle. I'm going to straighten this mess and I'll soon be back. I may have to keep you prisoner but I won't hurt you."
Faith fell to her knees beside the fearful young beauty, kissing and whispering endearments and assurances of safety. It seemed inconsistent when the child was so cruelly bound but what else could she do. "Carry me," she demanded of Adrian. "We can't take time for me to hobble, we have to hurry."
As her gathered her in the now-familiar cradle of his arms. Faith wished only for the nightmares to go away and leave them alone in the peace of an Ireland that did not seem to care about anything.
Ratigan had not yet returned to Castle . Cully had taken charge, a Cully who appeared to think he had done Adrian a favor. "Tis pleased we thought you'd be, Mr. Moore." he said. "We can be sparing ye one of the three bitches. We got the other two safe and learning there lessons, so we have."
"Damn it, Cully, what the hell do you suppose I'm going to do with a fourteen year old girl at the gate house?"
Cully provided a broad, lewd wink. "You'll do something, Mr. Moore, so ye will. Ye ain't the kind of man to let a chance like that go by, at all, at all. Spread the little darling's legs and cane her little ass everyday."
"Don't be ridiculous. Cully, you ought to know me better than that. Where have you got the mother and sister?"
It was a stark and terrible scene but not without a bizarre beauty of its own. The stone chamber now boasted a wooden cross as its center piece. Arms outstretched to either side, her back hard against he upright timber, was the nakedness of Mrs. Pam Noyes. She stood there because she had no choice. Through the palm of each of her hands was a nail, driven to secure the bare arm at full length. Her head was bowed in misery but she raised it now to gaze upon those who had thus punished her. Off to one side stood an equally forbidding vertical timber upon which hung Brenda's nudity, her young wrists bound tight and high above her head, her toes unable to reach the floor. But some of her weight had been cunningly provided for by a stout wooden peg protruding from between the cleft of her helpless thighs. For a moment Faith gasped in the belief it impaled the youthful sex. But there was no blood, there was nothing except a swollen sex sharing its owner's modest weight with its owner's bound wrists. Brenda had also allowed her head to sink forward in helpless and hopeless misery. But she raised it now to survey Faith in faint hope. Neither mother nor daughter spoke a word.
The scene angered Adrian. Savagely he picked up the girl who's chained feet were an hindrance to anything and everything. It was not until they reached his car that he placed Faith upon her feet and turned to Cully. "Did Ratigan order what we've just seen?"
"He told us to do whatever we pleased with them. Just so's they didn't die from it." Cully guffawed obscenely. "Them two will stand more than they're getting right now before they kick the bucket. Don't you worry, Mr. Moore, we know what we're doing."
Adrian snorted, "I don't have time to argue. I'm sure you're right, they won't die." He turned to Faith. "What we've just seen is not as horrible as you think at first glance. I'm not going to run Ratigan's affairs for him. I'll run back to that damned girl they've foisted on me." He emitted a helpless laugh. "I'll let you know what I decide about her, sweetheart, you can tell Ratigan what I think of the whole thing as if he didn't know!"
Faith shared a stricken look with the man who now returned to his car. She knew she had not been kissed or hugged because of Cully's watching eyes. Cully must never even think there was anything between them. Cully must think she was as much a prisoner in the gate house as in . Bitterly Faith reflected that it was no more than truth, for her there was no freedom anywhere. She watched Adrian's car disappear down the road before saying to Cully, "I suppose it's no use my asking you to show those two some mercy? Couldn't you simply lock them in a room until Ratigan returns?"
"Ye know I'll not do that. Miss." Cully's chuckle was sarcastic. "But if you'll get some comfort from it, I'll fix you the same way and you can keep them company. Can't be fairer than that, can I?"
Faith bit her lip, she turned to go back to the castle, ignoring Cully's offer to carry her. In anger she snubbed her ankles against the hampering chain and stumbled constantly but stubbornly continued her return to an imprisonment. Her thoughts were at the gate house with Adrian and the maiden hogtied on his couch. She wondered what Adrian would do with Coral Noyes. Irritably she knew that whatever he did with the girl would matter a great deal to Miss Faith Baldwin. Unthinkingly, she kicked at shackled feet and stumbled once again.
Ratigan listened to his captive's torrent of discontent with an amused smile, refusing to take any of her bitter news seriously. He had to lift the shirt above her head to press her breasts tight against her chest a long time before Faith released her tension and used her arms as a girl is suppose to use them. She was suddenly crying.
"It's been a rotten day," she sobbed. "I don't see how we can possibly be happy when we know those two are suffering down there. Don't tell me that's training, that's torture. Just pure and simple torture."
"It's not as bad as it seems," he replied. "Cully shouldn't have shown it to you. I expect he was really showing them to Adrian. Cully thinks Adrian's got no intestinal fortitude."
"Well, I've got no.. . whatever you said, too. Please set them free."
"Damn it. Faith! If I'm not letting you go, why should I turn them loose? I promised the Bhoys they could have 'em for a week." He chuckled. "By that time they won't want to see a woman again for another seven days."
"You means the boys are doing.. . that horrible thing! Twenty men inside them every day!"
"Why feel sorry for them, love. I do it to you all the time, don't I?"
"Yes, but that's different!"
Ratigan laughed at her logic. "Are you sure it's different? Most men do it the same way."
Faith stamped a bare foot against the mocking rattle of her chain. "You men! The way you talk about doing that to us girl! The way you and I make love isn't a bit the same as poor Mrs. Noyes being raped by twenty rebels every day."
"And every night, too, sweetheart. Give the Bhoys credit for a bit of virility."
Faith suddenly felt desperately tired. She wanted only Ratigan's arms to hold her thus forever. Ratigan had the power to make all the absurdities and cruelties of Ireland seem entirely rational, releasing her from guilt. Ardently she longed to take this driven and tortured man into some quiet suburban normalcy where they could live and love and be happy. She remembered her own life before being kidnapped, it seemed a thousand years ago.
"Please, Ratigan, don't give me so much freedom, don't let me go to the gate house again. I'm getting fond of Adrian's Irish charm. Keep me here at . Today had mixed me up terribly. Adrian, that Pam Noyes, her two girls and what you've just been telling me.. . Cham me some ways so I can't just go off walking around."
Ratigan kissed away her sudden tears, touched by the simplicity of her words. "That's why I've got your feet chained," he whispered softly, "it seems to me it's working tine. You haven't managed to come within a mile of escaping."
"Well, yes, but I seem to get back and forth to the gate house easily. Ratigan, put a stop to it. Chain me so I can't leave this place."
Ratigan squeezed her hard. "You're being silly. Faith. Do you realize you're practically asking me to chain you in the dungeon. Is that what you want?"
"Oh, all right, you big brute." It was hard to keep laughter out of her voice. "Leave me chained the way I am. I expect I'm being silly. But tell the boys not to let me go to the gate house. If I start out walking, they can easily stop me. And they don't have to give me a ride." She rubbed her hair against his cheek. "Don't you understand, you idiot, I'm trying to be a good girl. The least you can do is help me."
They went to bed and made love savagely and joyously.
The following day Ratigan voiced an obvious thought, he would take her with him on his visits around the country. It would mostly be a bore but would get her away from and that which she found so distasteful there. They would return to it each night, glad of its refuge and the carnality of their bed. But he told her bluntly they would return in time to take part in a further punishment to be inflicted upon Pam Noyes and her daughters before bedtime. Faith said nothing. She knew herself increasingly accepting the whole impossible and improbable way of which she had become a part. She knew Ratigan used one of the jeeps in his tours and was curious what he would do with her. But Ratigan was well ahead of her curiosity, a chain had been welded to the floor of the jeep beneath her feet. At its end was fastened a simple metal bands which opened and closed enough to accommodate a female wrist. It was then padlocked to leave Faith with the doubtful freedom of being able to place a hand in her lap but no further. Amused, she pointed out, "Any body can see I'm chained. Ratigan, aren't you taking chances?"
If Ratigan wanted to take chances, it was his own business. They drove out onto the road in what Faith felt certain was an outrageous exposure of her condition. But she no longer cared. She was content to drift on the pleasant Irish tide of solving all their problems tomorrow but not today.
"You've chained my wrong hand," she complained mischievously. "If you chain the other one I can put an arm around your shoulder and make love to you."
"And get us a ticket for sure, sweetheart. You're okay the way you are."
' 'But if somebody even so much as looks inside they'll see my chained feet."
"There's a rag on the floor, throw it over them."
It was all delightfully absurd and no doubt Ratigan knew what he was doing. Faith was not unaware of the menace of the law hanging above her head. If a policeman aided her she would certainly end up behind bars. That knowledge was an even heavier chain than those on her and a more efficient gag that any Ratigan could have stuffed her mouth with. She supposed it would be best not to speak to anyone except the man driving the jeep at her side.
"Comfy, dear?" Ratigan inquired.
"I've never been more comfortably chained. Do I get time off for good behavior?"
"This is your time off, I thought you knew that. You're a very privileged young woman."
Faith shrugged and made a face at the man who owned her. "I think you've got something up your sleeve," she accused, "this whole thing is crazy. Either that or you want to show me off. Are you proud of your captive?"
Their first stop was at an isolated farm house along the road. When Ratigan stopped the jeep several ordinary rural types appeared from no where, looked at Faith without curiosity, then, after her wrist was unlocked, they all walked through the farm kitchen to some private male place where, no doubt, they would discuss the killing of the enemy. Faith was left with the farmer's wife and the farmer's daughter, a girl of nineteen with flashing dark eyes and a chip on her shoulder. She surveyed their visiting prisoner haughtily.
"So this is the likes of what our great leader Ratigan sleeps with," she said indignantly. "Would it not be better for him to sleep with a good Irish girl who needs no chains to bind her loyalty."
"Shut up, girl," the mother scolded. She then turned to Faith, "You'll have to excuse our Eileen, Miss Baldwin, it's jealousy she is. Every Irish girl looses her heart to Ratigan."
"So Ratigan chooses an English bitch." Eileen spat the words viciously. "I know what I'd do with her if I had the chance."
"Tis as well that you don't have the chance then, my pretty," mother said. "Be giving the young lady a cup of the good Irish tea now. And here's your chance to ask how it is to be long with The Bhoys."
The tea was served with ill grace but proved surprisingly good. Eileen became almost pleasant. "Think I'll like to be with the Bhoys, Miss Baldwin. They got a girl named Jinny, don't they? Does she have herself a good time?"
"Not very. I think she'd like to go home. The boys aren't always very kind to girls."
"You mean they all.. . give it to her.. . give it to her good?"
"Eileen, you shouldn't be asking the young lady such questions," mother chided without concern. "Tell her that ain't the way of it. Miss."
"I'm afraid is it. Jinny sort of belongs to everyone. Not all at the same time, of course, but she does get passed around. And Jinny's subject to the Rules. If she breaks a rule they're not the least bit kind to her."
"Think I could change places with her. Miss Baldwin? I sure could show them a thing or two." Eileen was suddenly eager.
"You wouldn't like it, Eileen," Faith said, wishing they were talking about something else. "If you break a rule, they whip you. It hurts terribly."
"They whip you. Miss Baldwin?"
"Yes, I'm afraid they did. I behaved stupidly so they whipped me. I really don't think you'd be happy there."
"I would too!" Eileen affirmed. "I'd be giving myself for The Cause, so I would, and I'd be giving myself willingly. Wouldn't there be no way I could change places with you? I could look after Ratigan a lot better than you could. You'd like to escape, wouldn't you?"
"Really now, I'd rather not answer all these questions." Faith was embarrassed.
"If I could get them chains off your ankles and put them on mine, he'd have to take me, wouldn't he? You could run away, so you could. Go back to your wicked England, so you could. I've got five quid I could lend you and a pair of blue jeans.. . "
Faith was embarrassed. She noted a motherly concern in the farm wife's eyes. She was also aware that anything she said could be used against her. She suddenly had an inexcusable vision of Eileen hanging up by one foot and being whipped by Cully with the carriage whip he knew so well. The girl was provocative. Gently she explained, "I don't think we should be talking about these things, I don't think Ratigan would like us to. And anyway, not of it matters."
"Don't it now, that's what you think, Miss Baldwin, I got a surprise for you."
Eileen rummaged a draw and came up with a ring loaded with keys. The discontented farm maiden knelt and Faith's feet and tried key after key until, to Faith's surprise and shock, the bands around her ankle fell open. When the key was used on the opposite foot, the shackle there fell away to leave Faith Baldwin totally and absolutely free.
"There ye are," said Eileen triumphantly. "I told you I could. Now, you get up and let me sit down."
As though in a trance. Faith obeyed. In mounting dismay and fear of punishment she watched the Irish girl lock upon her ankles the metal band still warm from her own flesh. The circlet closed with a satisfying click and the Irish girl, now hobbled, replace the keys, turned to confront a startled and baffled young woman.
"There ye are, Miss Baldwin, make a run for it. The jeeps out there waiting and I'll do better in Ratigan's bed tonight than you ever could. Go ahead, run!"
In sudden panic and utterly without reason, Faith smiled apologetically at the startled farm wife, ignored the girl now secured by her chains, and ran to the waiting jeep. In less than a minute she was speeding down the road to she knew not where or what. But as the jeep sped and gained distance between her and the farm house she spirits rose and in the first freedom she had known in many weeks her heart sang joyfully while she consoled herself that if Eileen got her bottom whipped it was no more than she deserved or desired. She pushed hard on the accelerator and as she did so the motor died. Faith was familiar enough with cars to know she was out of gas.
In the sudden silence Faith sat in defeat but the sound of a distant engine spoke of pursuit and the sudden remembrance of limbs entirely free and the discard of chains upon her feet spurred her to one more try. There was a sizeable copse of trees across the field and, if she could reach it without begin seen, it might yield sanction. In a delighted of movement she vaulted the fence and sped with every ounce of energy she possessed towards the trees, with the sound of the pursuit every louder. Soon she could no longer bare suspense and looked back to behold disaster. The two men in the pursuing jeep had cut the wire fence and were slowly crossing the ditch and up to the field where she fled. With a sob of immanent doom, the naked girl resumed her flight, unwilling to meekly accept recapture. But when the pursuing vehicle drew level and she could see Ratigan and the farmer gazing at her superhuman effort in mild amusement, Miss Faith Baldwin surrendered. She stopped and stood panting as Ratigan encouraged, "At a girl. Faith! No sense wearing yourself out."
Faith did not speak, she had nothing to say. When she observer her captor approach with rope she turned her back and crossed her wrists to reduce any indignity of a struggle. She bit her lip as cord cut her wrists, then, even when a noose encircled her throat, remained silent. It seemed Ratigan had nothing more to say either as he played out the length of her tether and handed it to the grinning farmer in the jeep. The motor started, the wheels turned, and Miss Faith Baldwin began the most ignominious journey of her entire life. The farmer, holding the rope to her neck, watched cautiously as the speed forced the recaptured girl to longer and quicker steps and then into an actual run. Faith was deathly scared of that noose around her throat and would take no chances of a broken neck. When they reached the abandoned jeep her breasts were heaving as she stood in the bitter shame of failure. Punishment was certain but for the moment Ratigan's impassive face and the farmer's jocularity were punishment enough. She was picked up and placed again in the seat where her adventure had began. As he unraveled the cords from her wrists, the farmer chuckled. "You're a lucky girl, so ye are. If we hadn't have got you, you would have spent the rest of the night in an Irish jail and the rest of your life in an Irish prison. It's thanking us you should be." He chuckled again. "And supposing you'd got back to the English? What young lady like you wants the English when she's known the good Irish loving you've been getting." He thrust her freed wrist into the waiting shackle and snapped the padlock. "There you are, me pretty, safe and sound. The luck of the Irish is looking after you and so we are."
She spared a glance, hesitant and uncertain, but when he took the rope from her neck she said a quite, "Thank you."
Ratigan lifted the hood and fiddled beneath. When he slammed it back down he spared her a sardonic glance. "There's two tanks, sweetheart, when one plays out you switch over. But you weren't to know that, love. Sorry."
They followed the farmer back to the farm house but stayed only long enough to retrieve the leg-irons which someone must have taken from Eileen's feet during the chase. When the farmer handed them to Ratigan he said with rough humor, "That girl of mine needs a lesson. She's locked in a cupboard now, but after dinner we'll have her out of there and give her the whipping of her young life with the boys all watching." He paused. "I suppose you couldn't be using a girl like that around the place, Ratigan? She's fair crazy over you, so she is."
"Wait until this one here escapes again, I'll take you up on the offer."
Had the recaptured girl not known shame before, she knew it now! The farmer walked back to the farm house and Ratigan came to her with the chains hanging from one hand. Gruffly he demanded, "Stick your feet out."
It was too much! When the iron circlets closed on her ankles Miss Faith Baldwin would bid farewell to hope, to freedom, to a return to her parents. She would once more be a hopeless prisoner unable to even walk properly, much less run. Woefully she pleaded, "Must you, Ratigan, let me keep my feet for just today."
"I can't trust you. Stick 'cm out love."
Faith wiped tears from her cheeks with her one free hand while the anklets bit and snapped shut. Instinctively she tested the linkage, it was the same as previously, nothing had changed. Nothing ever would change now, she would stand condemned as a girl who had rejected a national hero. Looking down at her captive feet she spoke of what was uppermost in her mind. "Ratigan.. . Will you punish me?"
"Don't take it personal, pet, but The Cause will punish you."
"Oh, damn your cause! It's you or Cully or Johnny who will hold the whip or whatever it is you're going to do to me."
Before starting the motor Ratigan climbed in beside her, encircled her with an arm to draw her close, then kissed her with unusual tenderness. "Understand this. Faith, I don't hate you. I'm not sure I blame you for what you've just done. I suppose its every prisoner's right to try and escape. Let's not talk about it, let's be as we were before that fool of a girl got you into that piece of nonsense." For a moment Faith thought herself totally forgiven, but hope soon shattered. "It's not me or just The Cause that punishes you. Faith. You've broken a cardinal rule and the Bhoys will demand you pay a penalty."
"You're saying I don't have a chance, no hope of acquittal or mercy or understanding. That's what it is, isn't it, Ratigan?"
"That's what it is. But remember, sweetheart. I'll be around."
The jeep resumed their interrupted journey.
Ireland gathered them unto itself. Soon they were simply a young couple enjoying the sunshine and scents of Ireland. Faith soon forgot the restrictions on wrist and ankle. She had been free too briefly for that interruption to establish a new norm. In the ensuing visits she hobbled beside her owner and make small talk with farmer's wives while drinking tea. By the time they turned back to she was almost in a mood to admit it had been a pleasant day. She also knew that Ratigan loved her more deeply than before. It should have been the reverse but perhaps his temporary loss of her had been the spurn. She wondered what Adrian might say about that but then she remembered that she might not see Adrian again. embraced her like a cloak. The recaptured girl had regained happiness by the time she was told there would be no dinner that evening, She would instead join Pam and Brenda Noyes at the place of punishment. Ratigan simply shrugged and motioned disgustedly as Cully and Johnny came, in a Fine military fashion, to escort Miss Faith Baldwin to her fate. She was almost choking with emotion at the thought of what might await and what she had left behind. Ratigan never came to these affairs, it was unlikely he would attend to listen to her scream. Faith supposed she would scream, girls always did on such occasions, didn't they?
"You're a foolish girl," said Cully. "We'll be teaching you a lesson, so we will."
"Tis with sorrow in me heart. Miss Baldwin." Johnny mourned. "Please don't never try and escape again. You ain't never going to escape but when you do something silly you have to be punished, it's the rule. Gee whiz, Miss Baldwin, I ain't gonna enjoy this at all, at all "
Pam and Brenda Noyes were already suspended by one ankle, evidently a favorite with the band. Each was groping with free arms to turn themselves to where they could get a view of what was taking place. When they saw Faith marching between her escorts, their faces shadowed a fresh despair. To one side there stood a heavy wooden bench not evident in the previous punishments Faith had witnessed.
They stood her beneath the horizontal beam from which she must hang. Cully's voice oozed satisfaction, "If you'll be handing us your shirt now. Miss."
Faith made herself naked and felt fresh shame in Cully's eyes and Johnny's stare at breasts she was not allowed to hide. There was a sort of trapeze bar with soft leather loops at each end. When the loops were tightened beneath the knuckles of her thumbs the unhappy girl knew her fate, a fate she had read of in fiction but never believed. She was going to hang naked by her thumbs! It was Johnny who explained.
"We can't be taking them irons from your feet. Miss Baldwin, Ratigan says to leave them on." A faint amusement entered the concerned voice. "Could be you won't ever have them off again so long as you live, Miss. It's hanging by your thumbs you'll have to. I'm real sorry, so I am."
The naked girl looked her bound thumbs and at the bar in disbelief. A moment later it began to rise before her eyes and with it her aims. As the leather tightened she gasped in apprehension but when her toes left the floor she moaned in pure horror. The fresh and frightening pain as her thumbs burned and screamed distress was surprising to the girl who hadn't really know what to expect. Vainly she sought to reach the ground with her big toes but they were an inch too high. Miss Faith Baldwin was now ready for punishment. Gazing in agony up her tractioned arms, she supposed her punishment was now and would work its evil purpose with her thumbs alone. Disillusionment was swift.
Cully and one other, each equipped with a carriage whip, approached. Faith watched as the thin thongs snapped and bit at mother and daughter to send each jerking in futile evasion. But there was no escape for any female present. Brenda wailed in shock to be bitten between her thighs while Pam was burned by sharp wicked slashes intended for horses and not a maiden's naked flesh. So engrossed was Faith in the terrible scene of girl and woman swaying back and forth from captive ankles and striving to protect themselves with hands and arms, which although unbound, achieved no real protection and only hurt themselves when the thongs landed on bare arm or hand. Faith's shock was doubly acute when one of those with the whip crept upon her to commence the marking of her body from head to tow. All of her was vulnerable and her twistings and contortions were instantly modified by the additional stress they placed upon her thumbs. Miss Faith Baldwin soon released, in pure horror, she would be best served to hang in passive immobility while the whip worked its will upon her helplessness.
She presumed the audience had seen it all before. The three females were whipped with speed and determination as thought this were but a warm-up for more serious play to come. The superficial scarlet wounds grew and multiplied upon three female nudities who dealt with their travail as best they could. Faith envied Pam and Brenda's ability to move without increasing their agony. In spite of mental determination she found herself reacting beneath the lash in natural and instinctive ways to cause her bound thumbs to silently shriek their disapproval and the chain beneath her feet to clank and clank again as she danced upon air. When it was deemed the trio of suspended girls had been marked enough the whipping suddenly ceased to leave them panting, breasts heaving, and glistening with sweat. They moved restlessly beneath watching eyes but were caring for anything put to get their feet back on the ground. It was a relief denied, they were forced to hang suspended while the stage was set for the next act in this drama of "teaching them a lesson." They exchanged wan glances but what was there to say!
Brenda was first. They lowered her ankle then picked her up and placed her face down upon the massive bench. It was massive so it took but a few minutes to bind and cinch down the young curves. Cords at waist and over the top of the thighs were drawn down so tightly as to stretch and protrude the nubile bottom. When they were done with her, Brenda Noyes could not twitch a muscle and was only able to lift her head, an act she performed in hope of help or comfort from her fellow suffers, and in a terrible curiosity as to what was next to happen. The affair was well prepared, an electric cord was dragged from somewhere to connect with a wooden handled instrument in Cully's hands. Watching, it took Faith minutes to realize it was a modem branding iron, far removed from the glowing brazier and red-hot iron. She suddenly recalled Adrian's remark about a brand more tasteful and less injurious than in ancient times.
Cully was exploring the young rump with his one free hand, the other held the wooden handled device to burn a maiden's skin. Lovingly he discovered the flat plane to one side of the pink curves above. He patted it approvingly for all to see and then, without warning, thrust the electric device hard down upon his chosen spot. Holding the wicked thing in place he counted slowly to five while scream after scream flowed piercingly from Brenda's lips. The youngster could not move. Even the rigidly held iron could extract no motion, so tightly was she tied. A curl of smoke rose as the iron was withdrawn to disclose a neat and perfectly formed letter "T."
"'T' stands for traitor," he said gruffly. "Where it with shame."
It is possible the branded child wavered in semi-consciousness. She moaned steadily but it was an involuntary sound she could not control. All attention now was upon Miss Pam Noyes who was being lowered while her daughter was removed to make room for mother on the bench. As the binding of the mature loveliness want on. Cully informed the audience, "Come in different sized, these letters. See, I'm taking out the little one and putting in the large size. This traitorous bitch don't deserve nothing less."
Savagely her made the adjustments and set the iron upon the ground to heat while he went to oversee Brenda's binding into a familiar hogtie in which she could not touch her wound. Pam Noyes, realizing inevitability, pleaded without hope, "Please, I beg of you This does no good, it serves no purpose. Please don't mark us woman as you have marked my daughter."
"Gotta be fair, ain't we now!" Cully gloated, testing his iron. "Wouldn't be right for a daughter to get it and not dear old mom. Don't you worry. Mrs. Noyes, I'lJ give you the prettiest brand a woman ever had, so I will."
It was the same all over again, the careful search, the patting approvingly of the chosen place, the downward slope. The iron was applied with the same swift certainty and he count of five intoned to accompany the screams Pam Noyes could not control. When it was over and Cully was cleaning of his iron while willing hands bound the naked Pam as they had bound her daughter, the suspended Faith realized it was her turn. Every eye was upon her as her arms were lowered and the soft leather bindings taken from her thumbs. The relief was so great that she momentarily forget what lay ahead. But when she laid on the bench and there bound tightly and with deliberate cruelty rear her loins in invitation she could only moan, "Please don't, please don't brand me! I don't want to be branded and I'm not a traitress." For Cully it was undoubtedly a labor of love. Once more his finger ; and palm explored a female bottom for an evil purpose. If a girl indeed be branded his chosen place was probably the best. But n it come to branding human flesh, there cannot truly be a best only a place that is less awful than the rest. When Faith felt the naked intimacy of his seeking hand, she drew a deep breath in preparation of her scream. As with Pam it was the big "T." When was thrust hard down upon the ivory of her unresisting skin she pealed t the screams and protests she could not bit back. The agony was a quality and awfulness she had never before dreamed of. The count five seemed to last forever, prolonging itself on and on and on. When iron was finally withdrawn and its burn approved by all who came to see, she did not stop her screams until, in terrible realization, she felt Cully exploring the flesh upon her other flank. The agonized girl could scare believe she was to receive two brands to the other's one. But before she could take breath for denial, the hot iron found her once again and the cruelty repeated. As she felt her ropes and binding she understood the massive structure of the bench and wondered how many maidens it had controlled while a meaningful letter was burnt deep into their flesh to provide a reminder all her life.
But now there was a difference! The bound and branded females received no attention whatsoever, their wounds sterile in the open air. But suddenly Faith Baldwin was aware of a cooling and lessening of the agony. An aerosol can was being used to spray the two brands she must now bare in shame. She moaned in gratitude and was certain it was by Ratigan's orders.
The gathering, honor satisfied, trailed back towards the castle for something hot, leaving the branded women and child as in the recovery room of a hospital. They were wickedly bound without hope of escape and they would lay there in the aftermath of agony in the terrible loneliness of pain to reflect what else might be done to them on the morrow. Pam and her daughter did not know that tomorrow would bring release and return to their home. They would learn this only at the very last moment. But for Faith Baldwin there would be no end, no termination of her strange imprisonment. She knew nothing of the morrow and for the moment did not care, hoping only they would spray her brands again when they returned.
7
Shamed
To Faith Baldwin, it was a week of revelation, beginning by the return to their beloved home of Pam and Brenda in a manner typical of The Cause. Both had been shorn and shaved bald. They stopped there with the child but with the mother continued on to removed eyebrows and pubic hair. In the dead of night they had been chained back to back against the telephone pole in the main street of a small, sleepy northern village who's one constable was not in evidence. Both chain and padlock were massive and would require a good deal of labor to get their naked captives free. The Bhoys were highly amused.
"The North will be laughing at her, they will, when they see that shaven pate and bald slit. There's be no danger of that youngster going over to the English, there is. We stuck that bitch of a woman with her face against the post so they can admire the brand on her ass as they hacksaw her loose. She'll not be getting many votes out of that."
Faith was inclined to disagree with these observations but said nothing. It was over, and she was thankful to be allowed the freedom of the place at all. She had expected the dungeon or at least extra chains. And there were those in the band who would have gladly done those and worse to her. But they were afraid of Ratigan who told his boys bluntly she had been punished enough and would receive no more.
Examining herself in those first days after her attempted escape, Faith would freely admit to being more passive a prisoner than before. She supposed that inconsistent, but the brands had had effect upon her temperament. In wry amusement, she supposed it was actually Ratigan who showed her the least mercy of all, refusing to sanction an interruption in their lovemaking or nightly ritual of being chained to his bed by the collar and its leash. Agonizing as intercourse might be upon the twin livid brands, she must bare it again and yet again. The twin brands healed rapidly-they had been impressed upon her flesh in thin lines which would not spread or cause a disfiguring blemish of a scarlet wound. Faith was provided with adequate medication which she applied faithfully. She had believed at first it would take a long time to reconcile her to what had been inflicted upon her flesh. The whipping should have been enough, along with hurt thumbs, but little by little she came by an increasing acceptance and finally could hardly wait for the final healing and the disclosure of the marks as she would forever wear.
Ratigan had watched her closely. He was also very interested in the effect on this creature he owned of being forced to wear the brands for life.
He mocked her with the discovery they shared: "You're twice as much a woman as before you were branded. I should have had it done to you the first day."
"If I am twice a woman, I expect that's because I was twice branded. I also think you're imagining it, Ratigan-I'm the same."
"You're twice as good in bed."
"Any girl would be who's got that incentive to lift her bottom off the sheet."
Fact was the brands had brought them closer together. For the captive girl her past life, her country, and her parents were fading into memory. Playfully, she taunted. "You see, you've broken me-you've broken my spirit. I don't have the courage to fight you any more. I do what I'm told like a good little girl. I'm ashamed of it, but I don't care." She giggled at a sudden thought. "I wonder how it's affecting Pam Noyes? I bet she hates it."
As the days drifted by in what Faith began to think of as the second phase of her captivity, she wondered increasingly of Coral. She supposed Coral Noyes was still at the gatehouse and was curious as to whether Adrian accepted the teenager as captive or companion. Either way you looked at it, Adrian had been thrust into a position the world would condemn, teenage young woman were suppose to be involutes.
The censure of society could hurt Adrian in a way that could never touch Ratigan. Finally she asked, "What are you going to do about Coral Noyes, Ratigan? Adrian can't keep her forever."
"He won't have to. For now the kids a hostage. She'll show us a profit sometime."
"But the world will never believe Adrian doesn't ravish her. Or should I say rape?"
"So what! If you ran away to your ridiculous freedom, they'd believe you'd been raped too. And they'd be quite right, wouldn't they? But who's to prove it? You wouldn't tell them, would you?"
Faith felt herself blushing. Ratigan loved these revealing discussions over the unmentionable. She demanded, "How on earth do you suppose I'm suppose to explain these brands you've put on me?"
"Well, you're going to walk up and down London streets in your birthday suit, are you? Or with your bottom sticking out from whatever you wear!"
"I ought to hate you, why don't I?"
"No woman hates a man who loves her the way I love you. She doesn't escape from him, either."
Faith let it go at that. She could never win an argument with Ratigan nor did she much want to. The give and take they enjoyed arising from her condition made her enslavement seem more tolerable perhaps it was!
On the following day Faith had a visitor.
Adrian Moore was a philosophical man, and after his first annoyance at being saddled with a bright-eyed teenage girl he discovered an unexpected dividend. Coral Noyes unconsciously possessed a remarkable talent for graceful motion and appealing poses. With an unexpected hunger Adrian Moore returned to canvass and brush to paint this gift of fate in an exuberance of line and color which surprised them both. He had no thought of selling his work and mischievously made a sale impossible by having his captive pose prettily when clad in nothing but chains or rope.
Coral Noyes was wise for her years, viewing life in bright expectancy which now included her attractive male owner. The nymphet preferred to think of Adrian in that context rather than as a jailer or captor. She had not doubts about being his prison, she could have no doubts about the ropes and chains by which he kepi her safe. But, girl-like, she was soon weaving romantic dreams and assuring herself a girl of fourteen was not too young, certainly not for Adrian Moore who appeared to possess no age at all. Their first discussion cleared away the debris The Cause had left in Coral's mind. Standing defiantly before him, her wrists crossed and corded behind her back, her ankles similarly bound, she had felt strangely at ease under his regard even though she was totally naked. He speech was doubtfully hostile.
"Are you going to rape me the way the rest of them did?"
"No, that's over. Forget it. I won't allow it to happen here."
"If you don't want to rape me, why not let me go?"
"That's a good question," Adrian admitted, feeling irritation about the whole affair. "I'll see what I can do about you, young lady. In the meantime don't spend ail your effort trying to escape."
"If I do, will you punish me? Will you whip me the way those awful men whipped me and Brenda and Mommy?"
Adrian sighed, determined to give Ratigan another piece of his mind. "I'll only whip you if you make a nuisance of yourself, so make sure you behave."
The bewitching curves twisted testingly against her bonds. "How can I escape or be a nuisance when you've got me tied up like this? And my ankles are hurting. I don't see why I have to be tied up at all."
Adrian sighed again. "We both know what you'd do if I let you loose."
Coral conceded logic but wrinkled her nose in disdain. "Haven't you anything a bit more up to date? I mean, if you're going to keep a girl prisoner, would you have some handcuffs and chains and things like that? The way you've got me now I feel sort of.. . tressed."
"I've got some of that stuff, I prefer you like this at the start. But I'll pick up some chain and a padlock or two. And I'll get you a tee shirt."
"I suppose you'll want me like that nice girl at the other place, the one who tried to save us and got herself whipped. The way she wears that shirt is more naughty than having nothing on at all."
"Don't argue. Have you ever been painted?"
Coral sniffed. "I don't know any kinky people. Is that what you like doing to girls, painting us? It sounds horrible."
"I don't mean your skin. I mean on canvass. You've got a gift for posing."
He had caught her interest. Coral stopped twisting against bound hands. "I think that's a groovy idea. I promise I'll stand still."
"I'll make sure you do."
"That means you're going to tie me up, doesn't it?" Coral said plain lively. "I don't like being tied.. . "
Forgetting bound feet. Coral tried to take an angry step but, instead, toppled sideways to the carpet where she wiggled up enough to emit a hearty, "Damn!" She glared at Adrian. "See, I told you so. Tying me up is a lousy way to treat a girl, I might have broken something." She soften, "You seem a nice man. Please send me home."
It had been a beginning.
Coral Noyes had gone up and down the scale of emotions, spanning tears, pleadings, and outright defiance. Adrian found her intensely amusing and fell into the habit of keeping her chained with sufficient freedom to allow her natural instinct to provide poses as she desired. It became a shared interest.
Even though she was often a trouble, Adrian did not whip the girl fate had foisted off on him. He discovered there was certain ways which she loathed to be bound and he used these. When Coral understood the penalties involved she became for tractable. Intrigued by her owner's skill with brush and oil, she often suggested ways in which she could be chained or bound for a desired effect. On the fifth night she offered her body to him in delightful innocence.
"I know it's going to be done to me and I'd rather it was you, Adrian, rather than those ruffians in the other place. I don't think they wash properly. Ugh!"
"The way you've offering yourself, young lady, it isn't rape. Do you realize that?"
"I don't care what you call it, Adrian, please take me to bed."
Adrian laughed. "I'd have thought you would be happily satisfied in the guest room the way you are with only one padlock on an ankle to keep you safe. What would mother think?"
Coral was prettily chained to a tree and wearing the far too tight tee shirt he had purchased for her. It's fabric clung lovingly to the contours of two small breasts and its lower hem failing to hide a pubic triangle unusually bushy for a maiden of fourteen. Coral broke her pose long enough to trace a pattern with her big toe in the soft, moist dirt. "They did it to Mommy and Brenda, you know they did. So now we're all the same." She spared a sly glance at her captor. "After she's had enough men inside her I don't think it matters to a girl like before. It's like learning to swim, you can't possibly then all of a sudden you're doing it. I don't see why you're so stuffy."
"You're fourteen, that's why."
"That doesn't make me a child! I'm as big as lots of woman except maybe a bit more slender. Don't you like me?"
"I'd like you a lot better if you'd keep quiet and stood still."
The result of these verbal exercises was to drive Adrian to seek feminine advice. He discovered Faith sunning herself and toying idly with the chain between her feet on the castle steps. As he drew close he saw her tense. But she rose to greet him.
"Hello, Adrian. Ratigan's away as usual."
"I didn't come to see Ratigan. I came to see you. I want to take you to the gate house for tea and to talk to young Coral. She needs feminine companionship and some other girl to talk to."
"Adrian, don't tell me you can't handle her!"
He ignored the implication. "Girls need girls. None of them want an unrelieved diet of male."
"That what I get, Adrian. I belong to Ratigan and he doesn't let me forget it." She laughed almost gaily. "I'm becoming ridiculously submissive. He's worn me down."
"I'm told he's had you branded. May I see?"
Faith shrugged, secretly thrilled. She raised her shirt and turned a hip for inspection. While Adrian was breathing hard, she turned to exhibit the second brand and heard his quick indrawn gasp.
"Damn it. Faith! They're beautiful!"
"Yes, aren't they. They've discovered a new way to brand a girl. Aren't I lucky?"As always happened, they stood and stared at each other with a hundred things unsaid. Faith dropped her shirt to say reluctantly, "I can't go to the gate house, it's out of bounds for me. I'm afraid it was my idea, I asked for it."
Adrian laughed at her embarrassment. "A case of lead me not into temptation, eh? Don't worry, I'll tell the boys I'll have you back in a couple of hours."
Faith felt excitement. It would be nice to get away from and bask in Adrian's pleasant company. And she was also curious about Coral. When she was picked up and put inside Adrian's car, she inquired innocently, "Has Coral got herself into bed with you yet."
"How did you know to ask?"
"I'm a girl, remember? If you'd keep me at the gate house this long, I'd have got there. As it is I've come to know more and more I belong to Ratigan. Please don't mess me up by loving me too much."
"I can't help loving you."
"Yes, you can. If that sweet innocence wants to get between your Aeets. you'd best let her. You'd soon forget me. If you haven't whipped her yet, that means you're fond of the child."
Arriving at the gate house, Adrian drove the car across the grass land of the small park to a cluster of trees. Without a word he picked op his leg-ironed passenger and carried her into the dappled sunlight beneath the leaves. There, embracing a slender trunk, stood Coral Noyes. She was forced to stand by the simply expedient of drawing I hand around either side and handcuffing them together. A few moments later Faith found herself in the same predicament. The two trees and their female captives were only a few feet apart.
"Is this how you give a girl tea, Adrian Moore! I'll never visit you again. Let us loose."
Adrian saluted jauntily and drove away. Coral's greeting was instant. "Isn't he a darling? It's no use trying to boss him around. I've tried and tried and all it gets me is to be tied up in some horrible contortion I hate. Did you know he was painting me?"
The girl was a delight, and my no means a child. She wore her handcuffs gracefully as though proud of them. Faith noticed they clasp the young, slender wrists with an unusual snugness. Coral laughingly explained, "He had them specially made for me, Miss Baldwin, I asked him to. I could slip out of the regular size so that meant he had to tie me up all the time. These are a lot more comfortable. Can you get loose from you're?"
"I never get loose from anything," Faith said remorselessly.
"You look so sweet with your feet chained the way they are. That man keeps you chained like that all the time, doesn't he? I wonder why Adrian doesn't chain my feet that way?"
"Don't give him any ideas. It's no fun to have your feet chained like this."
The youngster seemed remarkably reconciled to hugging her tree. Evidently the tiny handcuffs held her secure.
"Are you enjoying being Adrian's prisoner?" Faith inquired with a touch of acid. You don't seem the least bit worried or put out. I don't believe you want to escape in the least bit."
The youngster mused thoughtfully for a minute, for the first time fingering the metal bands around her wrists. "If someone offers me a chance to escape, I'll take it. But I sort of like Adrian and he hasn't whipped me yet. Do you get whipped a lot, Miss Baldwin?"
"I suppose not really, it just seems a lot. If I ever got free of these chains I'd come and get you free, too. But that's just a pretty dream. Look, Coral, if Adrian's keeping you handcuffed now, are you sure you can't find where he keeps the key?"
"I know where he keeps the key but I can't get there. I'm always fastened to something like now. I can't walk away from this damned tree. But if I ever get loose, I'll come and get you loose, too, if I can."
The two girls embraced their trees and played with their handcuffs. Faith wondered why Adrian had brought her to this place to chit chat with a youngster who was obviously all too well adjusted to captivity. Jealously she envied Coral her close association with the real owner of . It was pleasant here among the trees but was a pointless exercise which had already awakened emotions she knew to be dangerous. She wondered how much the two men truly loved her and if it were possible for them to come to open hostilities over possession.
Wickedly she said, "Make Adrian fall in love with you. You can if you try, you're a damned attractive girl. If you can manage that he'll either let you loose or you'll be able to steal the handcuff key. I can't manage it with Ratigan, he's too much a soldier. I could never fool him at all."
When Adrian returned he laughed at the twin scrutiny he was subjected to. "Been talking about me, haven't you?" He grinned at Faith. "I suspect you've prompted this innocent young woman to make a fuss of me so I'll tell her where I keep the key."
"Adrian, if you were half a gentlemen you'd let both of us loose."
"I'll let you loose now, sweetheart, you can't go anywhere with those leg-irons on." He did exactly that, pocketing the handcuffs while Faith stood dejectedly, knowing all too well she could neither walk or run. Adrian then unlocked a single cuff from Coral's wrist, turned the youngster around then relocked them behind her back.
"Can't take chances with either of you," he said pleasantly. "I wouldn't want to have to tell Ratigan you'd gotten away. Come and we'll all have tea."
Adrian did not carry the leg-ironed girl as was so often done. He and Coral slowed their pace to accommodate her limited steps. She thought longingly of that brief period when her feet had been free in flight. It felt so good. But now she had no reason to believe her feet would ever be free again. When Adrian pushed the tea trolley to where she sat, Faith consented to pour.
"Tell this charming creature you don't wish to go home," Adrian commanded. "Tell her how happy you are here and how you like to be chained."
"I don't want to go home. Miss Baldwin. I love being chained her as Adrian's prisoner. He's so terribly sweet."
Faith picked up the tongue-in-cheek tone. This was a girl who could hold her own in company. Still irritated, she told Adrian, "How can this poor girl hold a cup or a sandwich or anything else when you've got her hands behind her back!"
"You can hold what Coral wants to Coral's lips, sweetheart. You won't mind, will you. Coral?"
Coral did not mind. Faith suspected the child would not mind anything Adrian chose to suggest. The girl was a wonderful example of teenage infatuation. Being deliberately vulgar in a manner she knew Adrian detested. Faith inquired, "When Adrian does things to you do you get wet between your legs and want him to take you to bed?"
"Oh, of course I do, Miss Baldwin! Isn't it lovely! He hasn't taken me to bed yet but I expect he will if I keep after him enough. May I have another drink of tea?"
Between them they had her foxed. Coral was all together too wise for her years and would gobble Adrian alive if she got the chance. She suspected Adrian keep the child chained only in diffidence to Ratigan. Tartly she retorted, "I hope you realize Adrian could go to prison and you. Coral, to a home for delinquent girls." Faith sniffed. "I'm going to ask Ratigan to tell Adrian to let you go, Coral. Adrian wouldn't do it until Ratigan tells him to do it. It's some sort of a Code they follow."
"I think you're jealous, Miss Baldwin. You're in love with Adrian, I can tell." The teenage voice was both sympathetic and serious. "Why don't you ask Adrian for permission to whip me. If you made me cry and had me promising to behave myself, I think you'd feel better. I promise I won't mind."
Adrian's grin was for Faith alone. "Remarkable, isn't she? If I tell you to whip her and then I whip you, we should all be very happy. Pity it isn't that simple." His eyes glinted mischief. "Don't think I wouldn't love to whip you, Faith. Maybe one of these days.. . . "
Still under the momentum of annoyance, Faith retorted, "And that ridiculous tee shirt you've got on the child, it's far more indecent than nakedness."
"I know, I like it. I've been painting her that way in the pictures. Come and look."
He was suddenly a quite different Adrian, absorbed, intent, tremendously wise in the ways of brush and color and canvass. In the sunlit room with the easel and the walls lined with his work Faith understood his separation with The Cause. Here, in what Faith felt certain were works of a master craftsman, was Adrian's true life and meaning. With incredible fidelity Coral stared and laughed back at her from within each frame. Somehow the tee shirt now belonged as an extension of maiden innocence, revealing shyly the treasures a viewer might most wish to see. Coral was chained against a wall of stone or tied to a tree in a woodland glade. Coral peered longingly through iron bars at a freedom lost, her small young hands clutching the iron and linked by chain. Adrian had painted Coral in so many poses that Faith was forced to realize the genius of the man who had produced so much in such a short time. But it was not the girl alone upon whom Adrian had lavished his skills. Each background, even though no more than a stone wall, was in some way infused with the whole other world of magic of and of Ireland itself. By the time the tour was completed Faith was humbled before something in which she had had no part. Faith realized the magic she beheld was in part the magic of the girl called Coral. Coral and Adrian belonged together regardless of discrepancy in age. The two of them were one of those fortunate events in the history of mankind in which the laughing girl would live forever or at least so long as paint and canvass held intact.
The T-shirted inspiration of all Faith had beheld walked with them silently in a reverence all her own, seemingly unconscious of hands cuffed behind her back. Whatever Adrian did for her would be correct. Perhaps if he portrayed her in the motions of total freedom the paintings might loose some of the elusive wonder they now possess. Coral was silent as though wishing to claim nothing for herself. For now everything was Adrian's.
"Isn't it marvelous, Miss Baldwin," she worshiped girlishly. "Please don't let Ratigan send me home."
Adrian and the girl he had invited to tea were silent as he drove her back to . But when he lifted her from the car to place her at the foot of the castle steps and kissed her tenderly. Faith said, "Adrian, you've got your heart's desire. Now help me escape. Please give me back my freedom."
"What about Ratigan?"
"I can love Ratigan far better as a free woman than a chained prisoner."
He kissed her again. "I'll have to think about that one," he said soberly. "In the meantime, hold your horses, I'll be talking to Ratigan." Faith watched him go, a chained maiden on the castle steps.
8
Diversity of Prisons
The gun fire was sharp and relentless: the bark of rifles and sharp crack of pistols. With a curse, Ratigan leapt from their bed, grabbed trousers and shirt, and disappeared. Frightened, Faith slid her joined feet to the floor and would have followed in his wake had it not been for the collar on her neck and its tether to the wall.
It was almost possible to follow the fortunes of battle by the sound and nature of the gunfire. But that told the captive nothing of victor or vanquished. Faith sat naked on the bed in trembling fear, offering a pray for the man who's prisoner she would forever be.
The sounds ceased as suddenly as they had begun. The silence of the Irish night was eerie by comparison There was sounds and shouting, a motor started and stopped again Then, finally, the sound of approaching footsteps, footsteps that were not Ratigan's!
The man was a burly type, redheaded and brutal in his speech. Surveying Faith in obvious pleasure and some relief. ""By the saints, so there is were he kept you, love." He laughed. "The name's Faith Baldwin, ain't it? The missing bit of crumpet the English want so bad."
"Yes, I am."
"And a pretty piece you are, too. I can see why Ratigan keeps you the way you are. Chains on your pretty feet and a collar around your neck. Well, and for sure, if a man gets himself a good piece of ass he'd be a fool not to look after it. You must have tried to escape to be fixed like that."
"All prisoners try to escape. Where's Ratigan?"
"If he ain't in this room then he's likely dead around the place somewhere. We've made no search yet." His eyes were roving up and down Faith's nudity. "You're a prize indeed, lass oh, and I'm almost forgetting, I'm Mulchay from the Central Committee. You can call me Bill."
The chained girl on the bed had said little, waiting for the intruder to give her clothes. He mind was a ferment of speculation about Ratigan but she could not keep silent forever so, hopefully, inquired. "Have you come to rescue me? Are you going to send me back home?"
Once more he laughed, "Oh, aye, we will that and all. We ain't leaving you here, that's for sure, so-it is. How much do you think you're worth to that English bastard who sired you?"
"You mean you're kidnapping me, holding me to ransom?"
"Aye, that we are, lass. You'll fetch a pretty English penny, so you will."
"I don't know much about my father's money affairs but I'll sure you'll get a good price one way or another. There will be those who will help him get me back."
"That asshole Ratigan never asked a penny, ye know. He never tried to use you to further the Cause. Too damned civilized he is for the likes of us or the needs of Ireland. Would you be fetching a million pounds now? What's you think?"
It was hard to think at all. A naked girl, chained and sitting on a bed, her lover vanished and probably dead. The only spark of sanity was this unexpected hope of release. Avarice might get her back to her parents in a way no other emotion had achieved. She wondered how many times she would be raped before the final day.
"I suppose you'll take me away from here, hold me in some place of your own."
"That we will, lass. We've killed the lot of Ratigan's boys so we could easy stay here and take over. But this place is owned and the man who owns it would turn us in for sure. We could easy kill him and get him out of the way but Adrian Moore is an Irishman, a real Irishman. Trouble with Adrian Moore is he dreams his dreams and doesn't fire a gun. But we'll not be hurting him at all, at all. He's faithful to The Cause so far as talking goes."
Faith said hopefully, "I'm not always naked like this, I wear a shirt but I can't get it on when my neck is chained."
Mulchay tilted her chin for a closer view. "Must cost a pretty penny. Ain't really no reason to take it off ya. Let's have a look at this here chain."
It was a chain Faith could never break but it was pretty and it was light so as not to impede Faith's sleeping or her lovemaking with Ratigan. It would have mocked the strength of an ordinary man but Mulchay thrust against the collar and heaved the chain with a giant's strength to cause its weakest length to break. He tossed the chain aside, leaving a few inches hanging from her collar.
"Is a pretty thing. Miss Baldwin, so it is." He chuckled at a private thought. "You can wear it 'til we send you home, so ye can. That English Bastard of a father of your can be real proud."
Faith still kept silence, knowing herself in the grip of events she had no control over. Without much concern she watched Bill Mulchay lift the metal links between her feet and examine the whole assemble with acute interest. "May as well leave this on you. lass. We ain't got no key and I'll wager it would take more than a pair of pliers to get the best of this hunk of iron. Ratigan spent some money on ya. We may as well profit from it. As a prisoner you'll do very well as ya are."
Her time with Ratigan had taught Faith the near impossibility of escape while her feet her chained. The same would face her now. It would be far better to be tightly bound than to remain in the grip of locked metal bands upon her ankles. She sweetly pleaded, "My feet have been chained for so long and I'm so sick of not being able to walk. If you would get those things off me soon I'd be immensely grateful." As and added inducement she included, "I'd be glad to do whatever you want." Her voice took on fresh bitterness. "I'm a very well trained prisoner."
"Nay, lass, we'll not be wasting the money Ratigan's spent on joining them pretty feet. Now what can I do about them hands?"
Faith thought of Ratigan's handcuffs but would not tell where they were. Handcuffs were comfortable but there was no escaping them. If Bill Mulchay wanted to tie her hands she would put up with the discomfort in hopes of freeing them. She tried again, "You don't have to do anything to my hands. Please don't tie them. You just said I can't do anything with my feet the way they are. It's horrible not to have hands. Please?"
Her captor chuckled. "Ratigan must have tied your hands. I can be telling from what you're saying. If he tied them there must have been a need. You're probably a canny bit o' fluff what can't be trusted. Let's see what we got handy."
There was nothing handy. Faith kept silent. Let him find his own rope or whatever he would use! But Bill Mulchay was a resourceful man. His eye lit upon a pair of Ratigan's boots. Without a word he stripped the leather lace from one of them. "Hands behind your back, sweetheart, I'll bet you've done it before."
Faith had done it before and was half way there when she remembered the shirt. "Would you please let me put on my shirt before you tie me?"
"For sure you can. lassie, the boys will see enough of you before we're through. No need to show it all to them now. But that's prime stuff you're covering up, so it is for sure."
Thankfully Faith took advantage of this last small refuge, giving a sigh of relief as the fabric slipped over her breasts and below her waist. It's regrettably quality of revealing what lay beneath was a fault she could do nothing about. Thus covered she turned her back and crossed her wrists. Surely a single boot lace held possibilities of escape.
It was not to be. Mulchay uncrossed her wrists and placed her hands together, thumb to thumb. Faith bit her lips in frustrated dismay as the lace bit hard below the knuckles, was drawn unbearably tight, then looped again and again and wickedly cinched, the final knot being beyond her ability to discover.
"There's always some way, lassie, if a man's got his wits about him. You'll no be getting out of that. That lace is as good as a hundred feet of rope. Now, can you walk?"
"Maybe. If I fall with my hands behind my back, I'll hurt myself."
"That ain't no problem, missy."
Faith was suddenly picked up and tucked under a single arm like a bag of potatoes. This was not the fond cradling of Ratigan or Adrian but simply a way by which a captive girl was not allowed to occupy two arms. Her captor marched down stairs. Faith wondered why he had not gagged her. But this was Ireland and if he did not gag her then that meant there was none to hear or heed her scream.
The invading force boasted a sizeable armada of vehicles, among them a police car with its back seat heavily enclosed with wire mesh.
Faith was tossed within and when the doors closed she noticed they had no handles inside. Mulchay and one companion occupied the front seat and drove into the darkness.
They talked not of the raid but freely discussed the possibility of selling the pinioned girl in the back seat to her parents. They saw her value as immense and while Faith was flattered by the sum she did her best to disillusion of notions of her family's wealth. As a precaution she warned them of being wanted by the police of southern Ireland.
"We'll get no cash out of them," she was informed bluntly. "And we'll no be letting them get a hand on you. Tis a fine broth of a girl, so ye are. And we'll not be seeing ya rot in a lousy jail, for sure."
Faith said a weak, "Thank you," and supposed she felt relieved. She also wondered if any girl had so been beset by hazards. For her, freedom would be more than the loosening of bonds.
"That there shoelace hurting you, lass?"
"Yes, of course it is, you tied it far too tight."
"That's good, my pretty, when a girl's hurting that means she's safe."
"Inside this cage I'd be safe without any restraint at all," Faith said. "Everybody seems to think I'm a Houdini, and I'm not! I haven't been able to get myself free of anything I've been tied with yet. I told you already there's no need to bind me at all."
From the subject of her ransom the talk turned to horse racing. By the time that topic was exhausted they had reached their destination, a farm house south of the boarder with the five counties. Presumably the house was full and probably the barn, too. Or it may have been a wish to keep the captive girl secluded from visiting eyes. They carried her into a clump of trees, not too far distance, freed her thumbs with mutual compliments on the efficiency of a boot lace in experienced hands. They then produced a length of chain and a padlock, raised the collar she now wore as high as possible, then circled her neck beneath with the heavier links, and snapped a padlock upon her neck. The other end of this considerable leash was padlocked to a tree. Besides the tree was what appeared to be a large dog house which she was invited to use as shelter in the night, finding therein a blanket. It was all very cut and dried and casual. The two men walked away, still arguing race horses, and seemingly forgetting her existence. Faith hobbled this way and that to gauge the tolerance of her chain. It was long, perhaps fifteen feet. Finally frightened by visions of ghosts and creatures of the night, but above all rape-minded rebels, she crept inside the tiny hut, disposed her chains, and curled herself for sleep. It was long in coming but came to her in the first dim light of morning.
Miss Faith Baldwin was kept tethered to the tree by the heavy chain as day after day went by. She was visited often by members of this fresh branch of The Cause, more as a curiosity than anything else. She was not raped and rape was not mentioned in her presence. Her offers of money in return for freedom were ignored.
Mulchay visited whenever he had time. He usually arrived bearing a cup of tea and a sandwich, seating himself on the grass to watch her eat and drink and to watch her keenly for reactions.
"Wonder why we haven't raped you, lass?"
"Yes, I've wondered."
"Because it lessens your value, that's why. The bunch we took you from probably raped ye to a fare-thee-well. But we're attempting to keep you intact. Makes you a better deal for the other side. You weren't a virgin when Ratigan kidnapped you the first time, were you?"
"No I wasn't, but, good gosh, Bill, does my love live have to be so openly discussed by everyone?"
"Price of being famous, love. You've got some whip marks, why?"
"Because I misbehaved at least that's the way they saw it. Ratigan didn't want me whipped at all."
"Ratigan fell in love with you. That's how he betrayed The Cause. Do you enjoy being whipped? Some girls do."
"I do a little, by certain men. I'm ashamed and can't explain it. Why, are you going to whip me?"
"I will if you act the fool. But they've trained you well, you're the most sensible girl I've ever held."
Faith was grateful for Mulchay's down to earth common sense and for her sylvan captivity, so much better than a locked room or a dungeon. True, Mulchay's boys removed her small hut with its shielding blanket every morning to give her no shelter from prying eyes each day. But they brought it back each evening and in it she was able to be warm and to sleep. The boys called it her "dog kennel" but she did not care. On one of Bill Mulchay's visits he inquired, "We're having a little social affair this evening. They boys are wondering if they can have a good look at you. You know what I mean, don't you-naked?"
She was surprised in the same manner as she had been surprised over the rape question. These were rough, tough men but the lure of ransom kept her safe. She answered, "Considering any of you can strip me naked whenever you wish, it would be silly for me to say no, wouldn't it?"
"We prefer you be willing. What the boys really want is an American strip tease." He paused to explain shyly, "You see, it's a lonely life for the Bhoys. it is, and seeing how we got you here we thought it was a good idea. Won't hurt you none."
Faith's laughing retort held a hint of disgust. "I'd be no good at that. Strip tease is a sort of art form and needs to be done to music. Besides, except for this shirt, I've nothing to take off."
"We'll dress you proper like. Miss, that ain't no problem."
Faith knew she had come to view her own nakedness without concern. Bill Mulchay's proposition would have once filled her with repulsion. But they'd all seen her body so what did it matter! But, just the same, to do a deliberate strip tease would imply a looseness in her own character and an intimacy with The Cause to mantie her in shame. The Bhoys could hang her up naked and examine her to their heart's content.
"I don't want to pretend to be something I'm not," she said simply. "Can't do a honky-tonk act for you, it goes against everything I was brought up to believe in."
"We can easy force you to. Miss Baldwin."
"I admit that. I'm sure your boys would get an extra kick if they knew I did it to avoid the whip." She stared at Bill Mulchay frankly. "This is an argument I can't win. I suppose you should do whatever you wish with me and I'll promise not to kick and struggle. How would it be you tie my hands behind my back and stand me in the middle of the room for everyone to gawk at. That ought to shame me enough for any man."
"It's trying to help, so it is, lass. But my Bhoys would much sooner you put on that tease."
"I won't do it of my own free will. When do you whip me to change my mind?"
Bill Mulchay laughed. "Considering you ain't got no weapons, Miss, you put up a damned good fight. You've made me feel a bastard so that's a feather in your cap. I sort of like what you've just suggested, so I'll try to talk the Bhoys into it." He paused awkwardly before adding, "And there'll be one or two other things they'll want of you
not all that bad."
"I'm sure there is." Faith's voice was bitter.
Faith Baldwin received more than the normal number of visitors that day. Men drifted back and forth and she knew they were seeing her as they would see her in the coming evening. She had become a sex object, no longer a girl held for ransom but a female body from which pleasure might be extracted by threats or by pain. She hated the chain and padlock on her neck which compelled her to stay within the radius of their stares. But, as the day wore on, she admitted to herself an erotic thrill at the thought of her coming exposure. She also knew gratitude at Bill Mulchay for releasing her from an act she despised. As usually it all added up to a strange montage in her mind.
Toward the end of the afternoon. Bill Mulchay unlocked the padlock from her neck and carried her to the barnyard and the small building she knew as a pub house. Wasting no time he stood her erect, tethered her neck with a length of rope, warning her to leave it alone and not try to free herself. He then gave her a cake of soap and dragged a water hose into view. Men gathered, forming a half circle but staying clear of the hose. The first jet took Faith's breath away but the water was not truly cold. Making the best of a bad job and secretly thankful for the cleansing of her person she applied the soap with pleasure and wondered why these idiot men did not realize they were seeing something now that was far more erotic than a strip tease would ever be.
The shirt had been taken from her and she was stark naked beneath their eyes. But there is something about anyone bathing, the utility outweighs the erotic. Standing on the cobble stones, she soaped every portion of herself, carefully respecting the authority of the noose upon her neck, the authority of which compelled her to stand and accept this crude substitute for a bath. She soon understood a pattern between her and Mulchay for whenever she had soaped enough in one area, the water played upon that area. Deciding to make herself as little erotic as she might, she also washed her hair and held it for Bill Mulchay's convenience with the hose. It was a most thorough drenching and the towel handed her at it's completion frictioned warmth back to chilled skin. Mulchay used a second tower upon her back with rough vigor and insisted upon drying that portion of herself where she least wanted a male hand. When she was taken and chained once more to her tree she could not forgo a pointed barb.
"They had their strip tease. Don't you realize there's nothing I could ever do which shows more of me than that hosing down. What more do they want?"
" 'Twas a fine show ye give 'em. Miss, and I'll not be denying it. But this evening won't be changed. Here, I brought you a mirror and a brush and comb."
"Thank you," Faith said grudging. "But must you chain my neck like this? I need one hand to hold the weight."
"You'll manage, lassie. I'll be leaving you now to do your hair and I'll get you a towel, too. It's looking forward to this evening I am."
It was good to be alone without eyes watching her skin. Faith coped with the weight of her chain by passing it around her arm a couple of times to leave her hands free to attend her hair. She had become adept at handling the metal by which she was restrained. She had no wish to complain unduly for she was glad for being captive to the tree. She had been allowed to replace her shirt after the toweling but was now back in her shirt, although smelling sweet and clean. She wished the boys would brought back her hut. she would have crept within and tried to sleep. As it was she sat on the turf and leaned against her tree.
It was a fine, large room, perhaps once a school room or meeting place. Save for chairs around the wall it had been stripped, its floor was treated liberally with talc. There was evidently to be a dance. Few were present when Faith was led to the center of the huge space, escorted by two of the boys, her shirt removed, her wrists crossed and tightly tied behind her back. It was her own concept, how could she then complain! Feeling intensely foolish, she quietly stood for all to sec.
"Tis bracing your back and sticking out them lovely tits you'll be doing. Miss." The voice held the hint of a threat. "And to keep them pretty feet apart, lassie, there's those who will be wanting to see what you've got between them now, so they will." Again there was the hint of menace even though the voice seemed to be laughing at her.
Faith obeyed. Standing at attention would become tiring, but perhaps as the evening progressed they would notice her less and less. Striving for unconcern, she allowed her eyes to roam but they found no friendly face. All were strangers There was. however, a difference in the manner of their staring, some frank with lust, others erotically amused, and there were some who worshiped at the shrine of beauty, seeing her for what she was, an undeniably beautiful girl forced to exhibit her nakedness to appease an ancient hate which would not die.
The girls were disconcerting. They were mostly young and obviously prepared to dance. Strangely their stares were more difficult to endure than those of men. There was a venom in these young woman which beat upon Faith's composure to leave her thankful she was not a their mercy. But she was helplessness enough without hands to shield nor permission to speak. She knew herself there for Irish entertainment and to appease some dark demon in the Irish soul. As the room filled. Faith realized how gratifying this must be to every Irish heart to strip an English maiden bare and make her stand for Irish eyes to smile.
Faith Baldwin had nothing else to do but listen, she frequently heard herself referred to as Ratigan's girl and her leg-irons described as Ratigan's chains. There were those, both men and girls, who knelt to examine the bonds between her feet. All approved, and it was conceded Ratigan knew what he was about. Ratigan was a broth of a bhoy. and his chained captive who now belonged to them was a broth of a girl, even though English and deserving of a good sound whipping and other possibilities Faith shank to hear.
A fiddler and a pianist made their appearance and the dance began.
Faith was by no means certain if it was better to be in the center of a milling crowd of guys and girls or to stand alone while they kept their distance. She appeared to hold far more interest for these Irish girls than for these Irish men. But the men had had their fill of looking at nakedness and the girls had not. Perhaps they believed an English girl was build different and they wanted to find out. But there were darker intents that Faith feared. She was thankful she would not be left alone with them nor delivered into their hands. The closeness caused by the dance was quite enough.
There was beer aplenty which Faith refused but sampled the peat flavored Irish whisky glass held to her lips. She was careful of the number of sips she accepted, to become tipsy and fall to the floor was a disgrace she did not relish. Repeatedly she braced her shoulders back, thrust out her breasts and made her tummy as concave as she could, knowing herself the most beautiful female in the room.
After the first few dances Bill Mulchay made an announcement to a quiet assembly They were honored, he said, by the presence of Miss Faith Baldwin, an English hostage, whose ransom would enrich the coffers of The Cause. Miss Baldwin's hands were tied behind her back to prevent her from depriving any Irish eye of an English specialty such as English breasts or an English bottom. Mulchay went on to explain the ransom negotiations were going well to soon deprive them all of this visitor from the hated land across the sea. They would now be privileged to witness a quaint diversion, suggested by Miss Molly O'Connor and to be dealt with by that lady herself. He stepped aside.
So here it was, these dark-eyed females would get at her one way or another. Her heart beat fast as she beheld what a pair of Irish hands were now exhibiting as a pair of feminine Irish feet tripped happily across the floor. To Miss Faith Baldwin it was evident a pair of domestic clothespins were to be clipped upon her nipples. When Molly O'Connor was within arms length she stopped and the two girls searched each other's eyes with feminine wisdom. One promising pain, the other scorning it. When the Irish fingers began an expert teasing of her breasts. Faith knew herself blushing and twisting at her bonds but could stop neither. Breathing hard she looked down at her nipples and knew anger at their response, they were flint hard, erect, and pink. Perfectly prepared for the spring clips about to torture them. With a final flourish, Molly took possession of an English breast and, with infinite care, positioned the wicked open jaws and allowed them to slowly close.
The pain was bitter, a different kind of pain, sickening and intimate and shaming. Faith could not kick nor use her hands but she considered turning to Mulchay in bitter protest. But she supposed a clipped nipple was not the end of the world and to refuse this infliction might bring something far worse. In dumb misery she watched her other breast adorned by the quaint domestic item not normally used for such purposes. Under Molly's adjustment, the two little wooden items stood out perky like natural adjuncts to her breasts, bobby acutely as she breathed. Molly gave a playful flip to each pin for extra pain before returning to her seat. A sigh of pure ecstasy swept the room to leave the captive girl in no doubt about male erections. Every male in the room would be desiring her. And every girl beside them glad because of pain upon British breasts. Longing to bend in anguish or struggle, Faith closed her mind to agony and put extra effort into the bracing of her shoulders and protrusions of her breasts while the clothespins bobbed merrily upon her nipples.
The dance resumed, its music seeming more alive as though in tribute in English pain. Now when a girl passed within her partner's arms she would reach out to flick an clothespin and laugh to see Faith wince or her face to shadow from the extra pain. The evening was going splendidly.
Faith could not tell how long her nipples were punished. Thirty minutes perhaps before another girl had the privilege of removing them to watch Faith gasp and tug helplessly at tied hands. Beer flowed and the exposed nudity accepted such sips of whisky as came her way. In the turmoil of the dance Faith often relaxed the rigidity of her stance to resume it only under command. She knew a party like this would last a long, long time and she wondered if she could hold out. Perhaps they would have an intermission and she would be allowed to sit down and rest. But instead of an intermission there was only Bill Mulchay standing before her as the jig reeled and saying gravely. "Tis sorry indeed I am. Miss, but the Bhoys have been talking to me and claiming what they see as their rights. They want your bottom caned."
It was no great shock, the beer would be talking not the men. But the beer would have its way with her more surely that would the Male. Dully she whispered, "Please no. isn't this enough. I'm getting terribly tired."
"We'll give you a rest after a while. Missy, so we will. And a bit o' caning of your ass won't do you no harm at all. at all. Tis a child's thing, so it is, a cane laid across them pretty pink cheeks you sit on. Tis only for half a dozen strokes "
"Am I suppose to bend over for this?"
"That's right. Miss Baldwin. Guess you've had it before, eh?"
"And if I refuse?"
"We'll tie you down for it, lassie."
"I won't refuse, I don't want to be tied." Faith was trying hard to adjust to this new madness. "Look, it's hard for me to bend over properly with my hands tied behind my back. Will you free them so I can touch my toes?"
"We will. Miss! Tis a real broth of a girl ye are for sure, taking this so calm and giving me no sauce."
"I don't have much choice, do I
"You might be saying that. Miss, but a cane across your pretty ass ain't all that bad. And it's only for six of the best."
The naked girl shrewdly guessed what "six of the best" would be six hard, swift strokes to make her curl up inside and scream.
Tentatively she questioned, "I'll try but I may not be able to touch my toes for six. It hurts a lot more than you probably know. Please don't punish me more for breaking the pose sometimes while you're beating me."
"Tis a harsh word you're using, Miss Baldwin. No man will beat you here. Tis only a cane across your ass for sure and nothing else at all, at all."
"Thank you, but that's quite enough. When will you do it to me?"
"After the next dance I'll be making an announcement. Oh, and I should be telling you, it will be six of the pretty girls who will be caning your pretty seat. They'll no be hitting you as hard as a man."
Throughout the dance, Faith bitterly reflected on the shame and humiliation she must now endure. Mulchay might believe the girls more humane than men but Faith doubted this. They would all be anxious to see an English girl pay tribute to their Irish cane by groveling on the floor. Even to break her pose would be shameful in their eyes. She cursed Bill Mulchay's simplicity.
After the dance Bill Mulchay was in his element again. Stilling the crowd at a gesture, he reported their unwilling guest had seen the error of her ways in being born on the wrong side of the Irish sea and, what was much more to her credit, conceding the wickedness of English rule in Ireland had requested the penance of offering her butt to be solidly thwacked six times by an Irish cane held in female Irish hands. There was applause.
The master of ceremonies took an indulgent breath to go along with his indulgent smile. He now proceeded to explain how Miss Baldwin, in her desire to rid herself of the English Sin, had expressed a wish to suffer further by bending over to touch her toes in the time-honored posture of such penance. He felt certain all present would grant this boon. Once more the applause was hearty.
"We'll warm her butt for her," came a female voice.
"She'll no sit down for a week by the time the good Irish Colleen's have basted her bottom." This from a man.
"Should trice the bitch up and lace into her from stem to stern." It was a gruff, older voice.
Faith quailed. She knew her caning would be merciless. She considered the idea of explaining those who paid ransom expected the return of undamaged property. But what was the use! The six welts her bottom was about to receive could hardly be called true damage and her ransom had not yet been paid. She keep a haughty silence and remained standing stiffly at attention, glad the clothespins had departed. Fingers worked at the bindings on her wrists.
This was it! Massaging the scarlet markings of the cord, Faith waited for what would happen next, wishing she had not been so eager to touch her toes. It might have been much better had she been bound to present her bottom to the cane. This was going to take every ounce of courage she possessed.
"We'll be having you bend and touch those little toes now, Miss Baldwin." Bill Mulchay's voice was hungry for her sacrifice. "We'll be wanting you to keep those knees stiff, so we will, and arch that sweet back so your butt is stuck way out. You'll be understanding, will you?"
"Yes, I understand."
There was nothing else to do now except to be caned. The naked girl hated every motion she made but made them valiantly. She touched her toes, she arched her back down and knew her bottom was indeed an isolated target for the cane. Between her chained feet Faith could see the shoes of whatever girl would be the first to mark her flesh. She prayed for strength.
It was not to be swift and still and soon over. The hands of Molly O'Connor were wicked as they pretended to smooth girl skin already taut and waiting for the cane.
"And for sure tis a lovely ass the girl is having," she proclaimed to the room in general. "Tis an English ass, for sure, its got the red and white and I'll soon add the blue. The privileged hand felt lowered reached lower to cup Faith's sex in a questing hand which was then held on display that all might see this girl was juicy. There was laughter and cries of "Cut the gab, Molly," and "Cut the bitch good." The bent over girl wondered if she looked an untidy as she felt. It was to be expected that Molly O'Connor would go through all the preliminaries and this she did with tappings and pantings and murmurs of approval.
When the Irish girl struck she did so with such venom and force to make her victim wilt, to gasp in agony, but to resolutely hold the required pose as though in invitation for the second blow. Tears sprang to Faith's Baldwin's eyes but she blinked them back that English honor should not be diminished by any weakness. Her knees shook and her hips weaved as stroke number two from a different girl lapped cruelly across her hip. Vehemently she told herself she had already received one third of her sentence. Soon it would be one half!
The caning of the English maiden continued under the approving eyes of those who watched. If Faith broke pose under the agony imparted by an Irish girl's hand, it was only a brief weakness she immediately corrected to protrude her bottom once again and stiffen her knees and arch her back. With each fresh blow Faith kept her tally of "three to go," then "two to go" until only one more stroke remained to cut her flesh. It came as a venomous, bitter slash to which she uttered her only cry, a sob of pure anguish as the scold spread through every fiber to leave her wondering how she had bore her Irish punishment with some measure of honor. She remained as she was, touching her toes and awaiting a command.
"You can straighten up, lass, ye did well, so you did. You'll be proud of that ass of your's when you get a look at it. Tis a wondrous sight indeed."
Slowly the caned girl stood erect and, since no one forbid it, felt gingerly behind her back to her wounds and ridges. Her bottom was furrowed as was a plowed field. But her fingertips, in gentleness, evoked only the most delicious of sensations, a pleasant interlude ended by swift command.
"Cross your wrists, my pretty, tis time to tie them again."
Faith stood stiffly erect and suffered the bit of cord without demur. For all she knew her ordeal might now be over save for standing in her pain for others to mock. She was getting used to that, it did not matter. Bill Mulchay patted the seat of her anguish approvingly before knotting her tighter than before. Faith wondered why men got so much satisfaction from the tight binding of a girl! They were not all bad but on this one point seemed unanimous, if a girl must be tied she must be tied tight enough to hurt.
The dancers swirled to the ever increasing tempo of the music. None were bored with the naked girl standing in their midst. Miss Faith Baldwin was now more interesting than before with her scarlet nipples and welted rump. She was a fruitful object on which to comment and exhibit with.
"She'll not be sitting down at all, at all. And she'll not be enjoying her next piece of ass."
"She will, she will! A well whipped ass is the best of the lot." There was an evil laugh, "Take my word on it."
"Who wants to whip her pretty pussy?" It was the voice of a girl.
Faith shivered at the underlining cruelty of the seemingly good natured banter. The girls present were capable of taking her to one torture after another and caring nothing for her anguish. If Oliver Cromwell had seen her bottom now, would it have made him kinder to the Irish sod! Smelling the sweat and the beer. Faith wondered how far these people would go to make her a sacrifice gods and their eternal grudge against the land from where she came.
There were endless suggestions about what could be done to the English nakedness to make it scream and to evoke the lust to be later appeased within female Irish loins. But Bill Mulchay countered them with logic and the potent reminder of English cash to come. At two o'clock in the morning Faith was once more chained to her tree and the dog kennel set in place. She crawled within gratefully and supposed, in spite of weariness, her treatment could have been much worse. Bill Mulchay was a friend!
The morning was far advanced before the two men came for her kennel. They also brought food and drink, laughing about the night before and insisting she raise her shirt enough for them to examine the evidence of her caning which was still a scorching burn as a reminder of the Bhoys pleasure and her pain. In glowing Irish prose they assured her of the rainbow hues and purple strips she would see in a mirror if she would just look. She chaffed with them good naturedly enough, knowing herself an easy victim to Irish charm and no longer carrying who viewed her nakedness. Gradually, in the periods of her captivity, she had come to realize herself as communal property.
Faith Baldwin breakfasted in thoughtful mood. She had come to believe the delays in her ransom were not due to financial problems but due to the fact that she was wanted for murder by the police of southern Ireland. The English authorities would respect this prior claim and her father would be powerless against it. She almost wished Bill Mulchay would take her for his own as Ratigan had done. There was a measure of safety in being owned and. if she were obediently enough, it might prove less painful.
If, on the previous night, it had been understood she was Mulchay's property she would not have been caned. There was a strange respect for women who were owned.
The girl who was chained to the tree had never been too optimistic about Bill Mulchay's negotiations for her ransom. As she considered the matter in the light of day she realized the almost certain fact of the authorities making every effort to track down her captors and the place where she was hidden She doubted if Bill Mulchay was as good a negotiator or as crafty a one as the nature of his prisoner might demand. Faith was frankly frightened of the prospect of a life sentence in an Irish prison. True, she might be tried and found not guilty but most certainly that trial would be held before she would be allowed the freedom of return to her parent's home. Suddenly she felt an urgent need of Ratigan's hand on her arm. She felt positive Ratigan was alive, but he would be no where near this hostile camp. She could not understand the differences between Bill Mulchay and her former owner. Such mysteries were part of the Irish mystic. The most probably thought was of him regrouping his forces in the sanctuary of the gate house and Adrian Moore's benevolence. When Bill Mulchay paid his daily visit to the tree and its chained girl she told him frankly her suspicions, omitting all reference to Ratigan or the gate house. He listened intently, his gaze shrewdly appeasing.
"Why are you telling me this. Colleen?"
"Because you've been kind to me and because we're both fugitives. I want to be ransomed so bad it hurts. But I don't think it's going to happen. Don't you think you've stayed in this one place long enough?"
"Aye. that we have and all. But you're sure you're tired of being chained to this here tree and sleeping in a dog kennel, lass?"
"It's not that. I know I have to be a prisoner and this is as nice a prison as any I can think of. Oh, Bill, I just don't want the police of southern Ireland to get hold of me."
"Aye. tis seeing your point I am, love." Mulchay got heavily to his feet. I'll be talking to me boys, so I will, and we'll find another place for you. If the coppers route us out of this place they'll not be finding you."
Faith watched him lumber away, fingering the heavy chain upon her neck thoughtfully and wondering how wise she might be to bring this simply captivity to an end. She and the chain and the tree had become a trio. She sighed heavily whatever she did would be partly wrong.
Her longing for Ratigan was intense.
9
Saint Ursula's Prisoner
Mother Mathilde sighed happily in her contemplation of this, the best of all possible worlds. Long ago the Bishop benevolently concurred with her inspiration to augment the coffers of her convent by providing tuition for recalcitrant young ladies. Saint Ursula's absorbed the duce damsels regardless of race or creed. The other requirement of entering this holly shrine was their parent's cash flow and their willingness to sign large checks. The poor were consigned to other churchly institutions less concerned with solvency. Costs were low for the inmates were kept lean and hungry on a minimal diet. The convent purchased its equally lean and hungry yellow canes in gross lots at minimum prices. The whips used in unusually severe cases were of leather and lasted a long time.
She eyed her new recruit with charming concern. Faith Baldwin was lost and baffled and far from home. Clad only in her soiled shirt, her bands still tied behind her back from the journey, she stood before the Mother Superior's desk as though deposited on arrival. The familiar shackles still joined her feet.
"My dear child, how nice to have you with us. Mr. Mulchay speaks well of you."
The Mother Superior swept around her desk to clasp the captive cheeks and plant a warm kiss on captive lips. She turned the girl gently to examine bound wrists and tested them approvingly. "Such a dear, good man, and he ties a girl so well. We will pray for him to the saints tonight." She swept back to resume her seat, and leaning on her desk, suggested, "You are not of our faith child?"
"I'm afraid not. Everybody isn't, y'know."
"Of course, of course! But I'm sure we can rescue you as a brand from the burning, dear child. You must confide your doubts to me or the good sisters who will attend you. Have you been adequately whipped to induce humility?"
Faith Baldwin stirred awkwardly beneath the benign gaze. "Well, I don't really know. Quite likely not."
"We will attend to that, dear, you must not unduly concern yourself. Our sisterhood is experienced in the scourging of sin."
Faith was utterly at a lost. Mother Mathilde was beginning to take on the aspect of one more dream. Without much hope she said what she must. "I suppose you know I've been kidnapped? I'm the daughter of a member of the British Parliament. His name is Baldwin. I am sure your convent would be well rewarded if you returned me."
"Come, come my dear, you're a member of The Cause as much as any of us. How could we part with you!"
"Very easily. Just place me on any convenient mode of transport. Phone my father collect."
"You are being silly, dear girl." The Mother Superior said with a trace of authority evident in her tone. "The Cause has placed you in our care. You conversion to The Faith will happen naturally as you conform to our codes of behavior. The codes of penances guiding you will leave no doubt to which church you belong."
Faith was alarmed, this was not as it should be. Bill Mulchay, in his simply ways had probably placed her in a feminine establishment who's motives were probably not such as he could share. But the convent gate had slammed shut. Bill Mulchay was gone! Miss Faith Baldwin was on her own and had best do what she could to placate the authority behind the desk. Humbly she said, "I understand I'm a prisoner here. I've been a prisoner around Ireland a long time. I will try to follow your rules and make you pleased with me." She wiggled invitingly. "Could I please have my hands untied?"
"Why?" The Mother Superior sounded genuinely shocked.
"Well, it doesn't do any good to keep them tied. I can't do anything and I'm not going to assault anyone. Perhaps you noticed my chained feet, they keep me from running away."
Mother Mathilde took one more deep breath. There was so much to explain to new girls, they were so terribly ignorant of Saint Ursula's purpose and motives. She could recall many who had angrily demanded to be set free this minute, their flushed faces and tugging hands clearly demonstrating the need to keep them where they were. "There is no girl more humble in our faith than one who's hands are bound behind her back, dear child. I'm sure you will come to understand this. As you stand before me now you are freed of all temptation, hobbled from the lusts of the flesh, amenable to Saint Ursula's control."
The convict silently agreed. She had never felt more helpless and less deprived of decision than now. Her hope of a benevolent captivity was fading fast. She shrugged and uttered a lame, "Yes, Sister, whatever you say."
"You will address me as Mother Superior."
"I'm sorry, I apologize."
Shrewd eyes assessed. A sharp tongue tolled the knell of freedom, "You words are mechanical, dear child, you make a mental reservation with each one."
"It's not use me keeping on saying I'm sorry, Mother Superior. I expect you're right about what you say but this is all so strange and new and different. I'm not even sure about what kind of a prisoner I'm going to be here."
"A prison of Holly Church, child. I will now place you in the charge of Sister Deborah, she is sweet and understand and will punish you without passion." The Mother Superior gently depressed a button on her desk.
Sister Deborah had a kind face and strong hand. It was hard to assess the age of the bland faces within the habit. The sister must be blonde for her eyes were blue but she would boast only the same shaven pate as the captives of The Cause. Her grip of firm. Faith was unhappily conscious of a woman larger than herself. She left the office of the Mother Superior without a backward glance.
The Convent of Saint Ursula was well isolated from busy roads and towns. It was also isolated from modern thoughts and behavior. In a manner only made possible by large endowments in the past. And the cash flow engendered by its caning of maiden bottom and other more original correction of maiden flesh. From the start Faith thought of her as Saint Ursula herself, who's period had been the fourteenth century and who's methods appeared to still flourish.
The convent was a labyrinth of strange architecture of stone passages were every where and might lead you to a stone chamber, a cloistered hall, or a barred window. Unrestrained young ladies might easily disappear into the gloom. Sister Deborah displayed with pride a number of stone chambers which, if not exactly dungeons, came close enough. But the good sister was more concerned with showing her new charge the stern hand of convent authority on maiden's who transgressed. Faith was beginning to think longingly of her chain and the tree back with Bill Mulchay and almost with tears at remembrance of . If she was expected to admire what she was shown in this tour of Saint Ursula's, the mission failed most dismally.
The girl was naked. She was dejectedly turning a huge crank, the shaft of which disappeared into the stone to presumably serve some purpose in another room. One of the girl's wrists was chained to the massive handle of the crank she turned without pause. She looked at Sister Deborah doubtfully but spared a smile for Faith.
"You are well up on your count, Nancy?" Sister Deborah inquired pleasantly.
"I think so. Sister, thank you. I haven't stopped turning."
"This dear child, Nancy, is inclined to be lazy," Sister Deborah explained helpfully. "She has been lamentably slack in some of her assignments so she is now doing an appropriate penance as you now see. In the room next door there is a device which tells the number of revolutions she has contrived by healthful effort. Should she fall short of the number to which she is sentenced, there will be further punishments."
Faith could feel her tummy tying itself into knots. It was easy to read this girl's distress and to behold the straining muscles of her young body as she endlessly turned the crank against some unseen brake upon the shaft. They did not linger. The sister's hand on Faith's arm led to fresh despair.
The next infliction needed no explanation, it was a treadmill. Faith had heard of treadmills but had never seen one and was forced to agree with Sisters Deborah's suggestion of good fortune in being able to witness one in operation. The naked girl's arms had been widely spread and raised above her head were they were chained to a solid bar. The poor girl had the choice of hanging by her wrists, an unthinkable agony, or taking step after step to keep the mill turning without pause. She was tired and sweating and obviously close to tears. Her eyes sought Sister Deborah in obvious hope.
"You are well up on your count, dear child, I hope?" The sister's voice was sweet.
"I think so. Sister. I've been walking steadily every since you chained me here."
Faith gazed in fascination. As the blades revolved in an endless circling of the main shaft, the punished girl was forced to step up to another and another and another in a journey which had no end and which served no purpose. Faith realized that the very uselessness of the task these two girls performed made the punishment doubly agonizing.
At the end of the shaft was a box and dial. Obviously the mechanism by which the count of revolutions was made. Sister Deborah consulted it and then her watch to conclude with a sad shaking of her head. "My dear, Penelope, you have been a laggard in your steps, you cannot possibly complete your quota at this speed."
"I'm doing my best, Sister Deborah, honest I am." The young feet trod steadily their path of punishment.
"Perhaps some encouragement. Penny dear. I'm sure I left a cane around here somewhere." The naked steps visibly quickened but too late. Sister Deborah had found her cane and had taken a position of dark intent. "You will not stop walking. Penny dear. This will not take long and you will be encouraged to do better."
The cruelty of what Faith witnessed was modified by the matter-of-fact manner in which it was delivered and received. The good sister delivered three full arm strokes upon the bare young bottom as it strained to performed its task, its owner's face registered each cutting impact with a shocked grimace and a breathless gasp, but that was all! Sister Deborah put away her cane, the treadmill continued to revolve at a slightly increased speed. Once more the hand on Faith's arm led her from a scene she would be glad to forget.
"The little dears get so slack without encouragement," Sister Deborah confided with a chuckled. "I have to keep my eye on them all the time."
One more scene of torture such as the two just witnessed would have brought Faith to revolt. Chained as she was the revolt could not have been physical but a demand to have the convent take her back to Bill Mulchay and her chances with him and his group. But scene number three inclined her thoughts in another direction. It was a prison cell and it was empty.
"The dear girls work on the farm during their day," Sister Deborah continued. "These sweet little homes are waiting for their return."
Miss Faith Baldwin viewed the "sweet little home" without favor. It was stark walls and bars, a wooden bench and primitive plumbing. From one wall there dangled a collar and chain. She shuttered, feeling certain she would end up in one of these herself. There was a long line of them, flanked by the corridor. Traversing it Faith could well imagine the huge numbers of prisoners this place had known in the past and the numbers still to come.
"I believe dear Constance in still in solitary confinement," Sister Deborah imparted cheerfully. "We must go and visit her."
The "solitary" facility comprised a couple of dark cells at the end of one passage. The doors were of solid wood, containing only a small peephole kept closed. One door was open to enable Faith to see the tiny barred window in the far wall and for the rest absolutely nothing. A girl would do a lot of sitting and thinking on a hard surface.
Constance, as usual, was naked and was obviously hopeful of release. She had been sitting with her back against the stone but leapt erect as the door opened. She was cowed and obviously much afraid but plucked up enough courage to ask, "Is my punishment over. Sister Deborah? Please let me out, I can't stand it, I just can't!"
"You're doing remarkably well, dear," said Sister Deborah who appeared to behold good in all things. "You're sentence is not yet complete, you were a very naughty girl. I want you to understand that anything can always be much worse." She reached within her voluminous garments to produce handcuffs. "Turn around, dear, I will show you what I mean."
Faith witnessed the cruelty askance. This small punishment place was vile. She pictured herself in Constance's place and shuttered at the thought. Constance was quietly weeping but obediently turned and offered her wrists for the shinning metal bracelets that would rob her of the last of her freedoms. The steel clicked shut and the poor girl showed her subservience by a quiet, "Thank you. Sister Deborah." She turned, tugging at newly confined hands to ask timidly, "How much longer must I stay in solitary, Sister?"
"You are never to know that, dear child. Perhaps you will be freed tomorrow, who knows?"
The hand of authority was once more on Faith's arm. The door closed behind them with a terrible finality.
Once more standing before the Mother Superior's desk, Faith let it all come out. "This convent is a prison, isn't it?" she said forcibly. "I can't possibly stay here."
"How do you propose leaving us, dear? You are secured?"
"Yes, I know, I'm helpless. But I want you to contact Mr. Mulchay and have him take me away. He will if I ask."
"You appear to be giving me orders, young woman." The Mother Superior's voice was sharp.
"I'm sorry, I don't mean to but I absolutely must leave this place. There's been a terrible mistake made."
"If a mistake has been made, it was been your own."
Faith was desperate, prepared to burn bridges. "You know who I am, there's a price on my head. You can turn me in to the Irish police or you can contact my father and collect ransom. I beg you to do which ever of these your conscious dictates."
"You are impertinent, my dear. At this moment I feel more inclined having you properly whipped then tied to a tree to contemplate your outrageous behavior." There was an ominous silence. "Well, what do you say to that?"
Faith longed to say a great many things but knew herself on dangerous grounds. "There's a Mr. Adrian Moore, he paints pictures." She faltered weakly. "We would vouch for me and keep me safe."
"I have told you, girl, you are being kept very safe here indeed at Saint Ursula's. But we are aware of Mr. Moore, a most admirable gentleman."
"I am sure that any or all of these people I've mentioned would make a generous contribution to your convent if you would let me go. Please, I beg of you!"
The Mother Superior sighed. She was accustomed to the concern of young women who wished only the return of freedom. She had become impervious to pleas. "You are impertinent and self-willed." she affirmed in a manner to set Faith's heart to thudding. "You must be taught a lesson, in fact, you must be taught several lessons. I'm surprised Mr. Mulchay failed to tell me of your rebellious spirit." Her voice turned to steel. "A spirit we will ruthlessly crush."
Faith stood appalled. Her hands were still tied behind her back, her feet still bore the leg-irons Ratigan had locked on them. Ratigan's collar was still upon her neck. She knew herself utterly in the power of anyone who wished to grasp her arm or her hair. She listened in terror as punishment was pronounced.
"Sister Deborah, I want you to take this ridiculous girl into the fields and show her the good honest work to which she will eventually apply herself. Then in the fields where our girls are working today, you will fasten her to the penitence pedestal for all to see. This evening, after the girls are all finished with their work, they will gather to see her properly whipped. I think that will look after Miss Faith Baldwin today.
It was a beautiful country side. The soft, warm Irish air revived Faith's spirits as she hobble along besides her jailer to where the girls, widely separated, were hoeing potatoes. Each girl was solidly kept upon the path of virtue by a ball and chain fastened to one of her ankles. It was a large ball and heavy chain and the iron anklet was positively brutal. None of them could run. The busily hoeing girl spared a glance of pity as they passed.
"There is one of these in each of the fields," Sister Deborah explained. "Any girl fastened as I am about to fasten you is on view for all to see. We are great believers in the potency of Penitence. The penitence pedestal was a simple device composed of a large log very solidly embedded in the earth and another length of log of the same dimensions as a cross piece at its top. A girl seated upon the shorter timber would be about four feet from the ground with nothing else to do but endure shame and enjoy the view. Since Sister Deborah had brought a cane with her it seemed silly to dispute her will. Strong hands hoisted her up to sit astride the horizontal bit of log. It was at most thirty inches long. The center link of her leg-irons was somehow clamped to the vertical post beneath, at which point Sister Deborah took much pains to position her further back upon the huge, rounded and then to cord her already bound hands to a ring at its rear.
"We cannot have you sloughing, can we. dear. Posture is important with our girls. I trust you feel comfortable?"
"Not very."
"It will become less comfortable as the hours pass." The Sister imparted this dismal news as though offering comfort. "You will be along but constantly under observation of the well-behaved young ladies you see hard at work."
"Is ever girl at Saint Ursula's keep naked all the time?" Faith asked in pure curiosity.
"Of course! Clothes indicate virtue and a virtuous girl would not be at Saint Ursula's."
It was silly to argue but Faith tried again. "This isn't really a bit comfortable the way you've fixed me. it's punishment, isn't it?"
"Innocence would find it a pleasant seat in a pleasant place, only the delinquent feel its pain." Faith was certain this was not true. She was equally certain she would "e much more of Saint Ursula's before she was through with the place, t she saw only more verbal defeats from a woman who made up the rules as these went along. With sarcasm she said, "Thank you for tying me like this, Sister Deborah. I'm sure it will comfort me in the thinking of the whipping I'm go get this evening."
The sister actually allowed the sarcasm to pass, perhaps feeling that for her first day Faith was being punished enough. With a pleasant goodbye she strode back towards the main building. It was a sad and lonely seat for a girl who had only a whipping to :k forward to. After a few abortive tries, Faith abandoned thoughts escape. She could move but little, enough to ease the eventual omfort of her caned bottom upon the rough timber. Her breasts as bare as her bottom and she longed for Ratigan's shirt. Nakedness s inconsistent in a convent. But, on the other hand, its occupants were wholly female and would feel no more shame than she felt now. She gazed down at her pubic patch and hint of lips below then noticed that die nipples on her breasts had shrunk almost out of sight. For certain they had nothing over which to be erect. Faith Baldwin angrily shook the hair from her eyes and tried to gaze upon the serenity of the Irish scene, now her only privilege. She wondered if falling asleep might hurt her by a sideways fall to leave her worse off than now. It was a hazard she must watch but she would sorely have loved to doze under the Irish sun.
It as natural for Faith Baldwin to review her changed position. She knew for sure that if Saint Ursula's was her fate, she would prefer an Irish prison. As Sister Deborah had said, "Things can always get worse." This mockery of a convent was an all time low. A visit from Bill Mulchay was her only hope but he had just left her here and would be unlikely to check up on her for at least a week. Adrian Moore seemed worlds away and was no doubt happy with his concupiscent Coral. Ratigan was the one mystery of hope to which she clung. She refused to believe in his death, men like Ratigan did not die easily. None had seen his body. Ratigan would gather unto himself a fresh force of zea lots and would probably return to when he believed it safe. All in all, her prospects were dim!
The speculations of Miss Faith Baldwin then turned to the whipping she would receive that evening. She had little knowledge of the severity of such inflictions at Saint Ursula's but had little belief in feminine mercy. She suspected it would be an infliction to leave her demoralized and sobbing out all sorts of declarations of humility and eagerness to please. Miss Faith Baldwin had not illusions about the whip. She was sure it could break her spirit and shame her into submission. She realized that this time astride the pedestal was perhaps the last of being truly herself. After the whipping she would become as pathetically obedient as all rest. She struggled in revolt but achieved nothing. She thought longingly of her English home.
To the naked girl on the log the sound of the engine was no more than any other sound floating from far away. But it was persistent sound and Faith realized it was drawing closer. Her senses alert, she gazed up to behold a jeep surmount a ditch, crash through an intervening hedge and head straight in her direction across a field of potatoes to which it paid no heed. She knew instantly who it was and her heart soared in gladness. She longed to leap forward towards the man who owned her but the convent strictures held her fast. When the jeep drew level and the motor died, Ratigan sat calmly there, quite obviously laughing at her predicament.
"Taking up horse racing. Faith?" he inquired. "You look damn pretty up there." He dropped his banter. "Sweetheart, you'd look damned good to me anywhere, anytime."
Faith was breastless, twisting astride her wooden steed. All she could think to say was to exclaim over and over, "Oh, Ratigan! Oh. Ratigan!"
Ratigan got out of the vehicle to ask sharply, "Any one give you a bad time since we parted?"
"No, oh no. Well, not until I came here today. Mulchay was afraid he'll be raided."
"So he will be. And they were stringing him along on that ransom. Damn, it's good to have you back. Faith!"
Faith sat in quivering delight as he untied her hands and then went to the jeep to get a tool to unfasten the leg-irons from the post. He reached up to drag her down to stand beside him. Their fervent kisses went on and on until Faith breathlessly demanded, "Are you safe? Some one would have told them at the convent."
Ratigan grunted contemptuously. "This houseful of sadistic old hens couldn't hurt anybody or anything unless it was a girl like you delivered to them tied hand and foot, they can handle that. They won't try to handle me."
It was gloriously true. No habit marred their view. True, the working girls had stopped their hoeing to gaze in envy but were too far away to make their own plea for rescue.
"Wish I could free the whole damned lot of 'em," Ratigan commented remorselessly. "But there's one thing in Ireland you don't tread on too many toes. They won't mind loosing you, you're a hot potato but these other little fillies are their bread and butter."
He was fishing in his pocket and produced a key Faith recognized. "No! Oh no, please don't! Don't take my leg-irons away! I want you to carry me the way you used to do."
Laughing, he picked up his repossessed property and placed her beside him on the seat. He revved up the motor and turned the small vehicle to churn its way back among indignant potatoes and wistful maidens with their balls and chains. Faith felt for them all and wished she could grant them freedom as she now had. But was it freedom! Is love freedom? Had she not chosen the leg-irons on her feet over freedom? Tossing concern overboard, she said in a fervent thankfulness, "Darling, you saved my life. I'd have died in that place, they would have killed me for sure. They treat girls horribly in that place. Can't something be done about it?"
"There'll be something done about it when I've united Ireland. In the meantime those poor little tricks are going to have to put up with sore bottoms and chaffed ankles. Did Mulchay or any of the men screw you?"
"No, they talked about it but decided it wasn't a good idea considering their efforts to get ransom for me." Faith laughed gaily, "They all said a girl who had been raped didn't fetch as good a price. Ratigan, never mind me, what about you?"
He leaned over to kiss her again before speaking. "They missed killing me in that raid when the shot down half of my men. But I've still got Cully and Johnny Catlin and I've recruited a lot more. Ireland's always filled with stout hearted lads who wish to kill. Recognize this jeep?"
Faith recognized it from the first. Without a word she held out her left hand for the cuff to be locked around its wrist. When she tested the familiar bond she was still able to bring her hand into her waist but no further. Very simply she whispered, "I love you, don't ever let me go."
"I love you, too, Faith Baldwin. I'm not sure what I'll do with you but for certain I'll never let you go."
Euphoria still held his doubly chained young woman, making her voice quiver in earnestly. "Don't ever bother about my ransom, and for sure don't let the Irish police get a hold of me. Ratigan, I've grown up in all that's happen. I'm a big girl now and I don't want to run to mommy's apron strings. I don't want to go back to England to find myself. I found myself in these past days when I'd lost you. Oh, Ratigan, I'm so happy."
"I'm getting you back intact. I see you've still got my collar on your neck."
"No one can get it off. And it was far too beautiful to spoil so they let me wear it. They chained me by my neck to a tree but it was a loose chain. Bill Mulchay broke the original one when he took me prisoner."
Miss Faith Baldwin entertained no doubt where she was being taken by her owner. The past days of captivity were fading fast. Saint Ursula's was still a nightmare but that too was fading into memory against her delight in again being possessed by the man she loved. When came into view she wanted to cry with happiness.
Bill Mulchay's raid had passed over like a summer storm, leaving no traces. The dead had been buried in the good Irish soil that had sought to defend and slept peacefully in the slumber of a thousand years. For both man and girl reveled in the modern facilities of Adrian's generosity. The freed girl and her captor shared a hot and fragrant bath, but not before a solemn rite. Ratigan used his eye upon the leg-irons which had held his love captive for so long. Faith did not demur but stepped daintily with a high, provocative motion into the bath to laughingly retort, "I couldn't have done that an hour ago. I would have had to sit down and bring both feet over at once. Ratigan, will you lock them on me again after we're clean?"
"No, I won't, you lustful little mink. You've become addicted to the damn things, you've fallen in love with them. All I wanted them for was to keep you around."
"How do you know I won't run away, I might?"
"I'll take a chance."
Faith allowed herself to be frictioned by the towel. Their lovemaking would come later but for now there was Ratigan's command. "We've been invited out to dinner at the gate house, love. Adrian knew I was repossessing you today so he had his cook come in a prepare a feast." He laughed. "The poor old chap's still saddled with Coral and doesn't know what to do with her. He wants to keep her forever and she wants him to do exactly that. I've told them both to stop worrying, that's easy for Coral but poor old Adrian was brought up as a gentleman and gentlemen are forever burdened by guilt. Everything is forbidden, except to marry a tweet-clad, overweight specimen of the County, one of those who rides to hounds and who's husbands are always hoping they'll fall off. Come on, sweetheart, put on that expensive stuff, we've got a date."
Faith wondered where Ratigan had obtained the glorious things with which she now clothed herself, reveling in the sensuality of silk and the authority of bras. The tiny panties seemed an obscenity after nakedness but she hid her pubic forest within them with pure joy. She was totally and completely free of all bonds, even the collar had been taken from her neck. She comforted herself that these were temporary departures from the norm, soon to be corrected.
The left their greetings with The Bhoys for tomorrow and set out for the gate house in a degree of freedom which Faith found hard to cope with. "I want to run around a field or leap a hedge," she complained. "I feel indecent being able to walk properly."
"You are indecent, dear girl," Ratigan assured her earnestly. "And it's all my fault, I made you what you are. One of these days I'll have to marry you and turn you into an honest woman." He mused thoughtfully. "I wonder what your parents would say if one day we turned up with a marriage certificate?"
By some teenage magic of her own, Coral had become the grand Chatelaine of Adrian's home. True, she was as naked as the day of her birth and she hobbled to and fro in leg-irons the same as Faith had worn up to a short time ago. There was a collar on her neck and wristlets waiting to be joined. She positively glowed and appeared at least twenty. Faith noted whip marks on the young skin but discretely failed to comment on them. Ratigan was not so sensitive.
"I see you've whipped your pretty hostage, Adrian, she wears her marks well and I'm sure it did both of you a lot of good. You were scared of Faith, I know how these things are."
"I'll twist darling Adrian around my little finger one of these days," Coral affirmed with feminine conviction. "But that's not yet. I'm being terribly submissive and it's my idea he should whip me every day just so he knows who's boss." She giggled delightedly. "You see the nice thing is he doesn't have to paint the whip marks when her paints the rest of me." She paused dramatically, "I do think, Ratigan, you ought to whip darling Faith for us this evening, just to sort of reaffirm yourself."
"How would it be if I were to whip you instead?" Ratigan was his old self.
"Oh, would you! Oh, Adrian, may Ratigan whip me just this once?"
"Down girl, down! You're positively terrible." Adrian surveyed his guests and shrugged in mock helplessness. "If one of you would like to take this nymphet in hand, I'd be grateful."
They ate the food and drank the wine. The wine was potent and loosened tongues. Adopting the big brother pose, Adrian came out with, "Ratigan, for Pete's sake, take this beautiful creature and make yourself a sane life somewhere. I know you joke about fried fish shops. But even that may be a good idea. Give up killing. You nearly got killed yourself not so long ago. And lost Faith, to boot. Damn it, man! the girl loves you. That's the greatest treasure in the world."
Faith glowed and compared her present circumstances to being whipped and locked in the hateful little cells she had seen at Saint Ursula's. It seemed that if you were a girl and had lovely breasts, everything nice happened to you and you were enslaved by delightful men. The rich, sweet wine of Italy was working its magic in her mind. She focused on her owner. "Are you taking up Adrian's suggestion?"
"Which one was that? The fried fish shop or giving you a good whipping?"
"That last one belonged to Coral. She thought it would be good for me and I expect it would. If you want to do it, please do. But I still believe the fried fish shop. Or you could run a service which frees captive maidens from any device they can't get out of."
"Too small a volume, sweetheart, unless I included you as one of my customers, you're definitely kidnap prone. But where would a naked girl keep my fees?"
"If you don't know the answer to that by now.. . ! "
They laughed outrageously, cherishing their mood. The dark ghosts of Ireland were, for this moment, set upon their way. Coral clinked happily back and forth, making more play than needful with the links between her legs. It was Adrian who steered them back to serious subjects. "Ratigan, I mean it, I'll stake you to a business. For heaven's sake, give up your role as Don Quixote. Settle down and make money and raise beautiful children. That's what Ireland needs is beautiful children who don't go to London or the USA as soon as they're old enough."
Ratigan laughed and in his laugh was bitterness. "I should not be telling you this but tomorrow my Bhoys are wiping out Bill Mulchay's gang. He killed half my men, now I'll leave none of his alive."
There was a horrified silence. Ratigan looked around the stricken faces and shrugged apologetically. "Sorry, that's the way it is. Don't forget this is Ireland."
It was Coral who proved her competence as hostess. "You shouldn't have told us such horrible things," she said directly to Ratigan. "Killings spoils things. Ireland is so beautiful." She brightened suddenly. "Let's forget what you've just said, Ratigan. let's whip Faith and get ourselves back to normal." It was hard to ignore her pixie charm, everyone laughed, but then Adrian said softly, "I don't think Faith wants to be whipped. Coral, you're getting ahead of yourself."
Coral looked around defiantly, her chin held high. "Very well then, if you won't whip Faith, why don't you whip me. I haven't been whipped today at all, I'm being terribly spoiled."
None of them would, afterward, be certain how it happened but the food and the wine and the need to banish Irish ghosts made the nymphet's suggest seem desirable. They looked at Adrian and Faith uttered a hesitant, "With your permission, Adrian?"
"Of course, she deserves it. Fancy a hostess offering herself to be whipped for the enjoyment of her guests! I'm ashamed of her. Do I have to do it our will you pass the whip around."
"They'll pass the whip around, Adrian, darling," Coral sail firmly. "I've never been whipped by a girl and I'm sure Faith does it beautifully. And just think darling, I'll be able to tell my grandchildren about the time the great Ratigan got off his high horse and gave me a whipping. Adrian, darling, can we come back to the cheese after I've been whipped?"
It was exquisitely Irish. Nothing made sense yet everything fell into place and was as it should be. They allowed Coral to lead the way to where her wrists were strapped onto a bar and the bar raised until her toes barely touched the floor. Adrian handed Faith the wicked, snake-like object with the comment, "I'm not in this one, this is your show. Mark the little darling up properly and we'll go back for the cheese."
For her first time Faith Baldwin was certain she did well. She was suddenly confronted by a teenage nakedness dangling invitingly from a tether far above. Coral was twisting around and around and as her gaze met that of the girl who held the whip, she provocatively protruded a small pink tongue. As her circle followed its course Faith took the opportunity to cut hard at the impertinent young bottom as though she had been doing such a chore all her life. The young bottom showed a divinely scarlet streak and jerked most entertainingly as its owner exclaimed in some sort of strange ecstasy of her own, "Oh, darling!"
It was an understanding garnered by the grapes of a sun-drenched Italian mountain side. Faith waited for the sweet, young curves to conveniently circle and then lashed them once again. When she beheld the scarlet evidence she said firmly, "That's enough, I don't want to whip this young treasure. Here, Ratigan, it's your turn."
Ratigan had not qualms but his assessment of their mood was accurate. Waiting for the hurt and wildly kicking young nudity to offer a satisfying target he then cut hard and true to evoke a scream of pure shock from the youngster tethered at the end of a rope. AH present realized honor was appeased. Coral was released and comforted in Faith's female arms.
"I didn't know it would hurt this much," she sobbed apologetically. "Adrian never whips me that hard. I expect I've a lot to learn."
They went back to the table and the cheese.
A warm intimacy had grown on the four of them. Faith realized both she and Coral Noyes had come by a perspective of permanence by way of the men who owned them, and , and the gate house. She was gorgeously content with food and wind and laughter. It was decided that Coral should visit the following day, the youngster insisting she would walk the distance in the lovely leg-irons she now wore. They laughingly agreed, Adrian making the mental reservation to drive over to pick up the ankle chaffed and foot sore young girl.
The soft and warm Irish night enveloped Ratigan and his prisoner as they drove back to the only home they knew.
It was tremendously heating to the pussy to have clothes to remove while the man who owned you watched intently. Faith savored this new sensation to the full even to the point of imitating a strip tease while demanding, "What, no leg-irons, no collar?"
"Not for tonight. Be a pleasant novelty to do it to a girl who's got all her limbs. I'm expecting a superlative performance."
"I always give you a superlative performance."
"This one's special, sweetheart. If you fail to please, you'll be back in irons tomorrow."
Ratigan laughed at a sudden thought. "I've always believe that some sort of restriction makes a girl doubly horny."
It was a lusty romp, a sexual symphony, a mating to remember. Ratigan and his released maiden excelled themselves and slept late. It was Johnny Catlin with a message who ended their slumbers. His manners became shy and awkward as Faith sat up to reveal her breasts. Then she stretched her arms in a glorious yawn, slowly and contentedly. She made Ratigan promise to repair the collar and its leash but made no mention of the leg-irons she had worn for so long. She wanted that leaping, glorious flight around the field before returning her ankles to captivity. Ratigan could damn well carry her even though her feet were innocent of chain. It would be a new and delightful experience for them both. Beyond that. Faith Baldwin refuse to think.
Instead of breakfast of lunch they comprised on brunch. Afterwards they went out into the sunlight of the castle steps to behold a small but very evident little black car awaiting them. As curiosity drew them closer they discerned within the features of Sister Deborah from the convent of Saint Ursula. The woman had been quietly knitting but put her needles and wool away to greet them. Then she blandly inquired, "Were you expecting company today."
"We certainly weren't expecting you."
The good sister's smile was benign upon them both. "I have in mind a youngish girl, probably fourteen-quite charming, really."
Faith's heart plummeted, but it was Ratigan who savagely demanded, "What the devil's work have you been up to, woman?"
Sister Deborah ignored the outburst. "She tells us her name is Coral Noyes and she's the daughter of a member of the Northern Parliament." Sister Deborah conceded a brief chuckle. "The dear child says she will have the police upon us if we don't let her go."
"What do you want with her," Faith demanded, then added, "as if I didn't know."
"We do not want Miss Coral Noyes, at all, we want Miss Faith Baldwin."
They surveyed the quietly triumphant face within the car, a face amply protected by holly church and by possession of a vivid young nakedness now captive. Sister Deborah sealed the obvious, "We suggest an exchange."
Ratigan grasped Faith's bare arm, his anger obvious. "No you don't! If you don't free that girl, my boys and I will knock that convent down around your ears before night falls."
Sister Deborah shook her head as though in sadness. "You know you won't do that, Ratigan. There's the Pope to reckon with, to say nothing of our Bishop. Never underestimate the Holly Church. In Ireland it has power beyond ordinary men."
Faith felt the fingers on her arm tighten then relax. She knew Ratigan was making the same swift mental calculations as herself. As though to aid them, Sister Deborah continued, "Let us be sensible about these things. Miss Baldwin was placed in our care. We accepted a responsibility. Saint Ursula's has never lost a young woman yet in all its centuries. We agreed to shelter her for thirty days and you stole her from us on day one. If you weren't Ireland's national hero, Ratigan, we'd be sending you a bill for those potatoes churned up in your trespass." She paused, considering quietly. "We now hold Miss Coral Noyes, a must admirable and suitable addition to our Order. Should we be forced to retain possession of the dear child, she will be properly trained, her spirit broken, and when old enough, properly shaved and habited as a nun of the Order of Saint Ursula. In the intervening time, which will be several years, she will be called a novice and will be subject to our rules and regulations. We will make certain she does not escape."
Ratigan grasped Faith by both arms to stare hard into her eyes. "I won't let them," he said forcibly. "No one's taking you from me a second time."
"I'm offering you a bargain, Mr. Ratigan. Think of it, a mere thirty days in return for a lifetime. I'm surprised you quibble."
"The sister's right," Faith agreed dismally. "If by giving myself for thirty days, we can recover Coral, I don't see where we have any choice. Ratigan, darling, you'll have to let me go."
At Sister Deborah's ready suggestion, the two of them walked slowly up and down beside the castle steps to confer in private but did no more than reject each presented idea. In Ireland the power of the convent and the church went deeper than English bullets or blood. By the simple kidnapping of Coral Noyes Saint Ursula's had placed themselves in a bargaining position none could defeat. Faith had the last word.
"Darling, it's only for thirty days. Only thirty days."
When all was said Ratigan bowed to the inevitable. But he kept muttering under his breath and Faith kept saying, "But Ratigan it's only thirty days, one month."
Sister Deborah was visibly pleased. Ratigan was a power but so was the church. She guessed her victory was mainly due to the moderation of the demand. In thirty days a girl might suffer much but in the end be free, a freedom Coral Noyes would never otherwise know. She got out of the car, "I'm so pleased, so very pleased. You're a wise man, Ratigan, and you'll get your reward. In thirty days this young woman will return to you a better Catholic than before."
"She's not a Catholic now."
"That is exactly what I meant, dear man. Everything has its own beginning. Now, if you don't mind, I would like to fasten Miss Baldwin for her journey."
Faith saw the anger surge through Ratigan's face, felt his fingers clench harder than before. Hastily she flung her arms around him neck and whispered, "Don't spoil things, darling. My thirty days begins as of now. Let Sister Deborah do whatever she wants. It will make her happy and won't matter much to me."
"I don't want you bound!"
"Darling, it can't be helped. I want you to do something for me. The last thing you can do for thirty days. I want you to kiss me very hard then walk away very fast. I don't want you to see the shame of my return to slavery, whatever she may do to me. I'm sure she won't do anything the least bit pleasant. I'm going to hate it all."
Emotions surged in a silent ebb and flow. Then Ratigan picked up his love and kissed her with such violence as to bruise her lips, then put her down and walked away as she had asked. Faith watched him go. Then, without bothering to either turn or to ask, crossed her wrists behind her back.
"Such a sensible girl," Sister Deborah approved. "This twine I'm using is very thin and very unkind if you struggle so I suggest you keep your hands quite still."
"I know, I've had all this before."
The good sister laughed, "Of course, you have, as if I didn't know. For your elbows, I've a soft leather strap and buckle. We must be sure to watch your circulation."
The girl being returned to prison stood passively erect, neither breathless nor dismayed. This was the beginning of thirty days, she would have to live through it as best she could. She had no illusions, the pain would be constant. When the black habited woman produced an evil looking gag, Faith said no more than, "Must you! It would be nice if we could talk."
"I'm must forgo the pleasure. This is the beginning of your penance. Please open your mouth, my dear."
It was unlike anything Faith had seen, more like a bit or bridle than a gag. Metal fitted within her mouth to capture her tongue between twin serrated surfaces against which Faith was helpless. The corners of her lips were tugged back as straps were drawn across her cheeks then buckled at the nape of her neck. Saint Ursula was getting a well-bound naked girl.
A final sharp tug completed the silencing of Miss Faith Baldwin. She could make only minor, unintelligible sounds but could not speak or scream.
"It becomes you. Faith," Sister Deborah approved. "You are a very beautiful young woman." Quaintly a habit of a nun was pulled over her and hid her nakedness.
She was lifted into the front seat and her ankles bound with the same thin twine as her wrists. From the beginning Faith saw escape only as an abstract dream, it was now impossible. As though with an artistic eye. Sister Deborah now cinched the soft flesh of her knees with the same cruel thread. The girl, ridiculously disguised, blinked back the bitter tears of a fresh imprisonment. Sister Deborah started the motor and said with her usual friendliness, "I'm so glad to have you back, dear girl. In the appointed time I will return you to your lover, a maiden cleansed by fire and the scourge of whips." She sighed happily. "We are both so terribly lucky." The little car moved forward.
10
Return to Penance
Sister Deborah was well aware of the psychological aspects of handling girls. A maiden who might courageously bear the scorch of whips could also be one who, under the nagging attrition of uncertainty, would break down into hysteria and perhaps something worse. She had no reason to believe Faith was of this breed but nonetheless die home-going of die youngster she had rescued from the convent's clasp. Immediately upon arrival she guided Faith to where Coral Noyes stood dejectedly in die pillory, her young fingers playing with air and her head bowed down in deep despair. The youngster was instantly freed, die circumstance of her rescue explained and taken out to the waiting car, her only bond the lovely, expensive leg-irons Adrian had given her.
Gagged, Faith had been unable to say a word. The new captive was allowed to go far enough to witness Coral's scramble into the car, wrapped in a blanket, and the car drive away to return her. "It was in the middle of a field," Sister Deborah explained. "The dear girl will have a pleasant walk home."
The twine on Faith's ankles had been cut to enable her to witness Coral's departure. She was now divested of the absurd habit that had covered her, and was once again naked and well trussed.
"Well, I may as well take that thing out of your mouth," the Sister said. "Frankly, I like it-it becomes you. But when a girl is undergoing penance, I think it is better that she be able to express emotions." She wrenched die buckle, and a moment later withdrew the metal bondage from Faith's tongue. "Your first penance is painless, dear child."
Since Faith's neck had been conveniently noosed by a leash, she had no choice as they descended stone stairs. Intuition told her their destination: the dungeon's dark menace. Faith kept silent, repeating over and over in her mind, "Thirty days, thirty days, thirty days.. . . "
When the massive portal was thrust open, she walked into the gloom without complaint. It was a vaulted ceiling with two massive supporting pillars. The timber was large, but fastened in the stone around its entire perimeter were chains of all sizes and weights. In addition, die two pillars contained irons of their own, their intent obvious. Faith longed to scream.
"The day is still young, dear-too young to prepare you for the night." The Sister's voice was thoughtful. "I think one of the pillars."
In the time she was to spend there. Faith discovered Saint Ursula's was never short of either surprises or shocks to impose on those it imprisoned. She got one now. When her hands and elbows were released to leave her messaging chafed skin and restoring circulation, the sister's voice interposed, "Now, dear, if you will place your back against the stone. This side, I think, so you will face the window. Just stand still."
Faith stood still. She was grateful for the window. It wasn't much, but any scrap of light in this dark hole was something. She allowed one bare arm to be gathered back behind the stone and considered bitterly how close this binding of a girl came to the fitting of a dress. In either case, another woman was fiddling around with you for an end result you might not approve.
The good sister now had one of Faith's wrists firmly knotted and began on the second. The column was too massive for her wrists to cross or hands to met but the sister used this as an advantage to tug and cinch the captive wrists as high and as far back as possible. When she was done. Faith's back and shoulders were clamped as hard back against the stone as if she were part of the stone itself. Sister Deborah circled the prisoner of the pillar, assessing the helplessness she had imposed but finally deciding, "It's not quite right, Faith, we need something around your middle."
The "something around her middle" proved to be a length of stout rope passed several times around her tummy and the column to form belt so tight and stout it would have held several girls. The sister improved upon this by a lesser strand passed between the small of Faith's back and the stone pillar before crossing over the bands already in place but to tug them closer and closer together in an encirclement of the narrow waist. The naked girl felt as though cut in two, her breasts and rib cage were prominently out thrust, her tummy was concave. "I like that," said Sister Deborah approvingly. "Bondage should always be aesthetically pleasing. Whenever this is achieved, one can be certain the girl can't escape."
"Don't you want to tie my feet?" Faith asked in bitter sarcasm.
"It would spoil the effect. I like to leave a girl's feet free whenever possible. I find them delightfully expressive."
The captive said a mechanical, "Yes, I'm sure you're right."
Out of the corner of her eye she saw the sister leave and heard the thud of the closing door. She was utterly alone and motionless save for the useless movements of her feet or the tossing of her head. Instead, she wondered what Ratigan was doing now if Adrian could dissuade him from retaliatory slaughter. The hatred between Bill Mulchay and Ratigan was pure tragedy for themselves and the Ireland they professed to love. She wished Sister Deborah had not bound her tummy quite so tight.
Time in the dungeon was endless. The bound girl could count none of it. But towards what the imprisoned girl considered late afternoon she received a visit from Mother Mathilde. The older woman made a quiet inspection of the manner in which her prisoner was secured before speaking. "We will not be robbed of one of our girls," she said as though delivering a lecture. "Your penances will now be more severe for that absurd attempt to escape Saint Ursula's long arm."
"Yes, Mother Superior, I understand," she said simply.
"You'll understand a lot better at the end of thirty days. Miss Baldwin." The Mother Superior took one more turn around the column. "If I turned you loose, could you effect a truce between those two absurd men, Mulchay and Ratigan?"
"If I had been able to do that it would have already been done."
"Hmmmm. That's an honest answer. I suppose both of them have known you carnally?"
"Only Ratigan. Bill Mulchay was holding me for ransom. He said that when you hold a girl for ransom you do not violate her."
"I expect he's right," said the Mother Superior absently. "When we free you, are you going to marry Ratigan?"
"If he'd marry me, I would."
"Ratigan's Catholic. How about that?"
"I'm afraid I've never thought of it. There's been too much else."
The Mother Superior nodded sagely. "I can understand it being a time of stress for you. Let me make an offer. Take the vows of a novice, convert to Holy Church. Your stay with us could then be pleasant instead of painful."
"I can't, you know I can't!"
"Stronger men and women than you have changed their mind on that point."
"You mean, under torture? I've no doubt if you hurt me enough I'll say yes to anything."
The Mother Superior sighed. Girls so love dramatics. It would be easy to suppose how, under the stress of pain, this delightful girl would change her tune. Mother Mathilde felt it regrettable the Bishop frowned on effective methods of persuasion.
"Let us not be ridiculous. Miss Baldwin, no girl is tortured at Saint Ursula's. We obtain our end by penances and simple punishments, they take longer than more direct methods but I can assure you, my dear, we can make you feel thirty days is a very long time."
"Bill Mulchay placed me here for sanctuary. Nothing was said about what you've just said. Neither Bill Mulchay nor Ratigan want me punished. They would disapprove of the way you have be bound right now to this column. I suppose you know how being tied like this for a long time begins to hurting. I'm hurting now."
"Pain is far preferable to pleasure for a girl your age. Miss Baldwin. I strongly advise you to consider the advantages of joining our order of nuns. If you'd only have the sense to agree, I could arrange to have your head shaved tomorrow."
"Noooo!" Faith made an ineffectual attempt to stamp a bare foot. "That's a horrible thing to do to a girl. Please have pity. I don't see why you can't simply keep me prisoner for thirty days and then let me go. I don't understand all these punishments. I could understand if I'd misbehaved."
"You misbehave every time you open your mouth," the Mother Superior said. "I'd hoped to find you more agreeable, more inclined to reason. But we will see, we will see." She swept away in a swirl of black, purposefully thudding the dungeon door shut. The naked girl left bound to the pillar felt like tears, nothing got better, only worse! Faith bitterly realized the convent was robbing her of one month from her live, a month no one could ever replace. It would be worse than unconsciousness or being walled into a tomb.
It was lonely in the stone chamber, bound against the stone column. The binding was brutal. She knew it was pure punishment, without any other purpose. She could have been left free within the dungeon with no hope of escape against the massive door. To rob her of movement was the first punishment the convent imposed. Bitterly, Faith reflected that she was bound for no other reason than the convent's disapproval of women with unshorn heads.
The fading light was an eerie sensation as the shadows intensified and merged. There would be ghosts in the dungeon by midnight. Faith knew her own nakedness against the column had already taken on a ghost-like quality all its own.
There came a fresh face to set Faith free at eventide. The nun carried a lantern, an apple, a container of water, and a scourge of many slender laces with which to redden maiden skin should it prove obstinate.
"My name is Unity-Sister Unity," she said brightly. "I've come to arrange you for the night. I do hope you'll be sensible. If you're not, I'll whip you until you are." She lifted Faith's chin to gaze deeply into her eyes. "For a little while you'll be completely free. Tell me you'll do nothing silly."
"I won't do anything foolish."
The peeling away of the ropes was a hurtful process. When the last rope fell away she asked pitifully, "Could I have just one moment to stretch? It feels so good and I've been tied so long."
"Of course, dear. Take five minutes if you wish but do please behave yourself. I've had a hard day and I don't want to have to whip you."
Sister Unity tidily wrapped rope in neat bundles while watching her prisoner stretch in the pure ecstasy of release. She had seen it before. None of the poor darlings found much pleasure in the time of their incarceration within the walls of Saint Ursula's, they should not be denied so small a pleasure.
"I've been told your story. Faith, you belong to Ratigan. don't you?"
"Yes, whenever or if ever I get out of this place."
Sister Unity was shocked. "Of course, you'll get out of here, you silly girl! You'll he duly freed on the day already specified. The only girls who stay here are those who wish to become novices in our Order. That's how I come to be here."
They had moved to a corner of the chamber and to a pile of chain Faith had previously noted without interest. Sister Unity appeared to have the key for sorting it out. A few moments later a heavy iron anklet was safely locked on Faith's left ankle. Faith was shocked, not by the anklet but by Sister Unity's statement. "You mean you actually wanted to stay here! You sort of surrendered yourself? You must have been crazy."
Sister Unity laughed at die strength of Faith's feelings. "It wasn't exactly like that, you know. Right at the start I was just as silly as you are now. I was sent here by my guardian for some appropriate punishments and a spell of imprisonment. He thought it would do me good, but of course he didn't know Saint Ursula and what he'd let me in for. The trouble was he'd stipulated six months but by the end of the first thirty days I knew I couldn't possibly hold out that long. I was being whipped nearly every day and had to sit on the horse a lot and spent lots of nights in the dark suspended by my wrists. They had the Bishop send a Deacon of the Diocese to give me console and comfort. He did that very beautifully. But when he whipped me, too, I realized I was being terribly foolish and ungrateful for all the blessings I was being offered, so I said, yes, I would be a nun. After that I wasn't punished anymore."
The moral of Sister Unity's story was obvious. Charmingly ingenious, it pointed clearly at a path Faith should follow. During its telling, the new prisoner found her other ankle locked in iron and one wrist
"But to have your head shaved-never having children or a husband!" Faith wondered about the body beneath the habit. Perhaps it was the answer.
Sister Unity seemed a cheerful soul. Faith could never tell a nun's age unless they were very old or very young. "Now your other hand, dear," Sister Unity said as she banded one more captive wrist in iron. "But I don't have any drunken husbands or a house full of dirty diapers," she pointed out reasonably. "There now, that's your hands and feet. Now there's your waist. The band for it is awfully heavy and I'm sorry."
Faith took a fresh interest in the proceedings. Sister Unity was right, the band of metal around her middle was a tight weight. From it a chain trailed into die gloom. "Isn't it foolish to chain me like this?" she demanded meekly. "A pair of handcuffs would do just as well or maybe better. All this iron would halt an elephant."
"That's what I said the first time, it's what every girl says the first time. And, of course, it's true. These chains aren't to prevent us from escaping, they're to tell us we're naughty and to punish us. Hold still, dear, this collar for your neck completes your preparation for the night."
Faith stood still. When the collar snapped tight on her throat she mechanically accepted a handful of chain by which to ease it's weight. She did not clutch the heavy links, they would drag her to the floor.
"You see, dear, these chains don't stop you doing anything except walking out die door," Sister Unity explained. "Each one is separate, fastened somewhere to a ring in the stone. If we had a mirror you'd be able to see how attractive they are on you. When a girl's chained the way you are now, she's partly dressed."
"And totally helpless!"
Sister Unity's fingers were gentle on her prisoner's skin, soothing rebellion. "I know how you must feel, Faith. I felt the same, every girl does. We feel ill used and forgotten by the world and quite sure we'll never, never be free again." Sister Unity paused thoughtfully. "I know you're unhappy. Would you like me to give you pleasure? I will if you want."
"You mean.. .you're not trying to tell me.. . ? " Faith stared in disbelief.
"I didn't think nuns did that sort of thing."
Sister Unity laughed at the sensation her simply offer had caused. "It depends on the nun, dear. And, of course, it depends if we like the prisoner. Some girls are just too horrible. But you're not like that, you're sweet. I can do it with you standing up like that or would you prefer to lie down?"
Faith felt more lost than ever, but managed to gasp, "You're terribly kind but I'd rather not. I'll like to keep my little fire burning down there in my sex to help me through the night. If I extinguish it in happiness with you, I'd nothing left at all, just these chains and worrying about tomorrow."
Faith's cheek was patted by an understanding hand. "That's sensible and you're absolutely right. When a girl is exhausted, sex is absolutely nothing to look forward to at all, or that's the way it seems." Sister Unity was rummaging among the metal on the floor. "But I guess I should have told you, a girl's forbidden to play with herself. You know what I mean, using her finger. So you'll have wear this, too."
Faith had seen the shinning steel and the curved shaped triangle without recognition. She recognized it now with an involuntary giggle. "It's a chastity belt, isn't it! I'd never have dreamed.. . "
The belt was as modern as the chains. Rings circled high on Faith's thighs, thrusting the cupped triangle snugly over the pubic lips and from it shinning steel hugging her loins to a resting place within the belt she already wore. Its simplicity was extreme, its effectiveness total. Following the metal snug within her groin to its juncture with the frustrating triangle itself. Faith knew her sex well confined without slack or orifice by which a sly finger might intrude. It would be awkward to walk in but she was not walking anyway. She looked up with a wry smile at Sister Unity to ask sarcastically, "What, no gag! That's all I need."
"Oh, dear!" Sister Unity actually managed to look apologetic. "I almost forgot. I'm glad you remained me. I brought it with me so now I'll fix it in your mouth and you can settle down for the night."
Faith was only silent for a second. "But there's no one I can talk to! And there's no use me screaming," she protested vigorously. "Oh, please, don't gag me! Sister Deborah gagged me, it was horrible."
"Open the little mouth, dear."
What was the use! A girl chained as totally as Faith was chained had little ability or reason to protest a gag. Before being rendered speechless she whispered, "Thank you for being nice to me." Then she opened her mouth.
Sister Unity left behind the lantern, a sad little nimbus in the dark. By bedtime the candle would consume itself to leave Faith in total darkness but for die moment it was a touch of human communion by which the captive girl could assess the rigor of her imprisonment. Left alone Faith took tentative steps which very soon snubbed her ankles, wrists and neck to call a halt on freedom. Backing up to obtain slack, she explored the chastity belt but it was a firm and solid infliction on her loins about which she could do nothing. Next the gag, but searching fingers discovered only a padlock at the nape of her neck, the steel bit clasping her tongue would render her speechless for as long as someone else desired. Pulling and tugging only hurt so she left it alone.
The yellow radius of light enabled Faith to see the stark bareness she must inhabit for the night. She must lay upon the stone or lean against the wall as she chose. The multitude of chains with which she was loaded might pass the time if she counted them as beads of a rosary. Any moment she made brought a metallic response. It was as though every link laughed to hold a naked maiden through the dark. In everything she did Faith was obliged to hold or adjust heavy chain to counter its drag upon her throat. The gag was no more than a mockery, reminding her of other punishments to come. Saint Ursula's had Faith very well in hand.
The chained girl sat, arranging her linkage as best she could, wishing she could cease shaking her head against the gag but it was in involuntary revolt she could not deny. She was forever swallowing to keep from drooling down her chin. Her pray was a reassurance of repeating over and over, "Thirty days, thirty days, thirty days.. . ! "
Saint Ursula's had a nice judgment by which hysteria was held at bay. A convent full of screaming hysteria would offend the good sisters and inhibit their devotions. They inflicted pain upon their girls in carefully measured doses which always stopped before the victim became glassy-eyed and incoherent. Saint Ursula's was well aware that after a night chained in the dungeon a girl needed fresh air and sunlight to nourish her will to live and prepare her for fresh punishments'. Thus it was that Faith found herself in another field with a hoe in her hands and a ball and chain locked solidly on one ankle. It had been explained in die kindliest of tones that should her endeavor throughout the day fall short of expectations, she would find herself facing a penance that night. She was not told what the penance would be, curiosity could occupy her mind while she hoed vigorously at an seemingly endless row of potatoes. Every facet of maiden captivity was exquisitely planned.
Faith hated her ball and chain with a bitter hatred. She must be forever moving the heavy weight of iron to keep pace with the labor of her hoe. She had tried dragging it but that hurt her ankle and promised to cut her skin around the locked metal band. It was almost too heavy to lift so she compromised by heaving and tugging at it with her hands through the soft, damp Irish soil. When she pointed out how she could double her productive labor if relieved of the iron handicap, she received only quiet smiles which said all too plainly the ball and chain mattered far more than the potatoes. She slashed savagely at weeds and wondered if Ratigan would rescue her again. It would be wonderful to behold her jeep churning over weeds, potatoes and the convent soil to whisk her away to freedom. But she knew such an act to be foolish in its hostility to Saint Ursula's and the Holly Church. Thirty days was not long in the life time of a girl if she was out beyond the wall! Chained within it was going to seem like several lifetimes.
Faith wished she could talk to the other girls working as she was but they were marshaled far apart and to have dragged the iron ball to the closest one would have been an almost impossible task. The Order had no doubt figured this out, too.
In center field punishment waited laggard young ladies in the form of another post well buried in the soil for the girl to face it and to kneel with her wrists bound tight, the last of the bindings threaded through a hole drilled close to die top of the post and then knotted on the other side, well out of her reach. A rope was passed over her knee hollows and the post and tied tight to insure she knelt without remission throughout the day. Her ankles were bound in one final touch of helplessness. A naked girl was held thus now as a lesson to them all. Faith knew not in the manner she had erred but there she was with hands clasped at the level of her chin as though in pray. It would be a hateful way to spend the day.
Saint Ursula's disapproved of communication. The girl's were aware of each other but were not allowed to talk. The prisoners within the row of tiny cells could whisper around the wall throughout the night but that was all. Even this small solace was forbidden. If a girl was caught whispering there was a punishment for that, too.
Punishment overrode all rules. Saint Ursula had devised punishments in which several girls shared communal pain. But their isolation was maintained by a locked gag they could not remove and which clamped their tongue in a silence they could not break. Such a punishment was The Wheel.
The Wheel happened to Faith on her fourth day. Like all Saint Ursula's inflictions on maiden flesh, there was no reason and no guilt. It did not take the girls of Saint Ursula's long to realize their punishments had little to do with their daily actions. Every girl could look forward to a daily punishment, which at best might be thought of as being for something she had done long ago and far away before she was thrust into the grasp of the Order of Saint Ursula. Like everything else in their daily lives, it did not matter.
The Wheel was housed in what once may have been a cow barn, one side being entirely open to the air and the sight of freedom. It was a massive device, composed of a shaft with one end penetrating to the room above and the other disappearing into the floor. From it radiated four spokes, poles of four or Five inches in diameter which a girl was chained to by her left wrist to spend her day in heaving, straining effort which, for all she could tell, profited no one. There may have been useful machinery above responding to such infinite toil but they were never told this. All they saw was the pole, chained hands, and the revolving shaft. Four girls could be punished thus at one time and their industry was assured by attendance of a sister with a whip she used mercilessly should any of her charges show an inclination to slow down. The tempo was not fast but was steady and demanding. By some means the girls never understood the energy they must display varied as the great shaft turned. But never in the same way or the same place. The steady rhythm of their effort would suddenly demand an extra heave or push to overcome something they could not see. Should she not overcome the challenge the whip snapped and bit at them. The four naked girls, each chained to her spoke, went slowly round and round in a straining, sweating thrust they dared not halt. Often the supervising nun departed on her own affairs. But even then die girls dared not pause. The good sister, always returned without out warning. The only good thing to be said of the Wheel was its molding of magnificent young bodies keep slim by the simply diet of an apple and a chunk of bread three times a day.
Without a word of warning, Faith had been gagged, the mocking padlock pendent at the nape of her neck, and taken to the open chamber she had not previously seen. The day's toil was only just beginning, three naked maidens, each chained to her own spoke, looked at her with interest but could not speak. The shackle was clamped tight upon Faith's wrist and her three companions, no doubt experienced, put their shoulders to the spokes and heaved. A cut of the whip across her back prompted Faith to do the same. No instructions or orders were given or needed. You pushed or were punished, it was that simple!
Faith pushed and strained against the shaft along with her three captive sisters. If she needed instruction it was from the girl in front. Faith could observe every bulge of muscle and every bead of sweat generated by every effort of the punitive endeavor. Realizing she would work thus for the day. Faith conserved what strength she could as she learned the vagaries of the Wheel. But before she was fully conversant with its demand, she collected a tally of four scarlet strips across her back. Thus encouraged she pushed and heaved along with her companions.
The morning was endless, bringing to the chained quartet its quota of scarlet strips on sweating skin, the whip cracking with enhanced impact upon die moist surfaces. The sound of swift breathing testified to the presence of steel within maiden mouths. The involuntary shaking of female heads was constant. The beginning of the afternoon imposed shock.
For die noon break and eating of their apple, each girl had been handcuffed and, in addition, a noose and tether placed around her neck to be forcible jerked as a reminder of their good behavior. As they returned to their useless labor one of the foursome was led away, her place already filled upon the spoke by a naked woman testily tugging at one chained wrists and gazing around in wild uncertainty. The chaining of three other girls to the three remaining spokes did nothing to assure the new girl other than to make clear the nature of her afternoon. The spoke to which the woman was chained was the one immediately in front of Faith, whose nagging memory soon told her who the captive was. The woman's head had been shaved completely bald, utterly shorn of hair. In startled disbelief Faith recognized Mrs. Pam Noyes.
Resumption of the punishment left Pam Noyes staring stupidly at her shackled wrist jerked by her spoke as it began another of its endless revolutions. The startled naked woman was compelled to take one step and then another to keep pace but her strength was soon added to the wheel by a whip slash across her back, a rebuke she could not ignore. As a second crack sounded at her legs she leaned and forcibly added her strength to match the efforts of the three naked girls chained as she was chained and whipped as she was whipped.
The afternoon wore on.
Faith longed to speak a greeting but could not utter a single word.
The convent constantly confused its convicts. That night when Faith was led to her cell she discovered that she was to share it with the woman with the shaven head. The gags were taken from their mouths and Faith's right wrist was chained to Pam's left by nothing more than a shared handcuff. The door slammed shut to leave them alone with nothing more than two apples and two chunks of bread. The girls ignored the food in their urgent need to talk.
"This doesn't seem possible. I'm still trying to catch up with it." Pam Noyes said savagely. "Look at me, naked, chained! Put to work at the labor of an old time slave and then locked in a cell. I'm a member of the Northern Ireland Parliament. But look at me now, they've reduced me to a nothing! They've got you, too. It seems fated our paths must cross."
Faith allowed her left hand to be jerked here and there by her companion's agitation. "Can't you do something about this place." she demanded urgently. "Surely it's known, surely there must be all sorts of people who know what takes place here "
"Of course there is! The place is often spoken of as sort of a joke. You have to understand. Saint Ursula's is in the South. I'm in the North and there's not a think I can do down here even if I were free. Oh, damn! Someone shoved a sack over my head on my way home from the office last night and here I am. There'll be a hue and cry but no one will look for me here."
They stood and stared, unable to move far apart because of the handcuff. Mrs. Noyes was almost flashing fire and breathing heavily in compressed anger. "One of my daughters has disappeared and I am scared to death about the other. If ever I get back into the House I'll raise the roof."
She was very beautiful. Faith suddenly realized she was coupled to one of the loveliest woman she had ever seen. After their labors on die wheel they had been hosed down and roughly dried. They had been given five minutes with brush and comb and were thus as presentable as naked females can ever be. The denuded head of Pam Noyes was strangely exquisite in the simplicity of its contours. The shaving of her pubic forest further enhanced her erotic simplicity in being wholly woman. From her there emanated a delicious perfume Faith hoped she could match with her own, the two intermingling them in musk.
The convent evidently appreciated its prize. Pam Noyes had been kidnapped while wearing a good deal of jewelry and this had been left on her to create an erotically bizarre effect of its own. A sapphire was pendent from each ear. A heavy gold chain fell from beneath her neck to her breasts. A gold chain encircled one ankle. It was as though the woman had deliberately simulated the bondage of a captivity now all too real. Faith realized how labor on the wheel would tone and refine this mature loveliness to a peak of perfection just as it had done to the other girls chained to the spokes. But she said nothing of this. For all she knew, Pam Noyes would be returned to freedom the following day. She contented herself with telling of Coral and of Coral's happiness.
"You mean, you submitted yourself to this unholy place just to release my daughter!" Pam stared in wild speculation.
"Well, yes, don't thank me too much, what I did was just a part of this whole absurd story. All I have to do is endure this awful place for thirty days. I've completed four already. I suppose I'll survive."
"Is this man. this Adrian, sleeping with Coral?"
"I don't know, Mrs. Noyes, honest I don't. I can only tell you Coral is supremely happy. What we have to worry about is getting you out of here."
"What about yourself?"
"I'll be automatically released in twenty-six more days. If you're still here I can certainly persuade someone to communicate with whoever you wish, you family or colleagues."
"In the meantime they'll have me pushing that damned wheel?"
"I don't know that either. I haven't been her long enough to discover all the things they do to girls. Tomorrow we might be whipped or put in a cage or made to hoe potatoes."
"What does a girl have to do to get to hoe potatoes. I'd sooner do that than push against that blasted spoke."
"I don't know that either. But die potato field is spoiled because a girl hardly ever does enough work to please diem. Maybe the whip or suspension or maybe spending die night out in the field with ball and chain. A girl couldn't possibly drag that damned chain far enough in the night to do her a damned bit of good. They've got it all figured out."
They slept together on the hard bench. The next day Pam Noyes was returned to the wheel but Faith was taken to a quite different penance, this time a field to turnips and the inevitable hoe. The iron ball locked to her ankle was, if anything, larger than before.
There is something elemental in working through the day alone in an open field while the sun completes it's archway in the sky. A naked girl thus compelled endures die whims and fancies of a summer day along with the fantasies of her mind. As a vagrant breeze dries her sweat or a mischievous cloud crosses the sun to make her shiver in a sudden chill, she becomes a part of the soil itself. To comprehend the changing moods of nature which are part of her or die field, there is no escape. Faith toiled mightily in die knowledge of hovering punishments, but her labor proved of no avail. Someone in the convent decided that she should spend die night alone with nature. There would be no apple and no chunk of bread. The nun who conveyed the sentence bid her a conventional good-night and left her with the ball and chain.
For the first few moment Faith knew only elation, she was not to be bound or whipped. If she refrained from looking at the iron ball she could believe herself completely free beneath the benign radiance of a departing sun and die stillness of a field in which labor was finished for the day. But the mood was short. The sky was vast and she was alone. She kicked her foot against the chain and marveled that a human being could be thus compelled to remain in a single space because of a chunk of metal. Throughout the day she had been tugging and heaving at the chain and its weighty attachment enough to learn of the impossibly of dragging it anywhere worthwhile. She examined die metal band locked upon her ankle but it was solid. She wondered why she ever bothered to look at anything by which she was constrained, not of it would give and it all mocked her longing. Somewhere across the sea, in England, her parents would be sitting down to dinner. She wondered if they ever spoke of her any more. She wanted to cry but no tears came. But above all she wanted to eat but had no food. They had left her water, nothing else. Faith looked hungrily at a turnip and wondered how many strokes of the whip she would receive if she gnawed at one. They were quite large and whether she ate it all or not she could plant it once more in the soil and hope no one noticed. But someone would, she knew they would! And, anyway, she hated turnips.
Sardonically she supposed herself better off in the dungeon where she had been chained for punishment. Saint Ursula's had not even donated her a blanket.
A feminine prisoner of the ball and chain sat and pondered until night, then in desperation, she hoed herself a shallow trough between the turnips and laid her nakedness therein and for covering used the sun-warmed soil as best she could. It was more a grave than a bed but offered something better than cold night air. It would have been nice to reach the hedge around the field but she knew she could not drag her iron that far and then be back where she belonged by morning. If she had, in the beginning, believed this not a punishment, she now knew better.
The following day brought not respite from the convent's venom. Faith had absentmindedly allowed her hoe to wound some of the precious turnips. The inspecting nun had an eagle eye for such offenses and drew Faith's attention to the damage she had wrought. But Faith was tired and irritable from the night and said grumpily, "But they don't amount to anything. Sister. If I cut us the whole damned field of turnips, who wants turnips anyway!"
There had been no argument. Lips pursed, the sister had unlocked the anklet from Faith's foot and let her to the seat of punishment in another field. The girl about to be punished consoled herself with the thought that whatever was about to be done to her could not deprive her of the pleasure of this walk, unhindered by ball or chains. She made the most of it, it was the only pleasure she would get.
The half buried timber was not high. Upon it was a strange contrivance of what appeared to be the back of a chair with legs out-thrust. The naked girl was ordered to sit upon the stump and lean against the back and adjust her arms over the top and then keep still. It was easy to obey. When a girl knew her position indefensible it was always best to obey. In this instance Faith could quietly feel the fussing fingers of the nun upon her flesh. Soon there came the bit of cord and within minutes her wrists and elbows were rigidly secured with the top of the chair back thrusting hard into the back of her armpits.
"This is really a very mild punishment. Faith," the nun informed helpfully. "You should consider yourself lucky, I probably should fasten you on the horse but it's such a long walk to that other Held. Now I have to deal with your feet."
The girl undergoing punishment soon realized at it was in her feet that the true punishment lay. The sister drew one of the to the outstretched bar to tie its ankle tight and then the knee. Dealing with its opposite member she found it necessary to exert enough force in dragging it sideways as to evoke from its owner an anguished, "Ouch! That's hurting!" A complaint to which she paid no attention whatsoever but continued to pull and heave and to adjust until Faith's feet and legs were postured to her satisfaction. She then tied the second foot and leg to leave Faith with a dancer's split and her sex obviously exposed. "You look very sweet like that, dear," he consoled soothingly. "I must speak to the Mother Superior about shaving your pubic hair. You really do have a most indecent bush."
Faith wanted to say, "Please don't bother," but kept a prudent silence. She was feeling as though the entire world must be taking an interest in or about to enter her sexual slit she was sure was wide open in this taut stretch. Instead she complained, "You've made me positively indecent. Sister. I wouldn't have thought the convent would have done this to a girl."
Reaction was instant. Convent fingers grasped rebellious nipples and began to pinch. "You were saying something, dear?"
"No, oh no! I wasn't saying a thing. Oh, please stop pinching those, you must know how it hurts. I'm sorry I spoke, I should have kept quiet."
The pinch relaxed. "That's better," the nun approved. "It's always best not to complain, dear. Life is filled with torments of the flesh and we must learn to bare them with fortitude. You look most charming with your legs stretched out like that and if anything crawls inside, it will be no more than you deserve. Try and think nice, clean thoughts as you sit here alone."
They stretch and a helpless girl bit her tongue. There was so much she longed to say but her nipples still burned from the pinch. What was the use of saying anything. She had to content herself with a mild, "Thank you. Sister, I'm sure I'll be very happy."
Faith could not watch the habit walk away. She could not do much of anything except seethe impotently. She looked at her bound legs before fighting the thrust into her armpits and the throb of her elbows. Whoever designed this punishment certainly knew what they were doing. She certainly hoped the girls who watched at a distance got their money's worth.
The convent left her there throughout the night. Faith could not believe they would not be that cruel but as the shadows lengthened and the air cooled, she realized their intent. It was much like the night before except that she could not bury herself in warm soil but must sit in rigid exposure while bugs fed upon her flesh and a beetle she could not see explored the cavity of her sex. It was a relief when the chill of night drove the little devils back to their holes. Then all she had to do was shiver and long for the comfort of her dungeon or little cell. She recalled someone telling her that a prisoner's lot could always get worse.
When she was released in the morning. Faith could not stand nor walk. The unnatural stretch and stricture of bound arms turned her into a puppet to survive only by the aid of others. She was messaged by soothing hands and comforted by soothing words. But when that was done with she was presented with die hated apple and the piece of bread along with the equally hated hoe. The closing of the lock from the ball and chain upon her ankle seemed the knell of doom. Mechanically she returned to work and wondered what her punishment would be that day.
There was no punishment! Instead, there was Bill Mulchay standing awkward and flushed in the Mother Superior's office as a naked Faith, discretely handcuffed was thrust into the picture.
"Mr. Mulchay has explained an change in his circumstances, dear," the Mother Superior explained charmingly. "You will remember it was he who placed the thirty day sentence upon your visit here. He now revokes it. You are free to go."
It was a miracle beyond belief. Bill Mulchay did his best. "We've moved our camp, love, and I'd told your folks they'd best be serious about your ransom. I'm taking you home."
"But I belong to Ratigan!" It was the First thought in Faith's mind.
"I can't help that, love. Do what you want with Ratigan after die ransom's paid. He can follow you to England and be a lord or something of the sort, so he can. But right now you're my property. But don't feel bad about it, it ain't forever."
Faith stood still for the inevitable binding of hands and arms, wondering how many times she had stood to thus be made helpless. The cords were as cruel as ever but the Mother Superior's voice was soothing. "I'm sure this is the happiest solution to your problems, Faith dear. Ratigan must do what he wishes but he is a man of violence. If you ransom can be comfortably negotiated, you will return to your parents with everyone's blessing. In that freedom you can consider the man of your choice for marriage."
"But Ratigan can never go to England, they'd put him in prison forever!"
The Mother Superior smiled at immaturity. "Then go to Ireland, my dear girl. Ireland will welcome you. You have become one of us."
"Whipped and chained and held prisoner?" Faith sarcasm bit the air like a knife.
"But, my dear, Ireland now gives you freedom."
"Freedom! With my hands and arms dead like this!"
"Only for your own safety, dear. You are impulsive and not to be trusted. I have every confidence in Mr. Mulchay, he will look after. Go and take my blessing, child."
Miss Faith Baldwin accompanied Mr. William Mulchay to his car.
As usual she had no choice!
ll
The Loving Bind
It was not freedom at all. But anything felt like freedom compared to Saint Ursula's and the zeal of the good sisters in punishing female flesh
Bill Mulchay was apologetic: "I was forgetting about them things they do to girls in that place, so I was. I figured they would just keep you safe. It's right sorry, so I am. And I'll make it up to ye."
"If you want to make it up to me, please untie me and send me back to Ratigan. You can have my ransom money-Ratigan doesn't want it."
"But I can't ransom a girl I ain't got!" Mulchay sounded shocked.
"Yes, you can. I'll back you up. Just pretend I'm tied to a tree or something-no one will ever know the difference. If you need some pictures of me all chained up, I'll get Ratigan to make some."
Bill Mulchay's powers of reasoning were limited. "It's having me on ye are. I got to have ye, love, ain't no two ways about it. I got it fixed so when we get back to where we're staying now, you can talk to your parents by phone and tell them how well you're being treated and how much you want them to pay that there ransom. Fair enough?"
Faith realized it was indeed fair, but she no longer felt like a kidnapped girl. She didn't know what she felt like! Between all her loyalties and the tight bindings, she was a sadly puzzled girl. "If only you'd untie me, I'll feel a lot better. You've got so used to tying me up all the time I think it's become a habit. You don't have to, you know. I'll behave myself."
"Ye'd go running straight back to Ratigan, so ye would! Think I don't know? If I'd have had a bit more rope, I would have tied your ankles too.
You're a real treasure, and I'm keeping you safe."
Faith did not much care. At least she was in good hands. But Bill Mulchay's next statement was a whole new ball game.
"Ratigan and me, we've been hammering at each other all too long. I'll be damned if Ratigan hasn't talked himself into a whole army of Bhoys. Made himself a force again, he has. Ain't no one can ignore Ratigan, so I made myself a deal with him. We both want England out of Ireland, so we join forces, and one night soon we'll sweep 'em into the sea, we will."
It was a shattering piece of bombast. Faith knew herself bound tightly in the middle of it. These men could never drive the English from Ireland. All they could do was get themselves killed by English bullets, fired reluctantly at a foe they did not hate. Faith yearned to reconcile the two men to an impossibility. But what could she do? Without hope, she asked, "Bill, can you get Ratigan and the two of you to talk together with me? Look upon me as the hated English. If you can't come to some sort of sensible conclusion then at least you can string me up naked and whip me until you both feel better. How's that for a deal?"
It evoked a huge guffaw but nothing more. She was only a girl, and in Ireland a girl was something for a bit of fun and not to be taken seriously. You played with a girl until you got her pregnant, and then you married her.
"You don't really mean that, do you, lass? I mean, what you said, about Ratigan and me whipping you-you wouldn't want that?"
"Yes, I would. If you did it together in friendship it would please me very much no matter how much it hurt. How about tomorrow?"
"I'll think on it. 'Tis a broth of a girl ye are for sure. Ratigan and me rub each other the wrong way but. with you in the middle, who knows! Ratigan's in love with you, I found that out. That gives you the edge, for sure it does." Mulchay's voice took on a fine timber of victory. "Think of him and me and the Bhoys who follow us, we'll sweep across the North like a cleansing wind. 'Tis the first time Ireland has a chance."
Faith left it at that. She spent the rest of the journey trying to free her hands. It was no longer a camp. Two adjacent farmhouses had been seized and were a hive of activity.
"We got a girl we captured." Mulchay explained. "She'll do ye fine as a sort of lady's maid, looking after you and keeping you tied. We took her prisoner that night we raided Ratigan down at . Sweet gal, but she'd go back if she could. Don't you and she gel no ideas about escape."
It was Jinny, who else! Faith was grateful for this feminine support. Jinny was probably by now as much wedded to Mulchay's cause as she had been to Ratigan, but at least she was female and they could enjoy girl talk to their heart's content. Delivered into her safe keeping. Jinny was instantly concerned and went to work tugging at knots and indignantly articulate.
"Always tying a girl up!" She sniffed. "They got me tied up half the time and you remember the way Ratigan used to chain me by my neck. Don't you worry about me untying you now, we can't neither of us get away. But Mulchay's boys ain't a bad bunch. They only screw me once in a while and I've only had an honest whipping once. Oh gosh. Miss Baldwin, when are we ever going to get away from all this?"
Faith messaged her rope burns. The two girls embraced and held each other as the only stable things in an idiotic world. Each knew herself the answer to a tormented man, but how did you get such a man to understand!
Doubtfully, Faith asked, "You sure I'm suppose to be free like this? Shouldn't there be something, at least handcuffs?"
"Bill Mulchay give me a couple of pairs of them things," Jinny admitted. "Told me I got to wear a set all the time 'cause if I don't the boys are going to ask questions. Said I could wear them in front but they had better be tight on my wrists or there'll be trouble." Jinny giggled. "Seems crazy 'cause that don't stop a girl doing nothing except take her shirt off. What happened to your shirt. Miss Baldwin?"
"The place I've been doesn't approve of clothes on girls, they like us naked," Faith said without interest. "But how come they've got you down to just a shirt, you used to wear proper clothes?"
"Seems like some of the boys saw you with a shirt. Miss Baldwin, and they thought it was sort of cute 'cause they could see bits of you they ain't suppose to. So they got me down to a shirt, too. I'd better find one, I wouldn't want to walk around naked with this bunch, they're a randy bunch. Hold on a minute."
The shirt was surprisingly clean, Faith felt almost properly attired as she arranged it over her breasts and tugged it as far as it would go over her hips. Wearing a shirt made a girl almost respectable in contrast to wearing nothing at all.
When she had rolled up the sleeves she said softly, "Jinny, about those handcuffs?"
Jinny wrinkled her nose in distaste. "Well, I suppose you're right. Miss Baldwin, maybe we should wear them. If one of them lot gets it in for us, we might wind up with 'em behind our backs. I'll get them." She opened a drawer "Yes, here they are. Really pretty, ain't they? We got to put them on ourselves or on each other."
A clean shirt and handcuffed wrists! Strange mediums by which to make a girl feel right with herself and the world. The cuffs were barely locked when Faith asked, "Jinny, you do have the keys, don't you?"
" 'Course not. Miss Baldwin. That's why I weren't fussy 'bout putting 'em on. Now we got to go to Bill or one of his boys to get them off. Bill says a girl ought to be handcuffed all the time. The damn fool notions men have!"
Faith was briefly concerned. Maybe she had been foolish insisting on this joining of her hands. She recognized Bill Mulchay's preoccupation with her ransom, but her own concern had been with Ratigan. Ratigan would still believe her safe in Saint Ursula's. He would be furious to learn of Mulchay's rescue from the convent. She must contact Ratigan or go to him. Jinny listened to the problem but had no good advice.
"Ratigan comes over here once in awhile, but there ain't no way Mulchay's going to let him take you with him. Those two ain't that friendly, and ain't likely to ever be. We are both prisoners, so there ain't no use worrying. Why don't we go to bed? It's been so long since I had my arms around a girl."
The two girls still had some freedom. Faith used it to search for Bill Mulchay. "Look," she told him, "I'm not doing any good hanging around this camp, wearing handcuffs as a sign of virtue. I've got to get to Ratigan. If he discovered the convent has handed me back to you, he'll go wild."
"He's always going wild. Ratigan's a wild man."
"Not really, not if he's with me."
"The poor bastard's in love with you, is that it?"
"Yes, it is. And I'm in love with him. If it weren't for this dumb war, we could have been very happy. Give me a leave of absence so I can go to him and explain things."
Mulchay guffawed with scorn. "Leave of absence? Girl, you are out of your mind! I'd never see you again."
"Yes, you would. I'll give you my parole, my word of honor. Give me one night with Ratigan, and I'll be back tomorrow."
"Sounds like you want to be fucked, and we can look after that right here."
"That's a nasty thing to say!"
"But it's the truth, ain't it? I'm been too kind to you, you're horny."
Faith felt like beating her chained hands against this man who now possessed her. "Think what you like," she retorted. "What Ratigan and I do together is nobody's business but ours. Please, Mr. Mulchay, I give you my word. I'll be back tomorrow." She held up joined hands. "I'll wear these handcuffs all the time, you've got the key."
"Ratigan will have them off you first thing, alas."
Faith suddenly realized that what she was up against was male jealousy over a woman. Bill Mulchay wasn't in love with her, but he was unwilling to give her to Ratigan even for one night. Knowing she had lost, she watched the smiling features harden to a frown. "I'll not be doing it, lass. Stop bothering me. Run along to Jinny and tell her I want to see her right quick." He waved Faith into limbo and returned to the papers on his desk.
Jinny could be relied upon to say I told you so. She said it several times during Faith's confession of failure, then hurried away to obey the royal summons. Faith's spent the time of Jinny's absence searching for a handcuff key she could not find. When Jinny returned, her long face told the story, there was trouble.
"Don't know what you said to him. Miss Baldwin, but he's all riled, he is. Says you ain't no more to be trusted. What's more, he give me the job of looking after you." Jinny looked distressfully at a new responsibility. "Ain't no way I want to do the things he says I got to. Gosh, I wish you could jump in a jeep and make a run for it. But they got them under a guard, everything's under guard. Silly bastards are going to get themselves all killed."
"What do you have to do to me. Jinny?"
"Take away that there shirt and tie you up, tie you up with rope and be real mean about it. Is Bill Mulchay in love with you? That's the way he acts."
"Jealousy, that's all. What about these handcuffs?"
"He give me the key. Says I'm promoted to a trustee and I'm on my honor not to let you get away. The things they think of."
The two girls stared at each other in dismay. Finally Jinny flung herself into Faith's arms and sobbed, "I'm so sick of it all-being dead and chained, and now I've got to de you up. Says he's going to inspect the work I'm going to do and I'm going to be in trouble if I don't do a good job. Gee whiz, Miss Baldwin, I'm so upset."
Faith sensed something changing, and it was more than just Jinny. Faith had a feeling of death in the air, of things coming to an end. She knew herself in the grip of something she could not change, so she said, "Don't worry. Jinny dear, I've been tied up before. It's not the end of the world, you know. Where do you have to do it to me?"
"He says I have to tie you to a tree outside. Seems some of the boys ain't never seen a naked girl. Says you'll be doing something for The Cause by showing the chaps what a girl's like under her clothes. I would've thought lifting my skirts up the way they've been doing would have been enough."
"Never mind, Jinny, I won't die. Get the rope and lead the way. You may as well take off my handcuffs now and put them in the drawer. If you're going to use rope on me they'd only be a nuisance."
The tree was the first of a small cluster beyond the yard. Any potential hero to The Cause had only to open the gate and walk fifty paces to satisfy his curiosity as to what a naked girl looked like. In the awkward pause before the binding began. Faith removed her shirt and said, "I'm a little doll. Jinny, arrange me any way you want." With a touch of venom, she added, "I hope Bill Mulchay never gets his ransom."
Jinny went to work, looping and tugging wherever Faith's contours invited rope. Behind, slender wrists were firmly crossed and tied. Jinny took her time. "I want you to look real good, Miss Baldwin. There's times when a bit of rope does something for a girl. Gosh, you sure do look good!"
The freshly bound girl was kissed and kissed again. Feverish young hands cupped and teased two captive breasts that could not move away. As though to remove herself from temptation. Jinny turned and ran.
It was a "back-to-square-one" feeling for the bound hostage. Except for die discomfort, her plight did not much matter. In that way, it was like the convent. She stood rigid and tense against the ropes when young men came to gaze. She feared their hands but none touched her. If they spoke, she answered, making light of her predicament. After a couple of hours, their curiosity about breasts and pubic hair appeased, the visitations ceased. The bound beauty saw nothing ahead but a boring, futile loneliness against the tree, an assessment delayed by the arrival of a youthful warrior, shy and diffident and inclined to blush. Faith felt sorry for the boy. She answered his questions and turned on all the charm she possessed. When the impossible happened, it was like a clank of bells.
"You look awful uncomfortable tied that way, miss. I'll bet those ropes hurt." The youngster was smitten by a mixture of chivalry and lust. "I'll untie you if you want. Don't suppose no one's going to mind."
Trying hard not to show elation. Faith retorted warmly, "Thank you very much. That would be nice. I'd love to be untied." When eager male fingers were close to the last of the knots. Faith added sweetly, "It's early yet, why don't you get a jeep and we'll both go for a ride. I'll bet there's a pub down there somewhere and I can put my shirt back on."
The warrior liked it.
When they reached , Faith, fearful of pursuit, kissed her rescuer briefly, suggested he go with die boys to the bar, then breathlessly ran up the steps. When she found Ratigan she flung herself into his arms and blurted out, between sobs and gasps, the whole story.
Ratigan gently sat her down, smoothing her hair, kissing her eyes, before fetching the fine Irish whiskey and ordering her to drink a toast to their reunion. She drank it down but mischievously asked, "And now one for The Cause?"
"No, not The Cause," Ratigan said heavily. "The Cause is my concern, not yours. You never said you belong to The Cause, we both know that." He paused, eyeing her with love. "And now, young lady, get that silly shirt off and get yourself onto the bed. I want you so damn bad it hurts." no longer slept. Men came and went, jeeps roared and trucks rattled. As the day wore on, though, the ancient calm returned. Ratigan explained: "They've gone to join forces with Mulchay. We can't very well march up in a body so we spread it out. We do the joy the day after tomorrow. I'll stay with you tonight but then I'll join the Bhoys."
"To sweep the British into the sea?" Her voice was bitter.
"You don't believe in it, do you, lass? Why should you, I'm not sure I believe in it myself."
"Ratigan, drop it. You've got a premonition, I can tell. Even this far south you can smell disaster."
"So what if I can! disaster is the only thing we've had to smell these many years. Look, forget The Cause, forget Mulchay and the Bhoys, and that damn fool convent. Tomorrow I'll go north, but tonight is ours. How'd it be I do a good, old-fashioned rape job on you?"
"Please do, kind sir. I'll give you a rating from one to ten."
Faith was happy. Ratigan joined her mood. Once more he was the laughing boy she loved. "I'm going to teach you a lesson you've got coming," he said as he picked her up and tossed her on the bed.
"Again? So soon?"
"I said I'd teach you a lesson, the rape comes later."
It was wonderful and glorious. With only a slight trace of brutality, he tied Faith's wrists wide apart at the head of bed and bound her ankles, outrageously separate, below. She could move but not very much.
"You'll afraid I'll run away," she mocked. "You could have kept me with you far more securely with your phallus. You ought to know that."
Ratigan laughed. "I do. I know it very well. And you'll get that later. What I promised was a lesson and that's what you're getting. You'll stay like that, convenient for anything I want to do to you until I march off to war tomorrow afternoon. Having you prisoner was habit forming. It's nice to have you back."
Faith Baldwin, straining sensuously against the ropes, was very happy and wondered how there could be so much happiness for any girl. The tight stricture of the cords felt good.
Gossip is the meat and drink of Ireland. Most of it found its way to the
British commander. The Colonel was well aware of Mulchay's growing force and the sudden influx of men and armaments from the south. He was a veteran of many wars and knew die signs, he also had a massive force of men and material at his command. Perhaps the Colonel was bored with garrison life and die intermittent killings to which his men were subject. In one forceful decision he deployed his troops in a vast circle of Mulchay's camp, a circle which, when complete, began to close in on the largest rebel force The Cause had so far spawned. By the time his men were within hailing distance of die twin farm houses, it had become a concentrated threat of men and guns against which Mulchay's tiny arms had no chance. When the bullhorn loudly ordered its first suggestion of surrender, it was met with every gun The Cause could bring to bare, firing blindly in die dark at an enemy they could not see. When die uniformed and disciplined regulars completed their task only a handful of rebels remained to surrender, among them Jinny. Bill Mulchay was dead.
The Colonel heaved a sigh of relief, sent his messages, and went home to bed.
Johnny Catlin brought Ratigan the news. Perhaps Johnny had had a premonition too, for he had spent the night with a barmaid in a pub not far away. He had thoughtfully employed a jeep and was thus mobile. Ratigan listened to his story, nodding in confirmation as of something preordained. He then went back up the castle steps to give the news to the spread-eagled maiden on die bed.
Faith was glad she was tied. Ratigan was absorbing his grief in stony silence, but their eyes spoke volumes as Ratigan sat beside her and slowly untied the knots which made her prisoner. By the time Faith was freed, she could clasp her lover and comfort him with the tears he could not shed. There was nothing to say, it was over.
After awhile they walked across the fields to the gatehouse. Faith reveling in her freedom. Faith knew that as they walked, Ratigan's vision of the future was fading from his mind. At the gatehouse they were greeted by a starry-eyed nymphet attired in leg-irons and nothing else. She was bursting with import: "Mother just phoned. She says she's found the most wonderful convent where they'd make me the most well behaved girl that I just couldn't bare it. She's been there, but they just sent her home. She'll pick me up tomorrow to send me to Saint Ursula's, but I told her I was going to marry Adrian the first chance I get. All I need is a willing parson or a justice of the peace." The laughing nymph's face suddenly clouded. "Oh dear, I talk so much. We got the news of what happened in the North and knew you'd come. Adrian is waiting for you in die study."
The two girls stood alone when Ratigan was gone. Ratigan and Adrian were left alone to say the things men have in their hearts at times like this. When Adrian and Ratigan reappeared, it was evident they had erased sorrow. Adrian, secretly glad it was all over, said cheerfully, "You've got him snared at last, you crafty female. It's not the fried fish shop, it's a brokerage business, respectable and lush with profit. It's my wedding gift to you both."
There were starry eyes, kisses, and hugs. Adrian was again the spokesman. "We feel you two maidens are far too happy. Such ecstasy annoys us. What we need is a sort of leveling off process by which we bring you down to earth. How would you like to be tied to a tree for the night?"
"I'd love it," said Faith.
"Oh wow, what a cool idea!" said Coral Noyes.
The happy nymphet was sent upon a hobbled walk back to the house to search for rope. "You do have the loveliest ideas," Faith told Adrian. "I think it's only fair for you to tie me to my tree and Ratigan to tie Coral to hers. That way there's no favoritism."
Adrian nodded, but his eyes held mischief. "Don't you think we should whip the little dears before we tie them up," he said to Ratigan. "They're in an absolute state of euphoria."
"I'll whip Faith," Ratigan said firmly. "Coral's yours." He turned to Faith. "I'll whip you everyday of your life, young lady. That is, in between the stocks and bonds."
They turned as the clink of chain announced Coral's arrival with the rope. They sent her back to fetch the whip.
