Resurrection by Ashe Barker Read Free Book Online Page B

arse and started to drive them in and out.
    Jane could not help herself. Shocked to her very core, dismayed and unaccountably jealous, she let out a gasp and staggered back. The door slammed behind her as she fled down the corridor. She was aware, dimly, of shouts behind her, of her husband's voice following her along the hallway as she dashed for—for what?
    Jane had no idea what she was seeking as she fled the castle, nor where she might go. There was nowhere, no person or place to which she could turn. She had no one to protect her now that the King was gone, and her husband would surely banish her after what she had just seen. He would wish to silence her.
    Or would he? Jane came to a stop, panting, doubled over as she fought to suppress the stitch stabbing at her side. Still wearing just her nightrail and her loose robe, her feet bare, she looked around.
    She had reached the outer postern gate, though with no recollection of how she arrived there. This gate was rarely used, kept locked most of the time because of the danger of attack. Her husband preferred to channel all traffic to and from Roseworth through the main entrance which was guarded day and night. Jane did not expect the latch to give beneath her hand as she grasped it, but it did. She tugged, and the gate slid open. In a moment Jane was through, and dashing down the gently sloping meadow toward the lake which glistened at the foot of the hill.
    This was a favourite spot of hers, a place she often came to contemplate the issues and problems with which she had to deal on a daily basis. There was a grassy bank where she liked to sit, and it was to that secluded haven she now gravitated.
    That her husband was unfaithful came as no surprise, and it was not that which bothered her so much. It was more the manner of it. When Gerard came to her chamber he used her body as though it were just a tool, a functional item intended for the begetting of heirs, though in her case that had proven a fruitless endeavour. Never, not once, had he asked her what she wanted, yet he allowed the wench Betsy to demand things of him. Unspeakable, dirty things, yet he did them, to please her. And no doubt to please himself.
    And those welts. Jane sobbed as she recalled the vivid crimson stripes which danced across the girl's peachy bottom. It was plain enough that those marks had nothing at all to do with punishment. Those welts were not in the same category as the inflamed redness her husband would leave on her own skin on the rare occasions he demanded that she lift her skirts and bend over. Betsy's stripes were part of their play, the whipping both erotic and arousing. She could not imagine how that had felt, but even so Jane's own lower region was moistening at the remembering of it. She visualised pain, pleasure, and something oddly alluring which lay between the two extremes, something mysterious and powerful, delights which her husband had withheld from her whilst he cavorted with every strumpet for a mile around.
    Jane was jealous. She was shocked too, to her very core, and utterly confused by the myriad of emotions coursing through her. Loss, betrayal, sadness, grief, and above all of that, hovering, gathering strength and taking form, was white-hot anger. She let out a scream, berating the very heavens for the cruel twist of fate which had brought her to this. Her friends dead, her country facing the Lord only knew what fate, and her husband preferred the company of low-born sluts to that of his loyal wife. It was unfair, and not to be borne.
    Jane stood, intending to return to the castle and leave her husband in no doubt whatsoever exactly what she thought of his behaviour. If he desired that sort of bed sport, then why not with her? She could do that, she was every bit as sensual as Betsy. Or she could be, given the opportunity. It was time Gerard took notice.
    She swiveled on the heel of her foot, seeking to gain purchase on the dew-covered grassy slope. This terrain was