The Surrender of Lady Charlotte by Lizbeth Dusseau Read Free Book Online Page A

her, reverberating through the dank air of the castle above. When Mountbane was finished bringing her to climax, he drew away. “Where is your heart now, slave?” he asked as he crouched over her.
    “My heart has died,” she replied.
    “Has it now?” he pondered, his voice almost kind. “What then, if I were to remove these chains and bring you to the comfort of my bed? What if I were to bathe your body and make it ready for its further duties as my wife? What then, Lady Charlotte?”
    Charlotte’s eyes glittered as the torch above her flooded her in its eerie light. She struggled with heart and body both speaking passionately of her true feelings. But her mind was much more persuasive. Arguing the opposite, it broke free from the turmoil and spoke aloud with the same venomous tongue she’d known since her first day harbored in Ilusian misery, “I would still hate you, Mountbane,” she said, her voice calm as a gently rolling sea, as determined and willful. “I would not call you husband, and I would resent every service I was required to render you. Would I submit? I suppose I’d have no choice in this; but I would not beg you to breach my untried door. You’d have to take it, just as you’ve taken everything else from me.”
    If she had a mind keen enough to think clearly at that instant—which she did not—she would have seen the flicker of disappointment in the man’s eyes. Instead, she focused on the mockery that swiftly followed, which seemed so common to this scoundrel.
    He rose from where he’d crouched at her side and announced to her jailer, “Caius, have her chains removed and send her to the kitchens. She is of no use to me.”
    “Aye, sir,” he replied.
    Mountbane was gone, Charlotte was freed, and her terror in the dungeon was at its end.

 
     
Chapter Four
     
    Life torn asunder, twisted by this cruel fate, it would seem the castle larders, scullery and storehouses would be some relief from this tangle of terror. In her new occupation, Charlotte served as a common kitchen slave—wearing the simple garments of a serf. Only the collar about her neck remained to indicate that she was not a free woman with the right to come and go as she pleased—that is, the collar and the chastity belt which was now well-hidden from view by her simple clothes. Her companions in this venture were like any she might face in life: some were compassionate to her situation; others mocked her, knowing of her noble birth and fall from grace; still others were the surly sort who cared not a wit about who she was and freely ordered her about. Charlotte was one of the lowest of the kitchen workers, given the least favorite tasks. For several weeks, she spent most of her hours cleaning—pots, utensils, floors, walls, and greasy tubs.
    She rose before dawn to start days filled with one hard labor after another until finally exhausted she’d collapse in bed. Unaccustomed to this heavy toil, it took some weeks before she became used to the burden of her job. When she flagged in zeal before one of the kitchen matrons, she might be flogged for laziness, or simply scolded by the more compassionate women.
    “You’ll get used to it in time,” she was advised.
    “Best keep a cheerful countenance—makes your day go faster.”
    She took these comments in the best of spirits, truly hoping that these kind souls were right.
    At the beginning, it was enough that Mountbane was done with her and she was freed from the dungeon horrors. Though what she hadn’t counted on were the advances of the boys who moved through the kitchens at their leisure just for the sport of fondling a breast, or playfully whacking a fat behind to the squeals and slaps of the embarrassed kitchen wench. Charlotte did wonder, though, if her so-called husband was entirely done with her, since her chastity belt remained. Had it simply been forgotten, or was this a sign that he still intended to have her as he’d always planned? As it turned out, the