Three long months had passed since the flames of revolution swept across Montaigne. The cruelty of a debauched Empereur had forced much of his populous to abide in poverty for far too long. While the poor had struggled to feed their families and pay increasing taxes, the nobility had enjoyed carefree lives of luxury and indulgence. Hatred had been simmering among the commoners for years, but it had taken the eloquence of one man to give their hatred a voice, to turn their pent up anger into a violent uprising. Most would have described Arnaud du Charouse as a quiet and thoughtful lawyer. Yet it was his impassioned words which had fuelled the mob.
Annette du Surlign considered these things as she walked through the muddy streets of her new home. The nation's capital had been first to feel the people's wrath, but the brutality of a shared rage had engulfed the whole country faster than anyone could possibly have imagined. Hundreds of aristocrats had been killed in the first few days of the revolution - l'Empereur himself had not escaped death. Palaces and mansions had been ransacked; vineyards and gardens set ablaze. It had seemed nowhere was safe from the bloody riots.
A cold shiver passed through Annette when she remembered the night that the revolution had reached her employer's estate. The Comtesse du Surlign had been killed that terrible night, her opulent manor razed to the ground. Annette, too, might have met her end, had it not been for the bravery and timely rescue of a Musketeer. She wished that she had found out the name of her hero, but the days and weeks that followed had flown by in frantic confusion. Those who escaped the mob had fled east across the border into Eisen. Terrifying days were spent huddled in leaky barns, fearful of discovery by farm workers turned executioner. Desperate nights were spent under covered carts, hurtling along dark country lanes, certain that every turn would end in capture. Annette's nightmares were still haunted by memories of that awful journey.
Yet, here she was, an exile living in the Eisen province of Wische. Annette paused to view the town which had given the Montaigne shelter. Heavy rain fell from an overcast sky. It always seemed to rain here. The weather seemed, to Annette at least, to match the mood of its citizens. Decades of religious warfare had left Eisen a divided nation, its lands ruled by five Eisenfurst - the Iron Princes. Some of the fleeing nobility had managed to escape with substantial sums of their riches. In this battle-scarred nation, such wealth was desperately needed. The local ruler, Eisenfurst Reinhardt von Wische, had agreed to give sanctuary to the exiles provided their money helped to rebuild his lands.
Annette turned left into a narrow street then stopped in confusion. She was still unsure of her bearings in the foreign city and this street did not look at all familiar. She silently admonished herself - she should have been paying attention to her current location instead of musing on the past. Hesitantly she walked on, glancing down each side street in search of Kitty, the maidservant who had accompanied her to the market. They had entered the district together, but separated when Kitty went in search of food provisions while Annette ordered repairs from a boot maker.
All of these drab, grey streets looked the same. Annette was now thoroughly disorientated as she stepped into another, even narrower, street. A group of men stood at the end of this street, no more than an alley really. They glared at the young woman as she approached. Not all of Eisen's people had welcomed the exiles. The political and financial deals negotiated by their leaders meant little to those who saw only a influx of new mouths to feed. The hooded cloak worn by Annette would have been scoffed at as plain and several seasons out of fashion among Montaigne's courtiers, but it was still a much finer garment than any Eisen could hope to own.
Annette pulled the cloak tighter and went to move past the burly men. Two stepped to the side, blocking her path. They said nothing, but continued to glare with sullen resentment. Retreating several steps, Annette tried to enter a different street. More men moved to intercept. Cold featured women and scowling children had joined their ranks, a dozen or more surrounded Annette. By now she was beginning to feel a rising fear. Where was Kitty anyway?
"Excuse me," she began, a slight tremor in her lightly accented voice, "I fear I have taken a wrong turn. Is the food market close by?"
"Taken a very wrong turn, I would say." One of the larger men stepped forward. His blonde hair was cut short and his blue eyes may have been attractive, had they not held such unfriendly sentiment. "Should you not be dancing in some grand palace?"
"What's the matter?" queried another, "Your own servants get fed up, so now you want to lord it over us?"
"I'm sorry," said Annette, still trying to edge away, "Just let me by and I will disturb you no further."
"Go home!" came a cry. A handful of mud was thrown by somebody, splattering Annette's shoulder and splashing across her face. The crowd gave a harsh laugh and moved closer, jostling the girl and continuing their jeering insults. Annette pushed back, seeking a path through the packed bodies, trying to control her growing panic. The throng's oppressive closeness was causing claustrophobia, while the constant stream of shoves and jolts were starting to leave sore bruising on her delicate skin.
"Stand aside! Make way there!" An authoritative voice shouted over the trouble makers. Slowly the crowd backed away and parted to admit the newcomer. Annette looked up and gave a sigh of heartfelt relief. A young Musketeer shoved his way to her side. A small number of the loyal swordsmen had accompanied their aristocracy into exile. They had no official jurisdiction in this country, but had been given permission to form a 'Citizen's Watch' to protect the growing Montaigne community.
The Musketeer gave Annette a quick smile and nod of reassurance before turning back to the hostile crowd. He placed a hand on the hilt of his sword, but kept it sheathed, "I suggest you move along, citizens. I'm sure none of you want to provoke further trouble."
The crowd muttered darkly and glanced at each other uncertainly. Some of the stronger men clenched their fists or fingered small dirks worn on their belts, but none made a move. The reputation of a Musketeer went before him. Not even the most cocky ruffian thought they could face the trained duellist.
Unfortunately, not all those in the crowd were simple ruffians. A figure in black had been watching Annette for most of the morning. He had watched the beautiful courtier move through the markets and had discretely tracked her through the labyrinth of side streets. The rabble had allowed the silent stalker to move close and now he was able to strike. As the Musketeer scanned the crowd, the black-clad villain burst through their ranks, drawing a sharp stiletto and lunging at the still dazed young woman.
"Death to the aristos! Vive la Republic!"
A blur of motion was all that Annette saw, a bright blade gleaming in the gloomy alley. The Musketeer leapt, throwing himself in front of her, grappling for the blade that sought to end her life. Two bodies bowled into the girl, the three landing in a tangled heap. Annette cried out as a great weight fell on her arm, pinning her to the ground. Two male voices grunted as they wrestled on top of her. One voice gave a pained yell which was followed by the sound of metal falling onto stone cobbles. The weight suddenly lifted from Annette and she found, to her surprise, that she could still draw breath.
"Mademoiselle, you are hurt."
A strong hand helped Annette to her feet. The young swordsman slipped an arm about her back to lend support. This Musketeer did not seem as tall or well built as the half-glimpsed rescuer from the night of her previous ordeal, but, with his trimmed moustache and sandy-brown hair, he was quite possibly the most handsome man that she had ever seen. His brown eyes carefully watched her with an expression of genuine concern. For the longest moment Annette was lost in those eyes - until a sharp twinge of pain reminded her of the wounded arm. She forced herself to smile despite the injury.
"It's nothing. Only a small graze, I'm sure." The would-be assassin, now weaponless, was fleeing along the street. "Should you not give chase?"
The Musketeer turned to watch the retreating foe, gritting his teeth. "I should," he turned back and his gaze softened again, "But I can not abandon you."
"My lady, I saw what happened! Are you hurt?"
A small girl pushed her way into the scene. Short blonde curls fell from below a white bonnet. The girl dropped two overly-full baskets and rushed to Annette's side.
"Kitty. Yes, I am fine." Annette addressed the Musketeer, "You see, monsieur. You need not fear abandoning me. Kitty will see me safely to the embassy. Now, go. Do your duty."
A bright smile lit the swordsman's face. He gave a deep bow, sweeping his feathered hat from his head. One last glower ensured that the remaining members of the crowd would behave themselves, before he turned to bound after his quarry, bright blue tabard flying. Watching the dashing figure run, Annette felt a smile spread across her own face for the first time in months.
Later that afternoon, the same Musketeer, Stefan de Fer, walked briskly through the long halls of the Montaigne embassy's housing wing. He stopped before one of the rooms to check its number and raised a gloved fist, about to knock on the wooden door. He paused. He repositioned his hat, tugged his tabard straighter and polished a boot on the back of his trousers, before raising his fist again. He paused. A moment was taken to smooth his short moustache and to adjust the hang of his sword belt. Finally satisfied with his appearance, he raised a fist and did knock upon the door.
"Une moment, s'il vous plait."
A few seconds later the door was pulled open by the young maidservant from the market. Kitty glanced up and immediately recognised the uniformed figure before her, "Monsieur, please, come in."
Stefan hesitated, "Is your mistress able for visitors? I would not wish to disturb her if she is unwell."
"She is well. Come in, monsieur. I will tell her you are here."
Stefan entered the room. He found himself in a small ante-chamber with a writing desk and two wooden chairs. An open doorway revealed a smaller room with simple sleeping pallet and nightstand - the maid's sleeping area. Kitty had disappeared behind the only other door from the chamber. After a minute or so she returned with a half-hidden grin. She curtseyed and held the door open, "My lady will see you now."
Annette was sitting up in a narrow bed. She wore a sleeveless white nightdress with a delicate lace shawl around her shoulders. Her face looked pale beneath the rich darkness of her long hair, which was gathered in a pony tail and drawn to one side. She smiled when Stefan entered and it seemed that a flush of colour did touch her cheeks.
The Musketeer had removed his hat and stood just inside the doorway of the lady's bedroom, "Forgive my intrusion, mademoiselle. I was concerned after leaving you so abruptly. I can leave if you wish."
"No, don't leave!" Annette blushed deeper at her over-eager plea. "Please, call me Annette. Won't you take a seat and tell me your name."
Taking the chair near the head of the bed, the Musketeer sat and gave his bright smile again, "My name is Stefan, mad ... Annette." He pointed to a bandage on her upper arm, "You assured me you were unhurt. I am sorry I could not provide better protection."
Annette fingered the dressing, "This really is just a scratch. It will soon mend." She met his gaze earnestly, "You saved my life today."
Unable to break away from the intensity of her gaze, Stefan could only stare wordlessly. She is beautiful, he thought, so fragile and so beautiful. He managed to swallow and, at last, found enough voice to whisper, "It is a life I would do anything to save."
Long lashes lowered, "Did you catch the attacker?"
The spell momentarily broken, Stefan stood, pacing to the end of the bed and taking refuge in a safer line of conversation, "I did. He was an assassin from the new government which claims to replace our monarchy. We have caught several in recent weeks. Apparently their 'freedom and equality' do not apply to all men after all. I understand you work as a senior courtier for her majesty."
Annette nodded. Princess Anne du Montaigne led the exiled nobles. She was the only one of l'Empereur's children so far known to have escaped execution. With so many failing to reach safety, those that did, like Annette, found themselves working in elevated positions. "We are fortunate to have such brave and handsome men to guard us."
Words fled again. Stefan found himself acutely aware of the light feminine fragrances in the room and the soft female clothing lying on the dresser. When he looked down at Annette his heart raced faster than it had ever done in any chase or duel.
"I ... I should really be going," he stammered. Yet his feet showed no signs of moving to the door.
"Will you come again?" asked Annette, her own heart fluttering just as quickly. "I should very much like to see you again."
"I will. I promise that I will."
Reader, she married him.
After a day's bed rest Annette had recovered from the attempt on her life, yet everyday Stefan continued to call upon her. The beauty of her slender figure and waves of dark hair had been obvious from their first meeting. As they met and talked, he discovered the quickness of her sharp mind and her passion for the royalty they both served. For her part, Annette had known that any Musketeer would be strong, graceful and courageous. It was Stefan's attentiveness to her needs, his steadfast care and devotion which won her love. The marriage proposal had come six weeks after their first meeting. It was accepted without hesitation.
The wedding should have been a small, private affair. A few of Annette's closest friends within the court and a handful of Stefan's Musketeer comrades were invited to witness the ceremony, presided over by the local Eisen pastor. But somehow the entire exiled community, including Anne du Montaigne, had squeezed into the small Objectionist Church. The whirlwind romance between a beautiful courtier and a dashing Musketeer had caught everyone's imagination. For those who had lost so much, it gave hope that happiness could be found in their new lives.
A book lay open on Annette's lap. She was sitting upright in the bed of their new marriage quarters, plump feathered pillow tucked at her back. In truth, she hadn't read a word in the last half hour. Her mind kept rehearsing the subject she planned to raise tonight, never satisfied with the words to use. She watched Stefan finish undressing for bed, admiring the soft brown hair which brushed the top of his broad shoulders. She often teased him about his vanity, but made no secret of how handsome she really thought him.
Stefan had sensed that something was troubling his young wife's thoughts. He lay on top of the bed sheets, head resting on bent arm, and asked quietly, "What is it, my love? What's the matter?"
Annette took a deep breath, but avoided his eyes, "You know that I still have nightmares - dreams about the revolution, about the attack at the manor?" Stefan nodded, he had never known her to have a full night's peaceful sleep. Annette continued, "The worst part - the bit that wakes me, shaking with fear - is remembering being left in those stables. I ..." Her voice cracked and for a moment she could not go on.
Reaching for her hand, Stefan gently encouraged her, "Tell me."
"I ... I remember being tied up. The feeling of helplessness. The terror of what might happen, being unable to resist. I ... I need to rid myself of those memories. To replace them with something else."
Stefan shook his head, not understanding, "What do you mean?"
She sat the book on a side table and reached across to where her folded nightgown lay. She pulled its silk belt loose and turned to her husband, "I want ... I need you to tie me up."
His reaction was shocked bewilderment, "What? No, I could never hurt you, Annette."
She held the sash out beseechingly, "I know. That's why I need you to do it."
He watched her eyes carefully. There was calmness in them. Calmness and an abiding trust. He took the belt, "You know that I love you?"
She nodded and kept her wrists extended before him. Slowly he made two circles with the belt, drawing them closed and tying a knot. He waited to see if she would protest, then lifted her arms above her head, bring them to the brass rails at the top of the bed. The ends of the belt were looped around her wrists and the central rail. Another firm knot secured them there.
Annette's heart was skipping nervously now. She pulled her arms to test the bonds. The silk was tight, but not painfully so. She could twist her wrists, but could never hope to get free on her own. That thought brought a soft moan to her lips. Feeling her husband's concerned gaze, she looked up in reassurance, "I'm all right. Keep going."
Glancing about their room, Stefan moved to the curtained windows. He returned to the foot of the bed with the thick cord used to tie the heavy material back during daylight. Carefully he slipped the bed sheets down Annette's body, folding them neatly at her feet. His strong hands grasped her calves and drew her gently towards him. She slid down the bed, her arms being stretched out above her head. The movement also caused her nightdress to ride up past her knees, leaving well-shaped legs bare.
Stefan placed her legs straight beside one another and began to loop the cord. He stopped before tying the knot and looked up along the length on his wife's body. After a few seconds' thought, he removed the rope and adjusted how she lay. He crossed one ankle on top of the other, causing her knees to part slightly. Now he tied them, the cord wrapped in five tight turns, then cinched tighter with two more turns across the first loops.
He stood and watched her. Her eyes were closed, lashes fluttering as she twisted against the silk and cord. Her breath was rapid, but steady, bringing a slight flush to her face. The Musketeer bit his lip, becoming suddenly aware of his own reaction to her bondage. He loved his wife. He loved her body and never failed to be aroused by her touch. Yet the sight of her tied down before him was causing new sensations, thoughts he would never have suspected.
The bed shifted and Annette felt her husband sit at her side. She felt his hands trace the curves of her body. His touch was gentle and exploring, not the mauling grope from her nightmares. She gave an involuntary shudder and gasped when a hand brushed across her breasts. Warm breath filled her ear and she heard his whisper, "You're beautiful, my love."
"Will ... will you gag me?"
"There's no need. I won't hurt you and I know you won't scream."
"Maybe I would like to."
A smile played on the bound girl's lips. Stefan suddenly realised that she was taking as much pleasure from her predicament as was he. He glanced about once more.
"My scarf?" Annette suggested.
He nodded and moved to the dresser. The large silk square added elegant refinement when draped across Annette's head or shoulders. He laid it out and folded the material diagonally into a band of a few inches width.
"They tied a knot in the centre," advised Annette from the bed.
He did likewise before returning to her side. He ran a finger around Annette's soft lips then bent in, kissing her long and tenderly. She returned the kiss with passion, her tongue searching for his, her body rising as much as her bondage would allow. Their lips parted and he raised the scarf. Obediently, she opened her mouth, letting the wide silk knot enter, then turning her head so that Stefan could tie the scarf at her neck.
Her tongue tentatively probed the gag. There was nothing of the foul taste of her abductor's filthy rag. The material was lodged firmly behind her teeth, almost filling the front of her mouth. She could feel the bands of the gag as tight pressure around her extended cheeks. The loose ends tickled her shoulders a little through her hair. She gave a sigh that, unexpectedly, contained a hint of relief. Whatever happened now was up to her husband.
By this stage Stefan was well aware of his desires. His hands returned to his wife's bound form. He felt her writhe beneath his touch. Trying to escape or yearning for more? Warm lips and tongue followed where his hands led. Annette's low moans set his head spinning. He took hold of her crossed ankles and pushed them slowly, purposefully, towards her body. Her knees were forced wider, opening her thighs and causing her nightdress to fall around her stomach.
Stefan moved between her legs, slipping off his pant bottoms. Firm hands caressed then parted her thighs. His voice spoke thickly, "Annette?" Despite the circumstances, he would not act without her permission.
Annette nodded. She closed her eyes and twisted beneath his weight. Wrists tugged helplessly. A long, throaty moan escaped when she felt him enter. Words were impossible. Escape was impossible. She was bound to a bed, gagged and being intimately used by a man. But with this man, she had never felt so safe in all of her life.
To Be Continued...
