Of course that was against the law, but no-one would find out, they would take a comely wild youth from the back-streets of town, lock him up and tame him just enough to keep him interesting. Everything was in place in her attic, Cook didn't know, Dick wouldn't talk and wouldn't be believed anyway if he did, and Patrick and Guy were hers and hers alone.
She had spent half an hour of each day in that attic, sitting on the large, comfortable bed, stroking the heavy iron collar as if it already contained a humble victim, oppressed and obedient on the outside, but burning with fire within.
The room of course was clean and comfortable, Agnes was not going to visit her slave in a filthy dungeon, and naturally she wanted him to be well-cared for. His only problem would have to be lack of freedom, not discomfort.
Once she had her victim, she would feed him well and offer him books to relieve his boredom, and of course herself. A whip would guarantee her safety, and Patrick could guard her from behind a screen. Or if her slave was very large and very dangerous, Dick, though Dick might be even harder to control than her slave in an emergency.
But Guy and Patrick had promised her to solve that, they trusted themselves to find a suitable slave for the mistress, and had a contact in town scouring the streets already.
The very idea of the attic soon having its inhabitant, living his life just for her, to please her, gave her a pleasant shiver, and she braved the cold and the worsening rain without so much as a mutter to herself.
Her horse was eager for a run, and it was time to stop woolgathering anyway, so she cantered towards the nearest dry spot, and let it have its head.
A real hunter, it was very spirited, and soon reached top speed in a flying gallop. None of her men wanted to accompany her, neither of them had ever learned, because of their low birth or having spent their youths in the city. So Agnes went out on her own, her dogs her sole companions, and well-able to keep her safe from wild animals or poachers alike.
Frederick had been an avid hunter, but when he was alive she had never even contemplated riding astride on a fiery hunter or shooting a live animal. She had accompanied him on rides, but on a gentle palfrey, using a lady's saddle.
Getting back to the country with Patrick and Guy, and finding both her own horse and Frederick's hunter still well cared-for in the stables, she decided to sell her palfrey, but she couldn't bear to part with her beloved's horse. So she learned to ride it herself, feeling close to Frederick when she was out on the moors alone, with his pack of hounds, and his gun.
As hill after hill covered in heath flew by, she could feel the horse labouring for breath, and since her dogs were nowhere in sight she brought the horse to a walk and looked around her. Behind her, she could hear one of the hounds bay, the deep sound carrying even in the strong wind.
Turning her horse's head, it was time to return home anyway, she soon found them, gathered around some dead animal lying on the edge of a moor, a nasty, soggy place, with treacherous footing.
Her horse did not object to getting closer so it was probably safe to walk on, and Agnes wanted to see why the dogs hadn't snatched a few bites from the cadaver, as they usually did before she could call them off. They were trained not to attack live prey unless commanded to, so maybe there was still some life in this animal.
Coming close, the dogs made room for her horse, and she saw it wasn't an animal at all. Lying on the edge of a puddle, a mere two steps away from a watery grave in the spongy mosses of a moor, was a man.
Agnes slid off the saddle, and secured the reins to her belt. It wouldn't do to let her horse run off, with her all alone and no-one in the house in the possession of even the slightest sense of direction or knowledge of the heath and the moors.
No, she'd have to look out for herself.
The man was indeed alive, though very cold and not conscious. He was young, not even thirty she guessed, and he had been lost or on the run for quite some time, judging from his beard and the state of his clothing.
His coat was soaked and clearly military in origin. Could he be a deserter? The nearest military camp was at least three days ride away, and the weather had been atrocious. No wonder he was dying at last, it was a sign of incredible determination that he had made it this far.
He had no signs of rank on his coat, which meant he had either lost them, thrown them away, or never had them. A private then, and privates in the regular army were reputed to be rabble from town, only one step up from criminals, headstrong and violent.
Was this man the answer to her prayers?
Trying to evaluate how close he was to death, she counted his heartbeat and found it low. He was indeed cold, and his cheeks seemed hollow beneath a week's beard. He was too heavy to lift, and besides, her horse was very tall, she'd never be able to lift a grown man that high.
If she wanted to rescue him, she'd have to warm him and get enough life in him to get on the horse with just her help.
Decision made, she removed her cloak, and dragging him to a higher place with quite some effort, managed to wrap him in it. Too bad she didn't have a shot of liquor on her, as Frederick used to have when he went out. She sat down next to the man, trying to warm him a little with her own body-heat, never even considering he might be a danger to her, if he was indeed a deserter.
After twenty minutes, she guessed he should be a bit warmer, she was getting cold herself and needed to go home soon or risk her own life.
A bit of noise might help to revive him, so she slapped his face a little and shouted, 'Wake up, wake up, you lazy bugger!'
That was what she guessed he was used to wake up to.
And whether that was true or not, he did stir, and mumbled something, so she kept going.
'Come on, you, wake up, it's life or death now, there's a nice warm room waiting for you if you get up. And hot food, a bed, blankets.'
And it worked!
The eyes opened, delirious with hunger and fatigue, but they opened, a semblance of intelligence entering their depths.
