At the very moment she felt sorry for her new slave because he had had a bad youth, Agnes felt disgust for herself. How would she ever find satisfaction if she couldn't treat a man she never met before with the distant scorn one was supposed to feel for a slave?
He was nothing, she was everything.
She forced herself to sound cold towards him, and to deliver a veiled threat, totally unnecessary, for what man would want to walk around with a week old beard? She saw it hit home, he was hurt, and she left quickly to hide another one of those soft spells.
This was not going to work if she showed weakness, he'd walk right over her and take over her life, this man was not a dimwit or a country boy, nor a spoiled personal servant like Patrick and Guy, this man was a hardened soldier, he could probably subdue her without the least effort. Patrick would be hopeless to stop him, and Dick would seriously injure him, he had as good as told her he was jealous.
What a mess she had gotten herself into through her fantasies, maybe she'd better feed him up and have Guy take him to town with a few crowns to see him through the first months. He seemed so vulnerable and young, but she had already had vulnerable and young, and it didn't work out. There had to be an iron core in him, or he wouldn't have lasted such a long time on the moors, he was probably still exhausted and scared to be delivered to the army's tough justice.
Today she would be nice to him, bring him more food, see what her touch did to him, but tomorrow she'd tell him he was going to be locked up in that attic forever, and he'd get angry and try to attack her, offering her her first chance to tame him. The very thought made her horny, and her regrets were soon forgotten.
When Dennis woke again, he had no idea what time it was, and how many days had passed. The fire was still the only real light in the room, there was a tiny window on the other end but he guessed his chain wouldn't reach.
He did not resist his impulse to check its solidity, Patrick had told him the mistress wanted him angry and violent, and though he knew those feelings well, he could not call them forward now, but feeling the reality of his captivity might do the trick.
But even realizing there was no escape from this chain didn't do it for him. It made him sad to face the certainty of being destitute again in a few weeks, but it did not make him angry. He didn't even scorn himself that being treated like a slave seemed preferable to him to being cold, hungry and in danger.
There really was no will left in him, the war had damaged him forever, and his recent ordeal had finished him off. He could not call up any anger, not even to reach the status of well-fed sexual slave in a safe house. When the mistress appeared he would fawn on her, and she'd turn him out in disgust at his cowardice.
Trying to get up, he found himself reasonably stable on his legs, hungry of course, and actually a bit bored. There was a bookcase just within reach, and supporting himself on the sturdy table he reached the shelves. They were laden with real books, row upon row of them, and he chose one at random. It didn't seem beyond his capacity to read, he guessed he would still be able to read, though he hadn't often had the chance to exercise or hone his skill after his ninth year.
Still, it seemed he had plenty of time on his hands, so he took the book back to bed with him.
To find there wasn't nearly enough light to discern the letters, was this supposed to make him angry as well? Promising him diversion, then delivering disappointment?
It did not make him angry, but it made him determined, something the mistress would also like a lot. He made his slow, unsteady way towards the fire, book and blanket in his arms, as far as the chain would reach. Just before it choked him, he sat down with the blanket covering him, and tried again.
It worked, he could read now, and the book turned out to be really diverting, a short story on love and morals, witty, but also quite sharp. But reading was quite tiring for Dennis, it was not something he had been in the habit of doing, and his body was still exhausted, it was just the anxiety of his situation that had kept him awake.
Agnes found him right there, lying as close to the hearth as his chain would allow, on top of his blanket. She felt a stab of fear that he was dead, having wandered deliriously until the chain choked him, and she put the tray with food down where she stood, running to check on him.
When she came closer, it was clear he was merely fast asleep, rolled up on his blanket like a hound basking in the heat of the fire. Except her hounds weren't chained. And they didn't read.
She did not understand why he would choose to read in front of the fire, his chain pulling his neck uncomfortably, when he could lie on a quality bed with soft sheets and a fat pillow.
He couldn't have been cold, the room was warm and his blanket didn't even cover him.
The very sight of her new slave, wearing the sturdy collar, completely in her power, gave her a thrill of pleasure, but the way his innocent looking shaven face tugged at her heartstrings was not as enjoyable.
He was really very young, and without the rough beard he looked as attractive as her boys, less perfectly beautiful, but very manly and still, well, actually sweet.
She had determined she would wake him as soon as she came in, to show him who pulled the strings in this house, but something told her he already knew that. He was still so young, she might actually frighten him. He couldn't have much experience with women, having been in the army as a lowly private, and certainly not with strong women.
Maybe she should give him a little time to recover first, make him feel welcome. His attitude when he awoke would give her a clue. If she broke him now, she'd never get from him what she wanted, and she wanted this man very much.
Fetching the tray with food, and putting it on the table to not give any clue about her shock when she found him lying on the floor, she proceeded to kneel beside her slave, her hand automatically pulled towards the smooth cheek. It was incredibly soft, and she stroked it with relish.
Of course that woke him, and he reacted with unexpected violence, sitting up on his heels, not his knees, in a split second, the wrist of the hand that touched him in an iron grip, his other hand on its way towards her throat for a few heartbeats. Then at the very same instant, his eyes regained sense and his body gave out on him, and he crashed to the floor, chain snapping taut and wrenching his head around in the process.
He had released her arm as soon as he realized what he was doing, contributing to his fall, and he was now lying there, his whole body showing pain and shock, obviously very afraid of the consequences of his instinctive action.
But Agnes was thrilled, she knew now there had to be violence in him, but controlled, which was good, for it wouldn't do to get killed. And he didn't plead for mercy, or fall to his knees, he merely looked at her in acceptance, knowing he'd pay for his transgression. His dignity moved her, and she calmly held out her hand to him to help him up.
'I suppose I shouldn't startle an army man, eh?'
He took the hand hesitantly, his sudden move and the resulting choke of the collar had taken a toll and he had real trouble finding his feet, so Agnes supported his body with her own as she had supported Frederick's in his last months on this earth.
He found his voice, and it sounded surprisingly dry.
'And I lived on the streets before that, old habits die hard. I'm very sorry mistress, to have laid a hand on you, and I suppose I'll be even sorrier soon.'
Only his eyes showed his very real fear of being punished, Patrick said he had plenty of stripes on his back, he had probably known rigid discipline for years.
